Chapter Text
Rain crashes onto your form, soaking layers of blackened concrete dust and mud on the back of your leather coat. The coat has helped you seamlessly blend in the grim wastelands of dead landscape that Black has illustrated. Mother Earth's surface used to be marked with country lines and teeming with trillions of living beings. Now, everywhere you look, the land has been marred with the brand of Black's dominion, a lifeless shell of what it once was, leaving you to wander its depths alone for many seasons. Towering spires of city skylines are halved and fallen, and bones of mortals litter the ground everywhere you look. You’re used to seeing it by now.
You rummage through abandoned houses, scouring for tinned beans and processed foods loaded with preservatives. Your gaze is always alert for disinfectants. And, of course, clean, fresh water. Though most of the food is past its expiration date, there's still plenty to be found since many abandoned stores and homes remain unscavenged.
After his arrival, Goku Black dealt a deathly blow to humankind, reducing the population by four-fifths within the first day. He kept the remainder as his playthings, hunting them for sport as if they were nothing more than animals. You were very small when that happened and all your recollections from prior to armageddon are hazy.
Soon everybody learned the names of Goku Black and Zamasu. They were uttered by the near-dead who had taken part in the resistance as your parents attempted to cauterize their wounds as they screamed. You watched your medically skilled parents work on survivors in increasingly dire circumstances and against impossible odds. Whenever your parents come to mind, the soreness in your shoulder flares up, and you're reminded that you need to stay diligent with your stretches.
For the last few days, you've been squatting in an abandoned apartment building, managing to avoid the heavy rains laden with soot. You've slept in beds that were still rather clean and rummaged through each apartment in search of weapons or food. You encountered dried noodles that would not soften in cold water, yet you still consumed them. You found a few strips of vitamin pills, painkillers, and antibiotics in an old medical kit, which you quickly secured in your inner pocket. After scavenging every cupboard, desk, and storage closet, you have no choice but to undertake the long journey to the nearest village.
The trek will be long since you’ll have to bridge a relatively large distance on foot. The tarmac roads have turned disheveled, muddy, and pockmarked with potholes, which certainly doesn't help. The empty, rusty cars —some still with half-burned bodies inside— provide a form of shelter, as you take cover behind them and slip beneath their frames whenever one of Black's body doubles draws near.
Whenever one of his bodies is close, you can usually feel his presence— a deep-seated feeling of dread saturating your flesh all the way through to the bone. You’re not sure how many people are left since you haven’t seen a soul in the last few seasons. You can't explain why it is that you’ve managed to slip through Black’s fingers, but you know you’re one of the few fortunate ones on the planet.
You know of a few others. Powerful beings that regularly lock horns with Goku Black in battle and his counterpart –the God Zamasu, if he’s in the solar system. But you know they’ve been unsuccessful, as Goku Black has become even more powerful over time. He separated his body into multiple parts a few years ago, and now numerous Goku Blacks roam the Earth's surface looking for signs of life.
As you move through the graveyard of rusty cars, the sky pours bucketfuls of rain down upon you, drenching your filthy hair in liquid droplets. You slather another layer of gritty mud on your hood before pulling it over your head. Despite the weather making it increasingly difficult to move through the terrain, you’re pushing through.
Just last month, you stumbled upon a derelict industrial zone, its electrical towers twisted and broken. Most buildings were densely overgrown and barricaded shut from within, so it took a while to find a secure entryway. Gently pushing aside a few ivy vines, you managed to slip through a shattered window without too much damage to your coat. Your feet landed in a room surrounded by light walls, smothered in mold, and cheap linoleum floors. You recognized the simple and unimaginative furniture scattered around you. An old office building.
In the following days, you raided a few dozen desks and slept on a stained, minimalistic couch with a few dusty overalls wrapped around your frame.
You woke up with a stiffness in your back that wasn’t there before and a loudly growling stomach. After filling your belly with cold instant soups, old granola bars, and potato chips, you found a few independent power supplies amidst the industrial ruins. You spotted one with a few solar panels still intact and, after some fiddling with the control panels and consuming another bag of chips, you eventually got the radio working.
After sifting through some static, the first thing you heard was Zamasu’s voice booming through the speakers, cooling the blood in your veins. Almost completely frozen stiff in your seat, you turned the button to switch frequencies. Unfortunately, you found that Zamasu’s messages stretch along all FM and AM frequencies, in a cacophony of warped, demonic voices that chilled you all the way to the bone. With morbid curiosity, you kept running through the frequencies until you managed to isolate one of his voices.
“–Seeing them kick each other down to arise and triumph in meaningless attention from other humans. They are foolish, basic creatures, and if you look close enough, the things they think and do can be traced back to three primal needs: to kick others down in order to lift themselves up, to covet and consume things they do not need, and lastly, to propagate their species through disgusting carnal acts of lust. All in a sea of sizzling, confused brains, a cesspool of disgustingly futile minds that I must wipe off the face of existen–”
You spun the knob frantically, skimming through the few frequencies that remained until you heard another voice, faint and distorted, bleeding through the static on a radio signal. The friendly note in his voice washed over you like a summer breeze on a hot summer day. It had been so long since you had heard anything other than blood-curdling screams.
“–KKGG–the last resistance as far as we know –KKGG– in the direction of Mount Paozu –KKGG–“
It took you a few days to puzzle together the message and figure out your route through trepidated bus stop maps. On a near-dried-out corpse, you found a pair of safety shoes that seemed to fit you reasonably. His insulated safety jacket looked to be in reasonable condition as well, and you decide to swap it out with the old hoody you wore beneath your leather coat. As you tugged off the dirty outer layers and the old sweat-drenched tee beneath, an odor so foul it nearly makes you gag permeates in the air. You'd been too long without a chance to bathe.
You used to wander over the Earth's expanse, without aim or direction, lulling you in a spirit of resignation, a nomad forevermore. Now that you have found a purpose and a destination, time moves faster and differently, and before you know it, days have given way to weeks and weeks have given way to months spent traveling through villages and dying forests.
As the seasons shift, signs of spring sprout from the charred soil that appears to have been scorched by an energy blast once. You’re surprised to see a handful of swallows pick at the seedlings before returning to their old nesting ground. It has been a while since you’ve seen birds. A gentle breeze weaves its way through the tall blades of grass and bushes, now engulfing what once were agricultural fields. The smell of blood and death permeates the air when the sun reaches its highest and hottest point, and leaves crinkle and wilt as fall prepares the remaining foliage for winter— the season when nature sleeps.
You cross flea-infested cats circling your feet, trying to catch your attention. You offer them your scraps. "Sorry, dears, that's all I have." You haven't used your vocal cords in some time, and the words come out particularly scratchy.
As the daylight-hours shrink and the temperature steadily drops, restlessness stirs within you, and you’re eager to reach your destination as soon as possible. Approaching the urban fringe of what once must have been an effervescing metropolis, the broken spires, and burned-out buildings begin to rise in the distance. The city is encircled by a line of wide mountains, and you know the refuge must be situated between the second and third peaks. Gazing at the distance you still have to walk, you curse the blisters on your heels that have started to come through since yesterday.
Though you may not feel Black's presence here, you still make your way sneaking through the ruins of concrete office buildings, the only things to be heard are your padded safety boots making soft rustles in the silent air, and the hungry howl of a dog in the distance. You know that if you wish to make it to your destination, your worn-down footwear needs to be replaced first.
You move through the upturned streets, bypassing tall window shops displaying cosmetic products that people once found important. And when you catch your blurred window reflection in glimpses, you bear witness to an unrecognizable face. Your features are covered by a mask of caked dirt, like half-hardened clay drying in the sun, perfectly blending into the grim apocalyptic landscape, as if you’re part of it, or belong here.
As you continue your search for boots in a street of deserted shops, you wonder how it would feel to see the city when it was still alive. How it would be to move through the human masses. What it would be like to be seen, to be heard. You trace the algae-covered windows streaked with the sky’s tears as you have trouble holding in your own.
The layers of melting grime on your face and leather coat cease to run along your sides and drip around your feet when the rain calms to a fine mist. Knowing the Black doubles possess a very keen sense of hearing, you quietly step around puddles. If you want to stay unnoticed, you need to quicken your pace to keep on moving to safer grounds.
Pat
The sound of two feet simultaneously touching the ground behind you causes you to stiffen into a pillar. This is it, this is the end. After all these years of honing your stealthiness, you’ve been discovered.
Slowly, carefully, you turn around, your fingers curling around the handle of your bowie knife strapped to your hip. When he comes into view another cold wave of shock hits you square in the face. The man before you bears a slight resemblance to Goku Black, but there are some distinctive differences. You’ve only seen the Blacks from afar but you know this guy’s hair is definitely different.
With a swift and sudden movement, you draw the blade from its sheath, aiming the clipped point at his abdomen, though you're aware that if it really were Black, your knife would shatter against his skin.
You wearily watch him smile apologetically and hold his hands up to show you he means no harm. "No! I'm not Black! I know I kind of look like him, sorry to scare you like that!"
He approaches you slowly like he’s trying to win the trust of a skittish fawn, and offers you his hand at arm-distance. You sigh out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Finally, some human normalcy. You shake his hand tentatively, savoring the warm palm pressed against your touch-starved skin.
"I'm Gohan, pleased to meet you!" He exclaims, smiling warmly. You take a moment to study his torn, orange clothes and his clean, healthy-looking skin. The last faces you’d seen had been grizzled, with ravine-like contours, and hollow cheeks, so he is a sight to behold. He’s also tall, rather handsome, and packing an impressive muscle mass.
You introduce yourself reluctantly, still not a hundred percent sure if you can trust the man that vaguely resembles the deity that brutally murdered the entire human race. Well, except for you, as far as you know. A very lonely part of you wants to trust him though.
"I've been broadcasting for the last four years, but so far you're the first one to make it this close." You recognize the gentle timbre in his voice from the radio speakers and a light switches on behind your eyes. It’s really him.
An explosion erupts in the distance, causing both of you to duck instinctively. Smoke plumes swirl a few kilometres away, signaling one of Black's doubles is drawing close.
“Come on, we’ve got to go. This area is crawling with body copies,” Gohan says, his voice barely above a whisper. Before you know it, you're swept up in the air, too stunned to even understand what’s happening. His strong arms wrap around you, and your whole body tenses, unready for being this close to another human being after so long. Cold wind is beating against your face as he flies towards the heavens above.
Your heart drums in your throat as you're soaring through the sky hundreds of meters above the ground, hurtling toward a nearby mountain chain. In fact, it looks like he’s going to crash you into one of its peaks. You brace for certain death, squeezing your eyes shut, expecting to be crushed beyond recognition. But instead of crashing into the rocky terrain, you glide through something that can only be described as a warm membrane that feels like popping soap bubbles on your skin.
You feel the horror on your face as Gohan apologizes again . “Oops, sorry about that. Should’ve warned you about the camouflage shield.” He shifts you into one of his arms and points towards a strange-looking device in the center of the bubble." A sensor scans every energy signature that comes close, and as you're not Goku Black or Zamasu, it lets you through."
"Ah, now I know," you say drily, unable to laugh at the way this guy has managed to startle you out of your wits. Twice now. Even so, it is hard to remain angry, because the innocence radiating off of him seems to mess with your head. And the nerdy, thick-rimmed glasses don’t help either.
You become aware of the warmth emanating from his chest, and even though your feet are still above ground, he makes you rather feel safe and secure. Not believing you're succumbing to swooning over him already, you quickly shake it off, reminding yourself to stay in control.
To get your mind off of the intimate position you're in, you look down to take in the helicopter view. Swallowing down a hint of height vertigo, you focus your attention on the three unimaginative buildings in the terrain's center. You marvel at the small agricultural fields surrounding them, and the intricate pipe system snaking up the mountain behind the compound makes your heart skip a beat. You gasp. ‘They have running water and grow their own crops.’ It had been a long time since you’d seen anything like that.
As you slowly descend, you can make out the energy shield above you. An electric fence surrounding the area sprouts a bubble-like dome, casting an iridescent hue over everything and giving it the appearance of an oasis. The air is warm and comfortable, like a sunny day in May. You have to blink a few times, because you can’t believe what kind of paradise you’ve just landed in. ‘It’s almost too good to be true…’
As Gohan slowly sets you down, and you eagerly spring from his arm to plant your feet on safer grounds, you feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You've left a trail of dirt on his reasonably clean clothes. You timidly meet his gaze, apologizing for the mess you've made. For some reason, the conversation between you so far has been nothing but an exchange of apologies.
He laughs. “Oh don’t worry about it. You should see our weekly laundry pile. We tend to get dirty around here a lot during training.”
“Training?”
“Yeah, let me show you around. You’ll understand what we do here.” This man comes across as irrationally up-beat, you think. How he’s managed to stay this way during a hopeless apocalypse completely eludes you. “I’ll have to warn you though. My dad looks very much like Goku Black. And he’s often called Goku even, but I promise you, he’s very much the total opposite of that creep, so you don’t have to be afraid,” he says with his face breaking out into another apologetic look.
You nod slowly, not really sure what to expect of this ‘Goku’ guy, but you sure know that his son is very cute.
You follow him toward the building that Gohan calls ‘gravity room’, with a nice view of his broad back and his short, spiky hair that sprouts upward.
As you approach, you notice two beefy, sweat-soaked men stretching on the lawn in front of the building. They've clearly just been sparring, as little cuts and bruises dot their exposed torsos, confirming your suspicions. These guys must be the ones that occasionally take on Goku Black. Gohan introduces you to them.
“How the hell did you get here?” One of them barks at you from a downward dog pose. The tip of his flame-like mane reaches all the way to the ground, a feature that probably makes up for his shorter stature. When he fluidly switches positions to upward dog, he looks up at you from beneath a heavy brow. His face is angular, with a nose just as sharp as his jaw. He’s shirtless and you forget that he’s asked you something because you’re mesmerized by the perfectly shaped upper body glistening under the pearlescent hue.
You take in a sharp breath as you cast your eyes upon the other bare-chested figure. He grins up at you from the ground, touching his toes in a forward bend. "Hi! I'm Goku," he says cheerfully, "Nice to meet you! It's been a while since we've seen a fresh face around here."
You can't help but stare in horror at the figure before you —looking just like Goku Black, with the same height and that strange, black spiky hair shooting off in all directions. But as you look closer, something’s different. His face is much more open and gentle, lacking the sinister air of doom that normally surrounds him. Your shoulder muscles slowly unwind, as you release the breath you were holding. ‘It isn't him.’
“Fresh face? Have you SEEN her?” The other one growls with a distinctive raspiness to his voice, bringing you back from your thoughts to reality.
“And this is Vegeta by the way, he usually takes some time to grow on new people,” Goku says chuckling, earning him a hostile glare from his ‘friend’.
Vegeta tisks, getting up from the ground, and crosses his arms tightly over his chest before he starts again. “If you wish to stay, you’re gonna have to pull your weight around here. We have warriors, a theoretician, and two mechanics. We’ll be needing help with cleaning and compound maintenance, but mostly with cooking, especially with another mouth to feed.”
‘This guy is quite the character,’ you note, drawing the caked mud on your forehead down in a frown. You hadn’t developed any cooking skills beyond the bare minimum, since you’d been scavenging and living off pre-packed food for years.
“We eat a lot around here,” Goku interjects with an optimistic smile, his arm behind his head, still carrying himself very differently from Black. It still might take a while for you to get used to it.
“Well?“ Vegeta demands, tapping his foot on the shortly trimmed lawn.
You bite your lip, knowing that you have to offer something of value if you’d wish to stay. “I’m not the perfect homemaker, but I’ll do whatever has to be done. And I’ll learn.” You flinch when the one called Vegeta sends a glare in your direction that promises large amounts of pain.
“I do have some medical skills, though,” you quickly say. “I’m particularly good with wounds and fractures,” you add with far more anxiety than you let on. An image of helping your parents work on injured resistance fighters flitters across your mind’s eye.
You feel a wave of relief as their approving noises wash over you, leaving something stirring in your being when the wave recedes. You can't help but wonder if it's the effect these three men have on you that causes such a reaction.
To make matters much worse, you watch a fourth, equally attractive man come flying in your direction. You still have to get used to the idea that these guys are capable of that. His shoulder-length purple hair softens his sharp features, and his bright blue eyes sparkle like the pearlescent glimmer that surrounds you. ‘Another guy with very attractive features,’ you sigh inwardly. This one is carrying less bulk, with lean defined muscles showing through his skin-tight suit.
His eyes widen when they connect to your form before reluctantly sticking out his hand. “Hi, I’m Trunks. You must be the new life force that my sensors just detected.”
You nod, tentatively shaking his hand, not really sure what he means by ‘life force’.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look and smell like you’ve just exited the gates of hell, which is kind of accurate now I think of it,” Trunks says, smiling disarmingly.
You mirror his expression. “I know.”
“Let me take you to our shower stall,” Trunks says over the groaning of the two stretching men in the background, momentarily distracting you when they stretch their bodies into a new pose, causing their muscles to ripple under the iridescent light of the dome.
You tear your gaze away from their naked torsos and nod, suppressing any outward enthusiasm over the prospect of taking an actual shower.
Gohan looks down the muddy streaks on his orange shirt. “Good idea Trunks, then I’ll change into something new and start dinner.”
As you turn to follow Trunks, you hear Goku's cheery voice calling out. "See ya around!"
As you stride along, your ear catches Vegeta's grumbles of annoyance from behind you. "I sure hope that filthy mutt is good for something around here," he mutters.
Trunks turns pink next to you, a shade that compliments his lavender hair unexpectedly. “Sorry about my dad. I wouldn’t take it personally. He’s always like this,” he says, tucking a strand behind his ear. “It takes some getting used to.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, the newly dried grime on your forehead cracking, as you ask incredulously, "Is that guy really your dad? How come you look about the same age?"
You can scarcely believe it as you watch the man next to you turn even pinker. "It's complicated," he continues, a hint of embarrassment in his voice. "We have longer lifespans... we're... Not human. I'm half-human, actually."
You're not sure how to react, so you just give a small nod. You're already used to dealing with immortal deities, so why not add aliens to your list?
“And Vegeta is not my actual father, but genetically he is. But that's maybe a story for another time, it's pretty complicated.” You can't help but smile as you watch the flush of embarrassment spread across his strong features again. He looks adorable like that.
You never imagined these men would tell you all their secrets right away. Truth be told, you were feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I’d like to hear more about your heritage one day."
You step into the next building, feeling your curiosity and excitement rising. Your eyes widen as you take in the pristine interior as your scruffy shoes squeak on the glossy wooden floors. You can't resist pausing to take in the spotless couch and inviting fireplace, every detail radiating a comforting warmth. You’d seen a lot of houses in your lifetime, but this building was an actual home.
“We live here with a few others, but they’ve gone to retrieve material for our scientific endeavors. We think it’s going to take a while for them to get back. One of them is my sister.”
You tear your eyes away from the cleanliness, and the utter normalcy that surrounds you to take in his expression. You can see it in the way he fidgets and his eyes dart about the room— it's clear he's worried.
“What kind of science endeavors?”
“I’ll talk you up to speed sometime, once you’ve settled a little. Sorry, it’s just been a long time since I’ve talked to someone outside these people. I’m afraid I’m having trouble putting a sock in it.”
Wondering if your reticence is making him feel uncomfortable, you reach out and give his arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright,” you reassure him. “Don't worry, I don't mind if you talk. It's been a while since I've had a proper conversation, so I'm a bit out of practice myself.” You let go of his arm, hoping that you haven't left any smudges on his blue spandex suit.
Your kindness is rewarded with a warm, pearly-white smile.
He shows you the provisional shower, handing you a large towel and promising that he'll have fitting clothes ready for you when you're done. You remember the last time you bathed –a dirty lake, not even fit for animals to drink from. But here the water is fresh and clear, and even though it’s very cold, you relish in its freshness.
You run a bar of green soap along your body and hair, scrubbing yourself vigorously. Dirt and grime wash away in the running water, and you can feel yourself becoming cleaner and more refreshed with each pass of the scrubbing glove. You gulp a few mouthfuls of water as the bubbles slither down your skin, filling the hollow feeling in your stomach.
As you towel dry, Trunks passes you a stack of freshly folded clothes through the sliver of the door. You slip into the tank top and jogging bottoms that he offers, and you can feel the fabric stretch a little too tight around your chest and shoulders. You'll have to make do until you find something else.
You enter the hall and see Trunks gazing at a photograph of a woman with dazzling blue hair, no doubt taken before the world was plunged into chaos.
You look at him, your eyes narrowing as you demand to know, "Why are you still here?" Your gut is telling you that you're safe here, that you can trust these guys, but you can't shake the thought that they're pretending to be nice to lure you in. Who knows what kind of weird, disturbing things they could have in store with you. Maybe they want to experiment on you, or force you to be their communal sex slave or something. That last thought sends a shiver through your body, and you can't help but wonder if that would be so bad…
He spins around, breathing in a deep, sharp breath as he catches sight of your true form. His cheeks flush red again, being visibly taken aback by your transformation.
His perplexion makes you a little uneasy, and you’re suddenly feeling vulnerable and naked without the protective layer of mud and dust covering you from head to toe. "Is there anything on my face or something?"
“N-No.”
"Ok..." You say, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. "Actually, I could eat," you add, keen to change the topic.
"O-Of course!" He stammers. "You must be terribly hungry. Let me show you the kitchen." Your heart can't help but warm to his shy sweetness.
As you walk in, the smell of cooked food hits your nose, making your mouth water. The four men are sitting around a large table, all turning their heads to look at you. Trunks gives Gohan a telling glance and Gohan cheeks redden as he quickly looks back down at his plate, seemingly pretending to be interested in his dinner.
“And who the fuck are you ?” Vegeta points at you accusingly.
“I’m the mutt,” you respond without skipping a beat, shooting him a mischievous grin that elicits a gasp from the hotheaded man.
Trunks pulls out a chair for you between himself and Goku, and you sit down gratefully.
Goku chuckles merrily and remarks, “You’ve made us stop eating. Not many people have been able to do that.” You still have to get used to him looking like Goku Black, but whenever he opens his mouth that problem flies out of the window. It has never occurred to you before that Goku –and thus Goku Black as well– has quite the handsome face.
Goku leans in closer, his curious gaze taking in every detail of your appearance. You sit stock still, fighting the competing urges to lean in and close the gap between you, or cower away in fear. You watch him draw in a breath, and a satisfied smirk plays across his face. "Ah, you smell divine," he murmurs, his pupils widening with pleasure.
"You know,” Goku continues, “without all that mud, you're a real looker." He tucks a few loose, damp strands behind your ear, causing goosebumps to break out on your skin. Within the next few increasingly awkward seconds you feel his touch linger on your face.
"Take your hands off her, Kakkarot!" Vegeta roars, slamming his spoon down on the table. "Tssk, immediately trying to claim the first woman who walks in for himself, that grubby fool," he mutters darkly.
You dare to meet the gaze of everyone seated around the table. All their eyes are wide, filled with a strange intensity. Gohan's gaze locks with yours, and his expression is a complexity of emotions that you can't quite make out —admiration and guilt, or perhaps grief? Trunks, who sits beside you, still looks stunned, his jaw slightly slackened as he dishes up your plates. Goku keeps stealing glances at you between bites, and Vegeta continues to fire angry glares in Goku's direction, but you can't help but think it's actually about you.
Feeling you’ve just gotten yourself in a whole lot of trouble, you swallow thickly when Trunks slides a plate under your nose, not even registering what he’s served you.
Weird, you're not as afraid as you should be. And something blazes down your pelvis and thighs, sending sparks down between your legs.
'Shit.’