#tomabada

His body burns up, and that's the end. His people die, and there's nothing left behind. Just ash and rubble. Someone's high pitched laugh echoes into the vacuum of empty space. "My son," He says and reaches for a golden ghost, his blood boiling away and his atoms vaporizing. "My son, my son." "Kakarot." i. A baby in his cradle drifts through the stars across a deep, black ocean. He yawns and wrinkles his nose, alone and nameless. ii. Bardock. Bardock. Bardock. "Bardock." He jolts from the bed. His skin is drenched in sweat; he's shivering, cold to his core as his skin blisters and burns. Soft, sweet-smelling hands cup his cheeks, palms papery and dry. Dark, soulful eyes peering down at him in worry. "Bardock, wake up," Gine says. Her fingers press into his skin, but he's not sure she's real. Bardock jerks his head, panting like an animal, flinching from her touch. Her soft skin grates against his, painful and over sensitive. She follows him, knocking their foreheads together, not allowing him to hide. Gently, as she does for Raditz, she moves his sweaty hair back and rubs at his scalp. His eyes feel wild, open too wide and bulging from their sockets when he finally looks at her in the dark. Her face is pale in the slanting light pooling in from the window, expression pinched with worry and lined with sleep. She whispers, "What were you dreaming of?" He dreamed she died crying. He dreamed about a lonely boy in a cradle. Bardock shrugs away from her touch, his face crumpling before she can see it. He's still dreaming. iii. "You weren't supposed to die, you ass." There's a brief pause, the world going taffy slow like bad reception from a magnetic field, an echo from some far off peripheral. The words feel heavy in his mouth like they weren't meant to come from him. Toma blinks down at him, his smile wry. "Bardock, you were the one who left first." Bardock swallows around a dry, painful throat. "Yeah." He laughs, mirthless. In this gray, empty place, Bardock allows them to have this much. He drops to his forehead rest against Toma's chest, fingers curling over his armor plate. "Yeah, I know." They move against each other, like two shadows. Knuckles brush together and palms slide over warm skin. Buckles, armor, barriers come unlatched, landing solidly on the ground next to their feet. They share breath like a dying animal trying to keep warm. Toma touches his mouth to Bardock's, soft and without teeth. It tastes like blood anyway. iv. There's a hole in his son's chest and hate in his eyes. Bardock can't lessen the resentment that pours out of him like pus from a putrid wound. "You could have stopped this, father." Raditz spits, baleful. His blunt fingers scrape at the edges of his torn open rib cage. Raditz screams and rages, and Bardock had forgotten there had always been two lonely boys.

He tries not to feel guilty he’s only ever thought of one.

v.

The dreams always begin the same. Smoke and ash, rubble and silence. It's when the Kanassan greets him does Bardock remember it's not a dream.

"You're back again." The Kanassan says.

He watches Bardock's ruined face across the fire, unbothered by the smell of rotting. Of his own demise. His scales are burnt, he's already dead, just another specter on a world that doesn't exist anymore.

"I just want to stop," Bardock says. He forces himself not to look at his crew, torn in pieces and scattered around the merry fire. "I can't do anything more."

His face is haggard where he kneels in the dirt, streaked in everyone's blood but his own. The Kanassan places two fingers against Bardock's brow, opening a bleeding wound there. Blood drips into Bardock's eyes, turning everything red and black. "You'll have to endure a little longer."

vi.

It's strange being able to say goodbye, this time.

Such small fingers, smudging up the glass underneath his own. Bardock's heart gives a feeble, painful thud against his ribcage. He's too tired to feel the full expanse of wounded longing in his bones. "I think this will be the last time," He says. His tongue feels thick in his mouth. There's no relief to be found in the words.

Bardock has never gotten to speak with his son. He has never gotten know if he was heard or not. It's strange, now, to look at his son's face; to see a small lost boy and not a golden warrior draped in light. He rubs his thumb against the glass, his mouth pulling downwards when he sees the wet glimmer in his son's wide eyes.

"Stay alive," Bardock tells him.

Bardock does not say, be better.

Bardock does not say, it's your turn now.

Bardock does not say, you'll have to endure a little longer.