This post is part of the series Against All Odds

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Title: Against All Odds
Plot, or Lack Thereof: Trunks takes on the Androids, and fail horribly
Reason for Banishment: The scene has already been done in the anime.


“I’m home!” Trunks, under the weight of the groceries, staggered into the house.

“Did you get everything that I asked you to?” Bulma called from the living room.

“Yeah, and I’m about to drop all of it!” As if to prove his point, he almost lost his footing as he brought in another bag. “Could you give me a hand with this?”

“Sorry, Trunks.” Bulma paused to rummage through the tool box, “you have to handle it on your own; I want to get the time machine finished as soon as possible.” Trunks nearly let the last package fall to the floor.

“You’re still working on that thing?”

“Yes.” Bulma tightened another screw. “Going back in time is the only way to save the present.”

“Why can’t I fight the Androids?”

“Because you don’t need to go out there by yourself! Son-kun can help you!”

Trunks sighed. He wasn’t as confident as his mother about her idea: he wasn’t sure that this “Son Goku” could defeat the Androids. Of course, his mother would hear nothing of his doubts, insisting that “Son-kun” was the strongest man in the world.

What about Dad? Trunks wondered. Why doesn’t Mother tell me about him?

His thoughts were interrupted by the radio crackling to life.

“This just in. The Androids have attacked Bridge Town, 900 meters south of the Western Capitol. Everyone living in that area is urged to be cautious.”

Something inside of him snapped; for six years now the Androids have been rampaging the country side, hurting innocent people, and killing the people he cared about. He had enough.

Bulma saw him running out of the house.

“Trunks? You are not going to fight those monsters!” She called, to no avail. “Trunks! Come back! Stop!”

But Trunks had already buckled his sword to his back and taken off.

***

Meanwhile, the Androids’s attack was at full swing, but neither of them seemed to be enjoying it.

“This is boring,” Eighteen complained as she blasted away another building. “There’s no fun in this any more.”

“You’d rather do something else?” Seventeen asked as he blew up a nearby car.

“Please! Don’t hurt me!” The driver, who had barely managed to get out, pleaded.

“I don’t know,” Eighteen responded as she killed the man. “But there’s gotta be something better to do than this.”

At the very moment that she said this, a ki blast came out of the sky, knocking her backwards a few steps. As the dust cleared, a figure landed a few feet away.

“My, my! Look who’s here,” Seventeen commented coolly. “It’s the brat.”

Trunks narrowed his eyes. “You’ve done enough; I won’t allow you to do any more.”

“You hear that?” Eighteen chortled. “He’s going to try to stop us!”

“Hilarious,” Seventeen answered coldly. “You want to take him this time?”

“No, it’s your turn.” Seventeen stretched his arms a few times, then dropped into a defensive position.

“This ought to be quick, but fun.” The corner of his mouth lifted into a sardonic smile. “Just like when I killed Son Gohan.”

Trunks gritted his teeth; it had been four years since Gohan-san died, but the memory of it was still painfully fresh.

Die!” He yelled, charging at Seventeen.

The Cyborg moved so fast that Trunks almost didn’t see him. He did, though, and predicted that his opponent would appear behind him, so he swung around a kicked, hard.

His prediction was right; his foot connected with Seventeen’s face.

“Tsk, tsk,” Eighteen shook her head. “You’re losing your touch, Seventeen; you’ve let the brat draw blood.”

“Blood?” Seventeen touched his lower lip, then looked at his hand. “Ooh! You’ve really done it, kid. Nobody makes me bleed. Nobody, you hear?”

“Uh oh, you’ve gotten him mad, brat. Now you’re in trouble.”

“Oh, yeah? I’ve just gotten started!” Trunks turned Super Saiyan. The two Androids just laughed.

“So have I.” This time, Seventeen began the attack, and it took everything Trunks had to hold him back. At first, Trunks was relatively successful in defending himself, and even got in a few punches. However, none of the hits seemed to affect his enemy, and Trunks was starting to tire. When they separated Trunks was panting heavily.

“Damn!” he whispered, falling on one knee. He’s so strong!

“Not as easy as you think, eh?” Seventeen taunted. “But I’m not even breaking a sweat.” Trunks forced himself back up again.

“You’ve done enough,” he repeated.

“Hmmph.” Seventeen attacked again. The next part of the battle was completely one sided: Seventeen drove his knee into Trunks’ stomach, then executed a brutal uppercut; as Trunks flew into the air, Seventeen appeared above him and smashed him back down, then blasted him aside with a small energy blast.

Trunks slammed into the ground with such force that the breath was knocked out of his lungs. He gasped with pain as Seventeen landed heavily on his back.

“Was that it?” Seventeen asked. “That was absolutely pitiful.”

“You have to admit, though, he’s gotten a lot stronger in the last four years,” Eighteen pointed out.

“Yup, and that’s why I can’t allow you to live,” he pressed a little harder, causing Trunks to cry out.

“Die, brat.”

“Wait!”

“What now, Eighteen?” Seventeen asked, irritated that she wanted to interfere with his fun.

“Don’t kill him just yet.”

“Why not?” Seventeen demanded.

“Think about it, dummy. You haven’t had this much fun in years. If you kill him now, we’ll be bored out of our minds!”

“True, but he’s too dangerous to be left alive!”

“Oh, we’ll kill him sooner or later,” Eighteen shrugged.

“Then, why not now?”

“Because I want to have some fun too,” Eighteen bent down and cupped Trunks’ face in her hand. “Besides, I think he’s kind of cute.”

“I don’t know about this.” Seventeen crossed his arms.

“Please?” Eighteen gave her twin a pleading look.

“All right,” Seventeen said after a long silence. “But next time we see him I want you to finish the job, okay?”

“Fine,” Eighteen looked Trunks. “You hear that, brat? Next time we meet I’m going to kill you.” She let his head drop back to the ground. “Let’s go,” she said to the other Android.

“Yes, let’s,” Seventeen raised himself into the air. Eighteen followed suit.

“Ja ne!” she called down to Trunks as she flew away.

***

“Come on, Trunks!” Bulma pleaded, as she shifted the copter into high gear. “Please be alive!” She wished that the damn machine could go faster.

***

Trunks tried to move, but couldn’t. They’re too strong for me. I’ll never be able to beat them. A small sob escaped from his mouth.

***

There! Bulma saw her son’s prone figure on the ground. Oh dear God, I hope I’m not too late.

***

“I don’t know whether I should slap you or hug you, Trunks,” Bulma sat at the edge of her son’s sick bed. “You almost got yourself killed.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

Bulma stroked her son’s hair, being careful not to touch the bandages. “I can understand. It must be terribly hard for you to see those monsters do those horrible things and not being able to do a thing about it.” Trunks looked away.

“When Gohan-san was killed,” he murmured, his voice trailing off. “He wouldn’t let me help him. He knew that I wasn’t strong enough to fight against them.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “And I’m still not strong enough.” Bulma wiped the tear from Trunks’ face.

“Will you go now?” She asked. “Will you go to the past and help Son Goku?”

***

“Are you ready, Trunks?” Bulma made the final adjustments on the time machine. Trunks lowered himself into the time machine with care, then gave his mother a thumb-up sign.

“Ready when you are, Mom,” Bulma gave her son a tight hug.

“I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Me, too,” Neither wanted to let go, but they finally separated again.

“Don’t forget to give Goku the medicine,” She reminded him. “And say hi to everyone for me.”

“Even Dad?” Bulma lowered her eyes for a moment, lost in memory.

Vegeta.

Then she raised her head again and forced a smile.

“Yes, even Dad,” She gave him a light kiss. “Good luck!” She descended the ladder and disconnected it from the time machine. Trunks took a deep breath, then pressed the ‘Launch’ button. “Goodbye!” Bulma called, waving, as the time machine disappeared. For the first time since her husband was killed she felt hope. This is for you, Vegeta. For us. For the future.

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