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Chapter Text

PROLOGUE
FOR THE SECOND TIME

If there’s one thing not many (living) people know about Prince Vegeta – and certainly wish they had when begging for their lives – is, while the Saiyan Prince judges the worthiness of a race first by its strongest warrior, its cuisine comes in a surprisingly close second. It’s a trait Vegeta picked up from Frieza when Vegeta was young, which is the reason why he doesn’t advertise it (or much else about himself) to anyone. The last two people to know about it were his former servants: Raditz, who only seemed to find it hilarious when the Prince was not around, said publicly that it was poetic to eat meals prepared by those they were about to massacre; while Nappa, thanks to his sometimes cultish loyalty to the crown, learned how to determine a good dish from a bad one through smell. Vegeta wouldn’t have believed it either if he hadn’t eaten the results.

Frieza knew too, but Vegeta’s never considered him a person, so it’s hard to include him. When Frieza learned about it, he had a feast prepared so he could bring King Cold by and how him just how “precious” his little Saiyan Prince was, pricking up Frieza’s eating habits as he had, but oh, don’t worry, this childish trait would be beaten out of him soon. Frieza would make a good soldier out of him even if his race couldn’t even survive a small meteorite.

This was around the time Vegeta started having vivid dreams of pinning Frieza’s against his throne suffocating him with balled-up fists of Volcor shit while screaming, “Oh look, the Great Lord Frieza sure likes shanopa, doesn’t he? Isn’t he just PRECIOUS? Look at him just TAKING ALL THAT PRECIOUS SHANOPA DOWN HIS PRECIOUS LITTLE THROAT! But don’t worry, Daddy, don’t worry. I’ll make a good little BITCH OUTTA HIM!”

Though these dreams were disturbing even by Vegeta’s standards, they made him love good food all the more.

Vegeta grew up though and realized in his early adolescence that killing Frieza with food was a really stupid idea, so he trained. Trained until his bones broke and his hands bled and his muscles ripped in two. He’d lock himself in the training room for days, sweating so much through the pain that his body stopped flushing out impurities and moved to water instead. And during those moments when he’d grasp for life and hang onto it only through pure force of will, he would see his mother swaying through the room, humming a melody he can’t remember that’s replaced with an increasingly loud and rampant white noise. He’d stumble after her, falling over himself to catch the shortness of her gown, but it always dissolved through his fingers; and then, just as he felt his final breath, she would whip around like the scythe of Death and engulf him in warmth. When he was younger, he’d give in and find himself in a healing tank days later with a carving for twelve course meals; but adolescence made his anger coat his veins like the stiffness of a new leather jacket, so he started pushing her away, wake up in the healing tank anyway, and later only eat raw meat so he could see the blood spill from his mouth, down his armor, and onto his lap and plate.

This hatred would consume him until the end of his days, and Frieza, who knew a wild animal when he saw one, sent him into the universe in the name of empirical expansion.

He was unstoppable. He never lost a fight. Not against those ingrates in the Northern Galaxies, anyway. He and his fellow Saiyans devoured entire worlds, preparing them with the blood of their inhabitants and the salt of their conquest, cooking them with the energy that dominated the Saiyans’ entire beings and made their muscles scream for more. But Vegeta’s gut burned just as much as his lust for blood, and to make their trips less routine, the Saiyans would sometimes kill enough people to attract the planet’s strongest warrior and eat really damn good food while they waited for them. Some planets had such delicacies that Vegeta would kill the warrior and bring Frieza the cook instead. Frieza would bitch and moan until he tasted the food, then quietly hurry the cook into the royal kitchen when no one was looking.

Those were the days when Vegeta felt an honest connection with his only subjects left, the two men who would (as far as he knew) help him restore the Saiyan throne someday. Vegeta had ill-formed plans once he surpassed the legend itself and became the Super Saiyan – plans that spanned far beyond any empire Cold had ever ruled or Frieza had ever grasped. But when engaged in combat day in and day out with these men, he became synonymous with them, their bid for glory the same heartbeat. It was only there that he felt in control of himself, even when he was doing Frieza’s bidding.

Vegeta has always been his own, though. The moment he learned of a tangible way to put Frieza and his family six feet under, he abandoned them. It was not honorable, but revenge this deep never can be. He grieved not for Raditz, his right-hand and confidant; nor Kakarot, the lost Saiyan child Vegeta admittedly cried over when he first learned of his continued existence and later whose cold, dead hands he planned to pry the Dragon Balls from; nor Nappa, who had cared for him since he was young, who loyalty some days was the only thing that reminded Vegeta that he was a prince at all, because Nappa was weak and had no place in Vegeta’s new world. Vegeta came to Earth to take and destroy, to leave the planet in a spiral of dust to signify his first victory as intergalactic warlord and self-made god.  

But here he is. On Earth. For a second time. Earth wasn’t supposed to exist for there to be a second time, but things never go as planned for Vegeta, which is something he only admits to himself late at night when the aches in his muscles make him blasphemous. He had been taken in like a wounded dog that had bit its owner but had not been put down out of pity. His pride had died here the moment Kakarot leapt from that fluffy yellow cloud (how embarrassing) and had downright buried itself when he agreed to stay, but its rebirth mulls on this planet as all the same. Defeat Kakarot. Kill his weird friends. Make it so something in the universe made sense again. They are even helping him become stronger. The sheer insanity of this causes Vegeta to ponder more than he likes and makes his food not digest as well.

It’s because of all this that, when Vegeta truly meets Krillin for the first time, he doesn’t kill him on principle.

Chapter Text

OKAY THEN

It starts as a search for the Briefs’ lunchtime cook who, over the course of the past few days, has become better at hiding from Vegeta than Vegeta is at finding him. Most humans, Vegeta’s learned, have such insignificant levels of ki that he finds himself confronting trees rather than people here at Capsule Corp., which annoys him to no end. Before being bound to Earth, Vegeta always had some underling forced to do his bidding, and it’s moments like these that he almost wishes he hadn’t killed Nappa. Almost.

It’s only been a week since the purple-haired Saiyan brought news of everyone’s death by strange robotic people, but Vegeta’s couldn’t care less. When they bust out of whatever contraption they’re being built in, Vegeta’ll crush ‘em before Kakarot can even power up. He has a reputation to regain, after all. (And yes, he does believe the Saiyan child because Vegeta’s culture was built on myths and prophecies, and the kid coming to warn them about such specific events is prophecy enough for him). No, he’s more concerned by Kakarot who, when he crashed back onto Earth, barely gave Vegeta more than a, ‘Hey, how are ya?’ before blasting off to prepare for the enemies he just heard about. Personally, Vegeta had never been more insulted in his life, and that’s saying something. So now he’s back to the whole locking-himself-in-the-training-room-for-days-at-a-time bit – only this time with no healing tank and apparently no fucking cook to fix him food.

Vegeta’s already wasted fifteen minutes looking for the guy. The Briefs have a formal kitchen that surely has cooks he could harass, but he and Bulma have somehow agreed that he should stay in the backside of the house where the servants’ old corridors are because Vegeta doesn’t want to deal with any humans he doesn’t have to while she doesn’t want to deal with him, so it works out. The place is now being used more as a guest wing anyway, often serving those at pool parties who need the bathroom or a quick bite to eat, but Bulma’s not much in the mood for pool parties these days, and Vegeta’s commandeered the area anyway. He’s eaten here since the day he arrived, and he’s too set in his way to change it.

He checks to make sure that the cook hasn’t buried himself in the coat closet again, but the guy’s not even pretending to be the vacuum cleaner this time around, so Vegeta decides it’s time to give up. Not because Vegeta can’t find him. Of course not. It’s just that he doesn’t consider the cook to be worth much of his time. That’s it.

So he makes his way back to the kitchen so he can lie in wait. He’s noticed over the past week that the workers have to sneak through this part of the mansion to access the side yard, so he should be able to snatch one and berate them until they at least give him a sandwich.

Instead, he walks into the kitchen and finds Krillin. He suddenly wishes he had spent more time looking for the cook.

Krillin’s smaller than he remembers and apparently stupider too because he’s using a stool to reach the upper cabinets rather than flying. The tropical shirt he’s wearing is insulting even to Vegeta and is the only reason Vegeta noticed him in the first place. The khaki shorts he has on are much too big and are hoisted up by a belt that looks like it fought about three hurricanes and lost. Vegeta doesn’t look much better – he might as well be wearing a Speedo.

“Oh, uh… hey,” Krillin says. While he’s definitely startled, he’s not as shocked as he should be. He goes back to savaging for ingredients as though Vegeta had never entered the room at all.

If there’s one thing Vegeta hates, it’s not being given his dues. When, over the course of their so-called relationship, had Vegeta turned from a fear-inspiring demigod to a person you ignore when they walk into a kitchen? Especially when it’s this idiot, who not so long ago couldn’t even speak Vegeta’s name without spitting up all over himself? If anything, the fact that Vegeta lives in any kind of vicinity of him should’ve inspired more fear, not less! What does Earth do to people? What has Earth done to him? Was Vegeta ever brought back to life at all? He’s starting to doubt it. Maybe he died on his way to Earth that first time. Or maybe he’s in a coma on Frieza Planet #Whatever and is making all of this up. He does have an overactive imagination, though usually it works more in his favor and lots of people he hates are dead. Like Krillin. This guy should be dead. So should Kakarot. And his mutt. And the woman who gave him that pink shirt to wear –

– you know what, Vegeta thinks, let’s kill him! Let’s see if this isn’t just another vivid dream. He disrespected me, even dream people don’t disrespect –

“Um… do you want a sandwich, or...?”

Vegeta blinks. What’s the idiot whining on about? Food? Oh. His stomach’s growling overcomes his sudden bloodlust, though not by much. He finds himself knocking back his usual seat at the kitchen’s murky blue table and drops himself into it. He waits, and when Krillin makes no move to make good on his promise, Vegeta says, “Well, what’re you waiting for?”

Krillin jumps (much better), and while he’s more finicky than he had been before, his search seems a lot more intentional as he tosses out ingredients and shoves them into order. Ignoring Krillin’s frantic search, Vegeta puts his cheek in his hand looks past the kitchen, through the sliding glass doors, and out to the pool he has zero desire to jump in. Now, what would be the best way to do this? A shot through the head? Efficient – satisfying even – but uninventive. Suffocation? Also efficient  – really satisfying – but time-consuming. It would also require Vegeta to get up close and personal, which doesn’t exactly sound pleasant. It would be nice to literally strangle the life out of one of the major contributors to Vegeta’s recent streak of failures, though. Eh, he has a sandwich to scruff down before he has to decide. Drowning?

Meanwhile, Krillin prepares a sandwich he’s made a thousand times before.

It doesn’t look like much is what Vegeta thinks when it’s set down before him. It’s a mess of meats and cheeses that make it unnecessarily bulky like one of those sandwiches served in a café with the pick with the olive through it. Vegeta’s never been to a café on Earth, so he wouldn’t know. To him, it mostly look pathetic, as though the sandwich is ashamed of its own existence. Vegeta would be too. He decides he should put it out of its misery.

(By the way, Vegeta’s decided that a shot through the head’s sufficient because he doesn’t want to make it seem like Krillin’s inconvenienced him that much).

So he bites into the sandwich. More like shoves it into his mouth, really. No need to respect something so sloppily made, after all.

But then he tastes it. He doesn’t mean to – despite all those twelve course meals he’s had over the course of his life, Vegeta has also had his share of complete shit over the years and knows how to vacuum food when he needs to. But he chews, just a little, to help it go down easier. And it’s good. It’s really good. So good that he forgets just about everything that has ever made him angry. Earth? Fuck it. Frieza? Fuck him. Kakarot? Who the fuck’s he again? God, this sandwich is fantastic! Vegeta doesn’t know any of Earth’s animals, but he knows meat and now understands that Earth hosts some pretty tasty shit. Oh, and the human can cook. Isn’t that nice? Vegeta never thought he would find Krillin useful in any regard, but Vegeta’s found he can’t predict things accurately these days, so here we are.

Suddenly, shooting Krillin through the head seems like a lot more trouble than it’s worth.

As Vegeta downs his sandwich like a crazed animal, Krillin rushes to put his own sandwich together and get the hell out of the kitchen. It’s not necessarily because Vegeta showed up (though that is good enough reason); it’s just that Krillin’s had a strange, strange week since Goku crash-landed back on Earth and made a promise to himself that he would not allow it to get more out of hand.

But Vegeta has other plans. Mostly involving getting another sandwich.

So he snatches Krillin’s as he tries to pass. Vegeta’s owed the universe, but he accepts the sandwich. It’s a start.

Krillin meanwhile stares down at his plate as though his food spontaneously consumed itself while he hadn’t been looking. Goku had a tendency to ask for the first few of Krillin’s sandwiches whenever Krillin made them, but the point is he asked; Vegeta took this one like it was his birthright.

“Uh,” Krillin says.

“Another one,” Vegeta replies between bites.

Okay then.

Krillin drags himself back to the counter and proceeds to assemble a third sandwich to the rhythm of an upset stomach. He makes it and then another; and after pushing Vegeta’s across the table, he decides he might as well just sit down as leaving might prompt another theft and there isn’t exactly enough ingredients to make any more repeat orders. He finds himself thinking about licking his to claim it, but Vegeta probably wouldn’t understand what he was trying to do and Krillin hasn’t been a that much of a child in quite a while. He instead takes a tiny bite and, when Vegeta seems satisfied with or at least inattentive to Krillin’s action, settles a bit more contently in his chair.

Meanwhile, Vegeta’s just as enthralled with his current sandwich as he was with the other two prior. Okay, so there’s a light meat and a really good crunchy meat as well as what he thinks is cheese and a bunch of vegetables he doesn’t know the names of but plans on demanding answers about so he can force the missing cook to make him so many more. Or, he thinks, he could just forget about the cook and force this idiot to do it.

His sandwich is soon gone though, and as the last bite slides down Vegeta’s throat, his mood goes with it. What was he doing before this? Killing Krillin? He’s there, sitting across from him, having only ate a very small portion of his sandwich and avoiding any and all eye contact. No, no, that’d been (temporarily) axed. Training to defeat Kakarot and restore sanity to the universe? Yeah, that sounds right.

Vegeta shoots up, startling Krillin as Vegeta can never do anything casually. “Have more in two hours,” he says.

“Uh–”

Vegeta leaves.

“Okay then?”

It’s two hours later, and the ache in Vegeta’s muscles allow him to let down his guard enough to admit to himself that he’s pleasantly surprised when he finds Krillin in the kitchen with six sandwiches already made. He’s at the counter preparing a seventh, but the way the others are presented and pushed towards Vegeta’s seat from before, it’s most likely for Krillin himself. He’s still standing on a stool to grab things for some reason, which annoys Vegeta greatly, but the moment Vegeta sits down and takes his first bite, nothing annoys him anymore. Krillin could become a stool for all he cares.

Krillin finishes making his sandwich and decides he might as well join Vegeta again. After all, he didn’t chop off Krillin’s head last time and partaking of food with the Saiyan Prince twice in one day seems to be the perfect punch line to his day, so if doing so will make today into a joke, Krillin’s willing to risk it. He takes a bite and soon the two are in this strange, somewhat awkward silence they had two hours ago, except it’s much longer because there’s six sandwiches to go through instead of three.

Until Vegeta, between his third and fourth sandwich, asks, “You live here or what?”

“What?” Krillin asks. “Oh, uh, yeah.” He’s startled and honestly surprised he’s having to answer anything. “Temporarily, anyway.”

He waits, sandwich in hand, for some kind of reply, but soon it’s apparent that Vegeta might as well have never asked the question at all. That’s because Vegeta’s all about the sandwiches again, so for a moment, Krillin thinks he might’ve imagined it. The silence is completely awkward now, though, and Krillin feels an intense need to fill it. “I, uh, actually live on an island usually,” he tells Vegeta. “With Goku and my martial arts teacher and a, uh, you know, turtle. Um, a turtle is an animal that has a shell and, uh, flippers and yeah. Oh, and a pig. You’re actually eating pig, um.”

Vegeta looks down at his fourth sandwich and with some interest says, “Pig,” before continuing to eat it.

Krillin finds himself more amused by the response than he should be. “Hah, yeah.” He settles a bit more in his seat. “Well, anyway, the pump that, you know, brings fresh water to the house? It broke the other night, so it’s gonna take some time to fix it. I’m staying here and all the people I mentioned, they’re,” (he becomes noticeably quieter, “all staying at Goku’s.”

He’s expecting the natural ‘Why aren’t you?’ to come and having to deal with that shit, but when Vegeta makes no move to reply, Krillin learns that he might like Vegeta much more than he thought.

Vegeta’s finishes pretty soon afterwards and shoves the plate back to Krillin, who’s barely touched his sandwich at all. He gets up to leave because god he needs a show, and on his way out of the kitchen says, “Seven tomorrow.”

Before Krillin can protest, he’s gone.

Okay then.

Chapter Text

THE PUNCHLINE

It’s 7:15, and Vegeta’s having the best morning he’s had since the day he learned the Dragon Balls were a thing.  Even his morning regiment went better than usual, which admittedly isn’t that hard to accomplish seeing that it mainly consists of him punching equipment because he woke up not being Super Saiyan again, but still.  Oh, equipment was still punched (a lot), but this time he had something tangible to look forward to, which honestly is a welcomed change of pace. While chewing through his second sandwich, Vegeta wonders if he shouldn’t be more bothered by the truth of that statement, but after another bite, he delegates the thought to the back of his mind to be discussed later tonight once he’s in bed and can barely move.  Meanwhile, he’s going to enjoy these sandwiches for all they’re worth and once again visit the topic of what should be done with the human currently sitting across from him.

He still has no desire to kill Krillin (not yet, anyway), but Vegeta is unsure of how “make me sandwiches whenever I demand it” has translated to “join me while I’m eating them.”  Vegeta doesn’t want to go as far as to say he’s annoyed as that would be giving Krillin way more significance than he deserves, but it is a development that Vegeta can’t help but take notice of.  It’s less the fact that Krillin is in the same room, or that he’s eating the same thing at the same time even; it’s that he looks up every once and awhile as though he’s expecting something.  He’s even sitting here now, in a Hawaiian shirt he must’ve found at the bottom of a bargain bin at a gas station, staring at Vegeta as though Vegeta’s the one that’s bald and short and has no nose.  Vegeta makes eye contact only so Krillin will jump slightly for the third time this morning and go back to acting as though his half of a half of a sandwich is the most interesting thing in the room.  God, Vegeta thinks, he eats like a woman.

Three sandwiches of six down the hatch, and Krillin finally speaks up.  “Do you wanna, uh, maybe wrap your hands or… something?”

Vegeta looks down to find that his knuckles are bleeding.  They’ve been doing that a lot recently, mostly because of that whole equipment bashing bit I’ve been telling you about, specifically the gravity generator when it tells him that 300x Earth’s normal gravity is probably not a great idea. He once spent an hour trying to find the mute button, but of course it doesn’t have one when the woman who built it can barely mute herself.  He could ask her to install one, but he’s pretty sure that conversation would end with his fists in her face instead of the machine’s, and while a deep part of Vegeta wishes he was that vile, a deeper part of him knows you don’t punch your hostess, even if she does dress you in pink shirts and tells you that you smell whenever she sees you.

He grunts in reply and continues eating.

“Right,” Krillin says.  He puts down his tiny piece of sandwich as though it’s much too big to finish and takes a sip of his orange juice.  After a moment, Krillin asks, “So what exactly do you do in there?”

Well, after nearly murdering the gravity generator, Vegeta then finds that 300x Earth’s gravity is in fact not a great idea, but his pride won’t let him admit it, so he tries to train anyway.  He’s usually on his third push up when he realizes that the pressure is actually going to kill him, so he finds himself crawling back to the generator to adjust it to a more acceptable level while his bones are being crushed and his soul feels like its leaving his body.  Once he manages that, he proceeds to lie on the floor for a good five to ten minutes while screaming at the world at the top of his lungs. Then he remembers that this planet doesn’t acknowledge his complaints – otherwise it would’ve blown itself up by now – so he destroys everything he possibly can in the chamber without having to talk to Bulma afterwards. Then he gets hungry.

Vegeta sums it up as, “I train.”

“Well, yes,” Krillin replies as though he’s expecting a better answer.

Vegeta doesn’t have a better one to give.  He does, however, have a mouth that is very happy to eat another sandwich.

“Okay then.” Krillin folds his hands gently on the table and worries his fingers for a second, as though their movement will give him something to say.  

Vegeta’s tries to forget that Krillin’s there again, but that’s around the time Krillin’s eyes narrow and he’s looking almost angry. Suddenly, Krillin hits his hands against the table hard enough to make the plate of sandwiches jump and causes the last two to perform some impressive acrobatics for being sandwiches. “No, it’s not okay,” he says with some determination, though almost immediately afterwards he seems more surprised by the sandwiches’ sudden circus career than his resolution about anything. Vegeta meanwhile was about to take another bite out of his current sandwich and is now sitting there like an idiot with his mouth wide open and the non-acrobatic sandwich perched a bit too close to his lips not to be consumed.

Krillin gathers himself.  “I’ve decided re-recently that I’m going to be more. Assertive.”

Vegeta’s about to close his mouth to say something, but Krillin says rather curtly, “I know you don’t care.”

Oh, okay then.

“Apparently,” Krillin says, “dying twice is… interesting and reveals… information about people and things and yourself that you’d, well, not expect not to have to confront after you’ve died twice, but here I am, and really I should’ve seen much of it coming but–” Krillin shakes his head, as though getting out of a trace, and proceeds to give Vegeta more eye contact than Vegeta is comfortable with. “–the point is, I’ve had a very, very strange week, Vegeta, and if I’m going to escape anything about it unscathed then I’m at least going to have to be in control of something, and – as crazy as it sounds – right now the closest thing to control I’m going to get is with you because – and I know this is hard to believe – making you sandwiches is the least crazy thing about my life right now, and really that’s the punchline, so–”  Krillin once again looks like he is expecting something from Vegeta.

“And?”  he asks, sandwich still dangling there by his mouth.

Krillin flinches as though he had been expecting to be punched instead of verbally berated and thus had acted accordingly.  Vegeta had expected a punch too, but he’s way too confused about the turn in events that he’s forgotten about violence, which is usually how he solves all of his problems. It must be the sandwiches. Oh god. Vegeta tosses the one in his hand back on the plate as though it was the thing that was eating him.

“If I’m…” Krillin takes a deep breath as though he’s recovering his confidence and says, “If I’m going to be making you sandwiches, then I’d like something from you in return.”

The silence that enters the room is stunning.  

Vegeta starts laughing. He can’t help it. Krillin meanwhile flinches again like Vegeta should’ve punched him again. That makes Vegeta laugh harder. He’s the punchline? Vegeta’s the punch line? This guy’s the fucking punchline! What, being humiliated by a third-rate-Saiyan-human-monstrosity-giggling-machine and having vengeance taken away from him once only to end up on this armpit of a planet again to gain at least a little honor back wasn’t punchline enough?  Oh no!  Now this – this guy – wants something from him for making him sandwiches ? This is it, Vegeta thinks. This planet has officially made me go insane.  I have to kill everyone. It’s the only way.

Instead he keeps laughing.

“Who are you?” Vegeta finally asks, once he’s out of surprise and ready to teach the asshole across from him a lesson.

“I’m Krillin. Son Krillin. I think.” Krillin pauses, as though he suddenly realizes what Vegeta’s trying to say, and responds with much more concern, “I don’t know.  Someone stupid enough to demand something out of you, apparently.”

Vegeta puts his arm on the table and leans forward.  “You’re demanding?”

Krillin weighs his options. “… Yes?” he decides.

There’s a pregnant pause – long enough that Krillin thinking about flinching again since it might’ve saved him the last two times – but Vegeta just ends up laughing again, this time with his head buried in his arm.  This gives Krillin enough time to compose himself and say with some confidence, “I’m serious.”

Vegeta sits back up and, with one look at Krillin’s face, decides, Why not, let’s play. My whole life’s crazy anyway.  “What do you want from me?” he asks with some humor.

“I–”

“–I’m not training with–”

“–Oh god, no.”

Vegeta stares.

“I mean. I don’t want.” Krillin once again gathers himself. “Your hands look scary, and I’d rather not interfere. With that.”  He nods.

“Then what?”

“I…” He looks like he knows what he wants to say for a moment, but then it looks like he abandoned the thought and starts to laugh dejectedly. “You know, I haven’t the slightest–” Just before Vegeta has the chance to explode, Krillin stops and, with some interest, says, “Wait, because of recent – I’m interested in – you’re Saiyan, right?”

Vegeta’s never heard a stupider question in his life.

Before he can say that, Krillin says, “That was rhetorical.”

“Re-tor-a- what?”

Krillin ignores him.  “I’d like to know more about Saiyans.  About you, I guess.”

Okay, just kidding. This apparently is the fucking punchline.

“So I make sandwiches, you answer questions? Sound… good, maybe?”

Vegeta, dumbstruck as he is, decides to allow his body to do whatever it sees fit.  Apparently it decides that retreat is the best option because before he knows it, he’s out the door.

Krillin’s left in the kitchen alone.  He’s reeling from what just happened too, but after a moment, he manages to call out, “Was that a yes?”

Vegeta returns to the kitchen only to grab the two remaining sandwiches.

"… Was that a yes?  Hello?”

And thus begins the weirdest series of meals the two will ever have.

Chapter Text

ALL SORTS OF PROBLEMS

It’s only when Vegeta enters the kitchen again after hours of sweating and swearing does he realize the following two things: 1) yes, he did, in fact, have that really, really strange conversation with Krillin this morning; and 2) he had also apparently agreed to the demands made in that conversation the moment he had taken the sandwiches and fled instead of killing the guy outright like a respectable fucking Saiyan. He knows this because there are currently seven sandwiches on the table and Krillin is sitting across from them. Vegeta should be angrier about this except for these two things: 1) sweating and swearing takes a lot out of a person, even a respectable fucking Saiyan; and 2) he could really go for a sandwich right now.  And a third reason (sitting quietly in the back of Vegeta’s mind) is that – just as a respectable fucking Saiyan should’ve killed Krillin at the mere suggestion of compensation for making Vegeta sandwiches – a respectable fucking Saiyan also keeps his word, even if he accidentally gave it. By fleeing. Like a coward.

Could he really make any more mistakes on this planet? The answer has to be no. Sure, when he woke up this morning, he thought he had already hit rock bottom: prince of a dead race and one living idiot who couldn’t even avenge said dead race because of said living idiot, and is now living on this hunk of junk with a blue-haired know-it-all and apparently this asshole. Hell, he should’ve seen this going downhill the moment he caught his father being footstool for a cat . That cat is the God of Destruction, but Jesus.  Where is that guy when you need him anyway? ‘Oh yeah, destroy this planet right here, would ya? Need to make way for an intergalactic highway or something shit.’ But no. While Vegeta had in fact hit rock bottom well before this, it is in the moment he is handed a shovel and told to keep digging. And dammit, his fucking respectable Saiyan pride makes him.

It is because of all of this that, with a huff fitting of his statue, Vegeta walks over to the table, roughly pulls out his chair, sits in it, but makes no move to eat the sandwiches. Instead, he waits a second for Krillin, and when the dolt doesn’t speak, he speaks for him:

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Get it over with. Now.”

Krillin’s sitting there in the same stupid Hawaiian shirt he had on this morning and looks just as confused about the arrangement as Vegeta. “You know you can eat during… it,” he finally replies. To be honest, he hadn’t expected Vegeta to come.To be honest, he thought he’d right now be dead.  

“I can’t until you…!” Is Vegeta actually explaining to Krillin how this is supposed to work? This was Krillin’s stupid idea! “You said it was a trade,” Vegeta tells him. “Me answering a stupid question for your stupid sandwiches. First the question, then the sandwiches.”

“It doesn’t really need to be that formal,” Krillin replies. “That’s just… awkward.”

Vegeta’s not having it.  “What do you want to know anyway? My favorite color?”

“… You have a favorite color?”

“No!”

“Then I don’t know. Maybe–”

“ You don’t know? ” Vegeta screams. He knows he really shouldn’t have had such high expectations, especially since less than two minutes ago he had walked in here thinking he had made the whole thing up; but the revelation that, after all these hours, Krillin has yet to come up with one decent question leaves him wanting to jump across the table and strangle the cueball until his head pops off. It’d be so easy; after all, Earthlings are so easy to kill that they really should just bleed confetti. The thought of that calms Vegeta down a bit, though only slightly since he’s now imaging Krillin’s neck spouting sprinkles for some reason, and Vegeta hates sprinkles.

“How?” he finally asks, unable to find words for just how freaking rock bottom of this is. “How do… humans like you even speak, I mean–”

“Wait, how do you understand me anyway?”

The question comes out of left field, but it’s simple and comfortable and wait, he doesn’t know so Vegeta answers before he can stop himself, “A chip in the brain.” Obviously.  

“Excuse me, what?”

Okay, so there were a few things Vegeta understood when he first decided to eat his own dignity to live on this possum carcass of a planet, and its embarrassing lack of technology was certainly one of them, but really? Due to his species being pretty much annihilated by a blast of energy Frieza affectionately called a meteorite to the general masses and Vegeta’s fucking face, Vegeta was shipped off early into the cosmos and as such as developed a surprising ability to appropriate to cultures quickly and effectively without too much personal loss; however, he know finds that he has actually become accustomed to the one culture he’s always loathed: Frieza’s. Even when prepping a backwater planet light years away from home fleet, Vegeta always had ties back to that which he understood (even if he did want to squeeze that understanding’s face until his eyes popped out). Now this understanding’s gone (thank god), but he’s left Vegeta entirely alone on a planet where their elite don’t even implant their soldiers with language chips meant to streamline imperial expansion. What do these people do? Learn other languages?  The culture shock hits him in his gut, and the only thing he can think to do to get it to go away is to grab a sandwich.  And then another. And then another.

While Vegeta’s having his… moment, Krillin is stumped on how to proceed. He decides it’s best to just state exactly what he’s thinking. “That gotta be the most deus ex machina thing I’ve ever heard of in my life.”

The phrasing and the delicious taste of sandwich in his mouth is enough to get Vegeta to reply with, “What? God from the machine?”

Krillin sits back in his seat with some surprise. “What?” he echoes. He furrows his brow for a moment then looks back at Vegeta confused. “ Deus ex machina MEANS ‘god from the machine’, I didn’t actually say ‘god from the machine.’”

Even the sandwich isn’t helping with the annoyance that’s starting to boil in Vegeta’s stomach. “Would you stop repeating yourself and tell me what it means so I can eat my damn sandwiches in peace?”

Krillin immediately starts babbling. “It’s-uh, it’s a, uh, literary device used to, you know, solve a seemingly unsolvable conflict within a narrative? I mean, the translation of it means–” He stops himself, and after a moment spent in deep contemplation, he looks at Vegeta with an astronomical amount of disbelief and what seems to be, if Vegeta tilted his head to one side and actually paid attention, annoyance. “Is your chip seriously translating Latin?”

“The hell is Latin?”

“An ancient language nobody actually speaks anymore.”

Another weird pang in Vegeta’s stomach makes him take an even larger bite of his sandwich than what is apparently starting to become normal.  “Your planet has more than one language?” he gets out. 

“Doesn’t all civilized planets?”

"No! They get taken over like any respectable planet and then they speak just one.”

Krillin lifts an eyebrow.  “Yeah,” he says, “that’s not how Earth works.”

Oh god. Just where did Vegeta chain himself to? If Earth is considered backwater, it’s obviously the water from a puddle in the alleyway, not the grimy faucet in the storage room like all the other backwater places Vegeta’s been. The revelation makes him chew slowly, hoping that somehow giving the sandwich more respect will somehow make it erase his problems just as thoroughly as before.

Krillin’s not privy to any of these thoughts though, so he’s been talking the whole time, and apparently what he’s been saying is this: “Okay, well, at least it can’t do everything. I guess if it has to, it can exist within my reality. I mean, I suppose it’s more logical than weird space people somehow just knowing how to communicate in our language. At least it’s an explanation.”

Apparently chewing slower has in fact reminded Vegeta of just how good these sandwiches are (and how the subsequent conversation has overall been worth it), but it’s also making Krillin louder, which is the exact opposite of why he was trying to eat slower in the first place. He finishes his sandwich and takes off a half of the next.

Krillin meanwhile is still in his own little world. “What am I talking about?” he asks himself. “If fits perfectly within my reality. I mean, my reality already has magical beans that’ll heal most wounds upon consummation that are grown in a sky temple by a talking cat and a caveman name Yajirobe; and above them’s the god of our planet who can apparently grow or make or… somehow put out seven orange balls that apparently summon a giant, eternal dragon once an Earth year that’ll grant just about any wish you want, which really has just led to all sorts of problems and–”

“I need more sandwiches,” Vegeta blurts out.

“More? I made you seven.”

“ I need more! ”

“Okay, okay. Just – hang on.”  Krillin puts down his own sandwich, which he’s only taken two mice-sized bites out of mind you, and drags himself to the fridge to fetch the ingredients he had just spent time organizing very neatly within.

While he’s doing that, Vegeta’s trying to figure out what the hell he’s going to do. Again. Usually when he decides whether or not he’s going to kill someone, it sticks. At least for more than 24 hours, anyway, and the decisions he does change usually involves someone who’s a lot more… well, someone who’s just a lot more , alright? What is this idiot even doing here anyway? Didn’t he mention something about staying with Kakarot? Why the hell is he not doing that? Vegeta almost opens his mouth to ask, but that would mean the two were having a mutual conversation, and Vegeta does not have mutual conversations. He has series of instances where he talks at people, not with them. Because that’s what royalty does – royalty talks at people. Especially the help. All of humanity, really, should be his help, and it’s about time they realized that.

No, Vegeta thinks, what until you’re Super Saiyan. Then you can kill someone by shoving tons of food in their mouth and it actually make sense.

Krillin finally makes his way back to the table with three more sandwiches stacked nicely on a new plate. He places it in front of Vegeta, takes the other one back to the sink, and doesn’t even bother to wash it. Instead, he comes back, grabs his own plate, and says, “I’ve decided in the last 24 hours that I’m, uh, only going to let my life become more bizarre in self-imposed increments, so I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Before Vegeta can reply, Krillin says, “I’ll make sure there’s sandwiches out for dinner.”

Could this human possibly make less sense?  

“And, uh, thanks.”

Krillin’s gone before Vegeta can even register what happened, but what does he care? He’s got sandwiches to eat.

Chapter Text

CONTENT

Turns out Krillin was serious about only allow so much nonsense into his life at one time, so when Vegeta enters the kitchen for dinner, he spends it only with the eight sandwiches he found meticulously bundled in saran wrap. If Vegeta had ever done any sort of domestic chore (which he hasn’t) or ever even seen saran wrap before (which he also hasn’t), he would’ve had some idea of just how difficult this feat was however, he still would’ve had exactly zero appreciation for it and angrily torn at it anyway. This is the first time since his chance encounter with Krillin yesterday that he’s been able to enjoy these sandwiches in peace, and he does so gladly.

Despite his overall disposition, Vegeta is not entirely used to being alone. When he was at an age where his memories could in fact be just fabrications, he remembers guards outside his door and an elderly woman, uncommon in the castle, watching over him in quiet contemplation while he laid in a crib strong enough to withstand little Saiyan hands. And when he was five and had some independence while walking the halls of the castle he’d never truly learn, he remembers that… something trailed him, their steps in unison, but when he would turn around all he’d see was a flutter of a gown and pearly white teeth, grinning – something no one else seemed to see and something Vegeta learned very quickly he should probably never mention. Later, when he had been ‘voluntarily submitted’ to Frieza’s warship to be ‘trained in alternative combat techniques,’ he had Nappa ever present by his side saying things like, ‘Don’t worry, Your Grace, just a few more weeks, just a few more weeks, just a few more weeks.’ When those ‘few more weeks’ turned into ‘oh sorry, your birthright got conveniently destroyed by a meteorite,’ Vegeta found himself in the constant presence of either his men, Frieza, Frieza’s henchmen, or a lot of people he was allowed to take his anger out on. The only stretches of time in which he was truly alone generally fell into these three categories: 1) Going to or returning from a job – a journey he spent 95% of his time in a cold sleep and the other 5% complaining about recent events to anyone on the intercom who would listen; 2) training, where he’d usually imagine certain individuals were present so he could pretend to beat the everliving shit out of them and later become so encumbered due to lack of water and common sense that he might as well have been beating said shit out of himself; and 3) in bed, where a chorus of disembodied voices gather in his head, come to the consensus that they hate him, and proceed to act on it.

While Vegeta has always technically been alone for the last two, those demons have always kept him company, and as his father said only days before Vegeta never stepped foot on his planet again, a warrior’s demons are more real than his opponents, and a warrior only becomes stronger when he can fight his demons as though they are men. (Vegeta mostly only has shouting matches with his at the moment, though, so he’s not sure where that puts him).

The difference between those times and now, sitting here in silence munching on the single most ingenious food Vegeta’s ever tasted, is that his demons are strangely absent. They aren’t ones to take breaks or holidays or even breaths really, so it’s a new sensation in itself. During this time of utter bliss, Vegeta thinks of… well, pig. That’s what the idiot called it, right? Pig? And he said he lived with one? To what, eat it someday? … Earthlings sure are strange.

Instead of going through an inner tirade about just how strange they are, though, Vegeta lets the thought trail off with something almost like a dreamy sigh. He’s not sure if he’s ever actually allowed a thought to trail off before. They usually get lodged like fat in an already clogged artery, and no amount of lifestyle changes gets rid of them entirely.  No, this thought just kinda waddles on through, and Vegeta is more than content to let it go. That’s how Vegeta would describe himself right now, actually, if he had to use a word: content.

Vegeta has this thought just as he’s swallowing the last glorious bite of his last glorious sandwich, and the first thing the demons mention is, When have you ever been content, Vegeta? If Vegeta had another sandwich waiting for him, he possibly could’ve let this thought trail off too; but he doesn’t, so he thinks about it, and he thinks about it hard. Never, he concludes. I’ve never been content before in my life. Then how could a sandwich possibly make you think that way? the demons ask. Vegeta thinks hard about this too. Earthlings sure are strange, they remind him. Oh yeah, he replies, like it’s obvious.

It takes him a moment, but then he realizes, That damn mouth breather must’ve put something in them to pacify me because I want to kill his best friend! And this planet! And everything he loves!

The demons don’t reply. They usually don’t when they think he’s right.

Dammit, Vegeta thinks as he stands up and slams his chair so hard into the table that he manages to flip the entire thing but somehow not break any of it, This is what I get for trying to be tolerant of anything. I gotta kill that fucking monk.

It takes some time, some yelling, and some general clanging about for Vegeta to finally find him, but when he does, he’s kinda lost all steam. Okay, he knows the human is insignificant enough that Vegeta shouldn’t even be aware of his presence in the universe, but shouldn’t Vegeta be able to, I dunno, sense him a little? Trees are nice and all if you’re canon fodder, but this is getting ridiculous. Even around the time Vegeta had somehow started to be able to sense ki without a radar, the monk had always had some kind of discernible presence. The search for him almost took a turn towards the eerie because there was a moment where Vegeta had wondered if Krillin had just disappeared in the night, and the feeling associated with it was negative, though he’s not entirely sure why.

He ends up finding him in a place Vegeta had been unaware existed. He hasn’t exactly bothered with a tour of the Briefs’ outwardly manageable but internally nightmarish compound, but even if he had, he has the feeling this is a place no one would’ve bothered to show him. It’s a section of the roof that for all intents and purposes should’ve been circular or at least round in some respect, but instead it looks like… well, not a shape at all, really. It’s almost as though someone destroyed it and thought, Screw it. Let’s jsut put… something there.

That’s kinda how Krillin looks too – like someone had just haphazardly dropped him off there like litter and no one had cared enough to pick him up. Vegeta shakes his head though, and on second glance, he looks more like… well, not a gargoyle since Vegeta has no idea what the hell those are, but some sort of statue that should’ve crumbled by now. Third glance, and maybe – just maybe – he looks… content, and that word’s enough to rile Vegeta back up again.

He takes one step, then two steps, points his finger like he should’ve done yesterday to blow this guy’s brains out, and ends up… tapping his shoulder instead? Not even the demons are quite sure how to respond, and the only thing Vegeta can come up with is, At least I tapped him very harshly.

Krillin’s at least someone jostled by the action, which interrupted his honestly not terribly productive meditation session during which he was most certainly not content. He sees the look of complete shock on Vegeta’s face and decides it’d be cruel not to humor him a bit. “Ow?” he asks.

Vegeta’s unable to answer.

“Um,” Krillin tries again. “Did-did you need something?”

Of all the questions and accusations stampeding through Vegeta’s mind at the moment, his mouth picks, “What is a pig?”

Vegeta’s somehow more surprised by the question than Krillin is. Krillin looks to the ground for a moment just to make sure he’s not still somehow meditating and got way, way off track; but he's not, so he looks back up and says, “It’s-it’s an animal? With a snout?” When Vegeta doesn’t reply, Krillin continues with, “I think I, uh, mentioned that yesterday? You know, living with one?”

“Show me!”

“... What?”

Vegeta hoists Krillin up by the scruff of his oversized corduroy jacket and shoves him to his feet. “As the Prince of All Saiyans, I demand to see a pig!”

Krillin’s so confused by the request that he forgets to be, well, scared. “... That,” Krillin says more to himself than Vegeta, “might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“When a prince,” Vegeta says as though Krillin is a single cell organism that cannot even comprehend its own existence, “asks a… you , you listen to him. This- this is how the universe is supposed to work, do you understand me? Now show me a pig!”

“So that’s it? That’s a pig?”

“Yep.”

The two are standing in the Brief’s inner gardens with only Krillin’s cellphone’s flashlight to guide them.  It’s late enough now that not even the moon shining through the glass ceiling is much help, and the two became sidetrack several times by Krillin having to explain that dinosaurs and pigs are two entirely different kinds of animals and that he’s not sure why the Briefs would decide to house them together. But after making what Vegeta thought to be an incredibly accurate beeline through the brush, they stumbled upon a fattened pig sleeping halfway under a bush. Needless to say, Vegeta’s not impressed.

“It’s disgusting,” he says.

“Yep,” Krillin replies.

Vegeta tilts his head slightly to the right. “... Almost looks like Dodoria."

“Yep,” Krillin says again. “Except, you know, Dodoria was a lot uglier.”

“Yeah.”

The two stare down at the pig in quiet contemplation, Krillin’s cellphone’s light basking it in an unflattering glow. Vegeta asks, after a moment, “And these can’t mind control people?”

Krillin looks up at him. “What? No!” He looks back at the sleeping pile of lard. “I mean… I guess they did make people think that bacon milkshakes were a viable menu option there for a while,” (he looks back at Vegeta), “but other than that…”

The two stare for a little bit longer. “Did your planet have anything like this?” Krillin asks.

Vegeta looks down at Krillin, who’s still looking at the pig with some curiosity, and realizes that he should’ve just yelled at the demons like usual instead of actually acting on their hunch. It’s not that Krillin’s somehow managed to become slightly more interesting than anything else in this whole goddamn house – of course not! To suggest that would be… well, not how the universe is supposed to work. The reason is that even though Vegeta accidentally contracted himself to this arrangement thanks to his stupid honor, Krillin has only managed to ask ‘how do you talk’ and ‘does your planet have pigs’ over the last two meals. These are stupid questions which aren’t worth Vegeta’s breath, but do seem to be worth Krillin’s sandwiches. I’ve been looking at this all wrong, Vegeta tells the demons. The satisfaction of eating these sandwiches don’t distract me from my destiny; they show me how sweet my destiny will taste once it’s fulfilled. And those sandwiches are fucking ridiculous, Vegeta explains in not those exact words, but that’s basically the summary of his long-winded monologue about them.

The demons back off. After all, they love to see him suffer.

“We had,” Vegeta says slowly, refocusing on the pig, “common meat.”

“Common meat?” Krillin asks.

“If you heard, don’t repeat after me like you haven’t!” Vegeta huffs. “Yes, we had an animal called common meat. Like this is called pig, ours is called common meat.”

“... Yeah, pretty sure your chip’s doing that translating thing again.” A brief pause. “Whaddit look like?”

“... Uglier than Dodoria, that’s for sure.”

Krillin tsks. “Tough life.”

Vegeta shakes his head. “They helped sustain the lives of the most noble and strongest race to ever exist. They were weak, but their weakness was the backbone of our early society. We were…” Vegeta tries to find the right word, but it’s Saiyanish, so he says whatever the translator wants it to be: “Thankful for them even though they only existed to be eaten.”

“... I’m guessing no ‘common meat’ exists anymore?”

“No.”

Krillin turns around and points his flashlight towards the exit. “Too bad,” he says. “I woulda liked to taste it.” He thinks about that for a moment. “Er, maybe.”

Vegeta takes one last look at the pig sleeping under the bush, and after a moment, decides that it can live until it is meant to be eaten. He turns around and starts following Krillin out of the brush. “No,” he says, “you wouldn’t. They tasted terrible.”

Chapter Text

THE LAST MAN’S MEAL

“So,” Krillin says the next morning, wearing probably the stupidest bowtie the world has ever seen, "what exactly did people eat on your planet?"

It’s early – much too early for sandwiches of any sort to be honest – but Vegeta’s sitting at the table about to take his first bite of his first sandwich and yada yada yada. Surely he’s on another internal tirade about how Earth makes no fucking sense, or about how much he fucking hates Kakarot, or how the monk keeps getting weirder and weirder, or how good these sandwiches taste and how odd all that is; but Vegeta has had these thoughts so often in the last few days that they’re all quickly muddling themselves and becoming a discombobulated mess.

A few years ago, while Vegeta had been pressing his thumbs through the guy’s eye sockets for God’s sake, an oracle had suggested that Vegeta’s problem is that he fights venomously against everything the universe throws at him rather than treating it with the patience it deserves. Back then, Vegeta had figured this was the universe’s poor attempt to save itself from his wrath, so he not only did he kill a supposedly immortal oracle, but also managed to destroy the guy’s planet and everyone living on it twice over for good measure. (How that was even possible, of course, is a story for another time).  

Now thinking about it though, perhaps the guy had been right. Not in that Vegeta is an impatient little man more obsessed with what he thinks he should be rather than what he is and thus expects all those around him to intrinsically adhere to that or be destroyed.  Of course not.  

No, Vegeta thinks what the guy actually meant was that, by fighting everything in his way the moment the opportunity presents itself, Vegeta had never actually been able to savor the victory.  Either he won and immediately jumped into his next battle or lost and got so shitty about it that he immediately tried, tried again until he accomplished the former. This is the way Vegeta has lived most of his life, and up until recently, he had planned to keep it that way until there was nothing left to fight.  But then Earth, Namek, and Earth again happened, and well… he’s ready for a different approach. It will result in a lot of violence, sure – more violence honestly if he gets his way – but this time he’s gonna work up to it.  You know, like a hunter tracks his prey by the small traces of blood it leaves as it stumbles through the forest before finally finding a meadow to die in.  Except with sandwiches. And a surprising lack of blood. And apparently this idiot sitting across from him. Maybe metal people?  Vegeta wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually wait that long yet, but hey, the longer the sweeter, right?

So pretty much Vegeta decides to suck it up for once and, without a whole lot of hoopla, answer Krillin’s question. “As I said: common meat.”

“Well yeah,” Krillin replies, “but that’s not all you guys ate, right? I mean…” His inquisitive look quickly gives away to a skeptical one. “Wait… ‘common meat’ isn’t your term for, uh… Soylent Green, right?”  

“Soylent what? ”

“Green. It’s not a real thing or anything, but it was foodstuff featured in some sci fi film a couple decades back.  Pretty much everyone in the world lived off this stuff called Soylent Green, right, but what nobody knows is that it’s, well…” He clears his throat. “People.”

“People?”

“Yeah. Like, you know… human beings. It was cannibalism.”

Vegeta contemplates this by taking another bite of his sandwich. The only thing this tells Krillin is that, no matter the answer, Vegeta doesn’t seem all that concerned about the accusation.

So Krillin tries to connect the dots for him. “So what I’m asking is… is common meat like Soylent Green?”

“What? No!”

Krillin lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank–”

“The only time a Saiyan ate another Saiyan was for the Last Man’s Meal.”

Krillin nearly drops his sandwich. “ Excuse me? ”

It is at this moment when Vegeta realizes somewhere in the back of his head that he might be in for a deeper conversation than he bargained for, but Krillin had made a staggering amount of sandwiches this morning and was in fact trying to eat a whole one himself (which strangely wasn’t going well); and Vegeta, due to said staggering amount of sandwiches, was once again not thinking straight. So he went for it.

“It’s not that green stuff,” he says. “It’s rare.” He furrows his brow for a moment, trying to find the right word. “Sacred,” he finally replies. “Not many had to do it.”

Krillin has at this point set down his sandwich entirely. He probably won’t be picking it up again. So much for the whole sandwich. “So... what?” he says. “Was it like a ritual or…?”

“No, you idiot.” Vegeta has enough sandwiches in front of him that the words don’t come with much of a bite. Well, coming from him anyway. “We did not have big rituals that involved the eating of other Saiyans. That’s idiotic! What, that common here?”

The blush on Krillin’s face is so prominent it hides his yuanfen. “Well, I guess it used to be… kinda.”

Vegeta scoffs but, after taking another bite of his sandwich, continues. “The Last Man’s Meal,” he says, “is when the strongest warrior in a stranded troop prepares and eats the body of the second strongest.”

Krillin has now pushed his plate away entirely. “What... like the Donner Party…?”

When Vegeta made no move to ask what in the world that is, Krillin takes it upon himself to explain it anyway. “It’s the name of a group of pioneers who started eating one another to survive the winter in the mountains. The surviving members would eat those who died from sickness or starvation beforehand.”

“Nothing as dishonorable as that,” Vegeta says. He finishes his sandwich, grabs another one, and bites into it before continuing. If he actually cared, he would’ve been amazed that Krillin waited patiently for him. “It mostly happens when warriors were thought to be dead after a battle and left behind. They’d form a troop and attempt to make it back to base.”

“But Saiyan warriors are taught to fly, right? Wouldn’t that be fairly simple? Getting back to base?”

Vegeta takes a bite of his sandwich. “Not when base is on a different planet.”

Krillin’s face sinks. “Oh.”

“The Saiyan race labored for generations under King Cold’s rule. Most battles were fought to clear planets of life in order to be appropriated or sold, so the warriors were left with nothing. Most had to wait for ships to return, if they did at all. Most didn’t.”

“I… I see.”

“The weak would die off from sickness or starvation or what-have-you until it was only the strongest two warriors left. They’d fight, and whoever bit off a chunk of the other first would be permitted to eat him.”

Krillin looks like Vegeta just picked a turd out of his nose. “Permitted?” he managed.

“The Saiyan race is not so cowardly to eat what does not die by its own hands like you humans. It would be dishonorable to eat your comrades who did not duel. They are left to rot. They are not worthy of being eaten.”

“So lemme get this straight,” Krillin says. “Ton of guys are left on a planet because no one checked if they were alive. They all go searching for a way back to base even though there probably isn’t one, and there’s no food on the planet because the whole thing’s been wiped. Guys start dropping off one by one, but no one eats them ‘cause it’s not honorable or whatever. Last two guys fight to see who gets to eat the other one and determine that by trying to take a bite outta each other? ”

"The duel ends when the strongest bites the chunk off. The weaker admits defeat and is eaten."

"Killed and then eaten," Krillin clarifies.

Vegeta stares him dead in the eye.

"Oh," Krillin says. " Wow. "

During the moment of awkward silence that ensues, Vegeta continues eating his sandwiches as though he has said nothing strange at all, and Krillin continues looking at him eating sandwiches as though Vegeta were actually eating limbs. Krillin’s able to disregard his disgust though because of his sudden alarming concern. “You, uh,” Krillin started. “You… you never had to, um… do that … right?”

“Of course not!” Vegeta grumbles into his sandwich, “A Prince is never left behind, dead or alive.”

Krillin lets out the breath he had been holding. “Oh good.”

What Vegeta doesn’t mention, of course, is that Vegeta never had the chance to be left behind by Saiyan ships because he had never actually been on one. Saying you haven’t been on a vessel of war when you are the heir apparent however is deeply embarrassing, and anyway, Vegeta doesn’t owe Krillin shit.

“Okay, sooo question,” Krillin says. “Does anyone ever find this last person?”

“What?”

“Well, they’re all, like, abandoned, right? So most of ‘em die, the second to last guy is… apparently eaten alive somehow , but where does that leave the last guy? I mean, even if he cooks the guy, he only has… food for a few days at most. So… what’s the point?”

“The point?” Vegeta asks. He’s as fine as he’s going to be with Krillin asking all these who, what, and how questions, but why questions? As the Prince of All Saiyans, Vegeta is not supposed to ask why traditions are in place; he’s simply supposed to uphold them. Mind you, he probably hasn’t done a great job of this seeing that he never had a place to really do so, but nevertheless, he’s not liking the line of questioning. Now, would he probably be angrier about this if he hadn’t been eating sandwiches? Probably. But since he’s in the happiest state he’s really ever been in while eating them, the anger manifests itself into confusion.

“Yeah,” Krillin replies. “Doesn’t the last guy die anyway?”

“Most of the time.”

“Then… how do you know they did that?”

“Did what?”

“This whole… process? How do you know the guy didn’t just eat everyone? Or… the whole troop ate whomever died, or…?” Krillin shrugs his shoulders slowly.

“That would be dishonorable,” Vegeta replies immediately.

“Well sure, to your society, but the Donner Party was in the exact same situation, right? Abandoned; far away from society. They were separated from it, so they didn’t act according to it.”

“It would be dishonorable,” Vegeta replies more slowly.

It’s in this moment that Krillin realizes that Vegeta might not be able to fully comprehend the question. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.” He tries to redirect the conversation before Vegeta decides punching something is a better use of his time than explaining occasional cannibalism. “You said most of the time…”

Vegeta finally takes a sip of orange juice. He decides it’s best to not show weakness in front of the monk instead of exclaiming about how fucking disgusting it is. “Honorably carrying out this duty is how Nappa became one of my father’s advisors.”

Krillin was finally taking a sip of his orange juice too and nearly spit it out at this statement. “ What? ” He slams the glass down, though not very hard. “That… that guy was… really? ” He lets go of the glass just before he’s about to crack it and folds his hands together, worrying them. “I,” he starts, casting his eyes away, “I don’t think… he would’ve been a very good man for the job…”

Vegeta scowls. “Tell me about it.” He takes another bite of his sandwich. “He’s dumber than a dead battery. Didn’t even know how to feel pain when his tail was yanked on.”

“Oh yeah, that was annoying,” Krillin replies. “So… how’d they find him?”

“Apparently some Empire equipment was left there, so a ship had to go back. Dumb luck really. Seeing that he was from one of the noble families and had to be honored, we didn’t have much of a choice.” Vegeta slumps in his chair a little. “He was thrown at me the moment they got the opportunity.”

“Wait, I thought you said he got the honor because he ate the guy.”

Vegeta tsks.

“Huh,” Krillin says.

The story Vegeta remembers most vividly about Nappa is a strange one. It was only nights after the destruction of Planet Vegeta, when Frieza had flown his warship back to the HomeWorld where King Cold, back then seemingly terrified to leave the planet, had held a memorial for the fallen Saiyan king. To this day, Vegeta’s not sure if Cold actually knew what really happened to the planet – seeing that, despite the racial tensions that existed there, the Saiyan were simply too valuable to just cast aside so suddenly; but all the same, Gold held these events often to show his subjects he cared for them when Vegeta was sure he did not. (To be fair, Vegeta wouldn’t have given much of a shit in most instances either, but seeing as this instance particularly involved him, it made him hate Cold all the more). That was the same day Cold had given Frieza total reign of the young Saiyan Prince, and Vegeta wishes the act had made him more angry than terrified.

That night after training until he nearly coughed up his heart, he returned to the same room he had been sequestered in since the day of his bargaining, to sleep in the same bed he had already slept in far more than the one in his royal chambers in his royal castle on his royal planet, to behind his eyelids play the feeling he would still experience so vividly years afterwards of turning from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing like he should’ve with his father and the rest of his planet. And Nappa, ever diligent, would lay down on the floor by the side of his bed inside of returning to his closet-sized dorm next door. Vegeta had always told Nappa this was unwanted, but in a time where the two had not yet realized that another Saiyan lived, being close felt as necessary as breathing air. Vegeta knew Nappa would not sleep until he did. Failing to disappear into nothing, Vegeta turned back from hot matter to Saiyan, and he asked Nappa about the Last Man’s Meal.

“Her name was Keiru,” Nappa had told him. “She was a third-class from General Kabu’s troop.”

“A third-class warrior lasted that long?”

“... Yes.”

Vegeta had tsked. “You must have been surrounded with them then.”

Nappa hadn’t reply.

“You fought?”

“Yes.”

“You bit her?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

He remembers that Nappa had shifted a little, accidentally kneeing Vegeta’s bed though the touch was light. “Left side of her torso, my lord.” Vegeta had wondered if Nappa moved so he could show that part of his body to Vegeta even though it was so dark in the chamber that the two might as well be lost in the void.

“... Did she fight afterwards?”

“No.”

“Because she honored the tradition?”

“... Sure, my lord.”

It was only at night and times like this that Nappa had seemed to reflect on things rather than speak. Vegeta had always liked him more that way. The two had laid in silence for a while, staring into nothing.

Finally, the young Prince Vegeta had said, “We are the last two Saiyans.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“... and we are stranded.”

“... Yes, my lord. We are.”

They had never finished the conversation, and they had certainly never tried to eat one another throughout the years. It was only long after Vegeta hurled Nappa into the sky and killed him that Vegeta wonders if Nappa proved to be the better Saiyan despite his disgrace in that battle. After all, Nappa had participated in the Last Man’s Meal while Vegeta had ultimately shied away from it. But at the same time, he and Nappa had never truly been the last two Saiyans. Soon afterwards, they had found Raditz, who had returned from a mission confused and alone; and then of course Kakarot, slumbering on a faraway planet, unaware of his heritage for years.

Perhaps it was for the best though. Despite their class difference, Nappa seemed to truly respect Keiru while Vegeta had never truly respected Nappa. Hell, he had never even liked Nappa all that much and to this day does not remember him with much fondness. But most nights when Vegeta’s finally drifting to sleep, muscles being in pain along with his slowing heart, his mind likes to think that… something is down there sleeping by his side. It’d be weakness to admit it though, so Vegeta does not allow it to truly bring him any comfort.

What does bring him comfort is knowing that there will be a day where he will be able to explain this tradition to Kakarot and, in his rage, Kakarot will agree. He doesn’t exactly respect Kakarot either, but they are the last two Saiyans; he can feel it in his bones. And well, Princes must keep with traditions.

In the meantime though, he has sandwiches to eat and training to almost die during. Now that the sandwiches are done, he’s kinda feeling the latter. But even before that , he has something important to do. He stands up.

“That.” Vegeta points to his glass of orange juice. “Don’t serve me that anymore.”

“Oh,” Krillin says, looking at it. “Okay.”

Vegeta walks out of the kitchen.

He hears a somewhat alarmed voice trail him as he goes. “And ,uh, please don’t eat Goku! Thanks?”

Chapter Text

THE LEMONS LIFE GIVES YOU

Vegeta walks into the kitchen around lunchtime to a strange sight. First of all, it seems as though Krillin has recovered rather quickly from their previous talk of cannibalism and is reading some sort of pamphlet. If Vegeta was actually versed in this world, he would’ve known that this pamphlet is in fact a play. What he does know is that Krillin's still wearing the dumbest bowtie to be stitched in all human history, but he has now accompanied it with thick-rimmed glasses, something Vegeta is fairly sure he doesn’t need. The sandwiches are there, sitting on the same platter as always, and if anything, Krillin has made more than he ever has before. If one can even call that strange, it’s a good strange, and Vegeta views it with the closest thing he can feel to fondness.

No, the strange thing is that, right behind the platter, are six glasses, and these six glasses are filled with different liquids, most of which Vegeta has never seen before. Thankfully none of them contain the orange liquid he was so adverse to this morning.

“You said you didn’t like orange juice,” Krillin said, not looking up from his play, “so I figured we should find out what you do like.”

Vegeta is a bit… disconcerted about Krillin’s nonchalantness. Part of the reason he told the human about the Last Man’s Meal was to, well, you know… shake him up a bit. The last thing Vegeta wants is for Krillin to feel comfortable with him because no mortal should ever truly feel comfortable with a Saiyan Prince, and if there's a mortal who should be, it's certainly not Krillin. But Krillin looks satisfied, almost like Vegeta has told him exactly what he wanted to hear, and Vegeta's not sure how he feels about this.

On one hand, he once again reminds himself that Krillin’s questions have amounted to ‘how do you talk,’ ‘do you have something like pigs on your planet,’ and ‘what other things did Saiyans actually eat.’ If anything, Krillin’s next question will be about the drinks before them rather than something deep and something personal. But Vegeta had given something deep and something personal last time, now didn’t he? It was more about Nappa than himself, of course, but Nappa hadn’t had his own image since the moment he pledged himself to the young prince; rather, he had been an extension of the royal hand, and Vegeta had used him as such. Needed to eat? Nappa ate it first to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. Needed to sleep? Nappa became his eyes in the night. Needed to set an example of his cruelty? Nappa was thrown into the air, killed, and left behind with barely an afterthought.

Vegeta has no Nappa to taste the drinks before him now. Because, on the other hand, Krillin could’ve judged him, could’ve seen that Vegeta does indeed intend to eat Kakarot, and decide to take the coward’s way out by poisoning the drinks. What if Krillin is just as much an extension of Kakarot as Nappa was of Vegeta?

Nah, that gives Kakarot way too much credit, and wouldn’t Krillin poison the sandwiches if that’s what he really wanted? Vegeta decides to push these thoughts out of his mind and sit his ass down to eat.

“Water’s fine,” he tells Krillin, grabbing his first sandwich and taking his first bite. God, it’s as good as the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. What before was paranoia is now humor. Who the fuck cares if Krillin means to poison him? At least he dies eating this.

Krillin doesn’t look as gleeful. “Well yeah,” he says, finally looking up from his play, “but you can’t possibly want water all the time. I mean, you’re already having the same sandwiches over and over. We should at least get you something that’s not, you know… something you drink during training?”

“Is this my question?” Vegeta asks.

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot. Answer for sandwiches, right?” Vegeta takes another bite and, with his mouth full, asks, “So, is this your question or not?”

“... S-Sure,” Krillin replies. He closes the play entirely and cradles it softly against his chest. “Why not.” He once again seems much more like the stupid monk Vegeta has seen before, and it makes Vegeta feel like he’s had the upperhand all along.

“Fine.” Vegeta shoves the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and chews, and while he’s sad he let a perfectly good one go to waste like this, he doesn’t want Krillin to think he savors them enough to actually stop eating one before testing out what has to be the mediocre drinks before him.

Once he’s swallowed the large lump, he takes one of the glasses near the middle and holds it in front of him, examining it. “What’s this one?” he asks.

“Lemonade,” Krillin tells him.

He swirls it a bit, watching the ice and the bits of lemon pulp intermingle with one another.  “Sounds poisonous.”

“Little kids sell this stuff on their front lawns,” Krillin says. “I’m pretty sure it won’t kill the Prince of All Saiyans”

Vegeta doesn’t appreciate Krillin’s sarcasm. Vegeta doesn’t appreciate it at all. In response, he proceeds to down the entire glass. It’s only when he’s on his last gulp that he realizes that he absolutely hates it.

“Why would you give me such a disgusting thing?” he asks, coughing and sticking out his tongue a bit to clear his mouth of the taste.

“Lemonade’s a pretty classic drink here on Earth,” Krillin replies. “Same with orange juice, actually.”

“Yet another thing Earth does horribly wrong,” Vegeta says. He reaches for what he believes is water in order to cleanse his palette, but halfway through downing that he realizes it burns almost just as much. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”

“That’s… lemon-lime soda,” Krillin replies.

“WHY WOULD YOU PUT OUT TWO OF THE SAME THING?”

Krillin’s sitting back against his chair now and looking at Vegeta with the same expression he did last night when Vegeta insisted on meeting a pig. Thankfully Vegeta is once again too busy with his anger to notice. “They have, you know, the same base ingredient, I guess? But they’re different. Like, really different.” He tilts his body a bit to the left and looks straight at the two empty glasses. “Different colors, one’s carbonated– ”

Vegeta slams his palms against the table hard enough that the liquids in the glasses jump along with the cups themselves and a few manage to even spill over a bit. The sandwiches simply hop. Krillin does too. “Never serve me this ‘lemon’ shit again!” Vegeta says. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I get it! Okay!”

Vegeta grabs his second sandwich as he sits back in his chair. “Good.”

“... You know,” Krillin says, grabbing the two empty glasses between his pointer and middle finger and moving them off to the side near him, “now thinking about it, Goku doesn’t like acidic drinks either. They ruin his appetite, which is… something.”

“Acid?” Vegeta says. He points to the two cups. “There was acid in there?” And they let children sell it on the streets? Perhaps humanity is more badass than he previously thought.

“What? No!” He falls back in his chair, finally allowing the play to flop onto his thigh rather than be cradled against his chest. He grabs onto the frames of his glasses and adjusts them. “So there’s, like, this scale, right? For liquids? And it’s numbered, so if you’re on the high end, the liquid’s basic, and if you’re on the low end, it’s acidic. Lemon juice is low on the scale, so… it’s acidic.”

“So it’s science,” Vegeta says.

“Yeah. It’s called pH.”

“Hm.” Vegeta contemplates this while he takes another bite of his sandwich and stares pointedly at the two empty glasses by Krillin’s side.

Krillin gives a sweet smile. “Here,” he says, reaching across the table to push one of the other glasses closer to Vegeta, “try this one. I think you might like it more.”

Vegeta takes the glass and observes the liquid with some uncertainty. “It doesn’t seem to have that ‘lemon’ in it…” The content is light like the other two and has ice just like them, but when Vegeta sniffs it, it’s familiar. “Tea?” he asks.

Krillin raises his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he says. “Green tea, actually.” He tilts his head a bit. “What, has Bulma given it to you before?”

“That woman hasn’t given me shit,” Vegeta replies. You know, other than a place to stay, a fully-equipped training room, and maybe a spaceship like Kakarot’s if he can manage to threaten her dad enough, but it’s not like Vegeta’s going to admit this. Certainly not out loud. Because, to be completely honest, Bulma’s probably already done more for him in a week’s time than Frieza had throughout Vegeta’s lifetime, and it’s difficult for Vegeta to wrap his head around that, especially when both he and Bulma are well aware of the fact that Vegeta laughed his ass off when one of his little green men hugged her boyfriend to death. And when the small clown blew himself up on Nappa’s back. Also that three-eyed guy because he lost his arm and that’s funny. The Namekian dying too was pretty hilarious because of how much Kakarot’s kid cried. Ah, the memories. If only Kakarot hadn’t showed up. Or existed. Vegeta might’ve actually enjoyed himself.

Vegeta takes another sip and notices that Krillin’s eyebrows are still up. He figures he should say something, otherwise god forbid he might be lectured on giving the woman some appreciation, and we can’t have that. “Every planet with at least some intelligent life has tea ,” Vegeta tells him. “It’s damn leaves. How hard is that?”

“Not very, I guess,” Krillin replies. “I just figured that, I dunno…” He stops himself, face hardening for a moment as he looks away to process something. “Never mind.” He looks up again, and he’s back to being what seems to be genuinely inquisitive. “So do you like it?”

Vegeta looks at it. It’s a harder question than he thought. On one hand, yes. Yes, he does. Though he had never tasted tea leaves from Earth until now, the flavor reminds him of his few brushes against the market planets of Sector 4 during his rare offshore leaves. It’s not that Vegeta was never given time off; in fact, for being led by such an enormous prick, Frieza’s army had surprisingly good benefits, especially for its higher ranking officers. Most didn’t have any family to visit, mind you, seeing as Frieza and his associates have twitchy trigger fingers and, well… your family dying usually had something to do with you being recruited in the first place; but you see, the act of processing planets after their sentient-cleansing takes a lot more time than you’d expect. There’s cataloging it and, if it needs to be repurposed, terraforming it; then you gotta actually get loyal people there to govern it for you (if the planet’s being used for that sorta thing), and those loyal people need loyal (or at least very terrified) people to work under them, and yada yada yada. The point is, conquering planets and incorporating them in the Empire took time, and as such, new planets were not acquired with as much enthusiasm as advertised. This gave men like Vegeta a lot of downtime. Downtime Vegeta usually used to train himself into healing-tank stupors. Downtime most others, including Vegeta’s two Saiyan lackeys, used to get drunk.

The few times Vegeta did wander out into the sprawling markets though, he had felt oddly conflicted. A large part of him considered himself above the common squabble, of course. While visiting these planets, he encountered both beings with diseases far worse than leprosy and others with more material wealth than Vegeta’s father or his entire empire could have ever hoped to obtain; but he was above all that because he was Saiyan, and they were not; and as they say, there’s only two types of people, right? And yet the small part of him…? It didn’t want to be them. Oh god, no. But it did want… something from them. And he had never felt that something more than the one time he stopped at a ratty tea stall in one of the corner alleys. He’s still not sure why he picked that particular place, seeing that all its stools had been grimy and, along with the great benefits, Frieza’s army also paid surprisingly well; but he had decided to sit on the grimy shit seat anyway and order a cup. The twelve-armed spider man with the intricately braided beard and impressive sideburns chatted endlessly while he steeped  his tea and spoke in a language that even Vegeta’s chip could barely discern. Vegeta had realized he made an mistake in not wearing his issued armor because otherwise the man wouldn’t have spoken at all.

But just as Vegeta took his first sip of mediocre Guraran fefulle tea, he saw a monkey tail flicker out from the back doorway. Before he could even think, Vegeta was back there, his chest so tight that he could’ve sworn his ribs were puncturing his heart, but all he saw was the man’s young daughter, who had yet to grow her hands and flesh, cleaning the dishes in the bathwater. His heart must’ve ruptured because he could feel the blood flooding his lungs and clogging his throat and making its way up through his cheeks until it turned his vision red.

Vegeta was so dismayed that he killed them both.

This was seven years before Raditz even mentioned that he once had a kid brother named Kakarot.

Vegeta doesn’t regret his actions. The girl was so sickly that it would’ve been surprising if she lasted the year, but Vegeta does not justify his actions in this way, so it’s not a thought he actually allows to pass through his head. But the girl is permanently lodged in there because Vegeta can’t take a single sip of  fucking tea without, for a moment, being back on that Sector 4 planet, sitting on that grimy stool, and catching that monkey tail flicker in his peripheral vision. The sandwiches dull it surprisingly, making it a black-and-white film instead of an out-of-body experience, and Vegeta is happy about this. They still don’t make it go away entirely though, and Vegeta would rather not interrupt his sandwich time with bad thoughts. Having Krillin around asking him questions is bad enough.

“No,” Vegeta replies. “Not that either.” He pushes the mostly-full glass towards the lemon ones like a disgusted child. Krillin hears the weird catch in his voice though yet knows better than to chase it.

So he says, “Here, let’s try something a bit different then.” While Vegeta grabs another sandwich and shoves it into his mouth, Krillin leans forward and gently pushes the glass with the darkest liquid towards Vegeta’s plate.

Vegeta gives the dark golden liquid a skeptical look. “What’s it called?” he asks, mouth so full of sandwich that he’s surprised the guy even understood.

“Apple cider,” Krillin replies.

Vegeta swallows and brings the glass up to his nose to give it a sniff. He probably should’ve done that in the first place with the other drinks, but hey, gotta learn sometime, right? He thinks all three probably smelled as horrible as they tasted. The cider though smells pleasant and almost sickeningly sweet. It makes sense the human would serve him something like this. He brings the glass to his lips and almost takes a sip, but–

“Just a sec,” Krillin says. “Can-Can I see the glass for a moment?”

Vegeta lowers the glass and gives him a look.

“Please?” Krillin says, reaching out for the glass.

Vegeta hands it to him.

Krillin tosses the play on the table and gets up from his chair, taking the glass with him over to the cupboard where he levitates just a bit to open the door and grab the first mug he can find. He tips both the THANK GOD IT’S FRIDAY mug and the glass enough so the cider flows smoothly from one container to the other, and he places the glass gently into the sink. Turning around to face Vegeta, he cups the mug with both hands, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

After a second, he lets the breath out fairly quickly and crosses back to the table, handing Vegeta the mug with both hands and a smile. He sits after Vegeta takes it, taking the time to scoot his chair in again one jerk at a time, and Vegeta’s surprised to feel the warmth of the mug in his hands. He had not felt Krillin’s ki once.

Vegeta brings the cider up to his nose and takes another sniff. While the base smell remains unchanged, the warmth brings out the sheer intensity of it. He hesitantly takes a sip and apparently Krillin has managed to warm it perfectly because it’s fantastic. Not as good as the sandwiches, mind you, because nothing ever will be; but it doesn’t have the bitterness of the lemon poison or the flashbacks of the tea. It also has a lot more personality than water, which isn’t saying much, but it’s still a mini revelation to Vegeta, who wouldn’t know what personality meant if it hit him.

“Well?” Krillin asks, hands folded nicely on the table, head slightly tilted.

“... I suppose it’s fine,” Vegeta says, looking down at the liquid. “What’s it made out of?”

“Apples?” Krillin replies.

There’s enough of a pause there that Krillin realizes that Vegeta doesn’t understand what apples are, and soon he’s back with one from the fridge. “It’s a fruit,” Krillin tells him, holding the apple out for Vegeta to grab. “It grows from trees? I’m sure you’ve seen some in Bulma’s garden at some point. There’s tons of apple trees in there.”

Vegeta sips the cider again, making no attempt to examine the apple whatsoever. Krillin pulls back in his arm and sets the apple down next to his play. “Do you maybe wanna try the other two?” Krillin asks.

Vegeta eyeballs the last two glasses. One is full of a repulsive bright red liquid while the other is suspiciously clear. (Vegeta no longer trusts clear liquids). Krillin leans a bit on the table, pointing over the first one. “That’s punch. You-You might like it since it’s sweet like the cider,” he says. He looks down at it for a moment, brow furrowing, before sitting back fully in his chair and taking the punch with him. “Nevermind. I think it’s gonna be too sweet.”

“What’s that one?” Vegeta asks, pointing to the last glass.

“Uh… water,” Krillin replies. “I figured if you didn’t like anything, you’d just drink that.”

Vegeta grunts and starts in on his sandwiches again, every once and a hile thanking God it’s Wednesday by lifting his THANK GOD IT’S FRIDAY mug and taking a sip. Krillin meanwhile bundles himself up a bit more in his oversized burnt-orange cardigan and eyes the apple. He picks it up slowly and, after flipping it around in his hand a few times, takes a decent-sized bite. His first few chews go over fine, but as he continues his face scrunches up as though he is eating rubber. He places the perfectly ripe apple back on the table and struggles to swallow. For a second, he looks as though he’s going to be sick, but soon he just looks upset. He gives the apple his attention for a few seconds more, then he turns away from it and, curling himself up more in the chair, returns to his play. He sips the punch he took from Vegeta even less than Vegeta pays attention to the cider.

The two enjoy a fairly comfortable silence.

“Can I ask you something?” Krillin says as Vegeta finishes up his second to last sandwich.

“No,” Vegeta replies.

Krillin looks up from his play.

“You already asked me more than one thing,” Vegeta explains.

“Yeah,” Krillin says, “but they were related to the one thing.”

“Sandwiches for a question,” Vegeta says, getting up and grabbing his cup. He downs the rest of his cider (which actually isn’t much, but he wants to make a show of it) and, after tossing the mug back onto the table, grabs his last sandwich. “I don’t got to say anything after that.”

“... Okay. Y-You’re right.” If Vegeta even had an ounce of empathy in his body, he would’ve noticed that Krillin sounded especially desperate despite his agreement. Krillin has never been one to directly complain about personal relationships, especially ones with crazy mass-murdering cannibal people though, so he doesn’t say anything otherwise.

Vegeta takes the sandwich and leaves. Vegeta comes back that night to saran wrapped sandwiches again, and he eats them in as much peace as he can muster. It’s alright though. Krillin will be around for a long time to come. After all, it’s not like Vegeta will ever mistake him for having a monkey tail or anything.

Chapter Text

EQUIVALENT EXCHANGE

“So,” Krillin asks, not looking up from the morning paper, “what’s your full name anyway?”

It’s the next morning, and the two are sitting around in the kitchen doing what could now be considered a routine. Vegeta has way too many sandwiches in front of him for both the time of day and the mortal man, and Krillin has a cup of coffee (two spoons of sugar, a splash of cream) and that damn paper. Even now Vegeta can barely see Krillin, and this is after the human folded the thing down once, twice to even ask the question in the first place. This leads Vegeta to wonder just how stupid humans can be to still get their information from something so… physical; but as previously said, these thoughts get thrown into Vegeta’s thought dumpster for his demons to eat out of like a trough, and there’s really no way to sort the feed from the shit, so he starts in on his sandwiches instead.

“Full name?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Krillin replies, finally looking at him. “You know, like, uh…” He rolls his eyes up to think and then snaps the paper once when he looks back at Vegeta. “Okay, let’s say someone wanted to record your name in a history book, right? From what I gathered, there’s a lot of, um… ‘Vegetas’ flying around? You’d have to differentiate them somehow , right?”

The sandwich in Vegeta’s mouth does not allow him to get too angry, but goddamn. “I know what a full name is,” he tells Krillin with his mouth halfway full. “Don’t explain things to me like a child.”

Krillin goes red. “S-Sorry, I – well, I...”

Vegeta ignores him. “Why do you wanna know anyway?”

“Well,” Krillin says, “I guess the past few questions I’ve asked have been more geared specifically to this, uh… arrangement. Now that I know what you like food-wise and how we’re even, uh, talking , I’d like to… start at the beginning, I guess? And, well…” He tilts his head a bit. “At least on Earth it’s strange to have multiple conversations and, well, I guess fights with someone whose whole name you don’t even know, and–”

Vegeta looks unimpressed.

A beat, and Krillin leans back in his chair. “And well,” he says a lot lazier, “you’re a prince. You don’t want any of us commoners to be addressing you without at least knowing your whole title, right?”

Wow, Vegeta thinks, chewing slowly on his sandwich, that’s the first thing anyone’s said on this planet that’s made any sense. He should be suspicious of this since, as he just said, it pretty much goes against everything this planet stands; but if Vegeta’s one thing, it’s egoistic, and his attraction to validating his existence is like one dog’s need to smell another dog’s ass.

He swallows his sandwich and tries to play it off nonchalantly. “Well then, if you really must know,” he says, “I was referred to in court as Cucurbita Paaya Vegeta of Tribe Un Ookairani, Two-Hundred-and-Second of His Name; High Prince of All Saiyans; Heir to the Gut Blood of Rikaa the Destroyer; The Untrodden; Low Prince of the Cold Empire; and The Last Saiyan Son.” No one has spoken Vegeta’s full title in quite a while, Vegeta included, and while it has been even longer since the Saiyan Prince could say all this in Saiyanish, the words still feel odd on his now-translated tongue. It dampens the whole need to be respected, and he’s back to his original mood. He continues eating.

“... Wow,” Krillin says as Vegeta starts in on his second sandwich, “that’s, uh… way longer than I expected it to be.”

Vegeta grunts. “Shoulda heard Frieza’s or Cold’s,” he says. “Took twenty minutes to get through each at least, conceited bastards.”

“Huh…” Krillin replies. He thinks for a moment, then neatly folds the rest of his paper and lays it next to his coffee. “So,” he asks, “is Vegeta, like, your given name or... have we all been calling you by, you know, your family name this whole time?”

“... What?”

For a moment Krillin’s nervous to go into his usual explanations in fear of offending Vegeta again, but he realizes he has for the most part been correct in giving them. “Okay, so… my name’s Krillin, right?” He motions with his right hand. “That’s my given name,” he tells Vegeta. “You know… what my parents named me when I was born. A family name,” (now with his left), “it’s… well, it’s how it sounds. It’s the name of your family. Mine’s Son, which is…” He looks sad for a moment. “Mine, I guess. Thus, I’m Son Krillin.”

Vegeta considers it. “... Both,” he finally replies.

“Both?” Krillin chews on his bottom lip, then says, “That, uh… I’m not sure that makes any sense.”

Vegeta hadn’t been expecting to have to explain his name this morning or any morning really, but then again, the progression in conversation makes a lot more sense than Krillin just letting it go and allowing Vegeta to eat the rest of his sandwiches in silence, now doesn’t it? He decides to get it over with. “Cuburbita Paya Vegeta is my family name,” he tells him. “I was the heir apparent, so I was given the name Vegeta from my family name. Cuburbita Paya Vegeta is the name of my father, and his father, and all fathers in our Tribe before him.”

“Thus the whole ‘two-hundred-and-two’ thing,” says Krillin.

Vegeta hums in reply as he gets into the last bit of his sandwich.

“Huh.” Krillin taps his fingers on his knees as he tries to figure out exactly how the hell this naming thing works. “So… let’s say you had a brother. What would his name be?”

“The same,” Vegeta replies.

“But-But how would you tell the two apart?”

“He wouldn’t have the given name of Vegeta.”

“But his name would still be Cuburbita Paya Vegeta.”

“Yes.”

“Sister?”

Vegeta stares at him.

“ Really? ”

Vegeta starts in on his third sandwich.

Meanwhile, Krillin puts his elbows on the table and rubs his eyes. There’s bags under them, prominent ones that must’ve formed days before any kitchens or sandwiches or Vegetas. He rubs his whole face next and keeps his hands there to support his head. “Okay, okay, let’s just consider the brother again. Okay, so… if his name’s the same as your name, but his given name isn’t Vegeta, what would it be?”

“Whatever my mother would’ve given him,” Vegeta replies. It comes out garbled because despite having a million titles, Vegeta is both a Saiyan and an asshole.

Krillin stares rather pointedly at the table as though it understood what was being said, and Vegeta appreciated the break in conversation. “So,” Krillin says, finally looking up at him after a minute or so, “would this brother be named something like Cuburbita Paya Vegeta Kakarot?”

The question comes out of left field and causes Vegeta to nearly spit out his food. “WHAT?” he nearly screams. Had the sandwich not been in his mouth, he probably would’ve been across the table already strangling the living shit out of Krillin for even suggesting such a thing. Does he not even know what the name ‘Kakarot’ means? To pair that name (even if it wasn’t associated with the summation of everything Vegeta hates in this universe) with any noble title would be… heresy? Blasphemy? Fucking stupidity? Vegeta’s chip can’t translate it correctly, but it’s something along those lines, and it seems like, for a moment, Vegeta’s intent to follow the oracle’s advice has been shot and killed at the starting line.

But then he sees that Krillin’s maintaining that unsettling amount of eye contact that he did on those first day of sandwiches, and Vegeta finds himself much more concerned with bracing himself for whatever the human’s gonna say next because the last time resulted in… well, this. The moment passes though, and Krillin’s back to being the idiot that Vegeta hates but can at least predict. “S-Sorry,” Krillin says under his breath. “I guess it’s, uh… the only other Saiyan name I really know.”

“You know two others!” Vegeta tells him.

Krillin now can’t look him in the eye to save his life. “I figured they’d make you angry too.”

Well, okay, yeah, they would’ve; but having Raditz and Nappa associated with his family name would’ve at least been funny on some demented level. At least Nappa came from a noble family, and Raditz? Well, the thought of him being a prince is funny enough that Vegeta used to actively laugh about it back in the day, but Kakarot? Well, in a way it’s funnier than his brother, but mostly in the way that also makes Vegeta want to tear out all of his hair and cry blood while screeching to all of the Old Gods to just take him and be done with it already. It’s a feeling Vegeta’s felt a lot recently, and he’d rather not have it be associated with the sandwiches.

He still likes his sandwiches though and, well, as it’s been said, he’s not going to shoot himself at the starting line when things can still come together so well at the finish. So he begrudgingly says, “You’re right about the order though.”

Krillin’s surprised they’re still talking. “What?” he asks.

“It would be Cuburbita Paya Vegeta BLAH.”

“Oh,” Krillin says. He looks down at the table again for a moment, but then back up at Vegeta with a look of both surprise and pride. “ Oh! I got it! That’s what you mean by it being both a family and given name. Since you were first in line, you weren’t given a fourth name. They gave you the last part of your family name as your given name!”

“Wow,” Vegeta says sarcastically, “humans sure are smart.”

The smile on Krillin’s face says that he either didn’t get the joke or is proud enough of himself that he’s going to ignore Vegeta’s bullshit for a moment.

He does realize that Vegeta would happily let the conversation end here though and asks his next question quickly enough that it would be odd not to answer. He asks, “So what is the same with Goku’s family?” He bends forward so his hands can go further down the table towards the tray of sandwiches. “He and Raditz shared a long name like that, but since Raditz was the oldest, he took the last part of the family name?”

Vegeta can’t help but laugh at least a little at the question. The change in his demeanor obviously catches Krillin off-guard.  “Their family was third-class. They didn’t have a Tribe, let alone a full family name. They probably had one like,” (he waves Krillin off dismissively, “yours.”

“I see,” Krillin says, sitting back in his seat. He cocks his head a bit again. “What was it?”

Vegeta’s now the one that’s surprised. “... What?”

“Raditz and Goku’s family name. What was it?”

… There’s no reason for Vegeta to be embarrassed. Up until a moment ago, it was never information Vegeta felt like he needed. He knew Raditz was well as he could, of course. (Kakarot is inconsequential in the question). Though certainly not as strong, his number three was a good deal more capable than his number two Nappa in a lot of areas, something Vegeta does not find particularly surprising but he still feels worth noting. He had… hair. And a tail. And other features. During their training sessions together on the main ship, he never held back against his Prince, something Vegeta respected; never waxed poetics of home, something Vegeta sometimes respected when he didn’t think his poor heart could take it; banged every willing body from boon country to HomeWorld, something that annoyed Vegeta greatly; and went to a backwater world in search of his brother and ended up finding a hole in his chest and Vegeta’s destiny instead, something that Vegeta either wants to promote him for or kill him for all over again. (Probably both).

The point is that Raditz has always been ‘Raditz,’ ‘you there,’ or ‘you fucking idiot’ to Vegeta, not anyone who would have a family name. Vegeta tells Krillin as much.

“Oh, I… I see,” Krillin says. He looks Vegeta up and down like he’s a different person than the one who ordered most of his friends to death, nearly killed Krillin himself on several different occasions, and is now obsessed enough with his sandwiches to demand his presence here. He looks… almost sad. “I guess I just, uh… you know, figured that since Goku and Raditz were two of the last members of your race, and they were brothers, that you’d… you’d at least know their family name, right? No matter what class they are or were or whatever.”

… As we’ve already said, there is no need for Vegeta to feel embarrassed. Saiyan Princes do not feel embarrassed. The closest emotion they feel to embarrassment is annoyance. He starts in on his fourth sandwich.

Krillin realizes he’s not going to get anything more out of Vegeta on the topic and moves on. “So two-hundred-and-second of his name, huh? Had your family always ruled the Saiyans?”

Vegeta’s more comfortable with this subject. “No,” he says. “But we ruled them best. There was one major family before ours. They ruled for 107 kings while Tribe Un Ookairani ruled for 72.”

“That’s a long time,” Krillin comments. “I’m, uh… kinda surprised, I guess?” He rolls his shoulders in what could be seen as a shrug. “I figured with, well… how you’ve described Saiyans and from what I’ve seen that… kings and families would be disposed fairly often, I suppose.”

“Taking the throne required much more than simply killing the king,” Vegeta tells him. “If that was all that was required, the Saiyan race would’ve been dead before it even began.”

“Well, okay. What were the requirements then?”

It is at this point that Vegeta realizes he’s answering way too many questions again, and when he looks down at how many sandwiches he has to go before returning to the training chamber satisfied, he figures out the little shit’s been making way more of them on purpose. On one hand, he can’t argue against the method since, hey, the more sandwiches the better; but on the other, how dare him. It makes Vegeta feel like he’s not in control of the situation (he’s not), and that really bothers him. Perhaps he should just take the plate, storm out of the kitchen, and finish eating them in the chamber; but that would show Vegeta was bothered, and while he is, he can’t let Krillin know that. It might make the behavior stop, sure, but knowing that he got the upper hand on Vegeta would make Krillin think he won and, well… Vegeta’s a sore, sore loser. Staying here and answering another dozen questions isn’t exactly winning either, but Vegeta does get sandwiches for doing so, and Vegeta’s always been a hungry, hunger loser as well. Think of it this way, his demons (muted from the sandwiches but present due to the course of the conversation) say. If you cozy up to him before you kill him, you can throw his corpse at Kakarot while there’s still a smile on it. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Yes, Vegeta thinks. Yes, it would.

Krillin meanwhile ignores the break in conversation and takes a sip of his coffee. He cringes, takes the cup in both hands, and heats it back up enough that steam’s rising from it again. Vegeta’s still greatly bothered that he cannot sense the action or Krillin for that matter whatsoever. Krillin doesn’t notice the look on the Saiyan’s face as he takes a sip and, while not joyous, seems satisfied with the taste now. Vegeta grunts and takes a sip of his still decently warm apple cider.

“It’s a matter of Tribe,” Vegeta finally replies.

Without skipping a beat, Krillin asks, “What do you mean?”

“If you want to assume the throne, you have risk your whole Tribe. To take the throne with honor requires a…” Vegeta wonders if the word will come out in his native tongue if humanity has something at least somewhat similar (but how could they?). “... an honorable duel of equivalent exchange.” Vegeta cringes at how it sounds.

Krillin catches the weird translation but doesn’t comment.

Vegeta continues. “The king and the challenger fight in the Ring of Ascension, and the heads of the Tribes come as witnesses. If the king loses, he is killed and his Tribe loses the throne and is disgraced. If the challenger loses… his Tribe is killed.”

This makes Krillin almost drop his mug. “Killed?” he asks. “The whole Tribe?”

Vegeta takes a bit of his sandwich and nods.

“Well… how many people are usually in a Tribe then?”

“Family?” Vegeta says. “Anywhere from 50 to 500. Warriors serving the family? Usually in the thousands, if not more.”

Krillin holds his mug fairly close to his chest. “And they’re just… killed? Like that?”

“Many commit suicide, especially the family, but yeah.”

The human sinks in his chair and stares into the steam still coming from his coffee. “Oh, that’s… that’s an awful lot to risk, don’t you think?”

Vegeta shrugs his shoulders as he finishes his bite and swallows. “If as the head of your Tribe you believe you can defeat the king, then it is your duty to do so. The Saiyans should be ruled by the strongest Tribe. If one can defeat them so easily, they do not deserve the throne.”

“So did your ancestor challenge this other Tribe then?”

“No,” Vegeta replies. “We challenged the Tribe who challenged the Tribe who challenged them.”

“Huh…” Krillin stares off into the space of the table as he adjusts himself back in his chair. “How many tribes were there in total?”

“Back then? 312. When I was born? 52. It had been 52 for generations and generations though.” Before Krillin has to prompt Vegeta to keep going, Vegeta’s explaining. “A Saiyan King must always accept a challenge to duel. To not shows you’re weak and unfit to rule. While your Tribe might maintain the throne, the king would not maintain his life. He’d be assassinated in his sleep.”

“Harsh,” Krillin says.

“Necessary,” Vegeta replies. After a moment, “Tribe Zu Radicchio, the Tribe of 172 Kings, was overthrown when Tribe Ra Seebeet’s head learned their current king was ill before his heir did. Under normal circumstances, the king would’ve been killed by his heir before a challenge could be brought, but… Tribe Ra Seebeet was able to take control easily.” Vegeta takes another sip of his cider. “Tribe Ra Seebeet was weak, however. They won by circumstance, not strength. The other Tribes did not like that.”

“Because it wasn’t honorable?” Krillin asks.

“It was honorable,” Vegeta tells him. “They went about it in the honorable way. The king was not fit to rule, and the head of Tribe Ra Seebeet technically performed his duty. After all, a true warrior does not discredit opportunity, not that you’d understand that.” (Vegeta doesn’t notice Krillin roll his eyes). “If Ra Seebeet hadn’t taken the chance, another Tribe would’ve. But for this tribe to be the one with the opportunity? That was the issue.”

Krillin sets down his cup. “I’m guessing they were challenged soon after then?”

“Immediately. Tribe Tab Porro was on the throne within the week. They would’ve been the most likely to succeed in a true duel with Zu Radicchio. It wouldn’t have done them well politically to take the shot against their weaken king, however, since it would’ve shown they did not think they could win otherwise. They let Ra Seebeet make that mistake instead.”

“So how did your Tribe assume power from them then?”

Vegeta pauses. He’s not sure why he didn’t think the conversation would go in this direction once he started speaking Tribes, but the sandwiches must be dulling his sense. He tries to say the answer in the way that would save the most face. “In a… different way that was… still honorable.” He coughs.

Needless to say, Krillin’s skeptical. “Not through a duel?” he more says than asks.

“... Yes and no.”

Vegeta realizes that Krillin’s looking for more than a vague answer and rolls his eyes. “King Poireau Sou Vegeta of Tribe Tab Porro, Fifty-Second of His Name, was the first Saiyan King to be approached by King Cold.”

Krillin’s now leaning over the table to get as close to Vegeta as he can while still sitting. “ That was 73 kings ago! ”

“Yeah,” Vegeta says. “No shit.”

“How long does Frieza’s race live for?!”

“More than 73 kings apparently. They’re like cockroaches.” Vegeta picks up a sandwich and pretty much shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

The comment dulls Krillin’s surprise a bit and turns it more into confusion. “Wait,” he says. “You know what cockroaches are?”

“Every planet has cockroaches,” Vegeta replies with a mouth full of sandwich.

“Oh.”

Once he’s swallowed, he says, “He didn’t have the title of King Cold back then. Didn’t even have the planet trade then, let alone an Empire. Just a few civilizations under his father’s belt.”

“So this wasn’t when Planet Vegeta was… appropriated,” Krillin says.

“No.” Vegeta puts his elbow on the table and leans his cheek on his fist. “That wouldn’t be for many kings to come; however, King Vegeta LII of Tribe Tab Porro made a fatal mistake. He sparred with Cold, lost, and allowed the bastard to leave the planet.”

Krillin taps his thumbs against the table in unison. “Well,” he says, “I guess I can see how that screwed everything up in the future, but… there was no way to know that then, right?”

“No. Believe me, had we, we would’ve followed him into deep space and tried to rip his heart out. The point was that someone who was not Saiyan defeated the heir to Rikaa’s Gut Blood and lived to tell the tale. Our pride was shattered. The king had to go.”

“Not gonna lie,” Krillin says, “but that whole ‘gut blood’ thing is freaking me out. What’s that about?”

This could’ve been a breaking point from his family’s… hiccup since getting into anything involving the Gut Blood would’ve made the human forget all conversations before it, but there are some things that are too Saiyan to tell. Not even Frieza had been able to grasp the idea of the Gut Blood, and it was one of the aspects of Saiyan culture that terrified him. The human’s even less deserving of the knowledge and even less likely to understand it, and that’s saying something. Vegeta comes off harsh. “Want me to finish explaining what I’m explaining or take the sandwiches and go?”

The sudden aggression throws Krillin for a loop. “... The-The former?” he asks. “Please?”

And just like that, control’s restored. Vegeta’s not sure what he was worried about. He figures though that he’ll probably need to continue as he said instead of leaving anyway or else there’d be no more sandwiches, so he does. “My first ancestor who was king led a… rebellion of sorts once the Tribes heard of the king’s disgrace. They killed his entire Tribe before challenging him.”

Already reeling from the change in Vegeta’s demeanor upon hearing this, Krillin now looks like a gaping fish. Vegeta finds it pretty amusing. He sips his cider as smugly as someone sipping cider can.

“... But,” Krillin says, voice quiet, “wasn’t his family going to be killed anyway if he lost the duel to your Tribe?”

“No,” Vegeta replies amused. “Dishonored. Losing the throne is much more of a humiliation than wiping your entire family off the map. But this king disgraced all Saiyans. Him and his tribe deserved death after their dishonor.”

“So… the other Tribes? They just went in and… killed everyone? This king didn’t try to stop it at all?” Krillin’s hands are back in his lap now and, for someone already so small, he’s doing a great job at making himself look even smaller.

“It’s said he went on holiday to heal. His immediate family went with him, and he asked not to be disturbed.” A smirk forms on Vegeta’s face. “He wasn’t. When he turned though, the first king of my Tribe brought his best men and they killed his three wives, seven daughters, and two sons before he was challenged.” He lets out a laugh. “The coward killed himself before the duel even began. Pathetic.”

“Oh,” Krillin says.

They’re quiet for a few minutes. At first Vegeta thinks Krillin’s just pausing to process what has been said because humans could not possibly understand what true Saiyan honor is, but when Krillin makes no move to respond, Vegeta figures the conversation is over. He happily begins in on his next sandwich and, more out of amusement than anything, decides to watch Krillin as he does so. He wonders if he replicates the stare Krillin had given him earlier if it would convince the human to stop his questioning entirely. He’d just start leaving the sandwiches in saran wrap like he had the past two nights and maybe even go cry his way home to Kakarot. No, no, the latter would make the sandwiches stop entirely. The saran wrap sounds good. That stuff only mildly pisses him off.

He never gets the chance though because Krillin never looks up. Instead, he’s using a small spoon to idly stir his coffee, which is still to this moment somehow steaming; but from what Vegeta’s seen, he’s added nothing new to it. A few more stirs and he takes the spoon out, taps it lightly against the lip of the mug a few times, and sets it down the plate. He brings the mug up for a sip and stares into the coffee.

“I know why he killed himself,” Krillin says suddenly.

To Vegeta, this is a complete non-sequitur and it catches him by surprise. He’s still looking at Krillin but certainly no longer trying to stare him out of the room; instead, he barks out a laugh. “You ‘know’ why?” he says. “I already answered. He was a coward.”

Krillin shakes his head. “No…” He finally looks up at Vegeta again, and while the stare isn’t quite as intense as the one he had given earlier or the one Vegeta had been trying to give a moment ago, it does make Vegeta pay attention. “That’s not it,” he continues. “Your ancestor, he… he tipped the scales too much. It was no longer a duel of equivalent exchange.”

“Of course it was.”

“No, it wasn’t!” It is the first time in a while Vegeta’s heard Krillin raise his voice, even though to say he’s yelling would be an overstatement. Still, it’s surprising. “It might’ve been on the same court surrounded by the same witnesses, but… but it wasn’t a proper duel for the throne because the king had nothing to give. You had already dishonored him! And-and if your Tribe hadn’t won, the next Tribe or the one after that would’ve. His life was decided for him. Either die along with his Tribe in disgrace or sit on a Tribeless throne until he had to do the former.” Krillin’s shoulders slump. “He… he was given no choice.”

“He made his choice when he sparred Cold and then allowed him to leave the planet! He was a coward!”

“But it was under your Tribe that the Saiyans became subjugated under Cold, right? How didn’t the same thing happen to you?” Krillin realizes how that sounds as soon as he says it and adds, “To your Tribe, I mean.” He sits back in his chair. “That’s much more of a defeat that some sparring session, right?”

Vegeta’s not sure when Krillin’s body decided to grow him a spine, but he’s not liking it. Seriously, what happened to the quivering piece of shit he was forced to work with on Namek? The accusation should’ve made Vegeta pissed enough to rampage through the entire Brief estates and kill everyone inside; but even more than the sandwiches, the answer’s what deflates him because it addresses perhaps the oldest wound on Planet Vegeta. “... They outlawed it,” he tells Krillin.

Krillin furrows his brows. “What?”

“The duel. Cold outlawed it. Called it…” Vegeta spits out the word, “barbaric.”

“I… I see,” Krillin says. The answer deflates him as well, though since arriving at the Briefs, this has pretty much summarized his existence. He uses his hands to bring his feet up so he can sit cross-legged on the chair, and when he speaks, he idly plays with the hem of his jeans. “Reminds me of sati, ” he says.

Vegeta’s back to eating sandwiches as well. “Of what?”

“ Sati. Does… does that not translate?”

Vegeta grunts.

“I guess it makes sense that it wouldn’t…” He wears a sad smile. “ Sati is a tradition where a widowed woman throws herself onto her husband’s funeral pyre. It’s, uh… mostly an old Hindu tradition – Hindu being a religion here on Earth – but similar practices can be found elsewhere, too. It… well, it was fairly common where I grew up actually.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s been outlawed in most those places now for a long time though. Mostly by colonist nations that felt like the practice was a human rights violation, which, hey, it’s a person essentially committing suicide, but… it’s hard to draw the line sometimes, you know?”

Vegeta laughs. “Rights violation? Hah! Do you know how hard it would be for Cold to have controlled a planet whose leadership could change so easily? It was to keep us in line, to take away our pride. Nothing more.”

“... So was outlawing sati in some ways.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. Krillin sees that Vegeta’s on his last two sandwiches and knows that any other questions he had would be interrupted by their disappearance. He decides to end the conversation here.

“Listen,” he says, getting up. “I gotta go out and get more bread and stuff, alright? I should be back by the time you’re done with your session.” He grabs the paper but not the coffee.

There’s a very, very small part of Vegeta that’s… content to hear that Krillin’s lowering himself to completing a servant errand for their exchange, but there’s a much bigger part of Vegeta that wants to make fun of him for it. Guess which one wins? He leers as he says, “No wonder Kakarot likes you. Humans becomes subservient for almost nothing.”

Krillin tucks the paper under his arm and looks at Vegeta. “Vegeta,” he says, “if there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s giving as good as I get. You know,” he adds with what could be seen as a smirk. “Equivalent exchange.”

Vegeta’s got a sandwich hanging out of his mouth as he watches Krillin leave. Seriously. Namek. He was a little shit. Namek and little shits.

What the hell does Earth do to people?

Chapter Text

YOU'RE ALL ALONE

When lunchtime rolls around, Vegeta walks into the kitchen to find no Krillin and – more importantly – no sandwiches.

Needless to say, he’s pissed.

Honestly, he’s pissed about a lot of things. Breakfast still has him reeling, he’s still not Super Saiyan yet, and he’s pretty sure he gave himself a concussion while trying to become one just now. This strike to the head has him reconsidering his coma theory from a few days ago, but it mostly has him asking ‘why him’ and ‘why now’. His knuckles are bleeding too because of course they are, and he’s going to have to bear talking to that woman about fixing the gravity controls in the training chamber again because he wrecked it. Completely. He wrecked pretty much everything in the chamber completely, and he finds he’s not happy with himself, something he doesn’t actually realize very often but feels most of the time.

Seriously, where the fuck are his sandwiches?

The two had never established a particular time for questions and sandwiches, Vegeta realizes now, but that’s not his problem. That’s Krillin’s problem, and he had always managed aligning their schedules before. Managed it with such a level of certainty that Vegeta also now realizes that he should’ve been way more suspicious of Krillin’s uncanny ability to predict when Vegeta would be done training. When Vegeta first graced the Brief’s home with his royal presence, he had made it very clear that no one should be able to sense his ki from within the training chamber. That was because he didn’t want Kakarot or anyone else prying into his personal business and, well… he just didn’t want everyone to have a play-by-play of his attempts to become Super Saiyan, alright? If the woman actually built the thing right, then that would mean that Krillin should only be able to sense him after he left the chamber – which means that either the woman built it wrong or the monk’s way more competent at sensing ki than anyone gave him credit for.

… nah, it’s probably the woman.

Vegeta leans back on his heels so that he can look through the doorway and down the hall. If he had caught sight of the cook, Vegeta might’ve just made do. The hallway’s empty, though, and Vegeta really wants his sandwiches. He wonders if he should find that strange roof again, but the last time he went searching for someone to make him food, he ended up with another person entirely; and he’s not sure what he would do if he came back to Kakarot making tacos. Probably scream. A lot. Or maybe the universe would just implode and do Vegeta a favor. He thinks the universe deserves it.

He moves back into the kitchen again, and he feels it. That weird feeling he had the other night when he was convinced that pigs controlled minds that Krillin had perhaps just… disappeared into the night. Except this time Vegeta’s mostly wondering whether the asshole ran off while he was ahead. Krillin had gotten the last word during their previous conversation, that’s for damn sure, and Vegeta wonders if maybe the bastard wants to keep it that way. Krillin’s always been a bit of a shit in Vegeta’s book, so Krillin taking the low road to stay on top wouldn’t be all that surprising. Even worse, since Vegeta can’t seem to sense his ki for some reason, the jackass could literally be anywhere – hiding out until it’s time for him to return to his stupid turtle house or whatever. What is a turtle anyway?

No, Vegeta thinks. Don’t go down that road. The pig was enough.

Just as Vegeta’s contemplating turning the whole estate upside-down, in rushes Krillin with a paper bag taller than his head, and he’s apologizing. “Sorry! Sorry,” he says. His eyes are bloodshot. “I, I – well, I… had to run somewhere real quick, you know, before picking up the ingredients for the sandwiches, and I–”

He sets the bag on the counter and turns to explain the situation to Vegeta like common courtesy demands, but he finds Vegeta already seated with a look that couldn’t be more disinterested if it tried.

Krillin’s eyes narrow and, for a moment, he’s back to the Krillin that got the last word this morning. “Never mind,” he says. He turns back to the bag and tilts it forward to start unpacking everything, but he only gets to the loaf before he realizes what he actually just saw. “Uh, Vegeta…”

“What?”

“You, uh… there’s blood. Running down. All over your face.”

It takes Vegeta a few uncoordinated pats to find it, but he does just above his left eyebrow. He brings his hand down to look at the concerning amount of blood that’s now covering it. Huh.

He looks back up at Krillin to find him nearby with a wet rag in hand. Krillin’s hesitant on whether he should try and clean off the blood himself or trust Vegeta’s lack of spatial awareness to somehow manage it itself. Krillin’s surprised when Vegeta swipes the rag from him on the first try and manages to place it on his forehead.

“Wherever it’s coming from, I… I’m pretty sure it’s, ya know... higher, ” Krillin tells him.

Vegeta grunts and dips his head further down than necessary. Krillin gets on his tiptoes to see where the bleeding’s coming from. To know for sure though, Krillin would have to… touch him, and that’s pretty much the last thing Krillin wants to do today. He just got back from dealing with enough shit. He really hadn’t needed this. “I’m-I’m not sure?” Krillin says.

Vegeta brings his head back up and wobbles a little as he starts to aimlessly place the rag on his scalp, bring it down after each pat to see if it’s covered in blood. When Krillin doesn’t move, Vegeta says, “It’s fine. Head wounds always bleed like you’ve just been gutted.” He brings the rag down one more time, winces, sees all the blood in the world on it, and applies a lot of pressure to that spot. “Just make the sandwiches.”

“Yeah,” Krillin says, “alright.” He goes back to the bag and gets to work.

Meanwhile, Vegeta’s wondering how the hell he managed to walk out of the training chamber all the way down to the kitchen while blood was cascading down his face. He’s used to self-inflicted injuries, sure, but this is a whole new level of tolerance. He’s actually kind of proud. If this had happened to Kakarot, he would’ve been screaming in pain the moment it happened!

(Yes, Vegeta’s competitiveness really does run that deep).

Krillin looks back over his shoulder as he places the first completed sandwich on the platter. “You, uh… sure you don’t need stitches or anything?” he asks.

Vegeta replies by getting up, walking over, grabbing the sandwich, and flopping back down in his seat at the table. Krillin watches him do all this, rolls his eyes, and goes back to making sandwiches. Vegeta thankfully doesn’t notice his attitude; he’s too busy sinking deeper into his chair upon first bite.

Once he’s done, Krillin sets a platter of six sandwiches down in front of Vegeta and decides to sit down himself. He plays with his sleeve while he watches Vegeta eat a sandwich with one hand and nurse his head with another.

“... how did you do that exactly?” Krillin asks,

"That your question?”

“No?”

"Then don’t ask.”

What happened was that Vegeta had the bright idea to headbutt one of the drones. Mid-morning training always goes better than early morning training since Vegeta’s already accepted that, yes, 300x Earth’s gravity’s probably not that great of an idea; and no, he’s still not Super Saiyan. However, he always manages to do something during these mid-morning sessions that makes his afternoon sessions a bitch. Today, it’s splitting his head open. Yesterday, it was almost curb stomping himself. The day before that? Nearly blowing himself up. The lunchtime sandwiches help improve his mood after these near fatalities, of course, but they don’t once he done eating them. He wonders if he could use the Dragon Balls to make an assembly line of Krillins that would prepare an endless stream of sandwiches to be consumed at a moment’s notice. But if he did that, wouldn’t he have to answer all their questions? Couldn’t he kill the original Krillin so he’s no longer required to answer any questions from anybody ever again? It sure would be nice to kill a Krillin whenever he wanted. Could he then wish for another assembly line of Krillins simply to kill?

“What the hell am I talking about?” Vegeta asks. “I wouldn’t use the Dragon Balls for that!”

“Um… what?”

Vegeta realizes he just said that out loud. He wonders if Krillin heard the part about making an assembly line of hims to kill. Maybe not? Who cares! You’re Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans! Your ancestor murdered a king! You’re the son of many kings! Kings do not like lemons! You did not eat Nappa in ritualistic cannibalism, but it’d sure be neat to eat Kakarot that way! You saw a pig, but you didn’t eat that pig! You ate other pigs! Your language chip makes speaking weird! You sure wish your culture and self of self weren’t stripped away from you by an intergalactic overlord who kept you around as some weird conquestional token after he killed your entire species! Remember that one time you killed an alien girl because she wasn’t a Saiyan? Well, you’re all alone! You’re all alone! You’re all a –

Vegeta’s mouth hangs open, the second sandwich in his hands nowhere remotely near it. “... I think,” he says, “I have a concussion.”

“... Yeah, I’m gonna go ahead and take a look at your head now.”

Krillin walks over and, after a moment of hesitation, takes either side of Vegeta’s head into his hands. Vegeta awkwardly removes the rage around one of Krillin’s arms and throws it, narrowly missing the sandwiches. Krillin moves his head from one side to the other with care.

“Well, you definitely got yourself,” Krillin tells him, “but I don’t think it’s deep enough for, like, stitches or anything. ‘Course, bleeding has nothing to do with a concussion, but…” He bends Vegeta’s head down just a little bit further. “Okay, you know what? I’ll bite. How did you do this?’

“I was gutted from my throne.”

“What?”

"I headbutted a drone!”

Krillin lets go of Vegeta’s head rather quickly and takes a sizeable step back. “You what? Why?”

Vegeta has no excuse, but his mouth does. “I don’t have to explain anything to you! I’m the Prince of All Saiyans!” Smooth.

Krillin raises an eyebrow. “Okay then,” he replies. “I’m gonna go get you another rag, okay?”

"About time.”

Krillin knows that he should probably do more to address the wound, but he has a feeling that if he tries, Vegeta’s gonna headbutt him; and again, Krillin’s day’s gone poorly enough, so he just fetches the rag.

The two return to how they were before Vegeta started talking complete nonsense: Vegeta eating with one hand and pressing the rag against his head with the other; Krillin doing nothing, though this time he brought them both a glass of water. “Sorry, I, uh… forgot to get more apple cider,” he tells Vegeta as he slides the water over.

Vegeta grunts but doesn’t complain.

“... you seriously headbutted a drone?”

Vegeta stares but doesn’t confirm.

“Isn’t a drone though, like…” Krillin makes a shooting rocket motion with one of his arms.

“They fly,” Vegeta replies, “yes,” like Krillin’s a fucking idiot.

“Huh.”

It goes quiet again and, after a moment, Krillin gives a drawn-out sigh and sinks into his chair. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. He leans his chair back and stares at the ceiling. “Headbutted a drone,” he says mostly to himself, like he’s avoiding thinking about anything different. He tilts his chair back onto four legs and says, “Who taught you how to fight anyway?”

Vegeta’s surprised by the question, but right now he’d be surprised by just about anything. In his mind, he had been on a tirade about that one guy that one time in that one place that didn’t think Raditz would really rip out his heart and eat it, but oh boy was he surprised because Raditz never said no to a taunt. He wonders if Krillin would ever rip out a heart. Nah. Maybe his own?

Oh, right. The question. Vegeta tries to concentrate. “Myself,” he decides.

“You taught yourself?”

“Sure.”

He’s not wrong. He remembers when he was very young, back when he was still bound to his royal Saiyan crib in his multitude of rooms, the old woman looking after him would form his little baby hands into fists and would encourage his sudden boutful kicks. He remembers that a punching doll was his first toy and the light in his father’s eyes when he showed his son how to rip it apart. He remembers sitting on a pillow next to his father’s throne while he watched warriors spar for their rank. He remembers meeting the Saiyan woman, an older cousin, who was to be his teacher. He remembers Frieza killing her.

None of them had really taught him how to fight though. Not really. If Vegeta had to give credit to an outside source, it would be the Saibermen. At age four, he was walked into a ring, and he fought one. He lost. He fought one again. He lost. Vegeta’s not one to criticize his culture, but perhaps his concussion is, so if he had one grievance with it, it was the fact that society said that Saiyans knew how to fight in their bones. Vegeta agrees with this statement for the most part – because he feels it, oh god does he feel it – but sending a baby into a ring or off to a planet without at least some basic training sounds a bit like… having a concussion. Just as adult Vegeta has become obsessed with beating Kakarot, baby Vegeta was obsessed with beating Saibermen.

Was it the same Saiberman each time? Doubtful, but baby Vegeta liked to think so. That’s what inspired him to train. Train hard. Train so hard that, by the time he was able to defeat it, he would be able to punch its head clean off its body or something equally gruesome. Most Saiyans learned to fight entirely on the battlefield, but Vegeta was the prince apparent on a planet he hadn’t been allowed to leave until he hadn’t been allowed to stay, and Planet Vegeta hadn’t had a war of its own in centuries. So he learned with Saibermen instead. And by learned with them, he killed them. A lot. It took him about thirty tries before he was able to snuff out the first one, but damn did he do it and he did it well. It took him another three times until he got his second, but he just kept on truckin’. Soon he was killing all the little bastards. Multiple bastards. All at once. All alone.

Once he was handed over to Frieza and later placed into his care permanently, Vegeta allowed no one to train him. He would spend his days in the chambers instead of receiving instruction, almost dying from a lack of water and foresight. Would Vegeta be better off if someone had trained him? His concussion says yes, but Vegeta says fuck you.

That’s all he has to say on the subject.

“... Fascinating,” Krillin says monotone.

“So you punched a Saiberman’s head clean off.”

“... Yes.” Vegeta hadn’t realized he’d be talking out loud again.

“Alright.”

Vegeta bites into his fourth(?), fifth(?), sixth(?) sandwich. There’s a lot less sandwiches here than he remembers just a moment ago. God, they’re so good. He throws caution to the wind. “What? Weren’t you trained by a turtle – whatever the hell that is?”

Krillin nods his head slowly. “I… you know, I have a feeling that’s supposed to be an insult, but yeah? Kinda? I mean, the turtle that I usually live with, he knows martial arts, and he helped Master Roshi out sometimes back when Goku and I were training, so… yeah? Turtle did train me in a way?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” (Vegeta shakes his sandwich with each repetition). “Turtle’s a name?”

“No,” Krillin replies. “He’s a turtle that’s named Turtle.”

“... That’d be like me being named ‘Saiyan’.”

“No, that’d be like you being named ‘Vegeta’ .”

Vegeta’s too concussed to get it. “Kakarot got trained by a turtle?” he asks.

“Yeah, same one,” Krillin replies. “Now thinking about it, Goku’s been trained by all sorts of things. Two old men, a cat, a turtle, a god-Namekian-slug-demon guy, whatever the hell hangs out with him, a Kai…”

Vegeta picks up his last sandwich and shoves it into his mouth. “I’mma go train,” he announces before he’s even finished swallowing. He stands up and wobbles a bit.

Krillin sits up straight and looks rightfully concerned. “Uh… you sure that’s a good idea, Vegeta?”

“I’MMA GO SLEEP!” That came out louder than intended.

Krillin looks even more concerned. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to sleep if you think you’ve got a concussion. It’ll only make it worse.”

“... I’mma go train.”

Vegeta turns around and leaves. Krillin knows better than to try and stop him.

“Alright,” Krillin calls after him. “I’ll, uh, be here!”

He’s gone.

“... alone.”

Chapter Text

YOU CAN’T FIX STUPID

Vegeta enters the kitchen past dinnertime to find Krillin sitting there with sandwiches, and honestly, he’s relieved. You see, after the concussion debacle earlier, Vegeta might’ve taken a few hour nap in the training chamber instead of, well… training , and he had woken up wondering if lunch had ever happened at all. This is not Vegeta’s first concussion (and god knows it won't be his last), and he’s somehow managed to sleep through every single one of them with varying degrees of success.

His first happened when he was eight. Someone (Nappa) had convinced him to take on six Saibermen at once as a part of King Vegeta’s week-long birthday bash; and while the first five had gone down much faster than anyone expected, the last had been a bitch. Not because it was hard to kill; it was just freakishly fast, so when Vegeta was finally able to catch it, he flip kicked it, and well… let’s just say he didn’t land on his feet. Young Prince Vegeta cracked his head open so badly that the doctors didn’t think even a healing tank could fix it, but here he is, still kickin’. He remembers everything before that first concussion, but a few of the later ones have had him waking up convinced of things. Things like Frieza being dead. (He wasn’t).

A couple of these concussions have also made Vegeta forget important moments, such as the last few minutes of his departure from Earth. No, Vegeta does not remember Krillin holding a sword to his throat like a furious god about to bring down justice. If he had, Vegeta would either respect Krillin a hell of a lot more or would’ve killed him already. Twice.

But Vegeta sees the two bloody rags he used to stop the bleeding now bundled up by the sink and, judging by Krillin’s expression when he looks up from his book, Vegeta most definitely had lunch. On his way out of the chamber, Vegeta had stopped to wipe the blood off his face, a decision he’s now regretting because, if he had walked in with it crusted all over, Krillin’s expression might’ve been even funnier. Krillin’s concerned enough to stand up to greet him though, his opened book now hugged against his chest. “Vegeta,” he says, “are… are you feeling alright?”

Vegeta looks down at the sandwiches, and yes. Yes, he is.

Krillin gives a tired but still genuine smile. “That’s good,” he replies. “I’m glad.” He’s not fully convinced of Vegeta’s answer, but well, he doubts Vegeta will allow him to touch his head again anytime soon, and Krillin doesn’t exactly want to either.

He takes a seat just as Vegeta does. The Saiyan Prince tears into his first sandwich with little to no fanfare, though his face immediately softens when he’s reminded that, yes, everything in his life has been worth it because he can now eat these amazing things three times a day. Krillin meanwhile sets his book down, still open, to the side and reaches for his own sandwich. He takes a look at it, judges it, and then tosses it half heartedly on Vegeta’s pile. Vegeta doesn’t know what he’s thinking, but boy does he like it.

The two have never spent a dinner together since… whatever the hell this whole thing started, and they’re not sure how to act. Dinnertime is usually Vegeta’s free pass to enjoy his sandwiches without Krillin or any unexpected existential crises and Krillin’s self-imposed time to not deal with crazy; however, Vegeta doesn’t actually remember if Krillin asked him a question during lunch or not, and Krillin’s had enough shit happen today that he’s convinced he needs more shit to occur to bring everything full circle. Vegeta could easily just take the sandwiches and leave, and Krillin could leave without taking anything, but neither do. There’s nowhere else to go.

“You, uh… didn’t end up training, right?” Krillin asks.

“Course I did,” Vegeta replies like the fucking liar he is.

“... Uh huh.”

Vegeta’s too happy about the sandwiches to notice the sarcasm, so the two go into their usual pre-question silence.

While Vegeta eats in bliss, Krillin flips over his book to read, but even as he stops to concentrate on every word, he doesn’t seem invested. He looks both exhausted and on edge, like he’s had twenty cups of coffee to keep himself awake, but it’s really just nerves. Just as he turns the page, he stops and perks up a bit in surprise. “Oh!” He throws down the book and goes over to the fridge. Vegeta watches as Krillin finds a brand new bottle of apple cider fairly quickly. He turns to Vegeta. “I went out and bought it after you left,” Krillin tells him, holding the glass bottle. “D-Do you want some?”

Vegeta grunts and returns to his sandwich.

Krillin rolls his eyes, but he closes the fridge with the heel of his foot and still pours him a mug. He heats it up again with energy no one seems to be able to sense and comes back to the table. He slides the mug across, and Vegeta grabs the handle and takes a significant gulp.

It is only then that Krillin realizes that the mug says YOU CAN’T FIX STUPID.

He’s not sure whether to cry or laugh. Maybe both? Sure, Krillin thinks that getting into more shit’s the only way to make his day make sense, but this was not the more shit he was looking for. “Vegeta,” Krillin says slowly, “that chip in your head, it… it wouldn’t happen to let you, uh… read everything as well, right…?”

“Of course it does!” Vegeta barks. He brings the mug just below his head. The arrow above the phrase is now pointing directly at him. “What do you think it is? Primitive like this planet’s sticks and stones? The Cold Empire was a lot of things, but not primitive.”

The Cold Empire is indeed a lot of things. Starting from a small cluster of planets and stars in an otherwise insignificant solar system, Cold and his two sons managed to build a galactic chain that spread from Sector F67B to Sector Z474. (These specifications might not mean anything to you, but it means the Empire is pretty fucking big, okay)? Mind you, a lot of the planets in between Sector F67B and Sector Z474 have either been destroyed, sold, or mined for everything they’re worth, but those that are inhabited are surprisingly booming, mostly because everyone living on them were terrified of what would happen if they suddenly weren’t. Though Cold himself did not leave HomeWorld for many years, he had a particular vision of how he wanted his other worlds to work, and well, you know what they say about dictators: they have a weird way of making their territories both euphoric and downright miserable all at the same time.

Vegeta doubts the Earthlings know this, but it’s not like the Cold Empire, the Planet Trade Organization, or any of its affiliates just spontaneously combusted upon Frieza and Cold’s deaths; no, instead, Cooler just got what he finally wanted. Cooler had loved his father, sure, and probably still does somewhere in the black hole that is his heart, but after years of cleaning up after daddy’s favorite little boy, he was sick of both of ‘em. Vegeta’s sure that when word of his family’s success never reached HomeWorld, Cooler held a funeral – just like Cold had for King Vegeta – quietly but confidently assumed the throne, and then conveniently forgot Earth ever existed as a token of his appreciation. For you see, anybody with half a brain in the Empire knows that the Empire has never been Cold’s legacy. His legacy has always been Cooler. Cold didn’t see it himself, of course, but Cold didn’t see a lot of things, which is why he’s now dead. Cooler, however, is not dead, and he plans to keep it that way. He has an Empire to run.

Of course, if Vegeta tried to tell the Earthlings this, they wouldn’t listen. Instead, they’d become so convinced of an invasion that they’d probably make some movie detailing what they think would happen and give it some shitty name like “Cooler’s Revenge” or “The Return of Cooler.” Isn’t that what humans do? Make movies about their fears that make no sense? That nicely summarizes Vegeta’s knowledge of cinema here. It sucks.

As Vegeta’s pondering over this, he starts to twist the mug around absentmindedly.

“UH!”

Vegeta stops what he’s doing with the mug and gives Krillin a look that says that Vegeta thinks he’s an idiot. Well, more of an idiot.

In response, Krillin’s whole face flushes. Vegeta has always figured that Krillin was a good deal younger than him since Kakarot’s at least ten years his junior, but for some reason, the red makes him look all the younger. The monk adjusts himself in the chair so he’s sitting on the back of his heels, and he folds his hands up on top of the book. “Uh,” Krillin says weakly, still red, “wh-what other kinds of technology did the Empire have?” He glances very briefly back at the mug.

Vegeta gives him another idiot look. “What? That’ll take hours.” Days, really. Planet Vegeta didn’t even have half the technology the Cold Empire possesses now, and despite Frieza’s hatred for the planet, the Empire kept it surprisingly equipped. Vegeta’s sure even now that, if he returned, his knowledge of it would be outclassed.

“Well, yeah,” Krillin says, resisting the urge to roll his eyes because that’ll make the whole coffee mug situation worse, “but you could tell me some of it. You know,” he adds, “in the time it takes to eat all your sandwiches.”

Vegeta’s not sure how someone can look utterly embarrassed, pathetic, and smug at the same time, but Krillin’s somehow managing it. The sad thing is, for the sandwiches, Vegeta’s willing to take the bait.

He tries to think of… something. What sort of advancements does the Cold Empire have that Earth doesn’t? You know, other than everything imaginable. If you had to make a comparison, the Empire’s like a pickup truck and Earth’s like the squirrel it just ran over.

“We don’t have those paper things,” Vegeta tries.

Krillin furrows his brow. “Paper things?”

“This morning,” Vegeta replies.

“Oh, a newspaper?”

Vegeta grunts and takes a bite of his second sandwich.

Krillin tilts his head a bit. “I could’ve guessed that. I mean, they’re not too popular here nowadays either. Most people get their news from TV or the Internet. You know, digitally.”

“... The what?”

Krillin tilts his head to the other side. “Huh?”

“You’re entering what? A net?”

Krillin looks down for a moment, bites his lip, and thinks. He’s forgotten almost entirely about the coffee mug. He looks back up with one eyebrow raised. “Okay,” he says. “Let me get this straight. You,” (he gestures at Vegeta), “are from a society far more advanced than Earth and yet, you guys… you guys don’t have something like the Internet ?!”

“No,” Vegeta says, “no one has ever entered any nets! How would you get news from a net?”

Krillin shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, no, I’m not talking about physical nets! I’m talking about the Internet! I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T.”

Vegeta stares at him.

“Here.” Krillin takes out his phone, makes sure it’s still on airplane mode, and opens his browser. He leans over the table to show Vegeta the screen. “See,” he says, scrolling through a search result for water main repair, “you have something called a-a browser, right? And and and and people upload information and things on things called websites, and if you click on one of the links,” (Krillin does), “it’ll take you to where you wanna go.” The page loads. He looks up at Vegeta. “See?”

“Oh,” says Vegeta. “Yeah, they have that.”

Krillin gives him a dumbfounded look, then sits back on his heels. “Oh,” he says, clicking his phone off and placing it next to his book. He looks back at Vegeta. “What’s it called then?”

Vegeta’s not sure how it’ll translate, but here goes nothing. “The Empirical Cloud,” he replies.

“Huh.” Krillin nods slowly. “That… actually kinda makes sense? We call it a cloud too sorta. Well, the part that stores all the information anyway.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“... Your, uh, chip… you sure it helps out with reading or…?”

In reply, Vegeta reaches across the table and grabs Krillin’s book. Krillin barely saves his phone and clutches it against his chest as Vegeta flips through the first few pages. He reads a sentence or two and tosses it back.

Krillin almost drops his phone while halfheartedly putting out his hands to grab it, mostly because he’s staring at Vegeta and is suddenly very pale. He just remembered the mug. “You, uh… wouldn’t happen it be done with your ci-cider yet, right? I’ll be happy to, uh, pour you another glass or just, you know…” He starts reaching for the mug. “... throw this in the sink so it’s outta your way…!”

Vegeta grabs it before Krillin can. He takes enough of a sip that the only word Krillin can see is STUPID, which pretty much sums up how Krillin feels at the moment. Vegeta’s meanwhile too far into a sandwich haze to be angry. He just looks annoyed and confused.

Krillin sits back on his heels and decides, you know what? Screw it. He’s died twice – the third time might as well be over something really, really stupid. “So,” he says, still nervous despite having just decided to screw it, “this cloud thing… it really expanded over the whole Empire? Isn’t it, like, huge?”

“Yeah,” Vegeta replies, now chewing, “that’s what top-heavy planets are for.”

The term “top-heavy” is a subcategory of the very broad, loosely defined class “excess,” and excess planets are used for a variety of reasons. You see, when a planet is classified as “excess,” it is most of the times flat-out destroyed; however, after having difficulties in demolishing some of these planets (too big; too volatile; planet not understanding that it was, in fact, destroyed), Crown Prince Cooler put forward the motion of full-planet outposts. Before this point, the Empire had relied on space stations in the middle of the boonies, which, while convenient, cost way more than utilizing a planet they would’ve had to pay employees to destroy. This resulted in what are called “top-heavy planets.” The outpost itself is ridiculously condense while the rest of the planet remains utterly void of life. In the center of these outposts are the Empire headquarters, and in the center of these Empire headquarters are giant towers fifty-stories tall that connect to orbiting satellites that send signals to the next planet over. Chain these from one planet to another, and well, a lot of things are born: the Empirical Cloud, television and radio broadcasts, teleportation pads. These planets support the entire Empire’s infrastructure.

Vegeta explains all of this but with a lot shorter sentences and mouthfuls of sandwich.

“That’s amazing,” Krillin says after he’s done. “Those outposts must be huge! Just-just tons of people! I can’t even imagine!”

Vegeta grunts and says, “Most only have five thousand. Usually less.”

Krillin’s mood deflates. Again. “Only… only that many people for an entire planet?” he asks.

“They were meant to be destroyed, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but…” Krillin looks side-to-side as though calculating something, and then back to Vegeta. “There’s more people in a three-mile radius of here than an entire planet there. It’s just… sad, is all.”

Vegeta shows nothing that would suggest that he agrees.

Krillin sees this and decides today’s the worst day to be arguing with Saiyans about morality. “So, did people stay on these planets?” he asks. “I mean, like, temporarily. While they were travelling to somewhere more… populated.”

The prince waves him off as he takes another bite. “Space stations. In orbit. Most don’t step foot on top-heavies. No point.”

“... Have you?”

Vegeta swallows his second-to-last sandwich and brings up his mug to observe the half-glass of cider inside. “Once,” he replies.

Despite assuming guardianship over Vegeta at a very young age, Frieza did not send him out on Planet Trade Organization business for a very long time. Vegeta’s still not sure why the warlord kept him under lock and key for so long, but after King Vegeta’s funeral on HomeWorld, Prince Vegeta had not stepped foot on solid soil for over three years. In that time, a warship patrolling what used to be Saiyan space found Raditz’s pod hovering where Planet Vegeta should have been; Nappa’s loyalty to the crown turned from cultural duty to personal obsession; and Vegeta trained so hard that his demons grew louder and his anger nearly killed him. When Frieza did decide that Vegeta and his lackeys should start contributing, Vegeta barely spent more than 24 hours on any one planet – and most of these hours (when not eating delicious cuisine) were spent flying and killing and laughing like a goddamn maniac.

So when Vegeta was assigned to Top-Heavy Z457B for six months, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Whoever originally conquered the planet had obviously not done a very good job because apparently some of its inhabitants had escaped to the next planet over and were hellbent on taking their homeland back. War vessels were already in place to take care of the insurgency, sure, but seeing as the Empire had just built a tower there that would connect its newest galactic venture to HomeWorld, the operation was considered important enough to require foot soldiers. This would be the only time in Vegeta’s life he was ever stationed anywhere, and honestly, he’s happy it was his first and last for a lot of reasons.

Outside the outpost, the planet was a wasteland. Inside the outpost too really. The whole thing was just awful to be honest, and Vegeta hated it. His home planet had never ranked high for its aesthetics, but at least it could’ve been ranked. Z457B had all the character of a fish skeleton that retained all its stench, but nothing that could identify the remains as anything more specific than simply ‘fish.’ Vegeta and his servants were put up in the house of an engineer, who moved his family to one of the break rooms at headquarters for the entirety of the Saiyans’ stay, but over the course of their six-month deployment, Vegeta realized he could have stayed in any house on any street since they were identical inside and out. It was also the only time in Vegeta’s life he had ever been without a dedicated room to train in, but he did have an endless expanse of purple sky and a wind that refused to end, kicking up enough dust that the young prince swore he saw figures form in it as he punched and kicked and screamed. The planet should have felt like freedom to him; however, by the time his time there was over, it felt more like a prison that Frieza’s ship ever had, an idea that kept him awake at night even now.

This was also the first and only time Vegeta ever met Crown Prince Cooler in person.

“Wait.” Krillin starts counting on his fingers. “Frieza, Cold…” He cautiously holds up a third one. “C-Cooler…I’m, uh, not liking this naming scheme. Please don’t tell me…”

He does.

Krillin nearly falls out of his chair. “Frieza has a brother?!”

See?

“He’s – you don’t think he’s coming here, right?” Krillin sounds worried, sure, but mostly just frustrated and exhausted. It’s not the over-the-top response Vegeta was expecting. He’s almost annoyed about it.

He decides to just reply instead, “Of course not.” He picks up the last sandwich. “Just because they’re from the same shit stain of a father doesn’t mean they think the same. Hell,” (he takes his first bite), “he probably poured a glass of wine for us at the damn coronation.”

“He’s King now?”

“Has to be.”

“And you,” Krillin says, sorta quiet, “really don’t think he’ll come here…?”

“No.”

Vegeta does not mean to say it confidently enough to put Krillin at ease, but here Krillin is, strangely at ease for the first time in a week.

Then Vegeta lifts the mug again, and he’s totally not.

“Uh,” Krillin says, thankfully a good deal quieter than last time. He still blushes. “You, uh… you said you’ve only met him once, right? I’m… surprised?”

Vegeta shrugs after he takes a sip of his cider. “Don’t be. I’ve only seen Cold three.”

The first time had been, of course, King Vegeta’s funeral. Before this, Vegeta had seen images of Cold posted in his father halls and in Frieza’s ship and maybe once or twice on screen. At the funeral, Vegeta remembers thinking Cold was much taller than he had expected, and the squeeze the man gave his shoulder made him think of teeth ripping into his skin. The second time had only been a week later while Vegeta sat and tried to eat the first twelve course meal he had had in weeks. Frieza brought Cold by the dining room, and that whole exchange is how young Vegeta decided that killing Frieza by stuffing food down his throat would be a great idea.

The third time was obviously on Earth, and while he’s pissed he couldn’t finish off Cold himself (just like he’s pissed he didn’t get to finish off Frieza either), he has the same strange appreciation for the act that he’s sure he shares with Cooler.

“Was this insurgency really that bad?” Krillin asks.

“What?”

“With the old inhabitants of that top-heavy planet. I mean, you said that was the only time you met Cooler, right? But you said no one ever lands on these things. Why was he there?”

Short answer? The insurgency developed into a full-on rebellion. You’d think that after centuries upon centuries of rule that Cold would’ve learned the old adage of ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’ but he hadn’t. Instead, new recruits – fresh from having their planet and people slaughtered – were given the shitty work, and the shitty work was always in the middle of nowhere. Seeing that this planet had recently been… relieved of its usual inhabitants, and those inhabitants were now fighting for their rights and revenge, well… the results were unsurprising.

Those who had remained loyal (or, rather, those who were smart enough to know how fucking terrible of an idea this was) could’ve fended them off, sure, but Cooler had been in the area for reasons Vegeta’s still not aware of and had decided to drop by and end it once and for all.

And oh shit, did he. If Vegeta had been around for Frieza’s whole ‘fuck the Saiyans’ episode that resulted in his homelessness and orphaning, Vegeta would’ve realized that the whole affair was surprisingly similar, except while Frieza laughed like a goddamn maniac, Cooler did it with a face as tough as tungsten. Vegeta had been just one of many among the crowd that witnessed the event, and while Vegeta had never underestimated Frieza’s power, it was in that moment the young prince realized that he might never actually beat him. That it was a real possibility that Vegeta and his last two brothers would spend the last of the Saiyan race’s days serving the family that enslaved them for centuries. That Vegeta and Nappa and Raditz should’ve just turned from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing like their king, their people,  and their whole planet had when, it turns out, Frieza deemed it time to end them. And that night would be the first of many where Vegeta would stand outside Nappa and Raditz’s door and contemplating killing them then, in that moment, because Vegeta knew his temper would break someday, and they would no longer even have a prince, and then truly the race would be gone.

Before that night happened though, but still after Cooler had demonstrated a power beyond Vegeta’s imagination, the young prince had landed back on the top-heavy planet and decided to go off in the distance to… you know, yell a little. He thought he had picked a decent enough spot where, if the other two Saiyans really needed him for something, he’d be easily found, but what Vegeta found instead was the Hoorleian trash who started the rebellion in the first place.

She was not in good shape. Thick, green blood oozed from where she must’ve had several arms and leg once, her hair was burnt off, and her nose shattered to the point where the bone was slipping out. Vegeta might not have even noticed her if it hadn’t been for the sobbing. She was too small – almost as small as Vegeta – and other than the green seeping out of her, she matched the dust of her home.

This would be the only time for many, many years that Vegeta found himself hesitant to kill someone. It wasn’t out of respect, camaraderie, or even pity. (He had only seen her face once when the rebellion first sprung up, and that was on a tablet with the mission details). It was just… she was the first life Vegeta had seen outside the outpost, and if he looked at the blood just right as it spread, it looked like the same color green as the grass Vegeta used to train in back at the his family’s castle gardens. He had wondered if, had he a way to bring his planet back, if that’s all it would be left – just green grass that was really blood staining a world cleared of every ounce of life.

He thinks she said his name. He doesn’t remember. He does know that she asked him to kill her. He did.

Vegeta’s heard all sorts of things about Cooler since then, obviously. At times, it seemed like the general consensus among the higher ups was that the Empire would be a better place with Cooler in charge; but that’s the mentality all occupied countries hold towards their leadership. Someone always sounds better when really they’re not. Cooler won’t come to Earth, and he’ll probably halt expansion if he knew what was good for him; but he wouldn’t be any better than his father or little brother. He’d just be different.

Vegeta only tells Krillin some of this, but Krillin seems to have gotten the picture. “How did it feel?” he asks. “Seeing them all die like that?”

“His strength was incredible,” Vegeta replies.

“No, no. I mean, those people in the rebellion… they were like you, Nappa, and Raditz, right? Homes destroyed, families ruined? And he just… killed them all.” Krillin snaps his fingers as he says, “Like that.”

“And?”

Krillin sinks into his chair a little. “You didn’t feel anything for them…?”

“Why would I?” Vegeta asks. He takes the last bite of his sandwich, and then the last sip of his cider. “They were weak. They couldn’t learn that.”

Vegeta gets up and Krillin reaches across the table to grab the mug like its a lifeline. He holds it to his chest, covering the words, and he asks, “Do all Saiyans think like this?”

“If they’re worth anything,” Vegeta replies. The sandwiches are done, but he’ll never miss a chance to gloat about his race or lineage.

“Huh.” Krillin looks off to the side, his frown deep and his eyes tired, but then he looks up at Vegeta again with a crooked smile and says, “Well, you know what they say. You can’t fix stupid.”

“In that Empire?” Vegeta says. “No way.”

Krillin stays in the kitchen and scrolls through search result after search result about water mains. Vegeta leaves the kitchen and, down the hall, tries to see if maybe, just maybe he can connect to the cloud. Not a chance. You really can’t fix stupid, his demons tell him. You really can’t.

Chapter Text

BACK TO ROOTS

Vegeta walks into the kitchen the next morning to find Krillin making his sandwiches and, honestly, it’s the first good thing to happen to Vegeta all day. Part of him believes that yesterday must’ve been a concussion-induced nightmare because, really, would Krillin walk out on him so easily? Would Vegeta really headbutt a drone? Would Vegeta really admit that maybe – just maybe – he misses a place he shouldn’t call home? His brain is screaming no, but his skull is nodding yes. God, it hurts. It hurts so freaking much, and while Vegeta prides himself on being a free man, boy were those healing tanks nice. Back when he was in Frieza’s armada, he never had to feel pain for very long. Whenever he landed anywhere civilized, he had state-of-the-art healthcare; and if civilization was not nearby, well… he could just put himself to sleep until he got there. Earth’s primitive though, and probably always will be (since the only woman whose mind is worth a damn doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it), so he won’t be having any healing baths anytime soon.

Oh well. His ancestors never had ‘em either. Time to get back to his roots.

… which wouldn’t include taking sandwiches from a human monk, mind you, but Vegeta’s decided to ignore that part.

Speaking of the monk, he’s at the counter putting together the fifth of seven sandwiches. “Morning,” he says. He’s listening to the radio. He doesn’t bother turning around.

Vegeta takes a seat and finds he’s kind of happy that the sandwiches aren’t done yet. Not because he’s being forced to wait, but because he knows they’ll be fresh, and there’s nothing better than that. As usual, morning training didn’t go well, and Vegeta’s pissed about that, sure, but just being in this kitchen calms him a bit. Krillin’s a stress and always will be (the punk), but the sandwiches are still going strong; and for Vegeta, a train never stops when there’s still tracks to run.

Whatever the case, the radio’s gabbing about something called ‘football,’ and Vegeta can’t be bothered. Krillin seems to be having a decent time with it though. When the newscaster mentions something about a loss for West City, Krillin says, “Yamcha must be pissed,” and chuckles. It’s strangely wistful.

“He’s the three-eyed one, right?” Vegeta asks as Krillin turns towards him with the platter of sandwiches. “The one who lost his dumb arm?”

“Who?” Krillin asks. He sets the platter down. “Yamcha? Nah, you’re thinking of Tienshinhan. I’m,” (he furrows his brow and sits down), “... not actually sure if Tien likes football. Maybe?” He contemplates it for a moment before bringing his coffee cup (selected for its lack of writing) near his lips. “Do you know what football is?”

Vegeta grunts.

Krillin’s well-versed enough in Vegeta’s noises to take note of the disinterest. “Well, anyway,” he says after taking a sip, “Yamcha’s the guy with, you know, the scars? Cocky sometimes, has long hair, partners up with a flying cat?” When he sees Vegeta’s as confused as ever, he adds, “You’ve probably seen Bulma yelling at him before…”

“Oh, right,” Vegeta says. “Him.”

He takes the first bite of his first sandwich to congratulate himself. He deserves something for remembering such an insignificant detail, right?

Krillin meanwhile is concerned about the fact that, just now, Vegeta technically started a conversation. Vegeta never starts conversations. Ever. Unless he’s about to kill you, Krillin thinks. Probably not even then. He decides not to think about it too hard. Instead, he pays attention to the radio while Vegeta pays attention to the sandwiches. It works.

By the time Krillin opens his mouth again, Vegeta’s figured out that football must be some kind of sport, and that Krillin’s question of the morning be would somehow related to that. He’s right. But before Krillin gets the whole sentence out, he cuts himself off. It’s abrupt enough that Vegeta actually flinches. Krillin sets his coffee down and looks to the left out of the corner of his eye.

There’s more than a moment of silence.

“You… you broken?” Vegeta finally asks because, hell, maybe that’s possible with humans? He doesn’t fucking know anymore.

The question causes Krillin to snap out of it and look back at Vegeta. “S-Sorry,” he says, blushing. “I-I got distracted, um…” He pauses and looks in the same direction again, then like that he's suddenly out of his chair. “I’ll be right back,” he tells Vegeta.

Before Vegeta’s can protest, he’s gone.

Not that Vegeta was going to protest, of course. It’s just that this is the second time Krillin’s run out of the kitchen without Vegeta’s permission, and it’s annoying. Really annoying. Wasn’t Krillin the one who insisted on getting something outta this whole sandwich situation? Wasn’t he the one who decided he needed a little consistency in his life for some strange reason? It’s Vegeta who needs some damn consistency! Krillin can’t just half-ass the whole thing! That defeats the purpose! How dare he just –

Not even thirty seconds after Vegeta starts bitching, in walks Bulma Briefs.

She enters with a huff and an afro that’s… unkempt at beast. You see, Bulma Briefs is Stressed. This is a statement that can be used as a summation of her life since Bulma Briefs is always stressed for some reason or another, but the stress she’s been experiencing these past few days has graduated to a capital ‘S.’ It’s made worse by the fact that she has no way of de-escalating it.

… well, okay, yes she does, but she’s having trouble doing it, and that’s the problem. The ensuing all-nights have resulted in knots in her hair, bags under her eyes, and a faint but consistent smell of B.O. that she’s so far been able to blame on someone else.

Needless to say, she’s not very happy.

“There you are!” she shouts as she rounds the table and stands near where Krillin had been sitting not thirty seconds prior. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Am I gonna have to put some sorta tracker on you or something?” She scrunches her nose on instinct. “Ew, you stink!”

She’s not wrong. “Look who’s talking,” Vegeta mumbles as he takes another bite of his sandwich. Usually she gets more of a raise out of him, but he has a faint hope that he’ll be able to go back to enjoying his sandwiches soon enough, and well… they don’t taste as good when he has high blood pressure.

“I’m not here for your insults, Vegeta,” she tells him. “I’m here to yell at you!”

“Well, you done yet?”

“Done? I haven’t even started!” She throws her hands down on the table. “Do you have any idea the amount of time I’ve had to put into fixing that stupid training room for you these past few days? I know some wear and tear is inevitable, but I feel like I’m building a new one every night!”

“And?”

“And I’m telling you to stop it! I’m busy, Vegeta! I’ve got my own problems! You understand me?”

He doesn’t. He understands the concept of other people having problems, sure, but when those problems intersect with something he wants, his understanding gets short-circuited. Especially in this case, when she was the one who insisted that he live here. Her job as a hostess is to be at his every beck and call. Surely Earth can’t be that different, right? He’s starting to doubt it.

“Okay, Vegeta?” Bulma goes on. “For the fifth time, don’t attack the drones! There was one in there that almost looked like you planted your face into it!”

Yeah, that’s because he did, the demons respond; and Vegeta stuffs the rest of the sandwich into his mouth to make them shut up.

That’s around the time Bulma notices that there are, in fact, sandwiches. And a coffee cup. And a radio. She stands up straight, puts her hands on her hips, and asks, “Who is the world made you this many sandwiches at seven in the morning?”

Vegeta’s about to answer, but she cuts him off. “Whatever. I don’t care.” Bulma looks over towards the radio, listens for a second, then looks back at Vegeta. “Wait, you know what football is?”

Vegeta’s about to answer that , but Bulma doesn’t care about that either. “Look, Vegeta, I don’t have time to be dealing with your bullshit, alright? I have way more important things going on right now, and they don’t involve you. So why don’t you just sit here with-with your sandwiches,” (she gestures towards them with some confusion), “and-and your coffee,” (she gestures towards that too, and it’s the first time Vegeta notices that Krillin shoved it towards him on his way out), “and just calm down, alright?”

Vegeta would usually be yelling to high heaven by now, but he’s too confused about the coffee and in too much of a sandwich high to properly respond.

Bulma takes the silence as an agreement, mostly because she takes anything she finds agreeable to be a universal sign of agreement. “Glad we understand each other!” she says, clapping her hands together. “Just don’t put too much pressure on the cook staff, alright? I had a guy quit a few days ago because of you.”

Vegeta’s still too dumbfounded to respond until he says, “Later!” and grabs a sandwich off the top of the pile on the way out. He snaps out of it when he hears down the hallway, “Wow, this sandwich is fantastic!”

He twists around in his chair and screams, “THAT’S MINE!”

He hears back, “I BOUGHT IT; I EAT IT,” and like that, she’s gone.  

And not even thirty seconds after Vegeta starts bitching about that , Krillin’s back.

He grabs his coffee cup as he’s walking back towards his seat and, in the same place Bulma had just been standing, takes a shallow sip. Then he’s back at the counter where he left all the ingredients and, before starting on making an extra sandwich, he turns down the radio a bit. “Sorry,” he says, not facing Vegeta. “Sometimes nature calls, you know?”

In response, Vegeta chews slowly on his next sandwich. He knows he’s been duped – he just has no idea how.

He’s about to ask, but Krillin changes the mood. “So, Saiyan sports,” he says as he spreads the last of the mustard onto the top slice of bread. “That’s what I was asking about, right?”

Vegeta doesn’t answer him, but Krillin doesn’t seem to mind. He turns off the radio entirely before bringing over the extra sandwich and restoring order back to the platter. He sits down and grabs his coffee, and it’s like nothing happened.

Vegeta’s willing to go along with it because he doesn’t want to care. “Too broad,” he says.

Krillin furrows his brow. “Too broad?”

“The question. Saiyan sports. Too broad.”

Krillin sets his coffee down. “Oh, right,” he says. “That probably includes stuff that was popular in the Empire, right? There has to be a lot, huh?”

No kidding. Many planets in the Empire were outright destroyed, of course, so many great pastimes have been lost to the cosmos, but Frieza had a soft spot for good ol’ competition.  Want to live? Compete amongst yourselves to prove you’re strong enough to be of use. Want to please? Compete amongst yourselves to stand out. Want to amuse? Play a goddamn sport. It’s actually a path many in the Empire have taken to make their way through life with minimal complaint, and those people were probably the only ones to truly mourn Frieza when they heard of his death. (Cooler’s no sports fan). Frieza’s fascination with all things athletic gave rise to all manner of sports – so many that you could not possibly keep track of them all.

Vegeta was a fan of almost none of them. Why train to kick or throw or what-have-you when you’re not using those skills to beat the shit out of someone? It’s just not practical!

“I guess what I was asking,” Krillin says, “is about Saiyan sports in particular. Did your planet have anything original to it?”

“... honorable duel of equal exchange,” Vegeta replies.

“That wasn’t a sport! That was a coup!”

Oh. Vegeta tries again. “... third-class warriors fought in pits a lot?”

Krillin doesn’t seem so sure. “Were there any rules?”

“... kill everything?”

Look, if you want the honest-to-god truth, which Vegeta will never give because he’s not an honest-to-god person, Vegeta has no fucking clue.

Well, okay, it’s a bit more complicated than that. You see, Vegeta wasn’t on his planet for very long, and seeing that Frieza destroyed it soon afterwards, there’s… gaps in his knowledge. Saiyan lore? Knows it like the back of his hand. Saiyan history? Even more so. Saiyan customs? Definitely. Anything else? Doesn’t know shit. He knows modern culture had been heavily influenced by the Empire because the Empire infects everything it touches, so he can cobble together pieces into a narrative that mostly makes sense, but he’s not sure if any of those narratives are actually true. He should’ve asked Raditz or Nappa while he had the chance. He wonders why he never did but he doesn’t let himself for very long.

The pits, though – the pits were definitely a thing. He remembers going to them with his father on occasion and it always being a big hoopla whenever they did. Going to the pits was one of the only times Vegeta ever found himself outside of the caste walls, though, so he always made a big hoopla about it too. The old woman would dress him up in his ceremonial robes and walk behind the carriage during the procession and make sure Vegeta didn’t wipe too much blood of his face during the ensuing feast. It was also one of the only times he saw the entirety of his massive Tribe in one place, and there was so much bowing and kissing that, by the end of it, he could hardly see straight.

He remembers the first fight he watched particularly well. As his father sat on a throne of bones and gold and Vegeta on a pillow by his side, two warriors in the pit swore their allegiance and lives to the royal family’s entertainment.

Then they killed each other. Literally. One had a sword, the other had an ax, and they both swung in such a way that they managed to behead one another. It took the crowd a moment to catch up on what had just happened until five-year-old Prince Vegeta had started laughing. Then the crowd had laughed too. (You never want to let a Saiyan prince laugh by himself). It’s one of those things that would’ve been written about in the epic of Prince Vegeta, 202nd of His Name had Planet Vegeta survived. It would have only been proceeded by the event that earned him the title ‘Untrodden.’

Vegeta wonders sometimes how many would’ve been decapitated in his name if his planet had survived. Probably a lot. It would’ve been a better death than the one they had. At least they could’ve gone down fighting instead of like dogs.

“We had a lot of things like that too,” Krillin says. “Fighting, I mean. We still do, though most of ‘em don’t involve killing anymore. Actually, all of us used to enter these World Tournaments that would have you fighting one-on-one. Goku won one of ‘em. Against Piccolo.”

Vegeta almost chokes on his sandwich. “That green asshole competed in a tournament?”

Krillin gives a real smile. “Yeah, I know, sometimes I can’t believe it either. I actually fought him, you know.”

“And you didn’t die ?”

“Hah. Very funny.” Krillin motions with the mug towards Vegeta. “You know, one year Tienshinhan was actually the one who beat Goku.”

Vegeta almost chokes on his sandwich again. “The three-eyed guy?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Vegeta will always be embarrassed about how Goku beat him that day he came to Earth – even years after he had laid their rivalry-to-the-death to rest; but he’ll never be as embarrassed as he is in this exact moment. Tien? Tienshinhan beat Goku in a fight? The guy who lost his arm and died from performing the same attack too many times? That guy beat Kakarot? THAT GUY beat KAKAROT and Vegeta didn’t?

Vegeta’s not sure if the sandwiches can cure this. He might need to kill everyone on the planet now, starting with fucking Tienshinhan.

Krillin raises an eyebrow at Vegeta’s now extremely red face. “It was on a technicality,” he says, “if that makes you feel any better.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE?”

Because Krillin needed a laugh this morning. The past few days have been rough. “They were up in the air, and Goku hit the ground outside of the ring a split second before Tien did. Announcer called it. Tien actually felt terrible about the whole thing.”

Vegeta’s face is back to normal and the sandwiches are going down well again. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’ve beaten Kakarot before.”

Krillin raises an eyebrow again. “Vegeta,” he says. “Goku and I trained together. For years. Of course I’ve beaten Goku in a fight. I’ve beaten Goku in a lot of fights.”  

Vegeta’s not sure how to respond to that. He decides it’s best to keep eating. If he keeps eating, then Krillin won’t be dead, and that’s probably a good thing.

Krillin knows it’s time to bail. “I gotta take care of a few things,” Krillin says, getting up from the table with his coffee. “I’ll see you at lunch, alright?”

As the monk’s leaving, Vegeta says, “The woman’s not coming back, right?”

Krillin pauses for a second, then looks back at him with a smile. “Nah, enjoy your sandwiches.”

Vegeta does.

Chapter Text

OF ALL THE OTHER OPTIONS

“So,” Krillin says. It’s lunchtime, and the two are sitting in the kitchen eating sandwiches because that’s what they apparently do now. “Where’s the most interesting place you’ve ever been?”

Before we get to that though, let’s clarify a couple of things: First of all, Vegeta’s the only one actually eating sandwiches. Krillin’s not, but at this point, that shouldn’t be much of a surprise. He stopped after his first day of camping out at the Briefs because he currently can’t stomach anything solid, and nothing’s quite as solid as those sandwiches. Even coffee’s starting to become too thick, and while Krillin knows this should be concerning, he’s mostly just annoyed. Thus, he’s currently trying to force down a yogurt cup. It’s not going well.

Secondly, this is the quickest Krillin has ever asked Vegeta a question. Usually he allows some silence beforehand so they can both get comfortable, but the moment the Vegeta takes his first bite, there it is. Vegeta wonders if this means that Krillin’s getting used to him. More importantly, he’s trying to figure out if he minds or not. On one hand, the idea kinda makes Vegeta wanna hurl all over the goddamn table; but on the other, more questions guarantee more sandwiches, which is always a good thing in Vegeta’s book, so he’s willing to deal with whatever nauseating thing has has to in order to get them.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand – which is Vegeta shrugging.

“Uh…” Krillin swirls his yogurt, not bothering to look down at it. “Is… is that your answer?”

Vegeta gives even less of a shrug and continues eating.

“You’ve been to all sorts of places though, right?” Krillin asks. “I mean, that was pretty much your job, right? To go place?”

“My job,” Vegeta tells him, “was to conquer and then usually destroy places.”

“Well, yeah, but you still had to go to them to do that, right? That would indicate that you should, I dunno, have some sorta… opinion about these places? Maybe?”

Vegeta’s not a fan of the tone Krillin’s taking, but the sandwiches negate it for the most part. They still don’t stop him from responding, “Stop asking such broad-ass questions,” though.

“Excuse me?”

“First the-the,” (he tries to find the word), “ sporting thing and now this. Do you know how many stupid planets I’ve been to?”

“... No?”

A lot. Vegeta’s been to a lot of stupid planets. So many, in fact, that they’ve started to blur into something resembling one long acid trip. You know, one of those written by a person who obviously has never tried the stuff? This is because the planets themselves were actually quite distinct, so any attempt to congo them along in one long memory makes you look… well, not well. The funny thing about it (according to Raditz) is, due to the Empire’s sudden lack of Saiyan warriors, the three remaining members travelled to way more places in the universe than a normal member of their race usually would have. The thing that makes that funny (according to Nappa ) is that, had Vegeta become king, he would’ve seen almost none of it. He would’ve remained under Frieza’s watchful gaze until his coronation and, after that, would’ve most likely never stepped foot off of Planet Vegeta again. He would’ve been groomed to serve, and his heir and every heir after him would’ve suffered the same fate of hostage and vessel. Frieza probably would’ve taken him out on a raid or two – you know, to really cement the blood lust? But, one day when Vegeta asked why King Cold never left HomeWorld, Frieza replied that princes conquer; kings defend home and heart. Vegeta would’ve lived in a cage for the rest of his life.

Life had other plans, of course. It always does, especially for Vegeta, who for years has been defying his rather than living it. After his tour on the war vessel and six month stay on the top-heavy, he had actually been excited to see new places. This mostly stemmed from his desires to take out his frustrations on something much larger than himself, but it was nice to finally be out all the same. For the first few years, he was required to return to the war vessel after each new mission; but over time, Frieza threw his bones further and further away until Vegeta was almost as independent as any of the other officers in the armada. Vegeta will never accept this or perhaps even think it, but the genocide of his people had afforded him the opportunity to become an individual in some way; for other than his honorifics, strange relationship with Frieza, and the two warriors bound to him by the Gut Blood, Vegeta was no longer important in Life, and that’s why he spends so much time defying it.

Vegeta doesn’t tell Krillin any of this though. Instead he says, “I’ve been to a lot, okay?” He takes the first bite into his second sandwich and settles a bit more into the place Life has decided to take him now. By god, he’s gonna get back at it if it’s the last thing he does.

Krillin furrows his brow, trying to figure out how to proceed, but settles on “Alright then.” He still hasn’t taken another bite of his yogurt, and his stomach’s better for it. “Well, how about the last place you went before you came to Earth? You know, that first time? What was that place like?”

Vegeta has to think about it. The excitement of the Dragon Balls had made that whole year a blur. You know, up until the pummeling. And accidentally killing the guy who made the things work. And Kakarot. And general self-hatred. God, that mission was a disaster. Vegeta’s still embarrassed about it. Focus. Right. “It was full of…” He chews slowly as he thinks about it. “... bug people,” he settles on.

Krillin perks up. “Really?”

It takes Vegeta a moment, but then he realizes, yeah, really. He had just said the first thing that came to mind; he hadn’t meant to be right. Now thinking about it though, Vegeta had been the one who programmed that location into his pod. Huh.

“Why did you stop there?” Krillin asks, interrupting Vegeta’s train of thought. “Was it on your way to Earth or before that?”

“On the way,” Vegeta replies.

“What was it like?”

Dry… barren… infested with bugs. Vegeta remembers that Raditz had actually mentioned it once, just before he went to Earth to retrieve Kakarot. Vegeta’s not sure why that made him want to go after his death, but the demons have a few ideas. Oh! “Nappa and I were heroes for about five minutes.”

He’d hoped that Krillin would take the bait, but instead, he’s immediately suspicious. “What happened to mess that up? You punch off one of their heads like you did to that Saiberman’s when you were little?”

Vegeta gives a surprisingly genuine smirk. “No, I did that five minutes before we were heroes.”

Krillin can’t help but smile too despite the larger implications. “Part of the reason for your herodom, I’m sure,” he says.

“Yup.”

Krillin chuckles and, stupidly, takes a bite of his yogurt soon afterwards. He only realizes it after swishing it around in his mouth a few times, and his face isn’t pleasant when he manages to swallow. “I think,” he tells Vegeta, pointing to the cup with the spoon, “that this is spoiled.” He nods a few times as he swallows once more to confirm it, then gets up to take the cup and spoon to the sink.

Vegeta’s about to tell him to stop eating that liquid shit and have sandwiches like a real man, but he isn’t sure what that would do to his own sandwich supply, so he shuts himself up with a nice big bite instead.

As Krillin’s rinsing out the cup, he looks over his shoulder and asks, “So, anything else about that planet that you remember?”

“I destroyed it?” Vegeta tries.

Krillin turns back to the sink and nods mostly to himself. “That… sounds about right.” He turns off the water and grabs a dishrag. While drying off the spoon, he turns around and asks, “Okay, what about the last place you didn’t destroy?”

He’s able to put away the spoon, throw away the yogurt cup, and come back the table with a glass of water for him and another cup of cider for Vegeta by the time Vegeta’s able to remember. “One of the market planets. The one in Sector 4.”

This is the same planet where, years before, Vegeta had entered a ratty tea stall for a cup of Guraran fefulle tea and left with a body count. It is also the planet Vegeta had been on when he first learn of the Dragon Balls. Funnily enough, he had been at another tea stall when that happened, and even Vegeta’s aware of the so-called “irony.” Nappa had insisted on going out after he found Vegeta pacing their hotel room suite in hopes that pacing would somehow speed up Raditz’s report form Earth. Tea of course triggers an… odd sensation for him, but Vegeta figured that vivid recollections of killing the girl were better than the one he had been having about Kakarot’s existence being as false as her monkey tail, so he went. He received Raditz’s report while drinking nothing and, well… Kakarot’s tail had stopped mattering very soon after.

“Market planet?” Krillin asks once he realizes that Vegeta has no desire to explain on his own. “Is that kinda like a top-heavy but for… markets?”

As stupid as that sounds, Krillin’s not exactly wrong. Vegeta tells him as much.

“Oh,” the monk replies, worrying his fingers around his cup of water. He looks down at it. “Were-were they just used for transporting goods? You know, not too many people on them like those top-heavy ones?”

Vegeta swallows the bite he took and says, “Are you kidding? You can’t even move half the time on one of those fucking things. Too many stalls everywhere.”

Krillin brightens right up. “You mean that there’s an entire planets of just stores ?”

Vegeta waves him off. “Stores, restaurants, hotels… whatever else you can spend money on. Drugs. Assassins. Whores.” The rich and powerful had entire continents to themselves. The Cold family? Entire hemispheres. Market planets where planets of excess. Vegeta hated them.

“How many of these are in the Empire you think?”

“Dozen. Dunno.” When Vegeta realizes that Krillin’s still on the edge of his seat, he awkwardly adds, “They’re spread out?” He’s annoyed that he feels the need to add anything at all.

Meanwhile, Krillin might as well have stars in his eyes. “Have you ever been to any other ones? Other than the one you mentioned?”

“No.” He actually has. Once. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He takes a huge bite of his sandwich instead.

Thankfully, its calming effect makes him not want to throw Krillin across the room when he either doesn’t notice or flat out ignores the tenseness in his voice. Krillin barrels through. “Are there any other planets with specifications like that? Like, like… I dunno… factory planets?”

“... That was pretty much every other planet, yeah.”

You see, in order for a Planet Trade Organization to even exist, you had to trade planets for… something. This “something” was usually the planet’s resources. Some companies need, say, iron while others need seeds and others need manpower, and the government facilitated these trades as well as owned the merchandise before it ever went to market. Of course, being the dictatorship that it is, the government can take back these planets whenever they needed the resources, but that’s neither here nor there. If the planet proved valuable enough, it could be mined for millennia. Minerals, food, and warriors were the three favored long term excavations, but Vegeta had visited a planet invaded for its knowledge once. That’d been a trip.

“Its knowledge?” Krillin asks. “What kinda knowledge exactly?”

Vegeta shrugs. It’s becoming a trend. “Who knows? My father conquered it back when he went on the crusades.”

As mentioned previously, Saiyan princes needed to be blood-wetted, and Vegeta’s father had been no exception. It was only five or six years after the Saiyan genocide that Vegeta learned his father had travelled off-planet. He had flown on a Saiyan warship and taken six planets on the southern starboard, but during that time, Vegeta’s grandfather had died unexpectedly, and King Vegeta had been forced to return home to rule. Many years later, our Vegeta had been sent there on business, but he could not help but wonder what a planet full of knowledge could possibly know about his race. That had been the first of five times he had met the oracle. You know, the one he brutally blinded, killed, and then killed again. Still, that’s a story for another time.

“Of those six planets,” Krillin asks, “how many are still there?”

Vegeta doesn’t know the number, but he does know the likelihood. “Two. One. Who cares?”

Krillin does, but he’s in no mood for a fight, so he changes the subject. “Any planets with weird geography?” he asks. “That you didn’t destroy,” he clarifies quickly.

Geography? The word translates as “geometry” for a second, and Vegeta’s really freaking confused, but he figures it out. “Trees,” he replies. That’s a geography, right?

“Trees?”

Or not. He nods anyway.

You see, back when Frieza was still unsure about sending Vegeta anywhere heavily inhabited, Vegeta and his two subjects received an odd request. Despite Galaxy 186 having been in the Empire for almost a millennium, one planet had yet to be conquered. 186 had had all sorts of rebel problems, so when the survey team scanned Planet X2KB and determined it uninhabited, the Empire focused more on bug squashing than peaceful exploration. The Empire always needed more wood though, so once the planet was surveyed for a second time, Frieza sent the three Saiyans there to secure it. Vegeta had been insulted about this, of course, because how could he properly secure something if he couldn’t punch it, but he went because he had to.

Once they arrived though, Vegeta figured out the problem. The planet was, quite literally, covered in trees. Tall trees. The tallest trees Vegeta had ever seen. So tall that their branches reached up into the atmosphere and their canopies blanketed the ground below in a fogged darkness. The trees were also so strong that, when they tried to crash their pods into said trees, their pods did not win. In fact, the trunks might as well have been made of cement because the impact crushed the pods beyond recognition. Thankfully, a reconnaissance ship was only 12 hours away, but it was the principal of the thing, you know? Anyway, there were no bodies of water. Not that Vegeta could find anyway, but it did rain. It rained hard for thirty minutes to an hour at a time and, due to the humidity, the three could see the rainwater condensating and returning to the air only to be dumped back down again thirty minutes later. No fauna either. No other flora. Just trees. The same exact trees. A scientist on that market planet in Sector 4 later told him, based off a branch sample, that the tree he got it from must have been millions of years old.

Up until this point, Vegeta had felt small, of course. He was short for his age, short for his race, and had developed quite the complex about it. Never had he felt that small though. That insignificant. Even during the nights where he’d lie in bed and imagine going from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing, he still felt like he was a part of something. Not there, though. Not on that planet.

Half a day later, the reconnaissance ship arrived, and Vegeta did something none of those trees would ever be able to do. Leave. Once he realized that, he realized he could do anything.

That… hasn’t exactly worked out for him, mind you, but still. The sentiment counts.

“And… that planet still exists?” Krillin asks. “Really?”

Vegeta nods, taking a sip of his cider. Frieza had always been a fan of the extremely odd. He probably built a summer villa there or something. Or cleared it into one giant field because Frieza would do something that for shits and giggles. Who knows? If Vegeta had spent any time trying to figure out how Frieza’s mind works, he’d of gone insane a long time go. From what he remembers though, the planet is still there. He hasn’t been back to 186 in a long time.

“Wow,” Krillin says. “That’s amazing.”

Vegeta keeps chewing as a reply.

In fact, he’s almost through his third sandwich when Krillin asks, suddenly out of the blue, “It took you a year to get here, right? An Earth year?”

Vegeta’s not sure how much he wants to promote multiple questions being asked in one session, but he figures this is close enough to the original to warrant a response, especially when the response is a very uninterested nod.

“And… the ship Bulma’s dad built for you, did that… did that take you back there? To the Empire, I mean…”

Vegeta swallows and says, “Are you nuts? Of course not!” Vegeta wanted to rule the whole thing for a while there, of course, but now that Cooler’s most likely in charge, the Empire’s more dangerous than ever. As previously mentioned, Cooler’s probably happy about the way things turned out, but if one of the Saiyans who killed his family stepped into his domain, he’d be forced to take action. Regicide cannot be taken lightly even if you’re thankful for it. You don’t want to give others any… unnecessary ideas. Needless to say, Vegeta will likely never step foot in the Empire again.

Krillin gives Vegeta a look. “Where did you go then?”

To a planet. Vegeta doesn’t remember the specifics other than the fact that it was blue and there was lots of lightning. He knew that, while Namek had been more of a teal, there sure was a lot of lightning around when he saw Kakarot as a Super Saiyan for that brief couple of seconds, so he figured the planet would fit the whole transformation aesthetic. It didn’t. A lot of things Vegeta remembers from those couple of seconds didn’t work, but he’s figure out how Kakarot fulfilled the legend or die trying.

He doesn’t realize the answer is currently sitting across from him sipping some water. The answer is also waiting on an answer to his question.

Vegeta gives it. “A place where I wouldn’t be disturbed. Why do you care?”

Krillin shrugs. “I dunno,” he replies. “I guess I was just wondering if you think a ship like that could get to the Empire just as quickly. I know your pod thing was smaller and probably faster, so…”

Vegeta laughs. He can’t help it. “What? You wanting to take a vacation or something?”

Krillin blushes hard. “Not… not, not, not a vacation exactly.”

“Then what?”

Krillin looks down at his glass of water and, with his right hand, revolves it around very slowly. “I’m just, you know… considering my options.”

In all technicality, Vegeta could ask about this. Vegeta could ask why Krillin feels the need to consider options an Earth year away in an empire whose previous ruler literally killed him. He could ask why Krillin isn’t at fucking Kakarot’s house like he’s supposed to be, and why he’s taken to squatting at Capsule Corps, but he won’t. That’s because Vegeta’s an asshole, and Vegeta doesn’t care. The important thing to take note of though is that, even though Vegeta could ask about it, that doesn’t mean he’d get an answer. That doesn’t mean that Krillin would spill his guts all over the table like Vegeta might if Krillin gets too used to him. They’re already getting what they want out of the arrangement, after all: Vegeta, sandwiches; Krillin, companionship. There’s no need to dirty the table. They’re both in agreement about that.

Instead Vegeta says, while chewing, “Outta the question.”

Krillin looks up from his glass. “Huh? Why?”

Vegeta gestures to emphasize the full sandwich in his hand. “You’re supposed t’be making these for me, remember? Have you forgotten already or something?”

For a moment, Krillin looks at him like he’s crazy, but then gives the most sickeningly sweet smile Vegeta has ever seen. “Sorry, you’re right,” he says. “Silly me.”

Desperate to not turn this into a ‘moment’ or whatever humans call it it, Vegeta continues with, “And anyway, you’re at least ‘free’ or whatever here, right? You wanna go onto a dictator’s ship just because there’s some planets with some stores?”

Krillin can’t help but laugh at how poorly Vegeta’s language trip translated that out. “Onto a dictator’s ship, huh?”

Vegeta looks unsure for a moment while chewing. “That’s what they call it, right?” he asks, mouth full. “A dictator’s ship?”

“A dictatorship, yes.”

“Yeah, don’t get on that.”

Krillin laughs. “Yeah, okay, Vegeta.”

Vegeta’s not sure why he’s laughing, but it doesn’t matter. He has sandwiches to eat, and Krillin shouldn’t interrupt that too much. Krillin tries his best.

Chapter Text

THE DEFINITION OF TERRIBLE

They don’t convene for dinner that evening, but come morning, they’re right back at it. You see, when Vegeta enters the kitchen at half past seven, he figures things can’t get stranger – a thought he’s often regretted having over the course of his life, mind you, but still manages to have on a consistent basis.

At the moment though, he’s right. The sandwiches are already made and stacked in their usual manner, and while Krillin is reading that ridiculously-sized paper again, he no longer seems as eager to run out on Earth as he was yesterday, so Vegeta’s as satisfied as he’ll ever be.

He shows this by immediately digging in.

Krillin shoots him a glance, raises both his eyebrows, then goes back to his paper. “You, uh,” he says, “aren’t getting sick of those sandwiches yet, are you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.

Vegeta replies by giving him a look that, if not dampened by the sandwiches, might’ve killed.

While Krillin’s no longer seriously considering jet-setting out of the atmosphere, that doesn’t mean he’s in a good enough mood to entertain mediocre threats, so when he catches sight of Vegeta’s half-assed attempt at it, he says, “Alright then,” and goes back to reading as though it never happened.

Thankfully, Vegeta too engaged in what he’s doing to notice.

There’s a minute or two of silence between them, and just as Vegeta wonders if they’re going to get through the morning without some ridiculous occurrence, Krillin says, “Man, this week’s been terrible for everyone, huh?”

The question’s more directed to the ether than Vegeta, but he still considers it. Has this week really been so terrible? Well, yeah. God, yeah. Every moment spent on this godforsaken planet is the textbook fucking definition of terrible, so to Vegeta, this week being terrible is more the norm than the outlier Krillin’s making it out to be.

However, Vegeta can’t help but feel like this week in particular has been a little… well, less terrible than usual. Confusing and emotionally taxing, sure, but the sandwiches have been a big plus. Also, Krillin… Krillin hasn’t been the worst thing to ever happen to him, he supposes. Vegeta can get behind anyone doing something to piss of Bulma, and he’s pretty sure squatting at her place is currently the frontrunner in that department, so props to that; and while he can be stupid to the point of risking Vegeta’s insanity, Krillin’s lapses into normalcy have been frequent enough to make him somehow tolerable.

So yeah, this week’s been terrible, no question, but for Vegeta, it could’ve been worse. What he’s more concerned about is how Krillin thinks his and everyone else’s week can even relate. Not that Vegeta cares. Of course not. We’ve been over this. No, this is more about the lengths to which Vegeta will go to consider himself the very best. If everyone, including Krillin, is really having that terrible of a week, well, they better settle for silver, because Vegeta only goes for gold, even in the cases where it makes him feel like shit.  

All this leads to him asking: “What could possibly be so terrible?”

Krillin grips the paper tighter, and after staring at Vegeta wide-eyed and sheet white for a moment, opens his mouth to ask if Vegeta means in general or what in particular. The ‘in general,’ Krillin can answer. He can answer that for hours. It’s concerning how many problems come instantly to mind that have nothing to do with his own. He needs to get better about that, but does he really want to start by getting into the ‘in particular’ right now – with Vegeta ? Well…

Before Krillin’s able to ask and figure out whether he’ll be droning on for hours or immediately leaving though, Vegeta continues with, “Isn’t this planet is run on on on sparkles or something? You people don’t know the first thing about terrible other than being terrible !”

Oh, he’s talking about ‘in general’ then, Krillin thinks. Alright. “Well, I doubt you’ve heard, but there was an assassination attempt on our president a few days ago,” he says. He slaps the paper with the back of one of his hand. “It’s been all over the paper. They haven’t caught the guy yet, so everyone’s really on edge.”

Vegeta scoffs. “Like I said, you’re all terrible. None of you can kill one lousy dog, and the people protectin’ him can’t even catch the guy who tried it! Pathetic!”

“Well, yeah, but I’m sure it’s a little more complicated than–”

Krillin looks hard down at the table for a moment, then looks back up at Vegeta as though he just casually proved string theory. “Wait. How did you know our president’s a dog?”

“... The president’s a dog?”

“Yes.”

Vegeta downs his entire mug of apple cider as though it’s hard alcohol. His chip had told him that the word ‘dog’ is a colloquialism for a piece of shit human being. He hadn’t actually meant the animal, but apparently he did , because the president of this goddamn planet is a fucking dog! You know, for someone who’s only been outside once since learning about his own death by robot, Vegeta sure has learned a lot about the fauna here. Pigs are disgusting but delicious; a turtle somehow taught Kakarot martial arts; and apparently a dog can be president. Thing is, Vegeta definitely saw a servant picking up poodle shit during his second morning here, which makes him think that some servant must pick up the poop of this planet’s president, and –

No. No, you know what? Vegeta has had just as terrible a week as he usually does. He’s just not willing to rage as hard about it. He doesn’t know why he’s not willing to until he takes another bite of his sandwich on instinct. He’s really going to have to keep eating these if he wants to be patient like that oracle said, huh? Krillin’s gotta ask him questions to keep making ‘em, right? Right now, Vegeta’s willing to answer just about anything.

Thankfully, the line of questioning involves death, his favorite. “So, uh… I know your father was by all technically killed,” Krillin says, starting to fold up his paper, “but were there ever any attempts on his life? Or-or on yours, perhaps?”

Vegeta’s about to tell Krillin just how obvious that fucking question is, but the monk clarifies with, “For political reasons, I mean. Not for, you know…” He puts the paper down underneath his phone. “... revenge for state, family, and/or home.”

“What difference is there?”

Krillin raises an eyebrow. “Difference between what?”

“Murder and assassination.”

“Ah. Well, good question.” Krillin clicks his tongue as he thinks. “If we wanna go off dictionary definitions, I suppose murder’s the, uh… unlawful killing of a person – sometimes premeditated, sometimes not – while with an assassination, the victim’s always a person of significance who’s killed not outta passion, but for, like, political reasons?”

“Then my father was assassinated.”

Krillin’s shoulders slump a little. “... Oh, right. I forgot. He wasn’t planetside when Frieza… you know.”

“Destroyed it,” Vegeta says. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Still though, I…” Krillin folds his hands as he puts them on the table. “I would hesitate to call your father’s death an assassination.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, like I said. Assassinations are usually pulled off for political reasons. Frieza had no political gain from killing your father. It was more due to… species discrimination, I guess? I mean, your father’s death was the first in a genocide, not in a coup or any sort of new world order. Also, assassinations are usually pulled off either by hiring a trained profession or someone of a lower class than their target. In this case, well… it’s complicated, that’s for sure. There’s lots of… facets?”

“Facets?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

Krillin shrugs in that certain way that notes contemplation rather than indecision or confusion. “Well, even though your father’s death wasn’t an assassination, due to your father’s and Frieza’s positions, his death would’ve garnered a lot of different interpretations. I mean, I only know what Frieza told us, but based off that, I’m sure the Empire chalked up King Vegeta’s death to self defense.”

Vegeta’s surprised enough by this statement to drop his sandwich entirely. It lands with the kind of splat one would expect of a rubber goose. “Self defense ?”

Krillin shrugs again, but this time much quicker and more definitively. “Yeah. I mean, Vegeta? Your father brought an elite squad onto Frieza’s ship with the intent to kill him. A good deal of people would say that he was attempting to assassinate Frieza, not the other way around.”

This time, Vegeta’s expression is not dampened by the sandwiches.

Krillin sees this and immediately backpedals. “But-but-but but but, like I said before, that’s probably the way the, uh, Empire sees it. Lots of interpretations could be made, though, like I said. A lot a lot.” He tries to think of one that won’t get him killed. He manages it pretty quickly. “I mean, again, due to Frieza’s, uh… obvious bias against Saiyans, he could’ve purposefully, you know... pushed your father to the point where he’d behave in a way that would justify not only his death, but a total eradication of the Saiyan race?”

Vegeta narrows his eyes a bit. “So you’re saying Frieza purposefully allowed my father to invade his ship so he’d have an excuse to destroy my entire planet?”

“... yes?”

They don’t break eye contact for a moment, but Vegeta finally looks down to pick his sandwich back up. “Bastard,” he mutters just before taking his next bite.

Krillin heaves a sigh of relief. “An-Anyway, your father’s… fate notwithstanding, were there any other attempts on his life that you know of? Again,” (he still feels the need to add), “for political reasons?”

Vegeta swallows while he thinks. “Not my father, no,” he replies. “Not by another Saiyan, anyway. No foreigners either, from what I know.”

“Speaking of that, did any other races live on Planet Vegeta or was it just Saiyans?”

“Just Saiyans.”

While most planets in the Empire were required to open their atmosphere to anyone required to be there, Planet Vegeta was a particular case. You see, many years back when King Cold was still heavily involved in the crusading, he didn’t have the same kind of leverage he does now. (Or did until, you know, he was blown to a million pieces just a few weeks back). No, back then when he took a planet into his fold, he still had to… negotiate. Planet Vegeta was quite a missile to be placed in his arsenal, so to speak, for a multitude of reasons, and as such, during his negotiations with King Vegeta XV of Tribe Un Ookairani, it had been agreed, as a part of Planet Vegeta’s surrender, that no foreigner should be allowed to touch soil unless it was for imperial business, and that imperial business should be conducted, at all times, within the capital’s castle. Of course, there were a few exceptions to this rule (a certain cat god comes to mind), but overall, it was generally well followed, even by Frieza and his family surprisingly enough.

Cold negotiated with a number of planets over the years before instilling his sons as conquerors, but not many of those planets survived in the long term, at least not in the same capacity as they were when Cold first stepped foot on them. By the time our Prince Vegeta was born, his planet had become an exception to the rule rather than an example of it. It was such an exception that, even after its destruction, the phrase ‘as level as Planet Vegeta’ is used by the Empire’s citizens to describe when everything’s uniform. ‘How are those Lord Frieza bobble heads looking, Frank? No obvious difference between ‘em, right?’ ‘They’re all as level as Planet Vegeta, sir!’ ‘Perfect! Send ‘em to every gift shop in the Empire then!’ (This conversation most likely happened since there are, in fact, Frieza bobble heads in every gift shop in the Empire; however, the subordinate was probably not named Frank).

Anyway, despite living on a completely homogeneous planet, Saiyans were used to other races. Not many Saiyans spent their entire life on their home planet, after all. In fact, a good number of them never even stepped foot on it, which caused some complications when it came to Frieza’s extermination plan, but more on that another time. No, if anything, being surrounded by Saiyans and only Saiyans was disconcerting to most of the population, but still, their homogeneity was a matter of Saiyan pride, so they tended to brag about it. A lot.

Needless to say, because of all this, it would be difficult for a person of another species to assassinate King Vegeta, especially seeing that, once he was crowned, King Vegeta never left the planet’s orbit again until he, you know… he did. It didn’t work out.

“Huh,” Krillin says. “People really did respect that whole equivalent exchange duel, huh?”

“They wouldn’t be Saiyan if they didn’t,” Vegeta replies.

“I see…”

Vegeta’s not sure what gets into him, but before he can stop himself, he says, “‘Course, the honorable duel of equivalent exchange didn’t apply for within Tribes.”

Krillin cocks his head a little. “What do you mean?”

Vegeta knows what he means, but he doesn’t know why he means it. Vegeta might as well have the social grace of a mean girl not wearing pink on a Wednesday, but even he can spot the natural end to a conversation. He could’ve had it. It had been so close. Oh well, he thinks. There’s four sandwiches left. “People within other tribes assassinated each other all the time to gain political power.”

“Really? I’m… surprised. That doesn’t seem very…”

“Honorable?” Vegeta replies. “No. It wasn’t, but Cold specifically banned the honorable duel, so it didn’t leave many options. If Tribes had remained at the same place in the totem pole for years at a time, something would’ve exploded, guaranteed. Better that way.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Krillin says. “I mean, in a lot of ways, your dad was just a figurehe--”

Krillin’s smart enough to catch himself. He’s not sure why any mention of Vegeta’s father is making him constantly put his own foot in his mouth, but it needs to stop. Immediately.

Thankfully, Vegeta’s chip doesn’t fill the blanks. Vegeta, though, is aware that some sort of miscommunication has occurred. “No,” he says slowly, “my father was not a… plastic sculpture.”

Krillin’s red in the face when he laughs. “Sorry, wrong word.” He boinks himself on the head with his fist. “Stupid me! Heh.”

At least he’s aware, Vegeta thinks, taking another bite.

“I guess you answered one part of my question,” Krillin says, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, “but not the other. Has anyone ever attempted to, you know…”

Vegeta probably gives to the most dramatic sigh Krillin has ever heard out of him. It almost levels with Bulma’s brand of them, and Krillin’s impressed. “Once,” he replies.

There were probably others ( definitely others, Vegeta’s ego jumps in), but he’s only really aware of one particular attempt. He had been young, but not young enough to have still been living on Planet Vegeta. Not to say Planet Vegeta would’ve given him the immunity you’d naturally expected. The honorable duel of equivalent exchange does not apply to heir apparents; in fact, many in line for the throne had been killed over the years to make way for a better king. Prince Vegeta, though, was different – Untrodden. From birth, he was destined to rule, which, you’re right, does seem like a peculiar thing to explain when the previous clause was, in fact, the definition of “heir apparent” . We’ll discuss the distinction another time.

Anyway, the assassination attempt occurred in that awkward stage of Vegeta’s life where he was no longer confined to Frieza’s warship 24/7, but he still had to return to it anytime he completed a task. Any task. In fact, despite living with the guy for a number of years, Vegeta never realized how much of a troll Frieza was until this one time he was helping clear out a planet, and Frieza required Vegeta to tell him whenever he killed someone. Anyone. Frieza was fairly close by for the whole thing, sure, but Vegeta was the only one required to do this and it made no fucking sense. As this continued, of course, Vegeta figured Frieza was trying to make a fool of him, but when one of the other elites pointed out the joke, Frieza killed him, so who fucking knows. If Vegeta analyzed any of Frieza’s actions, he’d go insane. God, he’s glad Frieza’s dead.

Anyway , the attempt occurred while Vegeta was being kept on a very short leash. At that time, he might as well have been apart of Frieza’s main entourage, as much as the idea makes Vegeta physically ill, but that wasn’t the reason he was targeted.

No, Vegeta was targeted because this asshole thought drinking Saiyan blood would help him overthrow the Empire.

“He thought what? ” Krillin asks, having almost taken a sip of his coffee before hearing this.

“You’re not deaf,” Vegeta replies.

Krillin wonders if this is just another insult or actually the nicest thing Vegeta’s ever said to anyone. Either way is pretty sad when you think about it, though. “... No, I’m not,” he says, “but recently I’ve realized, when I hear something this ridiculous, I need to ask for clarification.”

Vegeta’s need for the gold just keeps getting pettier. “Doubt you’ve heard something this ridiculous before.”

“After the week I’ve had,” Krillin says, “this is mid-tier.”

Vegeta takes a grouchy bite of his sandwich in reply. Unlike the prince, who saw a natural close to the conversation earlier but blurted out a continuation without thinking, Krillin sees the natural close he accidentally created and tries to resurrect it. “But why did this guy think that Saiyan blood would help him kill the Colds? That makes no sense.” He then gives Vegeta a skeptical look. “D-Does it…?”

If you’re horribly misinformed about the Gut Blood, then yes, perhaps it does make sense, but Vegeta’s just as adamant about not explaining that as he was the other day. It doesn’t matter anyway because Vegeta’s sure that, while the assassination attempt had to do with blood, it most definitely involved Saiyan blood, not the Gut Blood. “No,” he replies. “Of course it doesn’t make sense. Why would it be ridiculous otherwise?”

“Well…” Krillin says slowly, “I would like to think the act of drinking someone else’s blood is always ridiculous, whether it gives you power or not.”

… This is exactly the reason Vegeta does not want to discuss the Gut Blood.

So he ignores the comment because, now that he’s remembering all the details of the assassination attempt, he really wants to bitch about it. “ The point is, ” Vegeta stresses, “this idiot thought if he drank the blood of a Saiyan prince, it would give him the ability to turn ape and,” (Vegeta downright cringing as he says it) , “destroy all his enemies.”

“That’s… oddly specific,” Krillin says. “Was this some sorta rumor or...?”

Not that Vegeta knows of. He actually looked into it a bit when he visited that knowledge planet, but nothing in their records supported the theory. Nappa and Raditz were just as dumbfounded by it, and for someone who feared the Saiyans enough to nearly exterminate every single one of them, Frieza was surprisingly unconcerned. WIth the knowledge Vegeta is armed with now, he’s almost positive that, if the theory had any merit, Frieza would’ve just killed the three of them and just been done with it. You can never train a Saiyan to keep blood in their body. Bleeding’s in their DNA.

The attempt happened on Frieza’s warship. They were near Homeworld, Vegeta remembers, and Frieza was using the opportunity to entertain one of the Five Lords of the Intersector. These were the five families whom Cold had made a pact with to create his Empire in the first place, and though Cold was much stronger than all these men and had proven himself time and time again of being untrustworthy, he had upheld this contract and brought these men and their planets unspeakable wealth. Interactions with these five lords were one of the only times in which Vegeta ever saw Frieza try to be respectful, and honestly, it was hilarious. Vegeta had to be extra respectful, of course, but it hadn’t been nearly as hard for him since he did respect these men in a weird sort of way. As much as Vegeta could respect anyone, anyway. Anyone who made Frieza think about what he actually said or did was a-okay in Vegeta’s book.

This had been the second time Frieza had invited one of the lords onboard since Vegeta’s ‘relocation,’ and hilariously enough, after experiencing an entirely different assassination attempt , this particular lord had hired an off-planet bodyguard elite, which was headed up by the asshole that would, on this day, attempt to assassinate Vegeta.

Alright, so there Vegeta was, minding his own business. Despite the fact that he only ruled over two (known) subjects, Vegeta was still royalty, and as such forced to endure the dinner Frieza had invited the lord to, so he was minding his own business specifically at the dinner table. He forgets what they were discussing because he wasn’t allowed to participate, but it had been important enough that the servants had been shooed out into the hall as soon as the main course was served. He had taken to stabbing his food, a table faux pas he knew Zarbon hated and as such employed as much as possible.

It is because of all of these things that Vegeta ended up alone with the asshole captain of the bodyguard. Because Vegeta does not remember the exact wording of this conversation, we will be using his childhood interpretation as our transcript of the event:

“THE ROYAL SHIT”

by Vegeta’s childhood grudges

FADE IN:

INT. LORD FRIEZA’S FORMAL DINING ROOM - DINNERTIME

LORD: Blah blah. I am a very important lord, and I know I am on my so-called partner’s spoiled brat’s ship, but I am still terribly afraid from that assassination attempt, so I must have two of my bodyguards go locate the loo before I go take a royal shit.

FRIEZA: Oh yes. I have taken many a royal shit on this ship. Here, let one of my thousands of servants help you locate this holy place.

FRIEZA: But oh no!  We are alone, so it is now impossible for us to do accomplish this incredibly minor task. Whatever shall we do?

ZARBON: Lord Frieza, Prince Vegeta is annoying me terribly and doing an incredible job of it. The only way I could possibly defeat such a brilliant tactician is to volunteer him to do this horrible task.

FRIEZA: Your asskissing pleases me, Zarbon. Vegeta, do the work of a servant and show other servants where the bathroom is so that this lord I am required to please can take his royal shit.

ASSHOLE CAPTAIN: I am now going to unsuspiciously insist that I should unsuspiciously accompany the great prince to this holy chamber of enchantment unsuspiciously.

LORD: … Fine. Unsuspiciously get on with it then.

FADE OUT.

THE END

(If you couldn’t tell, Vegeta’s still very bitter over the whole thing).

That is how Prince Vegeta found himself in a vacant hallway with the man who was about to take his life. Vegeta was a few steps ahead of him and was about to turn that last corner to show him the door when he felt… something. For many years, he had assumed it was the heat of the captain’s ki , but now that he can sense most ki at will, he realizes that the ability had laid dormant in him for quite some time. Not that the beam would’ve done shit to him, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

The altercation went like this: Vegeta turns around to find that the captain of one of the Five Lord’s bodyguards apparently trying to kill him. Due to the captain status, Vegeta assumes he will not win in a fight with said captain. Meanwhile, captain starts blabbering about how the Saiyans conquered his planet, but he had seen one of his brothers drink the blood of a fallen Saiyan and turn into an ape during the ensuing battle, and how this brother was unstoppable; thus, if the captain drinks a royal Saiyan’s blood, he will be more than unstoppable.

It is at that moment that the captain insists that he will, in fact, become the legendary Super Saiyan.

Vegeta takes exception to this.

Vegeta takes so much exception to this that, when the captain fires the shot, he doesn’t get out of the way. Instead, little Vegeta stands his ground and faces the blast that should’ve killed him head-on. He’s seeing red and not thinking, and the next thing he knows, he’s punching the ki. He punches it perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that the shot ricochets off his knuckles and right up into the captain’s very surprised face.

The captain’s head explodes, and there’s blood everywhere.

“Oh my god,” Krillin says. “What is up with you and heads?!”

“What? Nothing!”

“Nothing? You told me yesterday that you punched a Saiberman’s head off--”

“I did?” Vegeta asks. Must of been the concussion, the demons provide. “Oh.”

“And there was that whole thing with the Ginyu Force guy on Namek--”

“Guldo?” Vegeta asks.

“Sure. And now this? ” Krillin sits back in his chair, looking thoroughly stumped. “So you were just sitting there, in a hallway, covered in blood?”

Yes. Yes, he was. Vegeta had killed a lot of people in his life up ‘til this point, so he was certainly used to it, but even he had been a little rattled. Then he was mostly just annoyed because he got asshole blood all over his traditional armor.

“And no one… no one questioned this?” Krillin asks.

“Are you kidding?” Vegeta says. “Frieza was almost as paranoid as his father. There were cameras everywhere on that ship. Captured the whole thing.”

In fact, the footage became a ship-wide phenomenon there for a while. Someone was able to edit it down to a six-second clip of blast-to-fist-to-face and loop it so people could watch it as many times as they wanted in a row. Vegeta’s pretty sure that person ended up making an empirical cloud site based off the concept, though he never used it. Raditz got the biggest kick out of it, which was kind of surprising seeing the company they were forced to keep, to the point where he attempted to do the same thing several times. It never worked out for him. The one time he did manage to hit someone back right in their face, the blast just… sorta went through their head. Raditz had been terribly disappointed.

“Okay,” Krillin says. “Now that I have all the information I need, I, uh… I move that ridiculous statement from earlier to upper mid-tier.”

Vegeta’s nearly done with his sandwiches at this point, but he can’t help but feel like his time is being cut short by the way Krillin gets out of his chair and starts gathering his stuff. “Upper mid-tier?” he asks. “Some asshole tried to assassinate me so he could drink my blood and become a Super Saiyan-ape god thing. I punched the blast meant for my head into his head, and it exploded.”

“Yes,” Krillin says, hugging the newspaper to his chest, phone clutched in hand, “I understand that.”

“You’ve heard more ridiculous than that this week?”

“Believe me,” Krillin replies, “I’m just as confused and morally conflicted about that as you are, but like I said – it’s been a terrible week.” He smiles after though. “See you at lunch?” he asks.

Vegeta grunts, last fourth of a sandwich in hand.

Krillin leaves as Vegeta shoves it in his mouth, chews, and swallows. Just like that, everything’s back to the way it’s supposed to be – terrible – and Vegeta’s once again going for the gold.

Chapter Text

“Okay,” Krillin says, “so I’ve been thinking, and I’ve got a question.”

It’s a little past one, and Vegeta’s already a sandwich deep while Krillin is, of course, eating none. Vegeta’s not sure why, but this is starting to annoy him. You see, even though Vegeta’s never received proper instruction when it comes to training, he still knows the basics; and one of the basics is that you need to eat a ton of carbs and protein and shit in order to train properly. If you don’t, you’ll never build any muscle and will remain an irrelevant shitstain for the rest of your life. Doesn’t the monk know that this is the only reason Vegeta eats so much in the first place?

(Okay, this isn’t true at all , but humor him, would you)? 

Now thinking about it though, has Krillin even been training? He’s supposed to be, at least according to the little brouhaha all of Earth’s fighters after learning about those robot people. They were all going to train like they were still relevant or something, and while Kakarot hadn’t had the time to even address Vegeta his arch rival and prince properly, he did apparently have time to not only teleport somewhere so he could grab Krillin some sunglasses, but also ask Krillin if he wanted to train with him. Vegeta doesn’t remember this out of jealousy (even the idea of training with Kakarot makes Vegeta wanna go massacre another Namekian village outta spite); no, he remembers it because he realized he had no idea how these people trained at all. They don’t use rooms , that’s for sure. Vegeta figured that out pretty quickly after he confused the woman into building him one. 

No, they must, like... train outside or something. Vegeta’s done that before, sure, but it’s never been on purpose. He’s not a damn savage. What do they punch? Rocks? Trees? Each other? That’s what people must do when they train together, right? Punch one another? Vegeta doesn’t remember Krillin’s answer to the question because he doesn’t care, but he has a feeling all these human types worship the stupid ground Kakarot stomps all over. 

Yet here Krillin is, making sandwiches but not eating them. Didn’t he say he trained with Kakarot before? For years even? How was that possible? How did – 

“Uh, Vegeta?” Krillin asks. “... did you hear what I said?”

Vegeta finally swallows a bit of sandwich he’s been chewing on for so long that it might have turned to liquid. “What?”

“I said, ‘I’ve been thinking, and I have a question’.”

Vegeta rubs his eyes, then the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you always have questions?” he asks.

“Yes?” Krillin’s staring rather pointedly at the sandwiches.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

Vegeta stares rather pointedly at them too.

“Right.” Krillin puts his elbows on the table and folds his hands in front of his mouth, worrying his thumbs together as he thinks, and only leans his head to the side when he says, “I guess it’s more… personal, I guess?”

Vegeta scoffs. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”

“I suppo--” Krillin stares. Finally, he asks, “Vegeta, what do you consider to be a personal question?”

“Every question you’ve ever asked.”

To most this might seem like an over exaggeration verging on downright laughable, but while Vegeta’s kept his vocal answers short, the path these questions have led him down have been… emotional to say the least. The sandwiches have made these sequences bearable, sure, but Vegeta hadn’t signed up for a whole tour ‘round ol’ historic Existential Boulevard. 

Still though, Vegeta’s struggling with what he’s said and what he hasn’t because, when Krillin asks, “... including which drinks you like and Saiyan sports?” Vegeta responds with, “You gave me tea.”

“What?”

Oh, right. He hadn’t actually mentioned that girl and her faux Saiyan tail. He had just said the tea was shit, which hey, is sorta true, so it’s not like he was lying or anything; and like he said before, he doesn’t owe Krillin anything. He shuts up.

Krillin knows when not to chase. “Well,” he says, “I guess I was wondering…  I mean--” 

“Spit it out.”

“I’ve been wondering something since I heard about the Saiyans. On Namek, I mean.”

At this point, Vegeta’s put down his sandwich entirely – a first. “We talked about that this morning. Remember? The assassination attempt?” An assassination attempt Krillin doesn’t think is all that mind-blowing, apparently.

“Right. That, uh, actually was a pretty personal question, huh?”

Vegeta grunts, taking back up his sandwich.

“Anyway, um… Goku aside, after Frieza destroyed the planet, it was just you, Raditz, and Nappa, right? Outta all of the Saiyans?”

Vegeta grunts again in what Krillin can only assume to be a confirmation.

“Well, I wondered before, like I said, but after this morning and this whole week, well… I guess…” He puts his hands, still folded, flat on the table. “First, how many Saiyans were there? Before, you know…”

Vegeta quirks an eyebrow. “This your ‘personal’ question?”

“No,” Krillin says, “I’m clarifying. Like the last question. That I asked. Just now.”

Vegeta rocks his head side-to-side as he considers it. He’s been given varying numbers over the years, and honestly, all of them have been drastically different. Like many of the stronger races in the Empire, every Saiyan was supposed to be accounted for in official records, but when your territory’s 50 square solar systems large, things tend to… slip through the cracks, as they say. In fact, Vegeta’s never been able to get an official answer every time he’s tried. For an officer of his status, such information should have been easily accessible, but strangely, the numbers had been wiped from every database he checked. In fact, that had been one of the main reasons Vegeta had journeyed to the knowledge planet in the first place – according to a few techies Raditz somehow knew, the planet kept hard copies of nearly everything. No such luck though. Vegeta knows now that Frieza must of had something to do with the missing data, but back then, he had honestly believed that Frieza hadn’t cared about such things and had believed him when he said as much.

So Vegeta goes with the only number he believes – the one his father had told him when he was young. “Three billion, give or take.”

“Three billion?” Krillin asks. “I’m… not gonna lie, that’s… alarmingly small.”

“Not really.”

The thing about being a Saiyan is A) you tend to die a lot. While there weren’t too many species in the universe that could properly address a Saiyan army, that didn’t mean the Saiyans came out of these skirmishes without losses. Embarrassingly enough, most deaths were more… circumstantial than you might suspect. For one thing, transforming into an ape puts a lot of strain on one’s body, so when performing said transformation is your job, warriors tended to burn out; and when a Saiyan warrior burns out, they’d rather die than live with the shame. Others went into such irreversible bloodlusts that they couldn’t make heads or tails of when the battle began and when it ended, and their superiors were forced to put them down. There was also just a shit ton of friendly fire. Seriously, the number of soldiers killed by their own forces were staggering . Frieza certainly hadn’t wiped any information about that. Even Vegeta can’t defend it. It’s embarrassing, and he knows it. 

And B) Saiyans just never populated well. Oh, they had sex. Saiyans had tons of sex. It’s just when strength is considered the most important thing about your child, babies sorta kinda got murdered. A lot. They weren’t thrown into random death pits Sparta-style or anything. No, instead they were put down like Old Yeller except with two fingers shooting out an ki blast instead of a bullet from the barrel of a traumatized ten-year-old’s musket. The Empire technically had laws against such behavior, but such rules were hard to enforce when non-Saiyans weren’t allowed on the surface of their planet, and seeing that Frieza and by extension his father only really wanted Saiyan warriors, well… many looked the other way. 

“Three billion’s still a lot,” Krillin says, though he sounds unsure, like he wants to add more.

Vegeta’s not going to repeat himself. Krillin can either ask his damn question or leave.

“This morning,” he says, “you told me that, yeah, Planet Vegeta was made up entirely pf Saiyans, but some Saiyans – a lotta Saiyans – had never seen home, so I can’t help but wonder…”

“ What? ”

Krillin sinks down in his chair a little. “How were you, Raditz, and Nappa the only three left when Frieza only destroyed the planet?”

Vegeta sinks down a little in his chair too. Oh, say the demons. This should be good.

“You were on the ship,” Krillin says, “I know that. Nappa was with you, I assume. Was Raditz?”

No. No, Raditz had been found weeks later in his pod, hovering where Planet Vegeta had once been. Vegeta’s unsure of the details and will likely never be, but if his theory’s right, Raditz would have been killed if Frieza’s warship hadn’t been the first to fly by. Solar wind had driven it far off-course, and when Vegeta had overheard the captain mention that they’d be travelling through former-Saiyan airspace, he managed to slink off and glue himself to one of the exterior windows, determined to see the carnage. A meteorite shouldn’t have turned the planet completely to dust, after all. Something had to be left. At least, that’s what he told himself.

So he sat there for hours, one temple pressed against one side of the window, his arm with his wrist GPS pressed against the other. Before he had left home, the old woman had programmed Planet Vegeta’s location into the system as HOME, and he couldn’t help but stare as the arrow drew closer and closer to its destination despite there being no planet in sight. It continued this way far into Saiyan airspace, up until the GPS announced that he had arrived at his destination: Planet Vegeta, now permanently closed. The Saiyan prince had to look away for just a moment because the window -- the window, dammit -- had become wet enough to streak water down his cheeks, so he wiped his face and wiped the window.

Then, at that moment, he saw it. Looking back, he realizes just how silly it had been, thinking something so small could be his planet when his GPS had assumed that he had already landed. But for a second, he saw Planet Vegeta through the water on the window, but then he blinked a few times and realized it was a ship. A lone Saiyan ship. It wasn’t damaged; in fact, it was almost suspiciously new, like it had been recently acquired and brought out for a joy ride. 

It certainly had not survived the meteorite; no, it arrived afterwards. At least Vegeta hoped – if his whole birthright vaporized into dust but one Saiyan pod somehow came out untouched, he’d probably have to destroy the universe. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was racing down the halls, towards the pod bay, where he had every intention of berating the staff until they pulled the thing in. Thankfully, they had already done it by the time he got there. 

Out popped Raditz, and that had been that, really. One moment there was two, next moment three. Frieza must’ve been a good damn actor because he had only given a quirk of an eyebrow before proceeding to pretend like Raditz didn’t exist for the rest of Raditz’s life. If Vegeta’s theory about the non-planet Saiyans is true, and if he considers just how manipulative Frieza could truly be, then Vegeta wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing was staged. “See? Most of the Saiyans had been on the planet, Vegeta. See? Any Saiyan who wasn’t is alive.” What a load of horseshit.

“Frieza called them all back, I guess,” Vegeta tells him.

“... and no one thought that was odd? Really?”

Vegeta’s not sure of the whole story. Rumor had it that the Saiyans had returned to the planet en masse because of some sort of Saiyan festival, but Vegeta knows that hadn’t been the case. Saiyans were traditional, most certainly, and took their culture seriously, but nothing about that would’ve prompted them to be present on any one certain ground. Not the Tribeless, anyway. Not the whole population. Any Tribe-related matters that required all members to be present were specific to that Tribe only – Frieza would’ve never been able to use something like that to purposefully flock all Saiyans home. 

An order though? An order could’ve been possible, but as much as Vegeta hates to admit it, Krillin’s right. Many would’ve thought it odd. Saiyans love to fight, and Frieza enabled that on a grand scale, but not many were honestly loyal to him. In an Empire so vast, it would be easy to say that they had not received the message and to continue pillaging as before. Undelivered orders were a constant jam in the Empirical machine.

Every time Vegeta thinks about all this though, his mind skips a beat, and he does his best to push forward rather than dwell. So he says, “Who knows?” and goes back to his sandwiches, hoping they’ll help.

Krillin’s gotten this far though and honestly, the consequences of pushing are the last thing on his mind. 

“So you’re saying that you think it’s possible that – somehow, some way – nearly three billion Saiyans in an Empire that spanned entire solar systems ended up on one planet, and only three did not?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Vegeta, but I gotta repeat what you told me this morning: ‘You aren’t deaf’, and well… certainly you aren’t stupid.”

The sandwiches help, really. Otherwise, Vegeta would be currently across the table strangling the life outta this guy. Instead, the calm the sandwiches bring just make the demons more pronounced, and they’re telling him he might as well say it. He might as well say that, while he mourned his planet for two years on that ship, Frieza must’ve ordered special teams to track down every last Saiyan on that registry; and once that was done, Frieza must have ordered other special teams to track down those special teams and kill them. That’s Vegeta’s theory anyway, and it’s logical. It’s sound. How else would Vegeta have never heard the truth of his planet’s fate until Namek? How else would Vegeta never have come across another Saiyan in the whole wide Empire other than Raditz? No loose fucking ends – just Frieza and two right-hand men who’d never speak of it. It wasn’t that Vegeta was the prince of all and then the prince of two in a moment. He had been the prince of all and then the prince of many for years after, and he had done nothing as those many were quietly tracked down and killed. 

What he ends up saying is, “No, of course not. It was more systematic than just blowing up one planet one day. Don’t insult me.”

“Then,” Krillin says, “don’t you think some group of Saiyans have to be shacked up somewhere? I mean, if this Empire’s as big as you say, then how would you even begin doing something like that?”

“There aren’t,” Vegeta replies. “Any true Saiyan would’ve made contact with me as soon as I was able to receive word. The Saiyans are dead. Frieza made sure of that.”

Krillin’s smile is shaky and uneven. “All because of some legend, huh? I hafta say, despite all the trouble it’s caused, I’m glad it ended up killing him.” 

“Yeah, harnessed by a clown ,” Vegeta might as well spit. 

Krillin’s laugh is sharp. “If you think about it though, that almost makes it better, in a way.” 

A vein in Vegeta’s head starts throbbing. “What?”

“I mean, think about it. He spends all this time getting rid of a race he’s scared of, but one somehow slips outta the Empire, and it’s that same Saiyan who shows up at the right time and the right place to beat him.” Krillin’s smile’s more genuine now. “Then he comes to Earth for revenge, and a Saiyan from a different timeline cuts him into, like, what? 13 pieces?” He shakes his head with good humor. “I know it didn’t go the way you wanted, but I mean… there were certainly worse ways, right?”

Vegeta’s brain isn’t sure how to interpret this, so after flatlining for a moment, it goes straight to its standard coping procedure, which by design works to make Vegeta look good despite whatever he just heard. It comes up with the following revelation: “Wait, so you’re saying that, if I, the Prince of All Saiyans, fought and defeated Frieza, the weight of such a defeat would have legitimized him in some way, made him into some sort of,” (Vegeta’s chip can’t find the right word), “proper villain rather than a disgraced warlord?”

No, that’s not exactly what Krillin had in mind since Krillin doesn’t constantly work to protect Vegeta’s massive ego, but he figures he should play along. “Yes?”

That… actually does make Vegeta feel a bit better. Huh.

“So,” Krillin says, after Vegeta gone back to eating his sandwiches in relative peace, “it really is just you and Goku, huh?”

Vegeta’s at least come to terms with that. After all, there’s a Last Man’s Meal in his future, and the idea of that makes him salivate more than the thought of sandwiches after a particularly hard training session. He just has to be patient, like the oracle said. In the meantime, he can plan each and every one of these people’s deaths down to the letter and make those deaths just as ridiculous as Frieza’s so they’ll be remembered as idiots rather than martyrs. He’ll have to see if someone can make these sandwiches to the same caliber as Krillin first though; otherwise, the human might have to live, which will be annoying, sure, but can’t he just, like… shove him in a closet or something until it’s time to eat? He’s certainly small enough. Would a suitcase work?

“I’m sorry,” Krillin says suddenly.

“What?”

“I’m sorry it’s just you and Goku. That must… really suck, actually.”

Yes, just him and Nappa had been better, you know, before word of Raditz and much later Kakarot came. Nappa was an idiot, sure, but he was Saiyan through and through. So was Raditz. Kakarot… Vegeta’s still not sure what Kakarot is other than a big ol’ pain in both his side and his ego. Again though, he’s come to terms with it. Maybe.

Still though, acceptance does not make Krillin’s statement any less strange. “What reason do you have to be sorry?” Vegeta asks.

Krillin shrugs. “Dunno. That’s what people say, I guess, when they feel bad about something.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah, kinda.” Krillin leans back in his chair. “Can’t seem to help myself though. I feel sorry about pretty much everything all the time. Even things I can’t control.” The laugh he lets out is humorless. “It’s, uh… it’s a bad habit.”

If Vegeta could empathize, he could see where Krillin’s coming from. After all, he feels… negative about a lot of things that he’s had no control over either – the death of his race being one of them. But Vegeta doesn’t empathize. No, he laughs when Raditz is killed by Earthlings and throws his last loyal subject up into the air and kills him when he’s no longer of use. He does not consider how hard it must have been for Kakarot to learn of a family, a people, so far away, only to learn of their deaths and of the creature that killed them outta fear and sport; and he certainly doesn’t consider how hard it must’ve been for all the Earthlings around him to learn about that either. Hell, Vegeta barely empathizes with himself. If you’ve got time to feel sad, you’ve got time to train; and if you’ve got time to train, you’ve got time to become stronger. Vegeta intends to do just that. Fuck feelings.

“I’m trying to get better though,” Krillin says, “about that. I know you don’t care,” he continues before Vegeta’s able to say it, “but, uh… it won’t get in the way of our arrangement or anything. Promise. So, uh, sorry.” He shakes his head. “I mean, not sorry. I mean--” He takes a long sip of his coffee, sets the mug on the table, and breaths. “Thank you for answering that. I’ll see you at dinner, if you want.”

Vegeta takes that as a cue to leave. “Do what you want,” he replies, taking the platter, sandwiches, and all. It isn’t a no.

Chapter Text

BLOODY RÉSUMÉ

Vegeta walks into the kitchen around four that afternoon to a strange sight. First of all, this is the second him he and Krillin will be spending dinner together, which isn’t great by any means, but Vegeta hadn’t been opposed when he left, so he can’t exactly take exception to it now. No, what he’s really confused about is what Krillin is currently doing. The sandwiches are there, so that’s good, but so is a laptop, several stacks of documents, and a phone, which Krillin has cradled between his ear and shoulder. It must be a homeline because Krillin’s cell phone, the one he used to show Vegeta the ‘enter-net’ yesterday, is sitting on top of one of the stacks of documents untouched.

When he sees Vegeta, Krillin gives him an acknowledging look and gestures halfheartedly towards Vegeta’s seat as though the Vegeta needs permission to sit. Vegeta’s about to tell him that he doesn’t, but Krillin seems to be anticipating a verbal reply because his next motion is to raise his finger to his mouth to shush him, then points directly at the sandwiches before returning to what he was doing, which apparently is… holding. Vegeta’s about to comment on that, but thinks ‘fuck it,’ sits down, and grabs a sandwich instead. One bite in, and he’s good.

While Vegeta eats his way through half a sandwich, Krillin drums his fingers against the table, and though he seems to be listening to the holding music intently, he still jumps when he hears a voice on the other end. The voice is loud enough that Vegeta should be able to understand it from across the table, but it’s so distorted by the time it reaches him that the language chip translates it into a bunch of gibberish.

Then again, Krillin might as well be speaking gibberish too. “Yes,” he says, “hello! With-With whom am I speaking with, please?” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Oh yes, perfect! You’re just the person I was hoping to talk to. Um, yes, um… you… you have a team that’s working on the water line at island number NB1-A2-5W-doubleO-1-2…” His eyebrows raise in surprise, then he leans back in his seat with a smile. “Yes! Yes, that’s exactly the house I’m calling about.” Another pause, then, “Oh, yes, of course! I’m-I’m, uh… I’m calling on behalf of Capsule Corps.” Yet another, then Krillin’s frantically shuffling around papers and saying, “Uh, yes, of course, my name’s, uh… uh…”

He’s got a big smile on his face when he finds an ID card, but the smile disappears the moment he actually looks at it, and a big ol’ blush spreads over his face instead. After staring at it like a deer about to be run over by headlights, he starts clearing his throat like crazy and, in a surprisingly passable woman’s voice, says, “So sorry, I’ve been… uh, suffering from allergies as of late. Yes, allergies. You know how they are this time of year around here, hahah!” 

Vegeta lowers his sandwich and stares at Krillin like the guy just grew a nose. Krillin stares back and only gets redder.

“An-Anyway,” he says, “my name’s Lawnger. Lawnger Ray? I’m one of the, uh… front desk staff at the Capsule Corps homestead branch.” He puts down the ID. “Ms. Briefs asked me to call on her behalf about the… setback your company has recently experienced with the repairs at that location.”

He listens for a good fifteen seconds before panicking (again) and rambling off. “Oh, she’s already spoken to you today? This morning, in fact? Really…?” Pause, then, “I’m so sorry, sir. She asked me to call when she first came into the office, but I got so busy with my other duties that I wasn’t able to, uh… I wasn’t able to, you know… call. Until now. Right now. I wasn’t able to call about it until right now.”

He sits back in his chair and says, “Again, I apologize, but if it’s not too much to ask, could you… perhaps give me an overview of the situation? I would, um… I would just love to up-to-date on the project if I’m ever asked to call again.”

Another thirty seconds of complete gibberish on Vegeta’s end, and Vegeta’s nearly done with his last bite of his first sandwich when Krillin’s face gets so red that, for a moment, Vegeta’s sure it will explode. Vegeta’s never seen a human head explode before. That might be fun.

Krillin’s head does not explode, but from the look on his face, it looks like he kinda wishes it would. “I’m, uh… quite glad you’re looking so forward to hearing from me again, sir. What an… interesting way of expressing that.” Before the guy on the other end can respond, Krillin manages to force out, “You need my identification number, right?”

After that, it’s all nodding, agreeing, humming, and saying “I see” – all of which is making Vegeta agitated. Did Krillin really have to invade his sandwich time with this? He still doesn’t mind Krillin being present per se, but the phone conversation’s almost as invasive as the woman’s hurricane of a visit yesterday. Krillin should either adhere to his side of the agreement or get out, not… not…

To be honest, Vegeta has no idea what Krillin’s doing. All he knows is as the phone talk continues, Krillin gets more somber; and while Vegeta knows he could just pick up the platter and leave, it feels like he’s kinda admitting defeat. And anyway, Krillin looks like he could be done soon. Wouldn’t Vegeta then have to, like… explain himself? It’s not worth it.

At this point, Krillin’s holding the phone against his ear with both hands, and when he speaks, his voice is soft enough that Vegeta’s not sure if he’s still impersonating that woman or not. “Okay, well… thank you for all your help, sir. I hope –I hope you – goodbye, sir!” He jerks the phone away from his ear and, after mishandling it for a moment, manages to end the call and toss the thing at the sandwich platter as though he just found out it has gonorrhea.

The two of them sit there for a moment, both looking at the phone, and then Krillin says, definitely in his normal voice, “Well… looks like I’m here for the undetermined future.” He puts his elbows on the table and covers his mouth with his hands. He gives a very audible, annoyed sigh, then opens his palms just enough so he can say, “Also, I can’t believe that’s the manager currently overlooking the repairs on my house. Oh my god. At least this poor girl isn’t ever gonna hafta actually talk to him.”

As he says it, he looks down at her ID and realizes that he’s got some explaining to do. “Oh,” he says, grabbing it, “a child company of Capsule Corps are the one doing the repairs on my house, so it’s easier to call like you’re a Capsule Corps employee, you know? Bureaucracy and all that.”

Krillin looks up and realizes that Vegeta doesn’t care. He smiles.

The prince meanwhile swallows a bite of his second sandwich and, after the silence goes on for just long enough to be declared awkward, says, “So?”

“So?” Krillin asks. “So what?”

“You askin’ something or are you just gonna sit there like you’re an idiot?”

It takes Krillin a moment to catch on, but he figures indulging Vegeta is better than moping, so he shuts the laptop and starts gathering all the paperwork off the table like clockwork. “Yeah, of course,” he tells him. “Sorr--” He stops himself. Someone once told him that it’s always better to say ‘thank you’ to a person than ‘sorry’ about yourself. He figures he should start taking the advice he has been given if he ever wants to get better. So he hugs all the stuff to his chest and gives Vegeta the best smile he can manage. “Thank you for your patience, Vegeta. I’ll heat up some cider for you, alright?”

“... ‘Bout time.”

By the time Vegeta’s through his third sandwich, Krillin’s leaning across the table to set down Vegeta’s steaming hot mug of cider. The monk then settles back into his own seat with his own mug on one side and his cell phone on the other. He clicks the power button so he can glance at the lock screen, then sleeps it just as quickly. “Sorr--” Okay, how does he say ‘thank you’ for what he’s about to say? No, that can’t apply here, so he skips the apology entirely. “To be honest,” Krillin says, “I usually think about what I wanna ask you before you come in here, but I didn’t get time this afternoon.”

Vegeta scoffs. “Make calls on your own time then.”

“This is my – nevermind. Here, I’ll… I’ll think of something, alright?”

Vegeta’s able to get through another half sandwich and a bit of his cider by the time Krillin’s able to do so. “Oh,” he says, clapping his hands together. His smile’s more genuine now. “I know! I wanna know more about your job!”

Vegeta raises his eyebrows. “My job?”

“Yeah! I just got finished talking to a… very strange man about his job, and I don’t really wanna think about anything associated with that at the moment, so… segway? Yay?”

The prince is unsure why his translation chip is currently showing him the image of a two-wheeled transportation mistake, but he’s just gonna go with it. It’s always easier when he doesn’t ask questions. “Okay…” He chews thoughtfully. “... my job then or now?”

“Then–” Krillin folds his hands on the table and looks at Vegeta with confused interest. “Vegeta?” he asks. “What do you think your job is right now?”

“Training to kill these robots you people obviously can’t take care of yourselves.” 

Krillin’s gonna ignore the fact that ‘you people’ technically includes Vegeta because, really, that’s the least inaccurate part of that statement. He smacks his lips. “Um, yeah, Vegeta? Not really sure you could put that on a résumé.”

“Résumé? The hell’s a ‘résumé’?”

Krillin sighs and rubs the area where the bridge of his nose should be. “People in the Empire gotta have a similar thing.” He looks back up at Vegeta.” It’s what you use for a job application. You know, to show your work experience, skills, and stuff?”

Vegeta tries to think if he’s ever seen one of those before. He doesn’t think so. As much as he wants to say Krillin’s wrong, though, he’s gotta admit, a file showing your skills would make sense. “Frieza’s army never had those,” he concludes. 

“Yeah, I guess positions where you’re drafted against your will usually don’t.” He ponders this for a moment and then, with some excitement, claps his hands together. “I know!” He gestures to Vegeta. “Let’s make your a résumé!”

Wow, these sandwiches sure do allow Vegeta to put up with a lotta bullshit. “... Why?” he asks.

Krillin shrugs. “I dunno. I’m bored, it’ll help me organize my thoughts better, help me ask you better questions.” He slides down in his chair a little when Vegeta only gives him a glare as a reply. “I mean, if you don’t wanna, I can’t think of another question, but I mean, you did leave it up to me, so–”

Because it’s your job, Vegeta thinks, but instead of saying that, he groans and replies, “Get on with it.”

For anyone else, the look of pure happiness on Krillin’s face would’ve been worth it. He jumps up from his seat and returns with the laptop. He flips it open and powers it on. “I’ve got a word-processing program on here,” Krillin tells him with some excitement. “We’ll use that.”

“You’re writing this down?” he asks, nearly choking on his cider before doing so. “Why?”

Krillin looks up from the screen. “Of course we’re written it down. How else would we make a résumé? In our heads?”

“Yes?”

Krillin shoos him off his his hand while he moves around the trackpad with the other. “Don’t worry, I’m sure this program’s got a template of some kind we can use. It’ll just take me a moment to find it, promise.” After that moment’s passed, he continues with, “Well, all the Western-styled ones are pretty crappy, so we’ll go with a more Eastern one.” Its selection is audible. “Okay, just gotta fill in today’s date, type in your name, and…” He looks up at Vegeta, who looks like he hasn’t decided whether he wants to drown Krillin, himself, or both in the pool outside. “How old are you, anyway?”

The question’s complicated enough that Vegeta forgets his fantasies of murder-suicide for a moment. “On this planet?” he asks. 

One of the problems with being an intergalactic jetsetter in an intergalactic empire is that, due to the difficulty of measuring time from one planet to another, it’s almost impossible to properly calculate just how old you are. The Empire attempted to quell this existential crisis by instating an empire-wide calendar, which followed the day cycle of HomeWorld; but since it and everything about HomeWorld is utter bullshit, most citizens only used the calendar when forced to by the government. Some good samaritan programmed an app where you can determine your age on different planets compared to your home world’s calendar, but since Vegeta no longer possesses this cheatsheet and the program wouldn’t contain Earth’s calendar anyway, he’s fucked.

“Well,” Krillin says, thinking, “you’re a good deal older than Goku, right?”

Vegeta replies, “Of course I am,” like he’s insulted that Krillin could even consider otherwise. (Don’t worry, Krillin’s just as confused as you are).

“Hm… well, if you’re gonna be on his planet for a while, Vegeta, then we’re going to have to figure out a birthday for you.” Vegeta sneers and is about to go into how he’s really not going to be on Earth for that long since Earth hopefully won’t exist for that long, but Krillin’s already sizing him up. “I would say you’re probably, uh… five years older than Goku maybe?” The prince raises his eyebrows at this, so Krillin makes sure to add, “It’s a very respectable age difference, I promise.” He considers it more. “I’m gonna say August 2, 732. That’d make you around 31 or so.”

Vegeta replies with, “Weird you’d be so specific,” simply because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“It’s my mom’s birthday,” he says with good humor. He smiles up at him. “The August 2 date, I mean. She’s certainly not using it, so,” (he looks back down to the screen), “let’s see… you don’t have an inkan --”

“A seal?” Vegeta asks.

Krillin looks back up. “Oh, your chip actually translated it. Yeah, it’s a custom seal people have made so they can sign documents and stuff.” He looks all around the table in an attempt to find something. “I don’t actually have mine on me,” he says. “Sorr--” He lets out a very audible huff. “It would’ve been nice to show you,” he says instead.

Vegeta, though, is too busy reeling. “You,” he asks, “are from an elite family?”

Krillin’s laugh comes from so high up in his throat that it sounds like he’s wheezing. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why the hell would someone like you have a seal?”

“I mean… Vegeta, pretty much everyone has one. Some of the royal families have more elaborate ones, sure, but they’re not used for the same purpose. Those are more for showing that you’re an important person who owns things while inkans are little stamps that usually show that someone owns you -- most likely the bank.” Krillin shrugs. “It’s pretty much the only way to sign anything here on Earth, so it’s required, really.”

Vegeta knows his eye is twitching. He can feel it. Aren’t the sandwiches supposed to help with this? Even though Krillin had just explained that royal seals are quite a different matter entirely, Vegeta was having none of it for this reason: “Are you telling me that Kakarot has a seal?”

Of course Vegeta hadn’t accepted his explanation. Of course he hadn’t. “... Yes, Vegeta,” he tells him. “Goku is, in fact, a part of ‘pretty much everyone’.”

From the look on Vegeta’s face, Krillin can tell that, if he doesn’t move on as quickly as possible, the Saiyan Prince is going to have an aneurism, so he fills the rest of the top third of the résumé as quickly as possible. “Okay, male; phone and address we don’t need; and alright!” He hits the table with his fingertips to grab Vegeta’s attention. “Education.”

Vegeta’s mostly dazed when he echoes, “Education?”

“Yes. Have you had any?”

Well, if that wasn’t the question to jolt Vegeta out of his funk, he would’ve never gotten out of it. “If you mean ‘was I tutored by some of the best minds in the Empire’,” Vegeta grits out, “then yes, of course I was. What kind of prince do you think I am?”

Krillin waves his hands frantically. “Sorr--” Goddammit! “I just mean,” Krillin tries again, though he still sounds very apologetic, “is that, well, from what I understand of your life so far it’s been…” Krillin proceeds to act out crying like a baby, then making his arm jet diagonally like a rocket, both his hands explode, a few finger guns shooting complete with ‘pew’ effects, and then very directly saying, “Earth, Namek, Earth.”  

In response, Vegeta raises a very threatening finger to tell Krillin just how wrong he is; but while in his mind he believes he simply doesn’t know where to begin, in reality he can’t actually say that Krillin is wrong, and he wonders what that says about him. He scoots ever so slightly in his chair and grumbles, “I had several tutors,” instead. 

This is true. Over the course of Vegeta’s life, he’s had a number of tutors, all of whom have reached… interesting ends. He only killed two out of the five, mind you, and only one of those was on purpose, so Vegeta himself was not a direct cause of their fates, which, yes, is very surprising indeed.

You see, Vegeta’s first tutor had been the old woman’s granddaughter, and though Vegeta honestly does not remember this, she was his first crush. Under the woman’s watchful gaze, she would take him out to the palace gardens at night so she could show him all the constellations, planets, satellites, and warships firsthand. She was the first one to lull him to sleep with the tale of the legendary Super Saiyans of lore, those god-descended war machines with so much Gut Blood brewing in their stomachs that they could fight the gods themselves. She seemed so tall to him when he was young, but she was the only person to knelt to his height so she could speak on equal terms with him rather than grovel or insult.

She was the cousin meant to train him -- properly -- and she was that same cousin that Frieza killed before she was able to do so.

His second tutor was a… man or a group of men, depending on how you wanted to look at it. Vegeta met him/them a week after arriving on Frieza’s ships and would see him/them almost daily until well after Frieza started allowing Vegeta to venture off on his own. This alien was one of the last living members of the Nupi, an ancient race of tripoded freaks that, over the course of thousands upon thousands of years, grew anywhere from three to 300 heads. This one had 14, and they all had different personalities that bickered amongst themselves constantly. 13 of them also happened to be Cooler and Frieza’s former tutors, while the 14th one just took attendance, Vegeta thinks. He was never really sure. All he remembers is that the other 13 hated him.

They hated Vegeta too, but really, that was to be expected. Vegeta was never particularly fond of them either. The Nupi felt that they were above anyone who did not possess their level of knowledge, and despite being hired to tutor him, they held their prejudices against Vegeta all the same. Even still, Vegeta learned a great deal from them, especially in the year or so before the Planet Vegeta was destroyed (he was on his best behavior back then) and considerably afterwards (he really needed to be on his best behavior after that). They told him different names for the constellations and were quite adamant that, no, Super Saiyans never officially battled gods, but other than that, they knew their shit--

-- until one day Vegeta entered the room and found that the 14th head had, in fact, killed and ate the other 13 and, because they were a part of the same body, died of blood loss soon afterwards. The security cameras had captured the whole thing, but still, it was awkward to explain exactly what happened first to ship security, then to Zarbon, and then to Frieza himself over dinner that night mostly because Vegeta hadn’t actually been sure what happened until they all watched the tape while eating dessert. The Nupi was speaking in his native language, so who knows what the hell they were on about, but the whole head-eating thing was so sudden that, by the end of it, Frieza had nearly thrown up his cake from laughing so hard. Vegeta found it pretty funny too. This was one of the very few times the two ever came close to bonding.

The Nupi was replaced by King Cold’s tutor’s granddaughter’s wife’s tutor’s tutor, but during an argument over something Vegeta knew the Nupi had been correct about, Vegeta accidentally opened the space hatch rather than the one that led back to the main warship. It was embarrassing for Vegeta while fatal for the tutor.

Vegeta’s fourth tutor was unwanted. The prince felt his education complete despite all its detours, but Frieza hadn’t agreed, mostly because he likes to be contrary and undermine members of his inner court as much as humanly possible. This is one of the many, many reasons Vegeta tried his best to stay away once he was no longer required to report back to the main ship after every mission. Thankfully, the tutor didn’t seem to mind since she gave less than zero fucks when it came to just about anything. Anytime Frieza would become annoyed about Vegeta’s lack of progress, the tutor would, in so many words, tell Frieza to go fuck himself. Needless to say, Vegeta ended up liking this woman quite a lot . 

You know, until he figured out that the reason she was able to do this was because she herself was fucking Frieza, but really, are you surprised? Nothing in Vegeta’s life can go that perfectly. You must know that by now.The woman ultimately lost Frieza’s favor and, from what Vegeta heard, was also thrown out of that same space hatch.

His final tutor, years later, had been the oracle; but again, that’s a story for another time.

“Huh,” Krillin says, having only been told half of that and written down none of it. “So you never stepped foot in a classroom? Ever?”

“Frieza cleared a room for my lessons?” Vegeta tried. He never knew people expected a certain type of room for such a thing. “Or the tutors connected their personal ships, I dunno.” Only the Nupi had actual residence on the warship. 

“Well, at least we have that in common,” Krillin says, typing in ‘privately tutored’ and nothing else because, really, how do you explain all that on a fake résumé anyway? “I was homeschooled too.” He quickly clarifies with, “Not by private tutors, of course. No way. I learned the bare basics at the temple, then Master Roshi taught Goku and me a bit, then I picked up some stuff from Bulma, etcetera, etcetera.” He smiles sheepishly. “So, very… assorted to say the least.” Vegeta doesn’t care about that, though, so Krillin asks, “What subjects were you tutored in?”

“All of them?” Vegeta tries once he manages to swallow. 

“I’m sorr--” Krillin tightens one of his fists so hard that his fingernails are digging into his palm. “I’m afraid,” he grits out, “that I’m not sure what ‘all of them’ means.” 

Vegeta’s not sure what Krillin’s so angry about, but alright. Maybe the guy should actually eat once a while. I mean, the sandwiches sure help him. In fact, another bite allows him to ignore Krillin’s tone entirely. “Philosophy, strategy, rhetoric, charting, politics…” He’s gotta think now. “Sciences, math, classics--”

“--charting?” Krillin asks. He really wants to ask about ‘rhetoric’ because, seriously, Vegeta must’ve failed that with flying colors, but Krillin isn’t stupid, so he goes for the second most confusing. “Like cartography?” 

“Cart photography?” Vegeta asks.

“No, kahr- tog -ruh-fee. One word.” Krillin ponders another way to say it before realizing a synonym that quite literally says exactly what he’s asking. “Mapmaking,” he says. “You know how to make maps? Of, like, star systems and stuff?”

Vegeta nods. 

Yes, if there was one thing not many (living) people knew about Prince Vegeta -- and wouldn’t mind that they hadn’t since it wouldn’t have saved their lives in the slightest -- is, while the prince prides himself on being a warrior first and foremost, his mapmaking skills come in a surprisingly close sec--

Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Vegeta’s freakin’ terrible at it. One of the Nupi’s 14 heads had been a master cartographer -- the best in the Empire, in fact. Charting star systems takes the patience of a saint, however, and well… Vegeta certainly isn’t one of those. So while the prince can read just about any chart expertly, any one he has ever made has looked like a five-year-old doodled all over an astronomy book and then set it on fire for good measure. The fire part comes from the fact that, usually, Vegeta gets so frustrated with charting that he tends to fire ki at the paper and singe it. A lot. It’s one of those things that makes you wonder why the Nupi didn’t eat itself sooner .

From the complete look of skepticism on his face, Krillin knows this too, no matter how much bullshit Vegeta is currently spewing. After he does, Krillin says, “I’ll, uh, put ‘proficient at astrocartography’ under your Skills column, alright?”

‘Proficient’? After all the whining that Nupi head did, ‘proficient’ sounds good enough for him.

Krillin can’t help but smile at the current look of contentment on Vegeta’s face. “Let’s move onto your job history, alright?” he says. He’s not sure what prompts him to do this, but before he knows it, he’s cutting himself a fourth of a sandwich off the platter. Vegeta knows he should be more annoyed about this since Krillin should really make his own damn sandwiches, but he can let it slide this once, he supposes. “So,” Krillin says, “first thing’s first: who would you consider your employer?”

“Right now?” Vegeta asks.

“... No, I mean for your job back then.”

“Frieza,” he replies, then, “No, King Cold.” 

“No, no. Not your… manager,” (he’s not sure what else to call overlords you work for, really), “but, like, the organization, I guess?”

“Oh. Planet Trade Organization then.”

Krillin says it aloud as he types it in, then hits ENTER with some flourish. After staring at it for a moment, he claps his hands together and sets them down in his lap. “So wait, I’m confused.” He gestures with one hand. “Was this organization a part of Frieza’s army, or something different, or…?”

The easiest way to explain it is that the Planet Trade Organization was Frieza’s sector of the overall Empirical Army; however, there are definitely some nuances to it. First of all, ‘Planet Trade Organization’ is a somewhat misleading translation, though Frieza’s sector did in fact trade planets. It’s kind of like how secret police call themselves innocent titles such as ‘Ministry of State Security’ and ‘the Information Service’ -- the title simply does not tell the whole story. You see, Frieza’s sector dealt with all matters of empirical expansion, of which planet trading was an integral but still relatively small part. As previously mentioned, officers such as Vegeta experienced a lot of downtime due to the fact that turning over a planet, even for trade, takes a long time, and while the Empire has a lot of money and resources, they can only turn over so many at a time. As such, the PTO provided everything from reconnaissance to defense in order to keep itself busy. 

Also, ‘Planet Trade Organization’ implies that the sector only trades planets, which is not true in the slightest. Sure certain planets specialize in certain things, but sometimes, it’s worth just taking the resources and blowing the rest of it the hell up instead. In some major dealings, the organization also traded entire galaxies, though usually these were political ploys and the Empire would gain the territory plus the buyer’s territory back within the year. Many planets were kept internally as well as top-heavies and other outposts, so they were never traded at all. PTO handled all these aspects, so the name itself is rather limiting.  

“Hm…” Krillin says after he hears all of this in much shorter form. “I guess I can see that. I mean, ‘Capsule Corp’ implies that CC just makes capsules, which isn’t the case anymore at all. In fact, I think they’re trying to come up with a super parent organization that better communicates what they’re all about.” Krillin returns his fingers to the keys. “Okay. Title?”

“Title?”

“Yeah, like… the title you went under with the Planet Trade Organization.”

“Prince Vegeta of Tribe--”

Krillin laughs. “No, no, no. I mean your job title. Like, what would you call your job?”

The prince blushes a little, but when Krillin takes the first small nibble of his fourth of a sandwich, he gets over it. “Senior Planetary Exploration Officer.” He wonders if that translates well at all.

It seems to because Krillin’s nodding and entering in what he said. “Okay, well, it’s gonna be hard to nail down even how many years you worked there, huh?” He shrugs before Vegeta’s able to give a grunt as a reply. “No worries! Uh, okay, let’s see here…” He looks up. “So usually when you list down a previous occupation, you have a few bullet points detailing some of your major duties you performed during the job. You usually want to tailor them for the job you’re applying for now, but well, that doesn’t matter here, so..”

Vegeta couldn’t be more plain when he says, “I blew up planets.”

“Well, yes. We’ve established that.”

“Write it down then.”

“I’m not -- Vegeta, I’m not sure that ‘blew up planets’ is a good thing to highlight to an employer.”

“Exterminated entire species then.”

“Vegeta, that’s worse.”

“Than blowing up the whole planet?”

“Look, they’re both bad, okay? They’re both not things you’d want to put on a résumé. Here,” he says, “you said you were a senior officer of exploration , right? What did that involve?”

“... blowing up planets and exter--”

“Exploration, Vegeta. That implies you went to these planets and surveyed them. You know, like the tree planet you told me about the other day.” 

Vegeta barks out a laugh. “Me? Survey them myself? What do you think I was -- some sort of common foot soldier?”

“No,” Krillin says. “I think you were a Senior Planetary Exploration Officer.”

“We had Raditz for that.”

Want some dirty work done? Send Raditz. That’s always been Vegeta’s philosophy, and it’s worked out for the most part. Of course, in Vegeta’s mind, anything not involving violence was considered “dirty work,” and as such, Raditz spent a lot of time checking out planets before inviting Vegeta and Nappa over to destroy or conquer them. That had been one of the reasons Vegeta had been so surprised about Raditz died here on Earth. He was much weaker than the other two Saiyans, sure, but if there was one thing Raditz knew how to do, it was fend for himself. Almost too much, actually. That guy’s ability to sniff out anything willing to have sex with him would’ve been impressive if it hadn’t disgusted Vegeta so much. All those weird positions he walked in on. He should’ve killed Raditz himself.

“Well, hey,” Krillin says, “there’s something we can put down! Managing people is always a plus!” He starts to type, but after a moment, he stops, then tries again. His brow furrows as he starts clicking around instead. “Why isn’t it letting me type?”

He says this mostly to himself, but still, Vegeta looks insulted he asked.

Krillin’s still having problems though. “I just got this thing a few months ago,” he continues, still mostly to himself. “It’s never done this before…” He glances up at Vegeta. “Sorr--Just a minute, okay?” 

That minute passes, and Krillin finally sits back in his chair, looking at the laptop in defeat. “And now laptops won’t even force shutdown for me. That’s just… that’s just great .” He goes back to messing with it, but it’s halfhearted now, as though he’s more expecting it to suddenly implode rather than work.

Vegeta’s not sure why his thinking led him in this direction, but the next thing he knows, he up and rounding the table. “Move,” he demands, picking up Krillin’s chair and the monk with it. 

Krillin, meanwhile, looks appropriately confused and terrified until he is put down unharmed just a little to the side. Vegeta is much less gentle with the laptop, which is saying something, seeing that he moved Krillin over pretty harshly. “Well, don’t break it!” Krillin says.

“Of course not!” Vegeta says, doing… something. “You’ve just spent the past week hearing about technological wonders you could never possibly comprehend, and I know how to use them. Just… sit there, would you?” He does a couple of things that, from a human’s perspective, doesn’t make much sense before he says, “What do you press to force quit?”

“Control-Alt-Delete,” Krillin replies. He leans over to help with that, but Vegeta grabs his shoulders and pushes him right back into the chair. “Alright,” he says, once Vegeta’s no longer manhandling him and is back to doing fuck knows what with the computer. “You… figure it out then.”

There’s about a minute of Vegeta doing that before he slaps the thing and yells, “This thing is an archaic piece of shit!”

“Yeah, well, Bulma designed it, so don’t tell her that, alright?” Even with Vegeta pounding on the laptop, he figures this is as good a segway as any: “Speaking of not telling Bulma things--”

“Power button, right?” Vegeta asks, pointing at what is indeed the power button.

“Yeah.”

He holds it down for a good 15 seconds, but nothing happens. It’s just the same strange nonsense résumé, which looks very unimpressive seeing that it currently contains pretty much nothing, and Vegeta can’t even move the cursor at this point to change that. What, is this supposed to be some weird metaphor for his life or something? A barely filled-out résumé on a piece of shit machine on a planet where he was supposed to gain immortal and then destroy like the piece of hot trash it is? Fuck that shit. Fuck all this shit. He turns the laptop over. “Battery?”

“Yeah?”

“Where?”

Krillin leans forward to point, but with one quick glare from Vegeta, he settles right back in. “Near the top, I think,” he tells him. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had to take it out before.” When Vegeta starts fiddling with it, he says, “You might actually need a screwdriver or something. Uh, I can--”

“Just sit there and shut up!”

Krillin settles back in. “Alright then.”

That lasts all of five seconds because Vegeta does in fact manage to get the battery out, but A) he most definitely needed a screwdriver and B) the laptop clunks right onto the table before tipping and tumbling towards the floor. “Vegeta!” 

Vegeta manages to catch it before it hits the tiles. Krillin lets out a loud sigh of relief.

It takes a few slaps, but Vegeta gets the battery back in and sets the laptop back on the table. He presses the power button quickly. Nothing. He presses it again. Still nothing. He holds it down really, really hard. Ahah! The boot-up screen! He looks pretty damn cheeky until, “That normal?” He points at it.

Krillin leans a bit so he can see better. “That,” he says, “is what people call the Blue Screen of Death.”

“S-So it is normal…?”

“If your computer’s broken, yes.” He covers his mouth as he starts laughing. He can’t help it. “Destroy planets, exterminates races, and blue-screens computers.” Even when Vegeta gives him a death glare, he can’t stop because something about the prince standing next to a blue screened computer is hilarious. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m worse! Makes sandwiches, apologizes profusely, and, uh... I dunno, makes everyone around me go crazy apparently.”

Vegeta rolls his eyes, huffs, and turns the laptop off and on again. This time, it starts up properly. See? Archaic piece of shit. Vegeta fixed it easily. ‘Blue-screens computers’ his ass.

And that’s when Vegeta finally looks over the laptop and see that the sandwiches have been eaten for a while now.

“Hey, you fixed it,” Krillin says while Vegeta experiences a blue-screen of his own. He’s still not sure if it’s alright to move, so he just grips the sides of the chair and leans forward. “Don’t think I saved the document though. Sorr--” He clicks his tongue as though he just ate something disgusting, but when he talks again, he’s all smiles. “Thanks, Vegeta.” 

Vegeta looks down at Krillin and has the sudden need to snap his neck.

All Krillin sees is a blank stare.

After Vegeta doesn’t reply, Krillin figures it’s alright to move now, so he picks up his chair and carries it from behind back to its original position. Vegeta, meanwhile, steps aside like a zombie, then keeps at the same pace around the table and towards the hallway. “Vegeta?” Krillin asks, looking up from the laptop. “Where are you going?” He notices the sandwiches are gone too. “Oh. Oh, okay, well--”

Vegeta stops in the doorway. If he just -- If he just turned around, stuck out his hand, and fired then -- “Morning,” is all he manages, and then he’s gone.

Krillin gives the doorway a strange look before glancing back down at the computer. “Shit. Blue screen again?” He stares at it for a while and then, very quietly, says, “Sorry.”

Chapter Text

MORNING ROUTINES

He’s going to kill Yamcha first, Vegeta’s decided. It’s the most fitting way for the bloodbath to begin.

It’s 4:23 AM, and though the demons have woken him early, these thoughts are not unusual for Vegeta to have as soon as he is conscious. As frustrating as every passing day has been, Vegeta can’t help but feel that he’s already benefiting from this so-called ‘patience’ that oracle advised him to have. One of the major perks is the ability to plan. Vegeta’s fantasized a lot in his life – from shoving food down Frieza’s throat to taking over the universe to turning from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing – but he’s never had enough time to figure out how to actually do any of that. He’s always just run into every situation headfirst hoping sheer strength would carry him through, and while this approach has worked out for him percentage-wise, in the overall scheme of things it certainly has not.

Now though? Now he has the time to make it… poetic, he thinks is the word. Meaningful. Revenge can be so much more than just a fist to the face or a ki blast to the head – it can be art. You don’t have anything against this ‘Yamcha,’ the demons remind him as he turns over, muscles aching, to check the alarm clock. It’s just that your first time on Earth should’ve gone differently, and when this Yamcha died last time, things were still going well. Really well, remember? The Earthlings were freaking out, Kakarot didn’t really exist yet, Nappa was use ful rather than use less … Learn from experience, right?

Vegeta wishes he would’ve taken those words more to heart when he rolls out of bed and stubs his toe on the nightstand for the fourth time this week. It takes just about everything in him not to ruin the whole goddamn house in retaliation. He’s trying to be a good guest, though, because that’s what he was taught (the reason he stayed in Frieza’s good graces for so many years, honestly), so he punches the air a few times in frustration instead. Alright, ground yourself, ground yourself. How are you going to kill Yamcha? Right, just a shot to the head. Gotta start off simple, right? And anyway, Yamcha’s not the problem. Yamcha’s never been the problem. It’s just, if Vegeta’s gonna recreate the way his first visit to Earth should’ve gone, Yamcha’s gotta go first. Simple as that.

Vegeta drops his tighty whities in the bathroom and takes a shower so scolding hot that anyone less fortunate than the Briefs would be crying when they received the water bill. The more he hurts before morning training, the more tempered his expectations are. Alright, who’s next? The clown guy? The clown guy died before fucking Tenshinhan, right? Vegeta never cared about the cyclops until the other day, but Krillin just had to tell him that Tienshinhan beat Kakarot in a match once – an official match – and while the victory was due to a technicality, Vegeta believes his match with Kakarot ended much the same way. After all, how was he supposed to predict a fat man jumping out and cutting off his tail with a sword anyway? No one could’ve predict that! Well, okay, maybe that stupid oracle could’ve, but –

No, Vegeta can’t think of the oracle outside of that one piece of specific advice or else he’ll have a cow. Okay, the clown then. Did they even bring the clown back? Of course they did. Vegeta feels bringing him back was a waste of time and resources, but if he’s learned anything about this planet, it’s that decisions people make here make no fucking sense, so yeah, of course they did.

Okay, settle down. Breath. If you’re gonna shoot Yamcha in the head, what’s the next step up from there? See, Vegeta’s got this all planned out, right? He’s gonna make the whole thing escalate. If he kills everyone at once, what’s that gonna accomplish? Getting Nappa’s back broken again? No. No, no, no, no. Kakarot’s arrived to a multitude of bodies once, and that didn’t do the trick. Not like Namek apparently had. No, Vegeta’s thinking that Kakarot’s gotta approach the bodies separately to really help that anger mount.

Snapped neck, perhaps? the demon suggest. Yeah, Vegeta replies. A snapped neck sounds good.

He gets out of the shower and stares at himself in the mirror longer than he’ll ever admit before he cakes on some shaving cream and starts going at it. Alright, okay, Yamcha gets shot in the head, the clown gets his neck snapped – what’s next? 

Vegeta stops shaving for a moment. Right. Right. Tienshinhan. Killing him is gonna be hard. Not the actual act – that’ll be easy. It’ll just be hard to hold back. Taking the arm’s obvious, but at the same time, if Vegeta does that, then shouldn’t he knock the life outta Yamcha and blow up the clown instead? Recreation would completely screw up the whole escalation idea. Fine, Tien can keep the arm – not his life, just the arm.

Vegeta starts shaving again, this time with a little more vigor. It’s great that Tien died third because the third death should really be a step up, right? Still though, he won’t be able to do everything he wants to the guy. He knows the grudge is ridiculous. Just as there was a time where Vegeta would get the shit kicked outta him by Saibermen, Kakarot must’ve been tossed around a lot as a kid – hell, even the runt beat him in a few fights, apparently. (Do you like that name? Vegeta asks the demons. (He’s been trying to find one that fits for a while). The demons shrug. They never like anything). Something about this particular situation though has Vegeta’s blood boiling, though. The cyclops cried over the clown – the clown! – for god’s sake, and he somehow won by a technicality?

He’s gotta die, Vegeta announces. The demons agree.

Vegeta pats his face down and gets to brushing his teeth with such force that it’s amazing he still has teeth. You know, maybe he should start taking limbs at this stage. Just, you know... stick around while Tien bleeds out on some floor somewhere. Wouldn’t that be worse than a shot to the head or a snapped neck? Probably. Those two deaths would be quick and mostly painless. Bleeding out though? That’s the beginning of torture, and Vegeta’s really liking the sound of that. Oh, oh, say the demons. Maybe instead of his limbs, you could scoop out that third eye of his! Can you bleed to death from that? I dunno, let’s find out!

Vegeta stumbles out of the bathroom and pulls up his bodysuit and pulls down his armor. He doesn’t usually train in full garb, but he’s really feeling today. That way, if training goes well, he can walk right out of that chamber, past the kitchen, out the backdoor, and begin this shit. He won’t because patience, but the idea that he could carries him through.

He gets to the hard part just as he’s putting on his boots. No matter what he decides, he’s going to have to deviate at this point because Tien’s death was the last good death. Piccolo? Piccolo’s where the problems started. Vegeta had come to Earth to gain immortality; instead, Vegeta indirectly killed it. He somehow indirectly killed immortality. He wishes he was kidding. Even worse? By all technicality, that had been the second time he had done that. The second time! If you count the oracle, he’s killed immortality twice!

Maybe it’s not all it’s cracked up to be then, the demons say. After all, you could barely imagine living for this long, yet here you are. Can you really imagine eternity?

Now that seeking revenge against these people is all he has left, he doesn’t really know, but fuck if he’s going to admit that, so he heads downstairs to the training chamber, inputs the code, and seals himself inside. He’s got work to do.

But what to do about Piccolo... There’s two ways to go about it, really: 1) Try to keep him alive so a) Vegeta can use the Dragon Balls here on Earth and b) change the timeline enough that it would guarantee different results; or 2) Kill Piccolo and not worry about wishes until he invades Namek. (Oh yes, he is invading Namek alright. He can’t wait). Doesn’t four wishes seem like an awful lot though? He wants immortality, he wants the universe, he wants… something, and then he wants another something. Also, if you do take over Namek, the demons tell him, you’ll have three wishes a year for eternity (though the jury’s still out on that whole eternity thing).

Let’s face it – Vegeta’s not creative enough for three wishes a year for eternity. He’s not creative enough for four wishes off the top of his head.

Kill the Namekian, the demons decide. Vegeta agrees.

He starts to wrap his bruised hands in athletic tape so he can stabilize the shaking and tighten up the pain. The limb idea won’t work for Piccolo; he’ll just keep growing them back. Maybe he should lob off his head? Yeah, Vegeta thinks. That sounds fun. He could behead him, and once he’s dead, then he can rip off all his limbs. That should freak the brat out at least. The more uncomfortable he makes the people Kakarot truly cares about, the better. After all, Kakarot probably hates mutilation. Has any of his enemies ever had the time to do such a thing? Vegeta’s not sure. Maybe he should do some research, ask that… that… stupid cue ball in the kitchen. (The demons aren’t a fan of that name either). 

He flexes his fingers, making sure the tape will still allow them to clench when needed. It doesn’t. In fact, he wrapped it so tight that, as soon as he does, one of the wounds bursts open.

“Shit.”

He starts tearing it off with his teeth. Think, Vegeta, think. Work through it. Alright, so after Piccolo’s dead, then what? His death opens so many possibilities because there’s no pattern to follow anymore. He still wants the escalation, but who next?  Everyone who’s left are either too important or not important enough. Maybe, he considers as he’s putting pressure on the wound, this is where he can start killing in groups. Go around household to household and murder them outright, like he did in that Namekian village. He could go to this ‘Kame House’ first, destroy whoever’s there (but Krillin can’t be there -- Krillin absolutely can’t be there), then descend upon the others before coming ‘home’ to Capsule Corp. and – 

– kill the Briefs as mercifully as possible, he supposes. He doesn’t give a shit about the staff. He’ll have a heyday with them, but the Briefs? Killing them softly is the least he could do. After all, people who take in princes who have already hurt them so much must go to heaven automatically, right? 

He slowly starts to wrap his hand again, this time with gauze rather than tape. It’s still bleeding. Could he maybe catch them in their sleep? No, the demons reply. You’ll have killed too many. They won’t sleep until they’re dead. Vegeta feels bad about that, but if that’s the way it’s gotta be, fine. He’s done worse.

But sometimes, very late at night, when Vegeta’s muscles ache so baldy but the sandwiches digest so well, he thinks about not killing anyone and just living the rest of his life here because hasn’t he been through enough? 

No, that’s just Earth talking. This planet does that to people. Vegeta’s gotta keep strong or else he’ll lose himself here. Eyes on the prize, Saiyan Prince. Eyes on the prize.

He moves across the room, finally getting to the gravitational controls he wants to bash in with a baseball bat every day. He sets it low, barely above Planet Vegeta’s gravitational weight, because there’s something he must do before he nearly crushes his own bones and blames everyone but himself for it. 

So who does that leave, he asks himself as he walks away from the controls to his usual start spot just ten feet away. Kakarot, his family, and… The demons remind him to breathe. In-out, in-out, in – now start powering up. Yes, that leaves Kakarot, his family, and the man in the kitchen. It makes sense to leave the monk close to last, doesn’t it? Kakarot will surely be protecting them by then, anyway. Vegeta wonders if Kakarot’ll finally be angry enough to no longer show mercy. Vegeta doesn’t want mercy. He wants a damn feast . Should he leave his family and the monk alive just long enough to see him eaten, or should he kill them once Kakarot realizes he must submit to the Last Man’s Meal? 

His ki swells in and around him, raising to heights much higher than when he was on Earth the first time. Kakarot’s brat will try to interject, he thinks. Maybe he should kill him beforehand. He caused so many problems last time – so many problems on Namek too. His death should be quick; sudden. Kakarot will most likely be watching, after all. Maybe he should eat the child too. 

No, half breeds don’t deserve the honor of a traditional death. Kakarot barely deserves it, the near-human that he is. Vegeta’s ki surges higher, and it starts defying the gravity being simulated in the room. He’ll rip out the wife’s heart. If there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that humans are obsessed with that organ, so Kakarot must be too. And what does that leave, once the brat is ripped open, the wife open too, and Kakarot beaten and eaten? 

Oh, right. The monk. The monk and this goddamn planet.

He can destroy the planet. That’s no problem because, really, this worthless place might as well be one of Kakarot’s friends too, and anyway, it’s much too green to look at. The universe won’t miss a place like this, right? Well, Vegeta’s universe certainly won’t.

His energy’s throbbing now, pulsing the walls and cracking the tiles, floatings bits of debris up into the air and making the very air quiver. It’s not enough, he can already tell, but Vegeta’s not about to quit. Keep thinking, the demons tell him. Get angrier. That’s what they said, right? About becoming Super Saiyan? It came deep from within Kakarot’s gut, where he shouldn’t have any Gut Blood –   that third rate bastard – but it was because of his anger,r right? You sensed it, that moment you saw Kakrot after being revived on Namek so. keep. going!

The monk. What are you going to do about the monk? He won’t spare him, that’s for sure. If he was going to suddenly make exceptions, the Briefs would have to be in there, and Vegeta will kill them, so. And anyway, the idiot’s been more disruptive than Kakarot’s own kid. Did he think making sandwiches would save him? No, the monk can’t be that stupid. Should he just pair him with the Briefs then, a shot without pain? No. Vegeta’s much too gone now to consider that. He’ll –  he’ll – 

He loses it. One moment he’s exerting everything he has, and the next moment, he’s falling to his knees with nothing left. He falls forward on his hands, panting. He reaches to brush the tile dust out of his hair, then drops like log.

Just another day in Vegeta’s life where he’s not Super Saiyan.

“Shit!”

Krillin, meanwhile, wakes up and feels the world.

He didn’t sleep well, but that’s not surprising. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest since Goku returned from Yardrat; and the lack of REM sleep must be messing with him because, for a moment, he swears he’s back at Kame House, lying on his worn-out futon in his small but cozy room instead of on one of the lage, cold guest beds here at Capsule Corps., but he’s not. He’s not because, when he takes his first breathe in, instead of sensing Roshi and Turtle and Oolong and all the sea creatures surrounding the house for miles, he senses the Briefs, their staff, Vegeta, and all the animals in the garden, including that goddamn pig. Another breath and, yes, ants are still finding their way into the room one or two at a time, and when he concentrates, he can feel their path from here to their anthill all the way outside. But how do you stop such a procession when a) you don’t want to harm them and b) can’t call maintenance in to fix the wall? One of the pitfalls of swatting in someone else’s home, he supposes.

Krillin uses his arm’s momentum to flip over onto his side and reach for his phone on the nightstand; but after considering flicking it on, he throws it across the room and checks the alarm clock instead. 5:05 AM. Of course. He flips onto his back and groans. His dreams are bothering him, sure, as is his anxiety, but the real culprit here is Vegeta’s fluctuating ki doing… something over in the training room. Every morning, it intrudes into the morning routine Krillin’s stuck to for years, which is simple in theory: he reaches out and checks in on each and every one of his friends. This is usually a relaxing process that grounds him before the start of his day –  if only it wasn’t for the Saiyan Prince mucking everything up down the hall, maybe he could actually breathe .

But that doesn’t happen because Krillin’s life’s not fair and the world hates him, so he gets up.

He rolls out of bed and onto his feet and, after stretching, goes to apologize to his phone. When you do something wrong, that’s when you apologize, right? Krillin’s not sure whether he’s starting to get the hang of proper apologies or just realizing now how much he apologizes to inanimate objects. Either way, it’s not broken. He clicks it on just long enough to make sure and has to actively ignore the long list of notifications cluttering the screen. They’ll die down eventually, right?

He’s wearing four-leaf clover boxers and an oversized shirt that reads SON, but then he’s not because he’s in the shower. No matter how much Vegeta’s eccentric training sessions annoy him, he has to thank them too, because honestly, he’s not sure he’d get out of bed otherwise. Never getting out of bed means zero hygiene, so Krillin’s glad that Vegeta, in a strange way, motivates him to do at least the bare minimum.

After wrapping himself in an oversized robe, he haphazardly brushes his teeth and runs a hand over his scalp to make sure he doesn’t need to shave again. He doesn’t. Thank god. He doesn’t think he has the energy if it had. He drags himself out of the bathroom and over to his suitcase of mismatched clothes he has yet to hang properly. It takes him a while to choose because doing laundry in secret is difficult and he had to collect what little clothes he brought with him so quickly that they hold no rhyme or reason, so what’s the point of washing one to go with another anyway?

He manages to get something on but doesn’t bother with socks or shoes because fuck it. If this is the day his little ruse is up, they’re not gonna care whether he’s wearing footwear or not, right? He’s almost out the door when he stops mid step. He senses one of the ants below, so he lets it pass unharmed. It makes a few loop de loops on the tile, but eventually it’s on its way. He smiles at it, though he mostly feels bad because he has nothing else to offer.

It doesn’t take him long to get to the kitchen because his room is close, and he takes his time making coffee because, from the feel of it, Vegeta’s not even close to done with training yet. He watches the machine drip, drip, then pour and drip, drip again because he has nothing better to do. He washes his hands after throwing the filter out, then adds a bit of sugar to his freshly poured cup. He takes a sip and grimaces. The food he can understand -– what, with his stomach being the constant swarm of jitters it’s been –  but liquids? Struggling with liquids is concerning. He stomachs through it.

It’s better to have something in his stomach anyway because honestly? Looking at those sandwiches is starting to make him sick. He doesn’t get how Vegeta can eat them three times a day for as long as he has, and Krillin has a lot of mixed feelings about the fact that there seems to be no end in sight. On one hand, he rather likes their conversations. Vegeta’s odd company, for sure, but Krillin never expected him to be company at all, so that’s been a pleasant surprise. On the other hand though, everything surrounding the situation’s fucked, and seeing as Krillin wouldn’t be hanging around here if it wasn’t, he can’t exactly enjoy himself either.

He opens the fridge and starts cataloguing everything. Okay, he’s got turkey and bacon, and there’s certainly enough avocados and hummus but -- cheese. There’s only three slices of cheese left.

“Shit.”

So he goes back to his room and puts on his socks and ties up his boots and throws on Goku’s oversized corduroy jacket and wraps his plaid scarf around his neck and puts on his hat with the little flaps on it and then he’s off. It’s easy not to be seen when you can feel everyone around you and live right near the backdoor, so soon enough, he’s walking down the darkened street that has just started to be touched by day. He has a capsule car he could take, but the mart’s only a few blocks away, so he might as well walk. It’s nice to get some air anyway.

He arrives at a quarter ‘til seven, and the butcher counter isn’t open yet, so he has to wander the store for a bit. If he wanted to half-ass it, he could grab some pre-sliced pieces from the other end of the store, but God knows how sensitive Goku’s palate is. He doesn’t want Vegeta to bitch (or worse) about the sandwiches tasting slightly off, so he looks at the vegetables, stares a moment too long at the anti-inflammatory pills in the pharmacy, and does his best to distance himself from the store clerk he can tell thinks he’s 13 and up to no good.

The butcher’s counter’s finally open, so Krillin orders three pounds of cheddar at 1-thickness, and the butcher must recognize him at this point because he doesn’t look skeptical anymore –  just worried. What is he supposed to do? Explain that he’s serving over 20 sandwiches a day to a prince from a galaxy far, far away? So he gets up on his tippy-toes, folds his arms over the counter, and tries to make small talk, but the butcher’s not having it. He wonders what would happen if, for some reason, Bulma came down to the store instead of the staff and this butcher started mouthing off about some no-nose kid with a ridiculous penchant for meats and cheeses. That’s it, Krillin thinks. It’s official. I’m paranoid.

He takes his cheese, pays for it, and leaves.

The sun’s past the horizon now, so more people are out walking the streets. Krillin stuffs one hand in the coat pocket while holding his little DARCY STORE reuseable shopping bag in the other. If he shoves aside all the other shit for a moment, he can think about how much he likes being able to go to the store so easily – walking a few blocks rather than flying a number of miles; but even when he does, the thought just makes him feel homesick.

Back in the kitchen, he pulls the cheese out of the bag and the rest of the ingredients out of the fridge, and he’s about to get started when he realizes he only has a half a loaf of bread left.

“Shit!”

Back from the store and three loaves later, and Krillin’s back to work. He takes out the small radio he threw into a cupboard so he can fill the silence with the news, which he barely pays attention to as he works. He looks at the clock while cutting the avocados and realizes it’s too late now to steal the morning paper. Probably for the better. He would hate to get whatever staffer was responsible for its retrieval in trouble. Then again, do any of the Briefs actually read a traditional paper? Maybe Dr. Briefs. Krillin’s going to have to really apologize to him once this is all over. He feels terrible.

Soon enough, he’s cutting eight sandwiches into perfect little triangles, then staring at the ninth, the most pathetic one of the bunch. Krillin really should eat it, no matter how nauseating he currently finds it. God, he used to love these sandwiches. Eating them, he means. He still enjoys making them in some weird way, even under the circumstances.

Just chew and swallow, he tells himself. It’s easy. He does so with the biggest bite he’s ever taken, but it’s anything but easy to get down. Actually, it might be coming back up. He throws the half sandwich down, bends over the sink, and makes such retched sounds that he almost throws up again just from hearing them. Okay, Krillin thinks, supporting himself against the counter. It’s official. I’m a mess. Thankfully he can’t smell it, but he still has to close his eyes when he runs the sick down the drain. Something is telling him that the heartiest sandwich of all time was not a good place to start when you’ve barely been able to stomach anything for the past two weeks, but he’s ignoring it because that’s logical and his stomach hurts too much for logic at the moment.

Once he gets his bearings, he cuts off the bite he took and joins the untouched part of the sandwich with the rest of the pack. He takes the tainted part and chucks it in the trash like it had killed his own mother. It takes some working up to, but he’s finally able to grab the platter and the radio and move both of them over to the table. He shoves the sandwiches to the center and then lays his head on the table, curling his arms loosely around it and the radio, hugging it just a bit closer. He finally starts paying attention. They caught the President’s assassin. Oh, good.

Vegeta walks in to find the sandwiches on the table and Krillin fast asleep. The radio’s at a murmur and playing a type of music he’s never heard before, but otherwise, it’s quiet. There’s no apple cider, not even in the mug that says YOU CAN’T FIX STUPID by the sink, and the pot nearby has the same tar-like liquid, so Vegeta decides to sniff it and take a sip. The coffee’s lukewarm, and being dramatic about it, Vegeta drops the mug into the sink just so he can show his disgust. The ceramic clatters against the grate, and the prince freezes. He turns slowly to watch Krillin’s shoulders and arms tighten, but then go slack as he snuggles in closer to the radio. He’s still asleep.

Vegeta lets out… some sort of breath, then rounds the table slowly, taking a seat at his end. If he were Kakarot, he would’ve already picked Krillin up and been taking him back to bed; but if there’s anyone Vegeta’s not, it’s Kakarot, so he thinks about ending it here instead. No one knows he’s here, right? Even now, with all of Krillin’s defenses lowered, Vegeta can’t sense him. The room feels just as it would if Vegeta only had the radio for company. The death would be gentler than the monk’s other deaths, surely. Didn’t Vegeta hear that he’s died twice now? Pathetic. Maybe the third time’ll be the charm.

He brings his arm up, but instead of pointing his hand at Krillin in any sort of threatening gesture, he grabs a sandwich instead. His muscles ache beyond reason, and though it’s now 8am, isn’t it very, very late somewhere? All he’s missing is the sandwiches. He brings this one up to his mouth and chomps down. Ah, there we go. The relief is almost instant. They’ll digest well, he can tell. 

He lets Krillin sleep.

Chapter Text

MOTHER BIRDING

“What the fucking hell is this?”

It’s lunchtime, and now that Krillin’s up and at ‘em, Vegeta can properly express the utter contempt he has for the food that’s just been placed before him. The sandwiches are included, don’t worry. They’re sitting on their usual platter next to a mug of apple cider, but there’s, like… other food sitting there, too? Well, okay, there’s really only one other food; but the little brown pieces of twirled yuck sitting in the plastic mixing bowl look so awful that Vegeta doesn’t think they deserve to be addressed as a singular entity. Each piece is awful in its own way, and Vegeta has every intention of listing all those reasons as soon as he can properly think of them. Right now though, all he can manage is the face not unlike that of a five-year-old child that’s been presented broccoli alongside his cake.

Meanwhile, Krillin’s at the other end of the table sipping on a ginger ale he stole about an hour ago during his daring adventure to the Briefs’ main kitchen. After being awkwardly shook awake earlier, Krillin had looked at the empty sandwich tray and become determined to widen Vegeta’s diet, mostly because he dreamed about morphing into a sandwich and Vegeta eating him alive, which had been… awkward to say the least. Going to the store for the third time in four hours sounded worse than imploding, though, so Krillin soon found himself sneaking past staff and Briefs alike to get to the main kitchen, where he stole… well, a lotta shit, actually. He’s not sure how this one ginger ale got mixed in there, seeing that everything else was chosen solely for Vegeta’s consumption, but before he knew it, he was popping the tab and taking a sip. Turns out ginger ale doesn’t make him wanna throw up –  much, anyway. He’ll take it.

He’ll also take Vegeta acting like a five-year-old, apparently, because no Saiyan in Krillin’s life has proven themselves capable of doing otherwise. “They’re pretzels,” Krillin tells him. “Sit down. They’re not gonna hurt you.”

Vegeta does his best to look skeptical rather than genuinely concerned. Instead, he just looks constipated. “They don’t got that,” (he can’t think of the word), “ stuff in ‘em, right?”

“Stuff?” Krillin asks. “What stuff?”

“Acid.”

“Ac-” He realizes what Vegeta’s talking about and coughs up a laugh. “No, no no no no , there’s no lemon in ‘em, promise.” He pats the table lightly. “Sit down already.”

Vegeta’s still giving the plastic bowl the stank eye, but he finally does what he’s told. He scoots in and grabs a sandwich but makes no move to grab any of these ‘pretzel’ things. On one hand, Krillin hasn’t steered him wrong when it’s come to food yet. Drinks, yes, though the monk managed to rectify that. Vegeta’s just not sure what he’ll do if Krillin starts messing up food too. That’s the only reason the monk’s still sitting here, after all, shallowly sipping from his can of Popeye’s Ginger Ale. Vegeta’s not sure what ginger ale is, mind you, but he neither has the desire or the gall to try it, so he doesn’t care. He wants to care even less about the pretzels though because he doesn’t want to gamble on whether Krillin can make lightning strike twice. He’s still riding that first lightning bolt and would rather not have to cut it short. He just decided that he wants to enjoy these sandwiches for a long time to come, thank you.

“Just sandwiches,” Vegeta says, grabbing that first sandwich again. “That was the deal.” He takes a large bite and, suddenly, this doesn’t seem like something he needs to argue about anymore.

Krillin, however, grimaces as he watches Vegeta chew the same sized bite he tried to take this morning. “I know,” he says, crossing his arms over his stomach, “but, see… on Earth, most of the time you eat sandwiches along with something else.” He’s able to manage a smile, though it’s weak at best. “A lotta people like chips with theirs, but personally, I like pretzels. More savory, I think.”

Vegeta looks down at the bowl with newfound interest. “Savory?” he asks. Savory sounds like a pretty good word, both the demons and the translation chip chime in. What’s the worst that could happen? They taste so awful that you jump across the table and strangle ‘im ‘til his eyes pop out? Would that be so bad? 

Vegeta looks down at the sandwiches and thinks, Well, it wouldn’t be good. He takes another bite.

Krillin’s able to stomach this one much better. “Yeah,” he says. “They’ve got a lotta salt on ‘em. There’s these big soft ones too that you can eat with, like, cheese or mustard and stuff. I’ve never had one myself, but they look pretty good.”

Vegeta knows about cheese (it’s a part of the sandwich and it’s fantastic) but, “Mustard?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah, it’s a condiment,” Krillin replies. “Actually, there’s some on your sandwich.” When Vegeta pulls his half-eaten one apart, Krillin leans over the table, points, and says, “Yeah, see the yellow spread right there? That’s mustard.”

Huh. Well, Vegeta certainly likes mustard. Pretzels can’t be that far off. “Alright,” he says, dragging the bowl closer to himself. He looks around for something else, though, and finds it sorely lacking. “Where’s the mustard?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“The mustard,” he says. “You said you eat these with mustard.”

Krillin waves his hands frantically. “Oh, no. No, you don’t eat the little ones with mustard. Just the big ones. They’re, like, way way bigger. Like this.” He shows just how large they are with his hands, which is incidentally almost the size of his face. “See?”

Vegeta’s starting to look constipated again. “Then why’d you get me these ones?”

“Because these ones are a side dish,” Krillin tells him, pointing again. “If you had a big one, that’d be like having two sandwiches!”

“Two?” Vegeta asks. He gestures to the platter. “There’s another seven here!”

“No, I mean that having a sandwich with a big pretzel’s like having a second main--” He realizes Vegeta’s no longer listening to him, so he sighs and pushes himself out from the table. “I’ll grab you some mustard.”

Krillin does so along with a butter knife and an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny tupperware container, then returns to the side of the table to start shoveling mustard out for Vegeta’s pretzels because this is apparently Krillin’s life now. The edge of the knife scrapes the side of the glass a few times as he swirls it around, and both of them grimace whenever it happens. Finally though, after much effort on Krillin’s part and none on Vegeta’s, there’s a respectable amount of mustard in the tupperware container; and after he throws the knife and the mostly empty mustard jar in the sink, Krillin’s able to sit back down. “There,” he says. “ Now will you try them?”

Yeah, why not? Vegeta picks one up and unceremoniously dunks the whole thing in the mustard. He inspects it rather closely, but after determining that the mustard should cover up anything horrible if nothing else, plops it in his mouth.

It’s… well, it’s certainly no sandwich, but it’s not bad either. Not by a longshot. ‘Savory’s’ definitely the right word for it, he thinks, once he feels it’s safe to suck off all the mustard and gets to the salt. It makes him thirsty though, so he brings the hot cider up to help it go down, but the mixture of salty and sweet is not to his liking. He’d rather have the cider and sandwiches together in harmony, thanks. 

“They’re… fine,” he declares. Still though, he slides both the bowl and the mustard towards Krillin. “Here.”

“Are you sure you don’t like them?” Krillin asks, sliding them back. (He’s determined, guys). “They go with the sandwiches, remember, so you can eat both.” This can’t be that difficult of a concept to understand, right? He remembers Vegeta speaking about full course meals before. There’s no way side dishes weren’t included. 

Vegeta does understand, but he’s annoyed by the gesture, so he shoves them back with even more force. “Here,” he enunciates. 

Krillin wants to argue more but doesn’t have the strength. He gives a tired shrug before pushing both bowls off to the side, Vegeta’s eyes following them all the way over. “Alright.” He moves the book he just started by them as well. “Well, uh,” he says, still staring at it. In between getting sick this morning and his excursion across the complex in search of failure, Krillin hadn’t actually gotten the chance to think of a question again, and he now knows that’s a problem. After all, no one wants a repeat of the laptop incident. Vegeta wouldn’t have anything to wreck this time if he got too impatient –  other than, you know, Krillin himself or his brand new book he swiped on his way back from the kitchen. Krillin’d hate to see the binding bent.

So he defaults to the conversation they were having yesterday even though he knows that the results might be a mixed bag. “So you mentioned you had Raditz do all the grunt work, right?” 

Vegeta’s still side-eyeing the pretzels as he chews on the last bite of his first sandwich. “No,” he replies after swallowing. “I had Raditz do all of Raditz’s grunt work. It was his job.” And like he said before, he was surprisingly good at it – to the point where he prided himself on it, really. Of course, Vegeta finds other people’s pride hilarious because no one else understands what real pride is, but Raditz was a Saiyan, and there’s a certain pride in that, he supposes. 

“So, what?” Krillin asks. “He’d go down to the planet and survey… what exactly?”

Whether it was worth anyone’s time, basically. He’d usually land near a city, shoot some people, measure their energy levels, see what they made a lot of, and taste their food. Survey teams had some basic information before being deployed to a new planet and the planet’s fate was almost always decided beforehand as well, but things can change once you’re up close, especially once you know what the food’s like in Vegeta’s case. If everything was shit, Raditz came back up and they destroyed the planet. If something was at least fun, Raditz would invite them down, they’d had a heyday, then destroy it or wipe it clean anyway. Overall, it was pretty great.

Krillin doesn’t look amused. “So Nappa flyin’ around destroying a buncha cities before we arrived was pretty standard fare then?”

Vegeta and Nappa weren’t trying to conquer Earth, so no, not really, though he supposes the Dragon Balls would fall under the “something fun” category. Certainly didn’t end like standard fare.

“That makes a lot more sense then,” Krillin says.

Vegeta quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Why Raditz came alone. I always wondered about that. Seemed,” (he narrows his eyes), “convenient.”

“‘Convenient?’” Vegeta asks. “The hell’s that mean?”

“Well, think about it,” Krillin says. “If all three of you had come together – even if you initially let Raditz come down by himself to see what’s up with Goku – we would’ve never won. I mean, Goku barely beat you after training with a god for, like, months on end.”

Vegeta, suddenly engrossed, lifts his mug of cider very slowly. “I’m listening.”

“I mean, one of you still would’ve killed Piccolo, so the Dragon Balls would’ve been useless no matter what, but you know. Weird how stuff ends up working out for us despite the extensive amounts of collateral damage.” 

Vegeta leans in a bit. “So you’re saying that, had I come instead of Raditz, I would’ve beaten him.”

Krillin shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe. Like I said, things always end up working in our favor at the end of the day, so who knows?”

… Well, that certainly wasn’t the enthusiastic ‘yes’ Vegeta was looking for. He leans back and chews on his next bit of sandwich like a grump.

Krillin doesn’t notice. He props his head on his right fist and says, “So, I guess the question I have is, why did Raditz come so far by himself? Why did he decided to come then?”

“Whaddya mean?” Vegeta asks.

“Goku was well into his twenties at that point and you guys several years older. Why seek him out after so many years?”

Honestly? Vegeta had no idea what was happening until Raditz was already halfway here. The three had been on an extended leave when Raditz had first mentioned Kakarot. The Empire had just secured an entire new sector, and Frieza’s elite were… well, cooling down for a bit. Like it’s been mentioned, appropriating planets takes a significant amount of time, so when you gotta appropriate an entire sector? Well, let’s just say you’re suddenly stationed for the next few years. It wasn’t like Vegeta’s deployment on the top heavy – oh god, no. He was able to go where he wanted as long as he was in-sector, and the Saiyans received smaller, more random assignments scattered throughout, but for the most part, Vegeta and his underlings kinda just… hung out. 

It was a very strange time in Vegeta life before he learned about Kakarot and the Dragon Balls. During the sector take-over, he had killed the oracle, and afterwards he felt… lost, really. He knew he couldn’t beat Frieza, but he couldn’t stop his training either; he no longer had to receive constant instruction, but he no longer had direction either. Each and every night, turning from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing sounded better and better because, honestly, he was depressed. It coated his veins in a thick paste that made him feel the need to work them out faster and more furious than ever, but it also made him strangely more agreeable, especially when it came to going out and having a good time. Vegeta didn’t have a good time, of course, because Vegeta wouldn’t know what a good time is even if it grinded up against him and called him ‘daddy,’ but one night did result in how he learned about Kakarot. 

It goes like this: one night, after exhausting himself entirely, Raditz and Nappa had convinced Vegeta to accompany them to a bar. On their way there, they had seen a protest which, by law, they were allowed to break up with extreme prejudice. They did so, and there was one point where one protester was crying about a brother or something? Vegeta doesn’t remember the specifics – just that it was annoying. After they were done, they continued towards the bar, where Raditz had said (to Nappa), “I used to have one of those.”

“One of what?” Nappa had asked.

“You know, a brother.”

(“Wait,” Krillin says. “It took you guys how many years for Raditz to mention that he had a brother?”

Vegeta shrugs. They never talked about personal things. That’s actually the only reason Vegeta had paid attention at all. It was different).

“Died on Planet Vegeta, huh?” Nappa had asked, amused.

“You know,” Raditz had said, “I dunno. He was thrown into that new program. You know, the one that ships the babies off to super easy planets to conquer ‘em or whatever? He was one of those.”

“Ah,” Nappa had replied, uninterested.

“Yeah, dunno if he was shipped out in time. Never came back either, so probably dead.”

Raditz had then seen a beautiful vixen with six eyes and two asses, and that had been the end of that. 

Except it wasn’t because that night, Vegeta couldn’t sleep. Or the next night, or the night after that. All he could keep picturing was this little Saiyan with way too much hair conquering a planet and then just… sitting there, looking to the sky because surely the reason he never returned was because his ship malfunctioned, right? Or maybe he had been like Raditz, hovering around Planet Vegeta, picked up by something much more sinister than his young prince and the overlord who destroyed everything he was ever promised. The pull in his chest was the same as the pain he had felt when seeing that tea girl’s faux monkey tail, and soon enough, Vegeta had to curl up in his ship and be put to sleep in order to rest at all.  

Finally, after many long nights, Vegeta put in for his first and only leave-of-absence. He had to go before Lord Frieza himself, and the warlord’s eyes had narrowed as he stared down as Vegeta’s bent form, but he allowed it. Vegeta flew from the new sector to a very old one, where the knowledge planet laid on the southern border. It took a few days, especially without the oracle’s guidance, but Vegeta had found the last launch orders from Planet Vegeta, and only one ship was unaccounted for – one that held the little baby Kakarot inside. The ship had never returned to Empirical space.

Vegeta will never, ever admit this, not to a breathing soul or even a dead one, but he cried. If Kakarot lived, then maybe others did too. Maybe enough that, if Vegeta became powerful enough, he could rebuild Planet Vegeta and destroy Frieza and take the reins as was his birthright. 

He put in a call to Nappa, energy brimming, rearing to go, and… uh, Raditz was apparently already halfway there. Turns out you could find those records in any official information center, and Raditz thought it’d be kinda fun to have a kid brother to boss around. Next thing they know, Kakarot’s human, Dragon Balls exist, and that had been the end of that. Vegeta no longer cries for long lost Saiyans, that’s for sure. Long lost Saiyans can go die in a fire.

“So he left,” Krillin asks, “without asking his prince or commanding officer?”

Vegeta nods, uninterested. He’s only three sandwiches in, and he’s already feeling raw, but more importantly, he’s looking back at the pretzels again. 

Krillin looks at them too, but doesn’t put much weight into it, and decides to hit a question he’s actually wanted to ask for a long time now. “What was he like?” he asks. “Raditz, I mean.”

Vegeta gives him a look. “You saw him, right?”

“Yeah, for, like, a minute.”

Vegeta clicks his tongue. “You know ‘im then.” He takes his first bite into the third sandwich, but he’s back to looking at the pretzels almost angrily. 

Krillin puts his hands on the lip of the table and leans in. “No, Vegeta, I mean, literally I saw him for a –” He thinks about it. “Okay, more like five minutes, but it was like, he came to the island, right? Started going on about ‘Saiyan this’ and ‘Saiyan’ that, then he tail-smacked me into the house and took off with Gohan. Next thing I know, he and Goku are lying dead in some field with holes in their chests, and Piccolo’s taking off with Gohan to train him to fight you.” He leans back. “It was… It was a very strange day.” Stranger than pretty much any day Krillin had up to that point, (other than dying, of course), but now objectively only mid-tier. That’s not the best trajectory.

Vegeta swallows, then gives Krillin a strange look. “Holes?”

“Yeah,” Krillin says. Then he realizes what Vegeta’s actually asking. “You don’t know?” Krillin asks. “Raditz didn’t kill Goku. Piccolo did, technically.” Krillin brings up his arms to imitate holding someone in a lock. “Goku held him, and Piccolo, well… Piccolo skewered them, basically.”

Okay, Vegeta needs to get this straight. So Tien – the guy who lost an arm and died from performing an attack too many times – beat Goku in a tournament. Piccolo, meanwhile, was the one who actually killed Goku. And to top this shitshow off, the guy sitting across from him as beaten Goku in a fight at least once – probably more since they apparently trained together a lot. Yet Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans – two-hundred-and-second of his goddamn name – crawled away from their fight so utterly defeated while the rest of ‘em looked on and laughed? (That’s what happened, right? They let him crawl to his ship with absolutely no fanfare? No, that can’t be right).

Vegeta wishes this fact would make him angry enough to blow up the whole goddamn planet, but it’s not. He’s tired, and the Namekian at least fought Frieza with some competency, so it makes more sense than Raditz, right? Nothing makes sense, the demons tell him, and he just sighs and keeps eating.

Krillin, meanwhile, lets out a sigh of his own and sinks down in his chair a little bit. “No,” he says, “really, what… what was Raditz like? You spent years with him, right?”

He did. As annoying as it was, Vegeta spent a lotta fucking time with Raditz the moment he stumbled out of his stupid little Saiyan pod and onto Frieza’s ship. Almost too much time, really. No, definitely too much. 

It’s not that he… disliked Raditz. It’s just that… well, Raditz in exchange for Vegeta’s ruined planet had not been exactly a fair trade. Oh sure, now Vegeta knows that Frieza destroyed it, but back then, it was like the wreckage pooped out Raditz instead of a ruined husk that maybe Vegeta could’ve worked with. Sure, they trained together and fought together and inhaled the same blood and grit of their conquests, but Vegeta spent just as much time loitering outside their corridors, ready to pull the trigger on the only two Saiyans left. He never did though, and just like he’ll never admit to crying over Kakarot, he’ll never admit (not even years later with two children and a beautiful wife and a pride that won’t kill him) that he regrets not doing so, even if he did make it up to Nappa by turning him from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing in the end. Raditz? Raditz not so much. Raditz apparently just has some hole in him in Hell, killed by something that didn’t realize just how rare he was.

“He was loud,” Vegeta says instead. “Not as loud as Nappa, but loud. Gross.” He’s not sure what else he can say more he can say and still let the sandwiches digest okay.

Speaking of digesting, he’s done with the third sandwich now, and he’s once again staring rather pointedly at the pretzels. Krillin notices this and pushes them towards Vegeta. “You can have more,” he tells him.

That’s when Krillin realizes that Vegeta’s not conflicted, he’s insulted. “You said you like these,” the prince says, shoving the bowl with such force that, if Krillin hadn’t scrambled to grab it, it would’ve surely flown off the table. “You haven’t even touched them! Must I do everything for you?” He slides the mustard over too. “HERE.”

Krillin ignores the mustard, but he pulls the bowl in front of him to hug it, putting a barrier between him and the suddenly frantic Prince of Saiyans. Here. Here. Krillin had thought Vegeta had been shoving the pretzels away like a spoiled child wanting their parent to remove lackluster food away from the table, when in reality… “You’re,” (he looks down at the pretzels before giving Vegeta a very skeptical look), “giving these to, uh…”

Vegeta gestures like it’s obvious. “Eat!”

Krillin looks down at the bowl and immediately feels nauseous. He had thrown the whole bag in here thinking Vegeta would eat them just as ravenously as he does the sandwiches. Now though, Vegeta might not leave until he eats them all, which means that, in order to not cause any issues, Krillin would have to finish them all by the time Vegeta finishes his last sandwich; but to do that, Krillin would have to shovel them into his mouth, making it just as full as it was when he bit into that sandwich this morning, and the thought alone makes him gag. He doesn’t make much of a show of it thankfully, but he can feel his chest start to clench and the thump, thump of his heart against the bowl. “I, um… I appreciate the gesture, Vegeta,” he says, “but well, um…”

Vegeta’s looking at him like Krillin just rejected a blessing from God himself. Over pretzels. Alright, apparently this is Krillin’s life now. He looks down again and forces himself to remember that handing over a bowl of pretzels Vegeta found agreeable might be the nicest gesture Vegeta’s ever made to anyone, and who is he to refuse over a little anxiety? If he does, he’s gonna hafta explain himself to everyone when, years down the line, Vegeta starts ruining everything: ‘If only I ate that bowl of pretzels he offered me once. Then this might not be a thing right now.’ Then, everyone would be even madder at him than they already surely are. That’s the last thing Krillin needs.

So under Vegeta’s suddenly very heated gaze, Krillin picks up a pretzel and brings it to his mouth; however, after seeing Vegeta quirk an eyebrow at this, he begrudgingly dabbles it into the mustard, trying not to cover it too much. 

Krillin stares at it. So does Vegeta. Krillin stares at it some more. So does Vegeta. 

He finally shoves it in his mouth and, upon chewing, tries his best to look happy about it. “Mmm,” he hums, making a show outta it, belly rubbing and all. “S’gwood.”

Usually Vegeta wouldn’t notice how uncomfortable Krillin looks, but since it’s because of something Vegeta so graciously gave him, it irks him. A lot. The pretzels were serviceable; weren’t poisoned; pair well with one of the sandwiches’ many fantastic ingredients – yet here this idiot is, treating this wonderful gift like it killed his own mother. Doesn’t he realize that Vegeta doesn’t give gifts? This is such an unlikely event that a god somewhere probably suffered a heart attack as a result and took his whole congregation with him. How dare this simpleton not be on the ground kissing his feet in gratitude!

But then again, Krillin hasn’t been eating much since the beginning, and that’s been bothering Vegeta too. Do humans just not eat or something? Now thinking about it, Vegeta’s never seen another human eat before, and many of them (this waste-of-space included) had commented on the absurd amount Vegeta eats, including the cooks, who – while they couldn’t make the perfection that is Krillin’s sandwiches – must have some expertise since they were hired by the Briefs. How do they survive? Are they photosynthetic like the Namekians? No, Namekians don’t eat at all. Surely humans are capable of more, right?

Or at least Krillin is. As much as Vegeta hates to admit it, Krillin’s a cut above the rest. Impeccable sandwich-making skills aside, Krillin has proven himself stronger than the rest of them, even if he’s still utterly pathetic in every other imaginable way. He’s kept up in ways no one else on this planet frankly ever could, and as such should be treated like he’s Saiyan – at least a little bit, anyway. 

My god, he really is going to have to do everything for this guy, huh?

Just as Krillin is starting to get very concerned about Vegeta’s lack of response, the Saiyan Prince reaches across the table and tears the bowl out of Krillin’s unsuspecting arms, dragging it so harshly that he pushes aside the tray of sandwiches entirely. Once the bowl’s in front of him, Vegeta grabs a handful of pretzels, shows them to Krillin with quite a bit of force, then shoves them into his mouth. 

It takes Krillin’s brain a minute to catch up after once again being disgusted with how much food can fit into a Saiyan mouth; but once it notes that Vegeta’s been chewing way too obviously for way too long, it arrives at a terrifying theory: Vegeta might be trying to Mother Bird him. Vegeta might be trying to Mother Bird him, and there’s absolutely nothing Krillin can do about it. Even if Krillin does raise his energy and ruin absolutely everything, it’ll be already happening by the time Goku zaps in, and how in the fucking hell is he supposed to explain that?! If he tries to leave, it might be even worse, which is kind of incredible because, until right this second, nothing sounded worse than seeing Goku. 

He’s just gonna have to power through this, isn’t he? He’s just gonna hafta let this happen because what’s the point in calling Goku if it’s already going to be happening? Call Goku – two problems. Let Vegeta shove pretzel mush down his throat with his tongue – one. Maybe he can kill Vegeta as it’s happening. Would anyone even care? What’s the game breaking combo move? Solar Flare, then Destructo Disk? Right then. Screw Bulma’s kitchen. She’s just gonna have to deal with a huge hole through the wall and Vegeta’s body in pieces because there’s no way Krillin’s being mouth-to-mouthed by a strange spaceman! THIS IS NOT APPARENTLY KRILLIN’S LIFE RIGHT NOW! He refuses! I should’ve stabbed him, he thinks. I shouldn’t of listened to Goku and fucking stabbed him! Sure we would’ve all died on Namek, but that would’ve been better than this! Let Frieza have his fucking immortality! Who cares? This is the universe’s way of saying he deserved it!

After chewing for an obscenely long time and then swallowing, Vegeta sees that Krillin must not have understood his very obvious display on how to chew a lot of food at once since Krillin currently looks disgusted and terrified; so he starts from the beginning – this time with verbal cues. 

“Pick up the pretzels. ” 

“Uh huh…?”

“ Bring the pretzels to your mouth .”

“Okay…?”

“Put them in your goddamn mouth.”

“Yeah?”

“... Chtwo.”

“Uhhhhh…”

It takes a minute since, once again, Vegeta takes his time chewing, but when he’s done, he swallows and says, “Swallow. Don’t choke. Swallow.”

Krillin’s brain’s broke by the time Vegeta thrusts the bowl back over to him. “You,” he commands.

Okay, Krillin’s back online but convinced he’s missed something. “Vegeta,” he asks, “are you, uh… are you trying to teach me how to eat?”

“Yes!”

“I-I don’t think-”

“Pick up the pretzels,” Vegeta tells him.

“Vegeta, seriously–”

Vegeta’s energy whips around the room, and Krillin can see it in vivid color and feels it deep in his already constricted chest. “Pick up the pretzels!”

Krillin picks up the most that he can muster.

“Bring them to your mouth.”

Krillin’s hand’s shaking as he does so.

He sees Vegeta consumed by the deep red of his aura, thicker than blood, sparking yellow. His teeth are still white and sharp. “Well?”

Krillin nearly bites his fingers he crams them in so fast.

The energy has settled by the time Krillin manages to swallow, but it still hums around the room, and for Krillin, it’s like he’s sitting inside with polarized sunglasses. His stomach hurts, and for a moment, he thinks he’s going to upchuck, but survival instincts kick in and will let his stomach settle until he’s out of the room at least. His eyes sting.

Vegeta, meanwhile, looks pleased. “There,” he says, grabbing another one of his sandwiches. “That’s how Saiyans eat and how you should eat from now on, got it?”

“Umm…” Krillin says, pretty raw.

He’s now disinterested. “Eat the rest.” He bites into his own sandwich.

Krillin’s eyes widen. “... What?”

Vegeta’s energy flexes, becomes a shade darker. “Just do it already, would you?” Who knew this would be such a struggle?

Krillin looks down at the pretzels, up at Vegeta, and then down again. Just as Vegeta thinks he’s going to have to demonstrate for a fourth time, Krillin’s eyes are stinging even more because, before he can stop himself, they’re welling up and soon water is running down his cheeks. 

Vegeta’s energy retracts itself entirely. This was, uh… not the reaction he was expecting. Surely Krillin knows how to train by now, right? This is just that but with food! But what if eating that much actually hurts humans? Vegeta didn’t know that! Why didn’t he say something? He tried, the demons whisper, but Vegeta doesn’t believe them because, honestly, why would they be listening? Maybe eating this much kills humans. Vegeta can’t even imagine. No wonder humans are so weak – surrounded by so much good food that they can barely eat. It must be torture. 

“S-Sorry,” Krillin mutters, wiping under his eyes with the backs of his hands. He’s certainly not sobbing, but tears are still there. “I’ll, um… I’ll…”

As much as Vegeta sometimes wants it, Krillin can’t die. That’s the only thing he’s thinking as he drags the pretzel bowl back and proceeds to finish it off with five non-exaggerated bites. Krillin stares at him wide-eyed as he does so, tears stopping entirely. When Vegeta’s done, he pushes the empty bowl back to Krillin. “Yay,” he says, completely deadpan. “You did it.”

Krillin stares down at the bowl like it’s a void.

“You can… leave whenever you want?” Vegeta tries. 

Krillin chokes out a laugh, then another, and soon he’s cracking up.

Vegeta’s more confused than ever. “What’s… funny?”

“This,” Krillin says, “is apparently my life now.” He sounds confused about it but not necessarily damned. When Vegeta quirks an eyebrow, Krillin says, “At least you didn’t try to Mother Bird me.”

“... What?”

Krillin shakes his head. “Just eat your sandwiches, Vegeta.”

You don’t gotta tell him twice. He juts his face out to grab a bite, and Krillin laughs, no longer so sickened by the sight, mostly because Vegeta looked like a really dumb bird while doing it. “You’re so freaking strange,” Krillin tells him.

Vegeta can’t get all that mad.

Chapter Text

STOP, DROP, AND ROLL OVER

Vegeta’s never known what to do when someone cries, mostly because he’s always been in the middle of killing them when it happens. He’s not unfamiliar with the concept, of course – after all, until recently making people cry was practically his job. Destroying people’s entire civilization tends to make them very upset, Vegeta’s found; and while he should be able to relate to these people on an almost spiritual level, he doesn’t because Vegeta does not relate to anyone or anything out of principle. No one in this universe can possibly relate to him, so why extend the courtesy?

Because of all this, Vegeta’s view of crying is… skewed. He doesn’t see it as a weakness as much as a precursor to something horrible that’s about to happen. He has spent his entire life being dragged in the footsteps of powerful men, and powerful men tend to make other powerful men cry. A lot. When he was young and not-yet-homeless, he learned two fundamental and, to him, interconnected truths: everyone cries and everyone dies – even Frieza, even gods, and especially Saiyan princes.

Thus, Vegeta’s only ever cried when he’s wanted to die.

That first night after he learned his race turned from being Saiyan to hot matter to nothing? He sobbed, hoping his tears would help him do the same. When looking out that warship window, hoping to see his ruined planet but finding Raditz’s pod instead? He could’ve gone then, no problem. Over Kakarot’s existence? Like Vegeta would have ever been able to fulfill the promise of restoring the Saiyan throne with only four of them left. He should’ve just gave up then. And against Frieza, so utterly beaten, he let himself cry because surely Frieza would kill him, and Frieza did; though Frieza made him work for it because Frieza’s always made him work for everything – even death. He even cried up at Kakarot during those final moments because, surely, despite his upbringing, Kakarot’s instincts would tell him that one Saiyan kills the other when they’ve humiliated themselves so thoroughly. But no, of course not. Kakarot’s as human as they come, so he let Vegeta die of his wounds instead, like an animal. Vegeta can only hope that Kakarot too will cry once it’s time to enact the Last Man’s Meal. It’s only right.

Right now though, Vegeta’s conflicted because yesterday, instead of killing Krillin on principle, he tried to help. Or at least actively prevented his death, going off Vegeta’s current misunderstanding of human physiology. He’s never had that sort of reaction before. It’s always been tears, bam, dead. It’s like stop, drop, and roll – but for when your body’s set on emotions rather than fire. He’s trying to figure out what’s changed, and even the sandwich he’s currently eating isn’t helping.

Could it be Earth? the demons ask as they watch Krillin, late at night, portioning out the cider with the radio on. (Oh yes, here comes another Earth diatribe. We haven’t had one in a while, and sometimes it’s nice to revisit the classics). So, uh. Fuck Earth. What’s wrong with this goddamn planet? It must be driving him insane. It’s not a new theory, but like Occam’s razor says, the easiest explanation is most likely the correct one, so he’s sticking to it. Earth must’ve done something to Kakarot, though surely the lower-class Saiyan never stood a chance compared to his princely counterpart. Seriously, what is it about this planet that does this to people? Could it really be the food? Vegeta looks down at his very, very good sandwich. He hopes not or he’s fucked because he’s not giving these up anytime soon. They’re the only thing helping him follow the oracle’s advice.

What Vegeta’s more annoyed about is that, as Krillin’s handing him his hot apple cider, the monk’s paying way more attention to the radio than he is to starting their scheduled conversation. The woman speaking is giving new information on the President’s assassin, and it’s bullshit.

“Reports say Lin Chung Yee was quiet as a child,” she drones, “often choosing to play by himself rather than with the other children in his village. A small fishing community off the coast of the Sung Sae River, Yee’s hometown has been a matter of contention between the United Continents and the country-in-question’s government-in-exile, which was forced out nearly fifteen years ago after refusing to give up its state sovereignty to the global government.” Krillin drops into his seat and has to lean over the table in order to turn the radio up a notch. “It is here that officials state that Yee was radicalized, most likely by his uncle, Po Chung Yee, a former captain in the well-known anti-globalization group I.L.I.L.”

Krillin whistles, impressed.

Vegeta, meanwhile, is not. “Turn that shit off, would you?” he says after swallowing. “I will not have my meal interrupted by official just because you want to listen to some rebelcast.” 

The demons approve. Gotta start establishing ground rules somewhere.

Krillin though just raises an eyebrow. “Rebelcast?” he asks. He gestures to the radio. “Vegeta, this is the news – the regular news.”

In response, Vegeta looks over to the radio like it had just given birth to five different types of squirrel. “They’re going on about some traitor’s life,” he says, like this should make his point obvious.

“... yeah,” Krillin replies. “That’s what the news does. Report on people. And events. And things. It’s normal here.”

Culture shock hits Vegeta hard in the chest. He takes a bite of sandwich to make himself feel better. It mostly works.

At least Krillin’s more interested in him now. “Is this not usual in the Empire?” he asks.

No, it isn’t. The Empire has news stations, of course. Lots of them. It’d be impossible for one channel to communicate everything happening in a sector, let alone on one inhabited planet, so there are literally thousands upon thousands in each territory alone. They run at all hours, truncate everything, and you hope you’re getting even half the story simply because the whole one can be very hard to give. 

One of the things these stations never did though (other than rebelcasts, of course) was dwell on traitors. First of all, traitors are a dime-a-dozen. Could you even imagine trying to keep track of every government defector in a multi-galactic empire? You’d have to have entire channels dedicated to it, and honestly, the ratings would be horrible because you’d get their names and that’s about it. Secondly, why advertise the people who hates you? It’s bad for business, and seeing how every story must be run through a government official first, they get to decide when and how they avoid bad press. People were made examples of, of course, but to do that, you strip them of their identity and show them dead every once and awhile. You don’t brand their martyrdom! What’s wrong with these people?

“Oh, our news always goes super in depth about these sorts of things,” Krillin tells him. “It’s for ratings mostly. People eat this stuff up. They wanna understand the mind of the killer or something like that.” He reaches for his mug of cider. “To be fair, though, someone trying to assassinate the President is a pretty big deal. The people around him are supposed to stop anything like that from ever happening, so the fact that Yee was able to get so close is, well…” Krillin clicks his tongue. “It’s news, that’s for sure.”

He then perks up a bit. “Actually, there was quite a bit of reporting about you!”

Vegeta nearly spits out the sandwich. “What?”

Krillin reaches into his jacket pocket so he can pull out his phone. “Yeah,” he says, looking directly at Vegeta while he’s unlocking it. “They don’t know much about Saiyans,obviously, so they’ve coined it the ‘Tailed Invasion.’ Man, everyone went wild with speculations about who you guys were and whatcha all wanted. Here, lemme just–” He looks down at the screen finally and furrows his brow. “Update? Now?” He rolls his eyes. “Fine, yes. ” He touches the screen a few times in fairly quick succession, then sets it down next to him. “I’ll show you more in a sec, but don’t worry, I remember some of the funnier theories off the top of my head.”

“Funny?” Vegeta asks, eyes narrow.

“Oh yeah,” Krillin replies. He ignores Vegeta’s posture entirely. “I mean, for one thing, the whole anti-evolutionary crowd went nuts.” He gets more comfortable. “So, okay, so scientific evidence all points to humans evolving from apes, right? But these people, the anti-evolutionists? They–”

Vegeta’s brain’s just caught up, and it’s not liking what it’s hearing. Humans are related to apes? Like, ape-apes? Like the apes Vegeta’s people turn into whenever there’s a full moon? We’re all on the same page here, right? Whenever apes had been mentioned before, Vegeta had just assumed it was the translation chip at work, but Earth has actual apes and humans are related to them? On Planet Vegeta, Saiyans were the only beings to ever assume that form. Hell, even in the Empire, there weren’t anything else like them, and that’s not Vegeta’s massive ego talking. Humanoid? Of course, but ape? Specifically ape? Saiyans had always assumed it was a form given to them as a part of the Gut Blood, but now this?

That’s it. Screw revenge. Screw domination. Screw every goddamn dream Vegeta’s ever had. It’s time to throw in the towel and find a quiet place to scream until he dies.

While he’s bluescreening for the second time in two days, Krillin’s trying to explain the difference. “Don’t worry,” he’s telling him, waving his hands frantically. “It’s not like we’ve ever transformed into apes or had tails or anything like Saiyans do. We just evolved from them. Like,” (Krillin thinks of how to explain this because, while he’s sure that Vegeta understands the concept of evolution, the prince’s face is saying that he doesn’t understand this ), “we used to be them all the time, but now we’re not.”

Vegeta’s ignoring him because his brain’s currently trying to rationalize this out of self-preservation. Okay, so there’s been instances of repetition throughout the universe, right? Like, a tree is a tree is a tree, even if different species are found on vastly different planets, and there was that one curious case of two different ones looking the exact same on two different planets despite their genetic makeup not matching up in the slightest. Thus, it stands to reason that apes can technically exist on two completely different worlds and contexts as well, right? On this planet, they’re smelly little buggers that produced people like Krillin, while on a dead planet, they were sacred transformations used to wreck shit. And they’re not really called the same thing, right? That’s the chip trying to make sure he and Krillin are understanding one another. The thing’s always been a piece of shit anyways, especially when adapting to entirely new languages. Breathe, Saiyan Prince. Breathe.

“... you okay?” Krillin asks.

Vegeta lets out a haggard breath. Okay, yeah. No, he’s good. He’s back. Crisis averted once again thanks to his massive ego. If only that was always the outcome, right?

“Okay,” Krillin says slowly. “Well, anyway,” (he’s much less excited now), “some people don’t believe humans evolved from anything due to divine creation, so seeing you two definitely stirred up that old debate again.”

Okay, so humans believe they aren’t descended from apes because of divine creation? Okay, these are definitely two different contexts then. The sandwich high is back in full force.

“My favorite one though,” Krillin says, “is that some people now believe we’re all aliens. Like, nothing living on Earth actually originated from here.” He glances down when his phone lights up, so he starts setting it up again while he talks. “It’s kinda funny to think of all these different species coming from different planets, though. I mean, our Guardian’s even an alien, right? Why not all of us?”

In the Empire, planets like those are plentiful. Oh sure, they had inhabitants before everyone moved there, but people like Vegeta took care of those infestations. Now, all their flora and fauna is literally out of this world. Planet Vegeta had been one of the most ‘pure’ planets left. So while Vegeta is very used to the concept, he highly doubts anyone would want to move to Earth. He certainly never wanted to. He expresses as much. “You honestly believe that?” he asks.

Krillin shrugs, still looking at his phone. “Nah. Don’t believe much, honestly.” He taps at it one more time, then finally gives Vegeta the time of day. “It’s funny though to think there might have been planets just full of one species here though. Like, a puppy planet or something.”

Oh, right. Dogs. Vegeta knows those. He points at the radio. “Like that guy,” he says.

“What guy?” Krillin looks at the radio with interest, then back to Vegeta. “Lin Chung? No, he wasn’t a dog, that’s for sure. He was–” He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you mean the President . Yeah, like him. Exactly.”

“But you own dogs,” Vegeta says.

“Excuse me?”

“People,” he says. “They’re pets. People own pets.”

“Ohhh. Yeah, a lot of people own dogs, that’s true.” Krillin rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I guess I can see how confusing that could be if you’re not from here. For everyone on Earth though, dog ownership is pretty standard. There’s a big difference between dog people and pet dogs, though, obviously. I guess there’s some people who relate them to each other, but well…” He gives a nervous laugh. “Those people aren’t very nice.”

“But they evolved from dogs,” Vegeta says, matter-of-fact.

Krillin shifts in his seat. “Well, yeah, but…” He doesn’t need to explain racism to Vegeta. From the few scathing comments he heard Frieza make, Vegeta already has quite a bit of experience in that area. It’s just hard when Vegeta is technically stating fact. “It’s just… inappropriate to say,” he finally says lamely.

Vegeta doesn’t care about appropriateness. He’s a Saiyan Prince, dammit. He does what he wants. Making Krillin uncomfortable while doing it is just a bonus. “You said humans evolved from smelly, inferior apes though,” he says. (Gotta differentiate them).

“Well yeah,” Krillin says, fidgeting even more. His face is red. “But one, I’m human; and two, humans look quite a bit different from apes now, and actually calling a human a ‘monkey’ is insulting, so–”

“So humans and dog people are the same,” Vegeta states.

Krillin brightens up. “Yes, exactly!” 

Did Krillin really just dispel the seed of racism from a mass-murdering alien prince who prides his own species over all others and has committed at least 100 genocides in the name of special superiority? 

Nah. Here’s what Vegeta’s actually thinking: So if humans and dog people are the same, and dog people came from animals that can be owned as pets, then does that mean that apes can be owned as pets as well? If that’s the case, then how can this planet determine when something is a pet and when something is not when one technically came from the other? Sure humans and dog people are smarter than their counterparts – not by much (in Vegeta’s opinion), but they are owed credit where credit is due, which is not saying much either. Frieza owned creatures smart enough to teach astrophysics to aspiring scientists. Using that logic, then does that mean any creature on this planet can technically be considered a pet since they all in fact evolved from creatures they themselves consider pets?

The realization hits Vegeta hard. Oh my god, he thinks. Earth is a planet of pets. No wonder nothing here makes any goddamn sense! Pets can’t run shit, and pets certainly can’t fight. Oh my god, he thinks again. That’s why Kakarot’s been defending this godforsaken place. That idiot’s adopted all of them. He’s adopted the whole goddamn planet! That dog president man doesn’t own Earth. Kakarot does! Kakarot decided to have his own fucking pet project. Frieza had a few of those – planets he’d spare just to say he did so. Hell, at times Vegeta felt like that was the only reason he was kept around, though obviously it’d be impossible to keep a Saiyan as a pet. Humans, on the other hand… Well, he did just attempt to teach Krillin how to eat not even seven hours ago. Did Kakarot have to do all this for them? No, of course not. He’s one of them. He should be in the same shitty boat. After all, Kakarot barely even knows civilization himself! Is this like one of those situations where you build a doghouse that looks like a real house so you can pretend your dog’s a person too? Just a buncha pets on a planet acting like they’re civilized? This is blowing Vegeta’s fucking mind!

He then remembers that these people technically defeated him and dips into a very sour mood.

Krillin sees Vegeta’s demeanor change entirely, so he brings up the first new topic he can think of. “Speaking of animals,” he says cautiously, “I know you’ve mentioned ‘common meat,’ but what other kinds of animals were on Planet Vegeta?”

“Didn’t you already ask your stupid question for the night?” Vegeta grumbles. He takes a moody bit of his sandwich.

Krillin sinks in his chair in response. “I suppose I did ask you about the news stations before. We can talk about that instead if you want.”

Vegeta’s about to snap, tell him that one question should mean just one question, dammit, but then Krillin’s phone goes off. The ring’s so loud that both of them nearly jump out of their seats. Once Vegeta realizes where it’s coming from, he plants himself firmer into his seat just to show how unafraid he was. 

Krillin, though? Krillin’s looking at the thing like it’s about to explode and take the whole house with it. Actually, he kinda wishes it would. The update turned off airplane mode, he thinks. Of course it fucking did. Shit. Third ring in and he’s waving his hands around, trying to figure out what to do. Apparently what his mind comes up with is shoving the phone over to a very confused Vegeta. “Who is it?” he asks, one hand over his eyes.

Vegeta looks just as terrified as he is. “What?”

Krillin’s using both hands to cover his face now. “Can… can you just tell me what the screen says, please?”

Vegeta looks down. He’s tempted to answer it, of course. Maybe it’s Kakarot and the idiot Saiyan can come pick up his stupid trash pet so Vegeta won’t have to deal with having existential crises every five minutes anymore. That would mean no more sandwiches, sure, but they can work out some sort of arrangement, right? One that doesn’t involve Krillin asking questions or crying or shit like that? But if it’s someone else, then how the hell are they supposed to explain why Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, is answering Krillin’s phone at eleven o’clock Sunday night? Not that Vegeta would have to explain anything since he needs no explanation, thank you very much, but what would this idiot say? What if the humans don’t know about the sandwiches, and Krillin’s suddenly forced to make them all sandwiches instead? Vegeta would have to kill them way ahead of schedule, and he doesn’t have the time for that shit. Not right now, anyway. He’s got sandwiches to eat, Super Saiyan to become, and… this, apparently. 

He rolls his eyes and looks at the phone. “Son Household,” he says.

Krillin groans. 

Vegeta’s just confused. “You have a son? ” 

Krillin drops his hands entirely. “What?” he asks. “What, no. That’s–That’s Goku’s last– my last–” Krillin pulls the phone back on the very last ring. “It’s probably Chichi calling or…” His face sours as the call goes to a way to his overflowing voice mailbox. “Yeah.”

Vegeta doesn’t know who Chichi is, but she doesn’t sound pleasant. (She is, actually. That’s just what happens when you’re faced with constant bullshit). Krillin meanwhile makes sure this doesn’t happen again by turning the phone back onto airplane mode and vowing to never update the damn thing again. He sighs mostly out of frustration, but guilt too. Definitely guilt. He pockets the phone and gets up. “I think you’re right,” he tells Vegeta. “Let’s call it a night.”

This should be the part where Vegeta grabs Krillin by the shoulders, shakes the near life outta him, and demands an explanation. But as we all know, this is Vegeta, and as such, his mind is elsewhere, drawing way stranger conclusions. Before he didn’t want to talk, yeah, but now that their sandwich time has been potentially interrupted by Kakarot? That changes things. Vegeta’s need to disrupt Kakarot at every turn kicks in, and suddenly, Krillin and his stupid little questions are the most interesting things in the world. After all, do you return a cat to its rightful owner when it ran away of its own volition seven years prior? No, the cat is yours, dammit. And sure, it’s been like, what, a week since Vegeta first stumbled in on Krillin? That’s hardly seven years, but seeing how much shit Vegeta’s put up with, it sure feels like it to him. And anyway, Vegeta’s scared of what he’ll do if he sees Krillin cry again, because surely two incidents in one day will have his tears, bam, dead instincts kick back in, right? Like he’s said, he hasn’t got time for that shit.

So while Krillin’s rounding the table, Vegeta’s able to say a very convincing, “ Sit .”

And Krillin’s confused enough to do so, in the chair right next to Vegeta.

“You said your news has reported about me,” Vegeta says. “Show me.”

Krillin’s confused enough to do that too. It turns into a very long night.

Chapter Text

REPEAT STUDY

Vegeta’s heart feels strange. Not because of emotions. Of course not. The Saiyan Prince hasn’t lost his touch yet. No, for him to ever admit that he feels anything other than explosive anger, constant cynicism, or oncoming gas, it’s gonna take a blue-haired vixen, their firstborn son, that son times two, and a temporary forehead tattoo. That’s all years from now though, so right now, anger, confusion, and gas it is. 

No, Vegeta’s heart feels strange because he’s currently dying.

Further explanation is probably needed. See, after the demons had said their peace and Vegeta’s muscles stopped trying to eat themselves, he ended up having a pretty good night. After all, just hours before, much to Krillin’s unease, the two had discovered a particular conspiracy theory that claimed that Vegeta and Nappa were gods. While this obviously gives Nappa way too much credit, Vegeta likes the train of thought; and it is that train of thought which, when he woke up this morning, convinced him that today was the day he’d finally become Super Saiyan.

So perhaps it is because of emotions because, up until this whole dying bit, he had actually been quite elated. Oh sure, he still had thoughts about how to kill everyone while he was in the shower; and oh sure, his knuckles still bled and his muscles still hurt and his existence still became more and more meaningless with each passing breath, but you know what? Vegeta’s used to overcoming odds. He’s used to them being stacked so high that they should be insummitable, but he’s also used to beating them down into a bloody pulp anyway because, no matter how much of a shitshow Frieza’s death was, Vegeta still walked away, dammit, and he’ll walk away from this as the most powerful Saiyan in the universe too. Of course, he’s a pet owner now, and that’ll come with extra responsibilities once this planet and everyone on it is burnt to hell, but he’ll handle that too when the time comes. It’s just one more odd to overcome, and Vegeta, if anything, is determined to get the gold.

That was all before he started dying, of course. Three major power surges in, and his body has decided that he and his odds can go fuck themselves. Currently Vegeta’s having the closest thing to a heart attack that a Saiyan can actually have. Goku will have his heart problems later (and die because of them in one instance), but that will be due to disease, not some sudden onslaught. Saiyans usually can’t have sudden onslaughts of the heart. Not like humans, anyway.

See, Saiyans aren’t fighters. Oh, Vegeta will stomp his feet and pout his lips to try and convince you of their honor on the battlefield and their innate ability to break bones and slay gods, but he’s wrong. They’re not fighters – they’re survivors. There’s many reasons for this: some obvious, some not, but let’s stick to the physical, shall we? Along with the ability to dramatically increase their ki stores each and every time they are beaten within an inch of their life, the adrenaline of a good fight helps them survive and become the fighters they think they are rather than hold them back.

While sudden bursts of adrenaline in humans are, well, sudden and detrimental, a truly great kick of it streamlines a Saiyan’s body to the point where their heart pumps in one continuous beat. Think of a suspiciously clenched asshole. That’s what a Saiyan heart is like while fighting because a fighting Saiyan does not need a heart. 

It’s all thanks to the Gut Blood.

In the beginning, there were many things because Saiyans do not believe they came from nothing. The gods were larger than planets then, and they warred. They did not say, “Let there be light”; they did not say, “let there be land,” or “let there be water,” or “bring forth swarms of living creatures.” The gods said nothing. Instead, their war cries created astral dust; the clash of their fists, suns; their carnage, galaxies. The universe, desperate for stability, expanded and expanded and expanded, trying to escape, until the great gods could only war with themselves, and new gods – smaller gods with smarter brains living in other worlds where souls gathered – replaced them one by one. 

Rikaa, the First God of Destruction – catlike, the size of three Jupiters with stardust for eyes and asteroid belts for halos – knew Her time had come. The new gods would not kill Her, for the new gods could not. But the universe kept expanding and expanding and expanding, and so did Rikaa until one day She was so spread out that She could not be even seen in the night sky. But before she was torn asunder, She dug into Herself, scooping out the solid pit of rock in her Her Stomach, drenched in Her Gut Blood. From that rock came ground, and in that ground laid blood, and from that blood came Saiyans. 

Through them, Rikaa survives. The universe hates that. 

How much of this is true is up to theological debate, but more on that some other time because, seriously, Vegeta’s dying, and we all know how pissed off he gets when no one’s paying attention. What’s important now is that Gut Blood is real, and until Saiyans really get into the swing of things, it stays pooled, well… in their gut. Once the going gets good, though, ki suppresses the heart entirely, all so the Gut Blood can course through their veins at a much faster pace than a beating muscle could ever pump it. The heart becomes more of a gateway so the body knows which blood goes where, and the high is amazing. Pain tolerance skyrockets, senses heighten, and it’s generally a good time.

Except when your heart decides it wants to start beating again halfway through. Then it’s potentially fatal. That’s what Goku’s disease will do to him one day, you see. The disease itself is surprisingly simple: it makes your heart beat very, very fast because it thinks the blood it’s pumping through is super, super thick. This triggers all sorts of problems in humans, but imagine a Saiyan heart wanting to pump thick Gut Blood while in the middle of an adrenaline rush. Yeah. That’s why Goku’s gonna be screaming his head off in about three years. 

So yeah, Vegeta’s currently dying because his heart decided to beat.

Here he is, lying on the ground in the training room, clutching his chest, wondering if this is the end. Again. If this is the end again because he’s already died once, but who would wish him back now? The first time had been an accident! ‘Revive everyone killed by Frieza’s men on Namek,’ that little shitty green shitstain had said. ‘No, no, no,’ he had said later. ‘I meant everyone I liked! Not the homicidal maniac who killed a whole village for a Dragon Ball he could’ve easily just taken!’ That whole incident was not supposed to bite Vegeta in the ass, but hey, neither was Earth and now look at him – on the ground, clutching his chest, wondering if this is the end. Now thinking about it, a lotta things have bitten him the ass after the fact. Maybe he’s not so high above the odds after all.

From the corner of his eye, he sees the flicker of a white gown and knows he must do something now because, this time, there is no healing tank to dump him into, and he’s gonna die.

He then remembers that the woman planned for this. Not the ghost of his… whatever, but that one woman with the big blue hair and even bigger mouth. She specifically installed a big red button near the base of the gravity console in case of emergencies and had written, on a green sticky note, ‘PUSHED WITHIN TWO WEEKS GUARANTEED.’ Vegeta wants to die so he won’t have to give her the satisfaction. What sort of precedent will it set if he adheres to her egregious predictions so early into his stay here? He already accidentally owns one of these people! He can’t manage two! This one doesn’t even make him sandwiches! Well, okay. She does house him. And built him this training chamber. And had her hired help feed him before a better alternative came along.

Fine, Vegeta thinks. I’ll press the button this once so I don’t die. Stupid woman better be happy. 

It takes him a minute of agonizing pain and frankly pathetic crawling, but he manages it.

The screen turns on and there’s Bulma, but she’s not looking his way. She’s hunched over one of her many workstations, refreshing a GPS over and over again like a madwoman, looking for something which hasn’t given out a signal since she started. Unlike Vegeta, she has certainly not had a good night’s rest. She is, however, not currently dying, so she’s doing a lot better than he is.

“ What , Vegeta?”

He responds with a very high-pitched squeal.

Bulma whips around to make sure he doesn’t just make extremely hilarious noises while lifting weights. Lifting weights she never gave him because, now thinking about it, Vegeta somehow trains without ever lifting any weights. (It’s disconcerting). 

Sure enough, he’s not. 

“Vegeta?” She knocks over her desk chair as she rushes over to the camera. “Vegeta!” She gets a good look at him. “Oh my god, you’re fucking dying, aren’t you? Just–” She looks around her frantically before saying, “Just don’t, okay? Don’t! I can’t do this right–ugh! I’ll be right there! Jes–”

The video cuts off. Vegeta groans.

He’s not sure how long it takes her to get there, but it’s certainly not long enough for him to be as rude as he is when she gets there. That’s never stopped Vegeta, though. He rolls over, clutching his chest. “About time, woman!”

She quirks an eyebrow and is decidedly less panicked. “Glad to see you’re committed to being a dick until the very end, Vegeta. Move your hand.” She’s gotta pull on it a few times to get him to do so, but once he does, she doesn’t let go because she’s looking for a pulse – a pulse she can’t seem to find. “Um.” She checks his neck. “ Uh. ” She throws on the stethoscope around her neck and tries it that way. “Uhhhh.” She finally resorts to resting her ear against his chest. “Vegeta,” she says. “Medical science wants me to declare you dead.”

Oh, so what? The woman put the button there so, when the time came, she could waltz in and officially end his life? Typical. Just fucking typical . Watch – they’re all gonna fly here one-by-one to take turns spitting on him or something, and then, just as he’s taking his last goddamn breath, stupid fucking Kakarot’s gonna be standing over him eating one of his bloody sandwiches. The crumbs are gonna fall all over his face, and that’s the way Vegeta’s going to die. Vegeta’s going to die with crumbs all over his fucking face. Taunted by his worst rival, betrayed by his own pet, and mocked by this absolute idiot of a woman. This at least explains the Briefs’ frankly Samaritan-level of hospitality. They brought him in only to drive in the knife.

Bulma doesn’t look very happy though. Mostly because she’s trying to decide whether she should be terrified of the potential PR disaster of a zombie apocalypse breaking out at Capsule Corps or scientifically interested that Vegeta’s body is this opposed to death. 

She sits up and settles for both. “Seriously, Vegeta, your heart’s not beating,” she says, fingers back on his wrist. “... Still not beating.”

Now thinking about it, Vegeta’s chest is feeling a lot better. The Gut Blood is starting to die down, and soon, his heart can beat all it goddamn wants. “Finally,” he says, annoyed. “Now get off me!”

She forced to scramble back as he sits up and flexes his arm to see if he’s gained any new strength. Surprisingly, he has. Apparently Saiyan bodies don’t differentiate between someone else beating the shit out of you and you being stupid and doing it yourself. Interesting. 

Bulma just thinks he’s outta his mind. “Wait, is your heart not supposed to?” she asks. He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t have to. “Wow,” she says. “That explains so much about you.”

Vegeta’s a little wobbly on his feet, but he manages to get up and put some distance between them. 

Bulma, meanwhile, sits back on her heels and asks, “Wait, does Goku’s heart do that too?”

Vegeta looks over his shoulder at her and sneers. “What did I say about mentioning that buffoon’s name?”

“That you’re emotionally stunted and immature,” she replies, pushing herself up onto her feet. “It’s just a name, Vegeta.”

Yeah, a guy who ruined Vegeta’s life. You know, after all those other people who ruined Vegeta’s life beforehand. There’s been a lot of them. “Leave already,” he says. “I’m turning the gravity back on.”

He starts to make his way back to the console, but Bulma stands in his way. “No. No, no, no. No, absolutely not. You are not going to train after that. You’re coming to the lab. Now.” She grabs his arm.

Vegeta doesn’t take it too kindly. “Who do you think I am?” he says, pulling away. “Your slave?”

“No,” Bulma replies, “but you are my guest. You might have the manners of a disgruntled porcupine, Vegeta, but even you know you should listen to your hostess. You know, the person housing you, helping you with this , feeding you–”

Vegeta quirks an eyebrow and, much more confused than mean, says, “You’re not feeding me.”

“My cooks,” Bulma replies. “Whatever. It’s the same thing, Vegeta. I pay them, you know. With hard-earned money? That’s more than you can say, you freeloader.”

“Freeloader?” Vegeta asks. “I do not unload freedom! I unload death!”

Bulma’s not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean, but if Bulma knows anything, it’s science, and there’s a science to people just like there’s a science to everything else. Oh sure, Vegeta’s some alien prince from some alien planet in some alien galaxy far, far away, but if her travels off-planet have taught her anything, it’s that people are people, and people can be shoved into the scientific process just like anything else when you’re pissed off enough. Bulma is officially pissed off enough. She goes right for the jugular. “Vegeta,” she says. “You squealed.”

“Excuse me?”

“You squealed.”

“I did not squeal!”

“Vegeta,” she tells him, “you squealed like a pig. Like a stupid little pig.”

Vegeta’s concerned because his first thought is to tell her how silly pigs are not, but then he remembers the fat, lazy one in the garden and is immediately embarrassed by it. You know, on top of already being terribly embarrassed about squealing. Bulma has tested a hypothesis, and that hypothesis is this: If you want to disarm Vegeta, embarrass him. I mean, that’s how she got him to live here in the first place. The hypothesis has already worked. This was just a repeat study.

“You coming or not?” Bulma asks him after watching him gape like a drowning fish becomes boring.

… Fine, Vegeta thinks. I’ll go to her stupid lab this once so she stops talking. Stupid woman better be happy. 

She isn’t.

They’ve been in her lab for the past hour, and they’re both antsy. Bulma was already on edge before she was greeted to Vegeta withering all over the floor, but now she’s grinding her teeth all the more because apparently there are a shit ton of differences between humans and Saiyans, and she has the time to study absolutely none of them. Forget work. She could dump work in a hot second. No. No, some person in their stupid little friend group decide to up and disappear without warning and others want to bother her about it incessantly. Bulma might look good in a halter top and a pair of hareem, but she’s not a fucking genie. Wishes are what they have the Dragon Balls for, but those are currently inert because of course they are. They’re always useless when they need them most, which has made Bulma start to wonder whether they’re actually a sort of monkey’s paw. God, you let a pig wish for panties once, and look what you get in return: Piccolo, Saiyans, some dumb planet called Namek, and now androids. What happened to the good ol’ days when her biggest worry was Oolong peeking in on her during bath time? Now she’s gotta deal with all this.

Meanwhile, Vegeta just wants to eat a damn sandwich.

“Are you done yet, woman?” he asks. She’s got him strung up to an EKG and then some and forced him to sit on an entirely metal gurney. It’s not exactly comfortable. 

Bulma thinks she’d be more impressed with his muscles if she wasn’t so sick of his attitude (though she’s still pretty impressed). “No, Vegeta,” she says. “Will you quit asking? It’s not going to make things go any faster, you know. If anything, it’s only going to slow me down. Seriously, if you’re going to keep turning into a zombie on company grounds, I at least have to know how to help.” She stands in front of him, an electronic tablet and appropriate pen at the ready. “Age?”

“Age?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m filling your medical chart out. You’re welcome. So, age?”

Vegeta broods for a moment before replying, “... 31.”

Bulma marks it down, then realizes that Vegeta should’ve never been able to answer that so quickly. “That’s in Earth years?” she asks.

“What other years do you think?” he shouts. “If you really want to know about me, woman, stop wasting my time and look at my resume!”

“Resume?” She tries to imagine Vegeta with gainful employment. It’s not pretty. “Pretty sure I can’t access wherever Frieza put that,” she tells him. “I’m a scientist, not a miracle worker. Here, let’s try this: any health issues on your father’s side?”

“On my father’s side? Of course not!”

“Your mother’s?”

“I don’t know. Where are you getting these ridiculous questions from anyway?”

She gives him a dirty look. “This is what my dad uses when he decides to stray into medicine. I’m a doctor, but not this sorta doctor. I only know the basics, okay?”

Vegeta considers all the shit she’s got him hooked to and gives her a scathing look.

She ignores him. “Any major surgeries?”

“Surgeries?” The translation chip’s bringing up images to try to relate it, but they’re not making sense and are, frankly, terrifying.

“Yeah, surgeries, Vegeta,” Bulma says, annoyed. “You know, knee surgery… jaw surgery… brain surgery...”

Vegeta has never had a surgery in his life. Well, okay, he’s had one, but he wasn’t awake for it, and Nappa and Raditz botched it to the point where they decided it would be best to never mention it ever again, so that doesn’t count. (Neither does the translation chip since that’s just a chip, hit, you’re done). In the Empire, if you ever have broken bones or ruptured organs or internal bleeding or self-regret, you didn’t go to an operating room to get better. You went inside a healing tank. Vegeta couldn’t even pretend to tell you how they work, but as he understands it, the liquid inside reconstructs your DNA and grows anything off back to approximation. You’re a middle-age Gluteus Vortum? Great! It will take the tank about 48 Earth hours to bring your injuries from infancy to mid-life crisis. There’s never any cutting involved, and while there are people who man the tank, they certainly aren’t considered surgeons. Only backwater planets have those , and Vegeta’s never spent enough time on one of those to discover what a surgeon is. Mostly because he’s killed them. All of them. Ah, good ol’ killing. So many less people to save when they’re dead.

“Wait, those chambers are real?” Bulma asks, slamming down the tablet with one palm as she slaps both her hands down on either side of him and leans in. “Seriously? Gohan mentioned ‘em, but I didn’t think they were that extensive! They really just heal you?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face. He flinches. “Just like that?”

Well, no, not just like that. While in a healing tank, your body’s working so hard to agree with such unconventional healing that you’re stuck in-and-out of consciousness, and I dunno if you know, but growing back parts of yourself while conscious sucks. Oh, so only your pancreas got stabbed? That’s nice. Even growing the cells back on that worthless thing feels like claws grabbing either end and rubbing them together until the sides meld together out of sheer desperation. Thankfully Vegeta’s never had a limb torn off, but Raditz had, and the process of growing a new one was brutal. Vegeta’s the polar opposite of squeamish and even he’d never want to watch it again.

Bulma, though? She’s fascinated. “It even grew back limbs? I don’t think even the senzu beans can do that.” She thinks about it, “Though we haven’t exactly tried. Hmm…”

He doesn’t have to answer these questions! Does she have sandwiches? No! He made her happy enough by indulging whatever horrible kink this is. It’s time to get his belly full. “Can I go now, woman?” he asks.

She considers it. “... well, you seem fine,” she finally says. “As fine as someone like you can be, anyway, but… how do you feel? You sure you’re alright?”

How does Vegeta feel? Is he sure he’s alright? Well, aren’t those just loaded fucking questions! If Vegeta felt like sharing, he’d have days worth of content to spew – script-form and all! Vegeta’s childhood grudges would have a fucking field day, let alone Vegeta now. He could write epic poems. In blood. He could write epic poems in blood that would span the whole bloody universe!

But here’s neither the time nor place, so he just grunts. He’s got sandwiches to eat.

Whatever. Bulma’s got better things to do anyway. “Well, I guess you can go then,” she says, turning her back to Vegeta ripping off all the EKG stickies. “Just try not to die again, would you?” she calls over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t make a lady worry.”

“Then stop,” he says, hopping off the gurney.

He’s trying to leave, but she’s stomping after him. “Don’t you tell me what to do! I’ll worry about you whether you like it or not!” He picks up his pace, so figuring it’s no longer worth it, she stops and puts her hands on her hips, saying just before he’s out the door, “Geeze. With how angry you are all the time, I’m surprised you’re not Super Saiyan already.”

Well, that certainly stopped him. He turns back around. “What did you say?”

One of the toughest aspects of being a genius is that your brain often moves faster than your mouth. For many, that means that it’s hard to express what you’re thinking since your mouth simply can’t catch up to the complex thoughts your brain is having. For Bulma though, her mouth is where her brain dumps all its shit. This has gotten her in quite a bit of trouble in the past and is apparently going to keep doing so. 

“Well, I mean,” she says, still trying to sound confident, “I’m sure there’s more to it than that . The point is, Vegeta, you’re approaching it hard, not smart. You keep this up, and you’ll never fight Goku or the androids.”

“The androids are your problem, not mine,” he says. “As for Kakarot, I’ll fight him when he’s good and ready.”

“When he’s good and ready?” Bulma repeats, skeptical. “When’s that going to be?”

When all of you are dead, the demons say. When our armor’s so drenched in your blood that Kakarot will have to admit that he has a Saiyan nose and can smell it. When Kakarot stops ignoring the biggest threat on his planet too little too late and, like on Namek, has nothing left to lose. Because Bulma’s right – Vegeta is angry. Vegeta has an anger that’s been mounting his whole goddamn life, and one day it’s gonna explode, and the universe will never be the same. But she’s also right in that, too – there must be something more to Super Saiyan than anger-coated Gut Blood and an overactive imagination. He’s been powering up with that for over a week, which sounds impatient, sure, but if Vegeta’s being honest with himself, he’s been powering up with that his whole goddamn life, and for what? A shallow grave on a backwater planet while a third-rate footsoldier snatched his birthright. He’s stronger now, better now, but he’s still second-best, and he always will be. It’s an anger that’ll never really go away. Over the years, he’ll just get better at compartmentalizing it. 

He doesn’t answer the question.

“Look,” Bulma says. She learns against the counter. “You say the androids are our problem, but according to that cute kid, you were still on-planet, you still fought them, and you still died. Now, if you want to go gallivanting around the universe trying to figure out how to become Super Saiyan and probably kill yourself in the process, go for it. I doubt you’ll get any objections. But you stayed here, even years after Goku died with no hopes of him being brought back to life. So that means you either figured it out here or you never figured it out at all.” 

She’s right. See? Goddammit! This is what Vegeta gets for having survival instincts. If he hadn’t pressed that stupid button and just died, she never would’ve had the opportunity to be right about anything! When the Saiyan child with purple hair and the stupid jacket mentioned Vegeta dying on this toenail of a planet, he had blocked it out because, I mean, sure the child spoke prophecy (and Saiyans love prophecy), but if Vegeta’s learned anything, it’s that prophecy’s fuzzy on the details. Frieza and his father were felled by a Super Saiyan, sure, but not by the Untrodden like everyone told him . The Dragon Balls do bring forth mighty dragons with mighty manes who can grant wishes, but they can’t grant everything and god do they have attitudes. The androids are coming to wreck Earth’s shit, but surely they aren’t coming to wreck his, right? Right?!

Okay, so he dies. Big deal! It’s not like he hasn’t done that before. It just means that stupid other timeline Vegeta never became Super Saiyan. But wait. If stupid other timeline Vegeta never became Super Saiyan, then that means that, in three years, Vegeta never figures out how to ascend, which must be impossible since that’s supposedly Vegeta’s whole fucking destiny. But if stupid other timeline Vegeta had become Super Saiyan and the androids still killed him, then that means Super Saiyan means absolutely nothing and Vegeta’s entire existence is meaningless, which Vegeta, for his own sanity, would like to also believe is impossible. 

It has to be impossible because, you see, all Saiyans are a little bit god. It doesn’t matter if millennia and millennia have passed since Rikaa ripped out Her own stomach and gave birth to a world now destroyed – the Gut Blood still rumbles, the Saiyans still live, and Rikaa is alive. It is not surprising that one, then two, then three and four, and five and six become Super Saiyan in this lifetime. It’s not surprising that, years later, they could lend their strength to make one of them a proper god for however short a time. And it’s not surprising that, after years of trying to catch up and live up to his name, another could use all that extra Gut Blood deep inside him to achieve the strength of godhood on his own. (How Vegeta got all that extra Gut Blood is a story for another time). All the other Saiyans may have died in the most dishonorable way, but they weren’t heirs, they weren’t traitors, and they certainly weren’t lucky. Vegeta, meanwhile, is kinda all three. He’s just gotta survive like he always has.

The demons don’t know if he has it in him.

“... you don’t know how Goku actually turned Super Saiyan, do you?” She sounds hesitant. “You died before it happened.”

“He was angry and strong,” Vegeta bites back. “And yes, I was dead. The reminder’s insulting.”

“I really didn’t know!” she replies. “Seriously, no one bothers to tell me stuff anymore. They just come wanting stuff from me. ‘Build this,’ ‘fix that,’ ‘find this person right now.’” She huffs, crossing her arms. “I really should just dump all of you. What good have any of you done me anyway?” She taps his foot. “Though I don’t know where I’d find new friends. Dad’s are boring, and Mom’s are–”

“I don’t care about your personal problems, woman!”

“Do you wanna know how Goku became Super Saiyan or not?”

Vegeta goes very still. This could be a trick, the demons tell him. She might not have declared you dead in there, but she could lead you astray. She could be the reason why, in three years, you’re killed by androids because you chased the wrong string, you stopped trusting your instincts, you probably ate way too many sandwiches. Okay, true. It’s possible. But by pushing the button instead of dying, Vegeta’s made Bulma always right, didn’t he? Vegeta’s ego about changing fundamental facts of the universe overrides his ego about everyone being out to get him. 

“Fine,” he replies. 

Bulma takes a deep breath in. She hadn’t exactly been expecting compliance. Maybe he really is that desperate, she thinks. Yeesh. There might be a lot of consequences to telling him, but you know what? These people fucking deserve it. First-off, they should be using the Dragon Balls to find the androids so they can kill them and, you know, not die. That’s common fucking sense, and apparently no one around her is capable of using it. Second of all, she’s pissed off at the guy Vegeta’s most likely going to use it against, and Bulma doesn’t have the time to think of consequences that conflict with her current annoyances. She’s got some petty revenge to take care of. “Well, I might not have been right, right there when it happened, but… from what I understand, it sorta went like this:”

“GOKU’S SUPER SAIYAN TRANSFORMATION”

by Bulma’s approximation of events

FADE IN:

EXT. RANDOM PLATEAU ON NAMEK THAT LOOKED LIKE EVERY OTHER PLATEAU ON NAMEK

GOKU: Wow, guys. I sure am glad my Spirit Bomb took care of Frieza! Now I can go back to Earth and bother Bulma about things she has zero control over and stress her out constantly by trying to have her fix them for me anyway!

KRILLIN: Woo, yeah, I’m glad Frieza’s dead too, man. I’m the one who’s actually to blame for all her stress because, even though she has no control over my personal actions, she’s still going to feel like she does because I’m a piece of shit, and how dare Bulma care about me or my well-being!

GOHAN: I’m so happy this is all over! I haven’t caused any problems for Bulma yet, but I surely will someday with you two as prime examples of how I should treat her! Thank you!

PICCOLO: Eh, whatever. I’m a good guy now, I guess. I’m sure I’ll do something to piss Bulma off too because that’s apparently a requirement for entry now.

KRILLIN: Oh no! Frieza! He’s back!

FREIZA: HAH! HAH HAH! I’M BACK FROM THE DEAD AND ANGRIER THAN EVER!

GOHAN: Oh no!

GOKU: Oh no!

PICCOLO: Oh fu–

SFX: Boom!

GOHAN: Mr. Piccolo! No! You were only just brought back, like, a matter of hours ago! Noooo!

FRIEZA: HAH! HAH HAH! LET ME BE BACK FROM THE DEAD AND ANGRY SOME MORE!

KRILLIN: Oh fu–

SFX: Louder boom!

GOHAN: Uncle Krillin! No!

FRIEZA: Hah! I surely understand the relationships between all these people, all their personal histories, and how killing this little bald man will have no consequences in my fight with this stupid monkey man!

GOKU: AHHHHHHHH!

SFX: Loudest boom!

SFX: Glorious blonde hair!

FRIEZA: Oh fu–

SFX: Mortal Kombat K.O.

FADE OUT:

The End

(If you couldn’t tell, Bulma’s bitter about other things).

“Woman,” Vegeta says. “You told me nothing.”

“What? Seriously, Vegeta, were you listening to anything I said? I spelled it out right before Goku transformed!”

Well, okay, maybe she did. She’s apparently always right now, so let’s just hash it out. There were four there, but then there was five because Kakarot didn’t know how to be Saiyan and was too soft on Frieza – warlord, son, overall piece of shit. Frieza, as in his nature, decided to make Kakarot regret this, and what better way than hitting him where it hurts? His heart, where surely little Gut Blood flows. First the Namekian, which should’ve been hilarious, really, since that’s twice now immortality was accidentally struck down by shooting the wrong slug. Kakarot loves everything, so surely it pissed him off, and that fucking brat screamed about it last time, but if Piccolo made a Saiyan somehow achieve the legend then he did a shit job of it the first time ‘round. So then Frieza boasted a bit because of course Frieza boasted a bit, and then… and then…

That’s when Vegeta realizes that Krillin is the stupidest fucking person on this whole goddamn planet.

Meanwhile, Krillin’s somewhere else thinking: Wow, I sure am the stupidest fucking person on this whole goddamn planet. 

Because right now, his heart feels strange. Or normal. He’s not sure anymore. It’s been beating much faster than it used to even a few weeks ago, and now it’s beating even faster because he’s staring. Staring at the physical representation of his current situation. Surely once can be considered an accident, right? he asks himself. If it had been an accident though, then he had acted much too harshly in response. Twice can be considered a coincidence, though the timeline says otherwise, so maybe he hadn’t jumped the gun that first time after all.

Three times, though? Three times is the start of a pattern. Three times is the start of a pattern, and Krillin is starting to realize that he may be stuck making sandwiches for Vegeta in the kitchen forever.

Chapter Text

WHAT PIGS DESERVE

The universe has given Vegeta a gift, and Vegeta is skeptical to say the least.

As has already been mentioned to the point of ad nauseum, Vegeta and the universe have always had a poor working relationship; and, if anything, it’s about to get a lot worse thanks to Vegeta’s new, very stupid pet, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? That shitshow’s tonight. No, you see, while Vegeta will never admit it, the universe has given him a number of gifts over the years. It’s just, well… they’ve always come with caveats. If it wanted to do the decent thing, it’d at least let Vegeta take a step forward every once and awhile. You know, before fucking him over like the universe usually does to people. But Vegeta is not usual, something he both revels in and despises.

Right now, he’s despising it. His usual cynicism should be moving towards anger-filled glee because, I mean, come on – the answer to every single one of his problems could potentially be sitting in that kitchen right now, making sandwiches, none-the-wiser. Somehow, someway, this very, very stupid human helped bring about the Saiyan race’s coup de grâce, and the  very least he can do to make up for it is to help the right person too – you know, by dying.

Probably dying. Here Vegeta was, set on sparing him! He doesn’t think he’s ever flip-flopped this much in his life. Maybe about Raditz and Nappa, sure, and most certainly about himself, but about some bumbefuck from the planet that’s irreversibly ruined him? The planet that three years from now is apparently going to kill him? You should’ve shot him the moment you walked into that kitchen, the demons say, before you ever ate those sandwiches; and Vegeta’s inclined to agree because becoming a Super Saiyan does take anger and it does take power, but while it’s true that Goku might not have had the power back then during their fight, Vegeta doesn’t think he had the anger either. Not even with four his friends’ bodies scattered across the battlefield, his son near-dead. It didn’t matter. Krillin was alive. But then he dies and – boom! – Vegeta’s destiny is torn away from him just like that. In theory, Vegeta could potentially get it back and the fight with Kakarot he’s been looking for all in one fatal swoop.

But like it’s been said: his gifts? They always come with caveats, and this one is simply too good to be true. It’s lunchtime, so he should be in the kitchen (whether to eat or kill or both, he’s not quite sure yet), but his stomping took him back to the training chamber, where he’s currently flying around like a maniac in 200x gravity. Now, should Vegeta be training only a few hours after his heart episode? Probably not, but Vegeta doing something good for himself is like the Christian apocalypse – it hasn’t happened yet and most likely never will. It’s not like he has to work himself up to killing Krillin or anything. ‘Course not. Even if he did – which he doesn’t – this information shouldn’t fuck with his schedule. Vegeta’s spent a long time (in his book, anyway) convincing himself to be patient. If anything, this new development should support his schedule because, before he becomes Super Saiyan, he needs grow stronger than Kakarot ever was on Namek, and he especially needs to before royally pissing the guy off. Someone needs to pay for the fallout, and wouldn’t it be better for Krillin to trust him completely when the time comes? When Vegeta will be able to go so much further because that stupid monk won’t run – not at first, anyway. ‘Vegeta’s been eating my sandwiches,’ he’ll think. ‘Vegeta won’t hurt me.’

Joke’s on him. Vegeta’s hurt everything he’s ever touched.

Krillin must know this, right? Honestly, that’s the main thing giving Vegeta pause. Their strange sandwich covenant hasn’t lasted very long and has only been held together by one good dish and Vegeta’s delusions of honor. Surely such a short period of time has not changed Krillin’s opinion of him, and even if it has, it doesn’t change the fact that Krillin was the first to offer the sandwiches, the first to propose their arrangement, and the first to take it beyond their original guidelines. Does he think that their inevitable death by androids suddenly binds them? Does he think their same location on this accursed planet makes them have something in common? Does he think that Vegeta has a sense of honor that isn’t just his own selfish desires? Vegeta’s not sure, which is annoying because, honestly, it bothers him that he cannot figure Krillin out. Well, okay. On one hand, it should be impossible to figure Krillin out because everyone on this planet is clearly insane, but on the other, Vegeta is so obviously superior to every single one of them that their every inclination should be obvious. After all, these people read giant folding papers and cut each other in order to heal themselves. This should be easy, but no. For some reason Vegeta can’t comprehend, Krillin has isolated himself from the rest of the world and (the rest of?) his friends while making Vegeta sandwiches, and Vegeta has no idea how to deal with it.

You know, Vegeta should kill Krillin just for confusing him. Now thinking about it, Krillin owes him an explanation before he dies. After all, Vegeta adopted him. He can at least show some gratitude. And thinking about it even more, Vegeta hasn’t killed anything in weeks, so maybe those are the reasons he’s stalking the halls with every intent to make the monk squeal.

He then walks into the kitchen to find a dead pig on the table and no longer knows what to think.

The pig’s not cooked. If it was, that’d be one thing. Vegeta knows very well now that pigs go into sandwiches and, judging from the size, this pig could go into a lot of sandwiches. But no – it’s just a dead pig on the table that doesn’t even have the decency to be bleeding everywhere. That would’ve at least suggested foul play, which could’ve been fun and distracted Vegeta from his (like, eighteenth) dawning realization that he might be a failure, but from the looks of it, the pig wandered in here, somehow climbed up on the table, and then promptly died. Right where Vegeta eats his sandwiches. He’s not sure whether the universe is giving him a sign or its pettiest fuck you yet.

He then hears a brief scrape of metal against the hallway floor and looks to his left to find Krillin, emotionally-drained and carrying a shovel too big for him. “Oh,” he says, rather monotone. “Hi, Vegeta.”

Vegeta doesn’t do well with being sidetracked, partly because it’s an occurrence he chooses to believe happens very rarely when he’s in fact sidetracked all the damn time. His rivalry with Kakarot? Him being sidetracked because he had come to Earth for immortality and everlasting dictatorship, not to train in some dome all day and bitch at the gravity console. His quest for immortality and everlasting dictatorship? Him being sidetracked because he had been training to beat Frieza with purely Saiyan blood and then, I dunno, not rule the Empire? He never actually got that far with his scheming, mostly because he kept getting sidetracked.

Right now, well… you get the picture. Vegeta’s mind’s put aside its original intentions and instead substituted them for the very little, mostly inaccurate information he knows about Krillin. He gestures to the pig and, with a certain amount of anger, says, “The hell’d you kill your roommate and bring him into my kitchen for?”

“What?” Krillin asks. It’s already been too long of a day, but leave it to Vegeta to say something so completely puzzling that Krillin forgets himself too. “Vegeta, no. First of all, I dunno if Bulma would appreciate you calling this your kitchen seeing that her family built it and owns it and all but – Vegeta, that,” (he points to the pig with the shovel), “is not Oolong.”

“Of course that,” (he points to the pig with no shovel), “is not oolong. What do you think I am? Stupid?”

“Then–”

“Does that look like tea to you?”

After a moment, Krillin lets out one of the most impressive sighs he’s ever managed, and he’s been sighing a lot lately. “I’m talking about my roommate, Vegeta,” he says. “His name is Oolong. You met him, remember?” When he receives a skeptical look, he tries, “Talking pig? Upright? Wears overalls? Constantly puts his foot in his mouth?”

Vegeta doesn’t remember that last part, but then again, Vegeta’d have his foot constantly in his mouth too if he was that delicious, so he doesn’t contest it. He does vaguely remember the descriptions before that though, mostly a short pink man laughing at his short pink shirt just before they had flown off so that Vegeta could not personally kill that short not-so-pink man again . 

These people really have taken everything from you, haven’t they? the demons ask. We thought you were kidding. 

Vegeta replies to Krillin with, “Do you expect me to remember every single one of your stupid friends?”

Krillin scrunches his shoulders a little. “Well, no,” he replies, “but, I mean,” (he looks at the pig), “you met Dodoria, like, a week ago. I thought you’d at least remember her .”

Dodoria? Vegeta looks over to the pig as well, which has started to attract a fly or two. Dodoria! The pig from the garden! Vegeta wouldn’t have usually agreed to the name seeing that Dodoria doesn’t deserve to be remembered for shit, but now that the pig’s dead, well… it fits. “You kill it?” Vegeta asks.

“What? No, of course not!”

“Then why the hell is it here? ”

Krillin had been minding his own business. Really. It was hard not to after what he confirmed this morning, and he had flown back in a capsule plane to the compound in order to think. Well, more like crawl into bed and die, but the moment his feet touched the ground, boom. The pig was dead. Should Krillin have sensed it the moment it happened? It’s hard to say. On one hand, he had the wherewithal to feel a few ants and their hill despite Vegeta throwing his energy around like a game show host about to make his network go bankrupt; but on the other, there’s enough living beings buzzing around Capsule Corp. that Krillin shouldn’t have been able to identify such an insignificant loss without some contemplation at least.

But Krillin’s been keeping tabs on the pig ever since their trip to the garden, and he hadn’t been sure why. In fact, it had been down downright frustrating him. It wasn’t the first thing he sensed in the morning, but it was the first he gave the time of day and the last he’d concentrate on before going into an uneasy sleep. In between, it was like a tumor in the back of his head, pulsing like a heart too hard to beat, and Krillin hated it. Grew to hate the pig too, which made him wonder if he had sought it out due to some petty spite and had truly sunk that low.

He hadn’t. Turns out the pig had been dying all along, and the moment it did, Krillin realized what he had been sensing – death. After all, he’s got a lot of experience with it – death, I mean. Krillin might have the most experience out of everyone in the universe, which sounds about right to him, really. Leave it to him to be good at the one thing you’re not supposed to come back from. But he had stood over that pig for several minutes and never even noticed. He had just talked about how it looked like fucking Dodoria, and then he had left it to die. That’s what Krillin believes he gets when he places more emphasis on himself than others – the universe reminds him just how little emphasis he actually deserves. But if he gives in and gives up and abandons that last little bit he’s tried so hard to hold onto by staying holed up in this kitchen, well… he looks at the pig. Maybe he should just go to where he’s wanted.

Vegeta would think he was crazy if he replied with any of that though, so he just shrugs, then adds before Vegeta can get angry, “There’s sandwiches in the fridge. From this morning.”

Well, that’s good news at least. Krillin’s sudden pig-dumping hobby hasn’t caused a delay in Vegeta’s sandwiches, which he just realized he’s going to have to really savor because, after today, this might be it. ‘Course, he’d be able to better do it justice if there wasn’t a fucking pig on the table.

“Here,” Krillin says, already struggling to figure out how best to hold the shovel as he starts to approach the pig, “I’ll get her outta here so you can eat. Don’t worry, she didn’t touch the food or anything.”

Vegeta doesn’t know why that matters, but the idea of eating the sandwiches here in peace does not sit as well with him as it should. What if Krillin’s come to his senses and, after doing… whatever he’s going to do with this porker, decides to go home? If that happens, Vegeta won’t even get an explanation, and frankly, that’s unacceptable. You could just do it right now, the demons tell him as they watch Krillin step from side-to-side, trying to figure out how best to pick up the beast. If you shoot him through the head, you’ll shoot through the pig too, and wouldn’t that be funny? Well, yes, Vegeta replies, but how will he explain himself then? He’ll be dead! Isn’t that the point? they reply.

It’s been all of ten seconds, and already, the sandwiches are taking too long. Vegeta stalks across the room, grabs a terribly startled Krillin by the biceps, and sets him down to the right. It takes some grabs from a few different positions, but he manages to lug the pig over his shoulder. 

Krillin’s so surprised that he forgets himself. “I could’ve done it myself,” he says.

Vegeta replies by snatching the shovel out of his hands. “Where you want it?” he grits out.

Krillin’s got his hands up like he still has the thing in his hands. “The shovel?” he asks.

“The pig. ”

“Um, th-the backyard, I think? I thought it was too open at first, but no one’s really been going back there ‘cause of y – uh...” Vegeta quirks his eyebrow. “... not wanting to disturb you, so I figure no one will see me – uh…” Vegeta quirks his eyebrow more. “... us or disturb us . I know how much you... hate that.” Krillin nods definitively.

Vegeta grunts, then heads for the door. “Well come on, already. Don’t have all day .” Krillin starts to follow him, but Vegeta looks over his pigless shoulder and says, “Make yourself useful, would you?”

“Useful?” Krillin asks. “What does that mean?”

“Whaddya think?” Vegeta replies. “Grab the sandwiches.”

It’s deja vu, really. After managing to avoid every living soul for about three buildings over, they’re behind the pool house looking down at the pig with some skepticism. Except it’s not deja vu because it’s light outside, they are in fact outside , and the last Krillin remembered, he had not been carrying a plate of meticulously wrapped sandwiches and Vegeta had not been holding a shovel. The pig looks the same though, which is… guilt-inducing to say the least.

“Still disgusting,” Vegeta says.

“Yep,” Krillin replies.

Vegeta tilts his head slightly to the right. “... and still looks like Dodoria.”

“Yep,” Krillin says again. “Except, you know, Dodoria was a lot uglier.”

“Yeah.”

The wind kicks up, forcing the grass east, Vegeta’s hair and the pig’s too, before dying down to a soft, silent, steady breeze. Krillin’s hands grip the plate a little tighter as he shivers. He should’ve thought of gloves and maybe he would have if Vegeta hadn’t come in and usurped his whole guilt trip. Seems like this is how far Vegeta’s gonna go with it though because he’s suddenly shoving the shovel towards Krillin and taking the plate like that should’ve been the arrangement in the first place. “Well,” Vegeta says, already starting to undo the saran wrap with some annoyance, “cut it up already.”

“Cut it up already?” Krillin asks. “Whaddya mean ‘cut it up already’? You can’t possibly mean–"

“Why the hell else would you’ve dragged us out here then?” Vegeta replies. He shakes his hand rapidly, trying to stop the offending saran wrap from sticking to his fingers. It’s not working very well.  “Well, hurry up already!” he yells when Krillin does not immediately comply. “Do I have to do everything?”

“Vegeta,” Krillin says, “we’re not here to cut her up. We’re here to bury her!”

“Bury it?” Vegeta asks, taken aback.

“Yes! Why else would I have a shovel?”

Vegeta supposes that’s a factual statement. He had just assumed that Krillin used it to pry the pig off the ground in the garden, an explanation he came up with in his head right at this moment because, honestly, he hadn’t cared enough about it to assume anything before now. But why bury it? he wonders as he watches Krillin lowkey roll his eyes, take a few steps forward, then stake the shovel into the earth. And more importantly, why do it outside the garden? Oh right, those scaly things. What did the cueball call them again? Dinosaurs, his chip provides. Ah, right. Dinosaurs. They can’t have dinosaurs eating their food. But seriously, Vegeta’s never seen an animal that needs to be planted before it can be consumed. What is wrong with this planet?

Vegeta takes his first bite of sandwich to help him feel better. It helps somewhat. He wonders if Krillin prepared the pig in these sandwiches the same way he’s preparing this one now. No, Vegeta remembers him taking the meat out of some sort of mass-market package in the fridge yesterday. Does that mean his sandwiches are now somehow going to taste better? Dammit! Well, maybe he can wait to kill Krillin until after they’re finished with the fresh pig. But wait, does mean he’ll have to wait for his explanation, too? Hm. Vegeta takes another bite as he watches Krillin transfer sod from one side to the other. “How mong dis take?” Vegeta asks, mouth full.

Krillin looks over his shoulder with slight disbelief. “Digging a grave?” he asks. “Well, I dunno, Vegeta. Haven’t exactly done it before.” He turns back to his work, but he realizes that, if he overestimates, Vegeta might assume control again, so he turns again and says, “You can go eat in the kitchen if you want. I’ll be quick.”

“Grave?” Vegeta asks. His chip is translating it strangely, conjuring images of his father’s funeral on HomeWorld rather than peasant farmers on peasant farms planting peasant crops. Just like with surgery and the healing tank, the association his translation chip is drawing makes no sense to him. Sure, surgery and the tank arrive to the same end, but the process to get there is entirely different. If he’s going to relate these two then, the answer’s obvious if not completely confounding: “You’re burying it because it’s dead?”

Krillin stops mid-dig and slowly looks over his shoulder again. He glances around to make sure no one’s punking him. “... y-yes?” he finally replies. The look on Vegeta’s face makes Krillin want to launch into an explanation the Saiyan Prince would not want to hear, but judging off their past miscommunications, Krillin figures he should first ask a very simple question: “Vegeta, do they bury people where you’re from?”

From Vegeta’s demeanor, the answer’s obviously ‘no’. It’s not that the Empire doesn’t have any rites for the dead; it’s just that the Empire is very, very efficient. Oh sure, the actual process of mourning the dead varies planet-to-planet – because, in a depressing bit of irony, death is one of the only traditions different cultures really have left under empirical expansion – but no one wastes space by putting bodies in the ground. Well, maybe one of those backwater planets Vegeta’s blown up did that sorta thing, but were they ever really part of the Empire if they were dead within mere hours of being inducted? Probably not. 

People are smote, mostly. Well, okay, maybe that’s not the best translation, but the process is different enough from cremation that to identify it as such would be misleading. Pretty much, your body’s ground into such a fine powder that you can fit onto a microscope slide, and that slide is filed by your local mortician into their catalog, where it stays – forever. This might be seen as conniving on the Empire’s part, seeing that it fits their usual M.O. and it’s your DNA quite literally on a device used to observe such a thing, and you’d be right. 

But don’t worry, you can still visit your loved ones before, during, or after their participation in government experimentation. All you do is go to your local mortician, ring the little bell at their desk, and ask for whomever you’d like to visit by their government number. After a bit of finagling, the mortician will hand you a device, lead you to the visiting area, and sit you down with the others. Press the button on the device and presto! Your loved one’s digital tombstone is there for all your reflecting, babbling, and vengeful declarations. Some projections are the size of the device; others, the size of the room. Depends on how much money you have, really, and how many people you think will actually visit you once you’re dead. Some get creative, of course – uploading moving images of themselves or their favorite place or the loved ones they left behind. You can rent the device for the ceremony, but it must always come back to the morgue.

One of the downsides to being a dictator is, while you have absolute autonomy over anything and everything, things are somehow still expected of you – like attending the funerals of people you’re probably happy are dead. Vegeta was forced to go to many of these while in Frieza’s court, and as such, he’s seen many digital representations of death. Obviously many physical representations of death, too, seeing that he was pretty much a hired killer gussied up as an exploratory officer, so he’s well acquainted with the process, misconceptions be damned. But burying? The only time he’s ever had an experience like that was –

“You idiots!” he screams. “You buried me! On Namek!”

“Shh!” Krillin stage whispers. “Don’t yell!” He looks around more out of habit than anything (he’d sense them if someone was coming), then shrugs. “I mean, yeah, you were dead, so we buried you. Well, Goku buried you.”

“Why?”

It might seem odd that Vegeta had never questioned something so fundamentally foreign to him after he, you know, had to dig himself out of his own grave immediately upon being brought back to life; but Vegeta, in his all-assuming glory, thought that the humans had planned to bring back the people of Namek all along and wanted to make sure he didn’t raise from the dead like the rest of them. You know, a final fuck you by giving him second life and then immediately having him suffocate for it. Of course, they didn’t do a very good job of it if that was the case. One blast of energy and Vegeta was out just like that. So Kakarot hadn’t been kidding when he said he was happy he hadn’t bury him that deep? Oh, of course he hadn’t. Once again, Vegeta has underestimated these people’s utter foolishness and Kakarot’s very human heart. These people can’t scheme. They just… bury things.

“Why did Goku bury you or why were you buried in general?” Krillin asks.

“I don’t care!”

Krillin’s always liked generals more than specifics. “Well, I guess burying someone’s what you do when you’re feeling sad,” (he glances at the pig), “or guilty.” He holds the shovel a little closer, which makes him look even smaller than he is. “Some religions here require it – think that’s the only way your body will go to the afterlife – but I think most people keep with it since it feels more… physical? Final? Than cremation or whatever.” He gives a sad smile. “Gotta put your back into it, you know? Rather than machines.”

“Kakarot buried me because he felt guilty?” Vegeta asks.

Oh, so Vegeta does want specifics then. Krillin turns around and gets back to work. “Um, I mean, maybe?” he replies. “It’s hard to say.” Krillin’s movements become quite a bit rougher as he continues “Then again, it’s kinda hard to predict what Goku’s been thinking lately.”

“But why bury your enemy?” Vegeta asks, stronger than ever. 

“I dunno,” Krillin replies, digging. “I mean, why bury a pig?”

It takes some time to get over his surprise, but Vegeta must face the truth. Killing Krillin will do nothing. Appease his ego maybe, but that never lasts long, and Krillin will never turn him Super Saiyan. Because Vegeta is not stupid. Oh, sure, he’s an alien prince from a warrior planet light years from here and whose only proper bed was on the warship of the man who made him near-extinct, so yeah, he’s a little slow on the uptake, but have no disillusions. There’s no cultural misunderstanding here. Vegeta is a horrible man. There might be complicated reasons behind his actions, but isn’t there a sob story behind every killer? Vegeta’s no different, except he’s drenched in the blood of entire galaxies, and no wife, no son, no sacrifice, and certainly no sandwich will ever wash it away. It’ll just dry, then stain, and then one day, people will assume it is the color of his skin and forget he was ever covered in blood in the first placel. But he was, and he is, and he will be until no Dragon Balls are willing to bring him back again. 

Years from now, another will draw power out in him, but by then, he’ll believe the blood’s been washed away too – at least a little, as he won’t ever be so thoroughly convinced. Right now though? He’s a prince fresh off a dictatorship that has ruled his entire life, but while he might not have liked the circumstances, he is (for not the first time) faced with what the demons have been whispering in his ear all this time – he’s never cared if a person lives or dies. It’s always been about his ego. He killed the only man completely loyal to him the moment he failed, never mourned the one who raced across the universe to make his throne just a little more complete, and the death of his planet has always been about him, him, him. Who cares if he’s spent day in and day out lying in a thousand different beds hoping the coursing pain through his muscles were them just about to combust so he too could turn from Saiyan to hot matter to nothing? The Empire was a convenient enemy that allowed him to do what he wanted – soak in buckets and buckets of blood in order to reinforce that he was the somebody his people said he was when he so young, fresh of his first murder that he hadn’t even meant to commit. Even his carefully-constructed self- importance can’t convince him most days. How can the importance of anyone else make him anything more than what he already is? How can the anger of loss or the glee of a kill transform him when that’s what’s been supposedly fueling him his whole goddamn life?

He now knows what happened to stupid other-timeline-Vegeta – death. Unfulfilling death. A non-Super Saiyan death just like his last one, and while Kakarot could be dead by then, he’s sure one of these people will make a crater in the ground and shove him in it because they’ll be sad or guilty or another emotion that embarrasses and terrifies Vegeta more than he cares to admit. And there will be a point where no one will remember him or his people or their Gut Blood, Rikka’s body will be sketched into complete nonexistence, and the universe will move on. Vegeta will rot in the ground where no one will even be able to see his bones, or his armor, or his DNA on a little glass slide. Vegeta must come to terms with how little emphasis he might actually deserve.

Krillin meanwhile is nearly done with the top layer of sod and is currently debating on whether he should jump down into the hole and just, you know, stay there. He’s gonna have to climb in anyway if he really wants to go all six feet down, right? He glances over to the pig. Yep, definitely gonna need six feet. Eh, he’ll see how he feels once he gets down there. 

He never does, though, because one moment Vegeta’s got a ki blast aimed at the back of his head, and the next, it’s blowing a big ol’ hole right where Krillin was digging, taking the sod, the dirt, and shovel blade with it. Krillin nearly jumps out of his skin for good reason. “What the hell, Vegeta?” he yells, whipping around. “You could’ve at least warned me or something!”

“... you were taking too long,” is all Vegeta can manage.

“Too long? Vegeta, I told you you could wait inside,” Krillin replies, more miffed than he’d usually be showing, especially to Vegeta, though it still comes out mostly flabbergasted. He looks down at what now is just a handle with a very fat stick. “Guess I can just add this to the stupid amount of money I’m gonna owe Bulma when this is all over.” He sighs. “What’s the difference?” He looks back up at Vegeta. “Really, Vegeta, you don’t need me to go in with you; you can just–” He takes a look at Vegeta’s face. “Um… you still have a lot of sandwiches there. You should eat one.”

Vegeta looks down at the plate he’s now only holding in one hand. Krillin’s right; he’s only eaten one. Huh.

Krillin shuffles over to his side, shovel handle still in both hands. He turns back towards the grave so he doesn’t have to look at Vegeta directly. “Um,” he says, awkwardly, “you’re not, uh… upset about the pig, are you?” 

Vegeta can’t reply, mostly because he just shoved a sandwich in his mouth in a hopeless attempt to try to feel better, but the completely confounded look on his face says enough.

“Didn’t think so,” Krillin replies. He looks back to the grave-turned-crater to find that Vegeta had actually done a pretty decent job. The pig will fit. “Um, well… I guess I should say something. Um–”

Vegeta kicks it into the hole.

“What the hell, Vegeta?”

“Was sick of lookin’ at it,” he replies around another sandwich. They’re not working like they should.

Thankfully, Krillin’s keeping him distracted. “Well, you didn’t have to kick it!” he says.

“What were you gonna do?”

Krillin blushes. “... shove it in?”

Vegeta gives him a look.

“Well, will you at least let me,” (he looks down at the handle), “shovel-” He sighs. “-awkwardly use my foot to push dirt on it?”

“Ain’t stoppin’ you,” Vegeta replies, yet another sandwich in.

“Alright then.”

Krillin approaches the grave and, after a moment, drops the handle on top of the pig. Exactly how many bodies have to be buried to make this a mass grave? Three? Krillin always does come in third. Vegeta seems way more concentrated on eating the rest of sandwiches in record time though, so Krillin does just what he said and starts shoving dirt in with his boot. Really, really should’ve worn gloves. 

It takes a few minutes, but Krillin’s used to doing odd chores in odd ways, so he finishes well before he should. More importantly, Vegeta finished the sandwiches and still feels hollow inside. Sure, the world’s a little brighter than during the climax of his existential crisis, but he isn’t content. Not like the night he first met this pig. Maybe he is a little upset after all.

Krillin stomps over the top of the slight mound for good measure, then returns to Vegeta’s side. “I’m gonna say a Buddhist blessing,” he says, taking his hands out of his coat pockets and putting them together, “so, um… just bear with me for a moment, okay?” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in:

“May all beings have happiness and be the cause of happiness;
May all be free from sorrow and from that which causes it;
May all never be separated from the sacred happiness that is sorrowlessness;
And may all live in mindful peacefulness, 
without too much attachment or too much aversion,
and live believing in the equality of all that lives.”

Krillin lowers his hands to his sides. “You wanna say anything?” he asks.

“... good riddance,” Vegeta replies.

Krillin looks back to the grave. “That’s the best you’re gonna get,” he tells it. “Now stop making me feel guilty.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. After a moment, he says, “Hey, do you wanna go out?” When he doesn’t get a reply, he looks up and, very evenly despite Vegeta’s face, says, “As in ‘leave the house in order to do something fun,’ not however your chip is currently translating it.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Vegeta asks, even more aghast.

Krillin shrugs. “I dunno. I mean, have you even left Capsule Corp. since we got back from talking to that future Saiyan kid?”

“Of course not! I’ve been training. I don’t have time for stupid distractions!”

“Vegeta, you just helped me bury a pig.”

Even Vegeta can’t argue with that. “Where is… out?” he asks.

Krillin shrugs again. “There’s, like, a whole entertainment district in this city, so, I mean, we can go there, I guess. I just…” He looks back to the mound. “... need to get out – like, not just errand or terrifying-existential-crises out – and, well… figured I’d ask. I dunno.”

Vegeta looks at the mound too and, after a moment, shrugs and says, “Fine. Whatever.” Nappa and Raditz were able to drag Vegeta around when he was depressed. Why should this be any different?

“Wait,” Krillin says, “really?” He sounds more skeptical than surprised, mostly because he’s tired. “Okay, well… we can meet in the kitchen in a few hours then. Make sure to shower and,” (he looks Vegeta up and down), “change into something that’s not that , okay?”

“What’s wrong with my armor?”

“There’s blood all over it and you probably smell like pig.”

“I’m nothing like that pig,” Vegeta mumbles.

“Um… okay,” Krillin replies, clearly confused. “But you probably still smell like–” He watches as Vegeta starts stalking back to the house. “I’ll see you in a few hours then?” he asks loudly. 

He doesn’t get a reply.

 “Okay then. Few hours it, uh, is then.”

He’s so gonna regret this.

Chapter Text

NIGHT OUT

Here’s the setup: Vegeta walks into a kitchen. The action’s nothing to write home about because, well, Vegeta’s been doing that for a while now, hasn’t he? It’s the same kitchen too (sans pig), so nothing new there either, and even the time of day is typical for him. No, what’s different is the intent. Usually the only reason Vegeta walks in here is for a sandwich or ten (and maybe a question or two). But tonight, he’s here so he can meet up with Krillin, promptly walk out of the kitchen, and do something that’s unlikely to involve sandwiches at all.

You see, this is the moment Vegeta believes he officially goes insane. Not when he blasted off in search of the Dragon Balls without his all-powerful warlord’s knowledge; not when he decided to finally face that warlord head-on, die, and then stay on this shithole of a planet afterwards in the name of misplaced honor; and not even when, later in his life, he lets a certain someone become perfect or another someone plant a big ol’ ‘M’ on his forehead or when he finally admits that Kakarot’s better than him. Nope, it’s this moment right here. That’s what he’ll tell himself later tonight and every moment of the fallout afterwards. He has clearly lost his mind and can no longer be held accountable for his actions, especially when it comes to anyone living in this house.

But again, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. All this time, we’ve been at the setup. It’s time to finally get to the meat of the joke.

Vegeta walks into the kitchen with actual clothes on to find Krillin has actual clothes on too. Not that Krillin doesn’t usually wear actual clothes, but over the past few weeks, it’s gone from carefully coordinated outfits to a rotation of oversized, overly-wrinkled lounge shirts and the same pair of worn jeans he hasn’t bothered to wash. He’s got the jeans on now and the boots he keeps throwing on for this-and-that errands, but his cream collared shirt is pressed, and while his burnt orange knit cardigan’s baggy on him, it looks like it’s supposed to be because of fashion or something. Either way, he looks reasonably dressed. Except the bowtie. God, the bowtie.

Oh, Vegeta realizes, there are sandwiches on the table. Maybe if he eats them fast enough and hightails it outta here, he can convince himself that he hasn’t completely lost it after all.

Krillin looks up from his phone. “Oh wow, you’re actually he– ...uh, Vegeta?”

Vegeta looks up from the half a sandwich he’s already managed to shove into his mouth.

“... What does your shirt say?”

Like he knows. He picked the first thing from his closet that made his muscles look good, which admittedly was the first shirt he spotted that wasn’t pink because, for all his faults, Vegeta’s muscles tend to look good in just about anything. Even in pink, but he was not about to be humiliated by a color again. He’s already got enough of a humiliation conga going on as is. He doesn’t need to intentionally add to it.

“Uh huh,” Krillin replies to Vegeta pushing the other half of the sandwich into his mouth. He stares hard at the bolded JUST DO ME on Vegeta’s chest and can’t help but wonder which thrift store Bulma managed to laugh herself out of. “Okay,” he says, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but Vegeta… please take me to your room so I can dress you in something less ridiculous.”

“Um, okay,” Krillin says five minutes later, holding up a shirt that reads HOT STUFF, “not gonna lie. Bulma’s either exacting revenge on you using horrible graphic tees or,” (he looks at the shirt), “she wants to bang you.”

They’re sitting in Vegeta’s room – Vegeta shirtless on the bed with half a plate of sandwiches by his side; Krillin on the floor surrounded by enough discarded shirts to clothe a small village. Before they came in, the room had actually been quite clean – except for Vegeta’s bloody Saiyan armor, which he had thrown by the side of the bed earlier this evening and is bound to make some cleaning person scream later. His closet though is somehow so stuffed with clothing that Krillin hadn’t even been able to push the hangers to one side to see anything, so he had to throw a bunch onto the floor, where he proceeded to learn that most if not all of them are, well… this shit. Not for the first time, Krillin is met with a terrifying truth: for better or for worse, Bulma Briefs does not know the meaning of ‘half-assed.’ He has the feeling he should either be feeling sympathetic or laughing his ass off, but mostly, he’s just a strange mix of confused and impressed.

“Bang me?” Vegeta asks. “What, like she wants to bang my head against a table or something?”

“... if it’s the former, maybe, but uh–”

Vegeta crosses his already-crossed arms into an even grumpier position. “Well, then you’re not telling me anything new, are you? Just hurry up and choose something already.”

Krillin’s about to protest, but you know what? He’s been through enough today already. If Vegeta really wants to learn about the birds and the bees, he can read a fucking book. Krillin throws the shirt to the side and holds up a black leather bomber jacket to his right. “Did she and Yamcha seriously go on a break again or something?” he asks mostly himself. “Man, I really should just–” talk to them, is what he was about to say, but he can’t talk to anyone because – 

He scoffs and tosses the jacket to Vegeta, who makes zero effort to catch it. “You’ll probably want to wear that,” Krillin tells him. “It’s supposed to get chilly tonight.”

It lands on Vegeta’s lap, but then pitifully slips off and pools by his feet as Vegeta continues to make no effort to interact with it. “You expect me to wear something with fur on it?” he asks, staring down. “You’re just as bad as the woman.”

If you didn’t know a single thing about Vegeta, it might appear as if he had a moral objection to the butchering of animals. We all know that he, in fact, a big supporter of butchering almost anybody. Krillin (mostly) knows this too. Still though, “It’s,” (Krillin tilts his head while looking at it), “more like fuzz, really. And it doesn’t have much. Just around the collar there. It’s pretty standard for this kind of jacket, Vegeta.”

Vegeta leans over to stare down at it with a level of annoyance most people could only summon during the worst of times but is fairly typical for the Prince of All Saiyans. He can’t seem to muster any actual anger though, which is… problematic for a person who until this afternoon believed he relied solely upon it for survival. He huffs.

Krillin huffs too and, new shirt in hand, walks over to the bed and picks up the jacket. He holds both out for Vegeta to take. “The jacket’s leather,” Krillin tells him. “You know, tanned hide? People used to use it for armor back in the day.”

Suddenly Vegeta’s as interested as he can currently muster. He grabs both articles of clothing and, after inspecting the jacket for a moment, finds it acceptable and tosses it to the side opposite of the sandwiches. He holds up the shirt and turns it around to find lettering on the front. “ANTI-YOU?” he asks.

“It means you hate whoever just read it.”

Vegeta slips it on.

“Alright,” Krillin says, stepping back and clapping his hands together. “I think you’re set. Ready to go?”

“Where?” Vegeta asks.

“Where?” Krillin repeats.

“Yes. Where?”

“Um… out, remember? That’s why we’re dressed and, um…” Krillin motions around vaguely.

“I mean,” Vegeta says, like Krillin couldn’t figure his way out of a paper bag if he tried, “where are we going exactly?”

Okay, look. When Krillin settled into the kitchen earlier tonight, his gusto for taking control of any part of his life had already left him as resolutions of that sort tend to, and he was regretting giving such an embarrassing suggestion to Vegeta in the first place. As such, here is what he thought was going to happen: When Vegeta inevitably bailed on their plans by not showing up, Krillin would spend his time haphazardly scrolling through his phone to find a few places with enough people to lose himself in; then, after hours of convincing himself to go, end up only making it to that one bar right outside the neighborhood where, over the course of a few more hours, only keep down half a beer. Then he’d people watch on the curb for a while after being kicked out for not being a good enough revenue stream; and not leave until he could muster enough energy to walk back to Capsule Corp., where he’d finally do what he had planned to do in the first place – crawl into bed and never come out again.

 Or, you know, just forgo all the trouble and jump straight to the bed and never-come-out-again part. But in waltzed Vegeta before Krillin could even decide on all that, and as such, he never haphazardly got to scroll through anything. So yeah, he’s got no idea where they’re going.

He hadn’t been all that concerned about it until now though because, well, he didn’t think Vegeta would particularly care. He had thought he’d just… drag Vegeta around until they either got sick of each other, sick of the world, or both. It’s more likely Vegeta doesn’t care about Krillin’s reasoning though, so he does his best to be vague. “The entertainment district, remember? Like I said? There’s tons of stuff there. I’ve been with Bulma and Yamcha a buncha times. There’s… places. There.” He nods definitively.

What was Vegeta really expecting? This is the guy who proposed their sandwich covenant without hashing out any of the details beforehand and tends to blindside Vegeta so often with off-the-cuff questions that Vegeta’s sure he’s gotten a concession – well, a second… you know what he means. Seriously, if Kakarot’s going to adopt the whole goddamn planet, he could’ve at least trained them a little! Once again, everything’s left up to Vegeta because of course it is! Can’t Krillin see that he shouldn’t be allowed to make decisions anymore?

But he can’t muster his usual anger and he doesn’t have the patience to train Krillin at the moment, so Vegeta just grunts in reply. He gets off the bed with the sandwich plate in hand, no jacket, and heads for the door.

Krillin grabs the jacket and hurries after him. “You’re going to finish those before we go, right?” He asks, folding the jacket over his arm.

Absolutely not! These are the only things that are going to get him through the night. How he thought he was going to do it without them is frankly beyond him. Like he said, he really needs to stop making his own decisions. We can make them for you, the demons offer. No, because if he lets them do that, they’ll just end up making Vegeta dead, and they probably wouldn’t even let him take anyone else with him outta spite. But it’s not like anyone on this planet can be trusted either. Or anyone off it. Or anyone in general, really. But sandwiches? Sandwiches can be trusted. Just inanimate and impersonal enough to be objective and give Vegeta a complete false sense of security. Perfect.

Vegeta takes a bite of one, but not in a hurried enough fashion to suggest that he plans to eat them quickly.

Krillin sighs. “I’ll grab some baggies.”

Well, here they are. It took some finagling to get Vegeta out of the house and even more finagling to avoid explaining why Krillin refused to fly here, but after a short ride in a capsule plane, they’re ready to hit the town – as much as they can be, anyway. Vegeta’s trying to distract himself from thinking too much, and at the moment, trying to figure out how capsules work is doing a pretty damn good job. When it comes to technology, Vegeta considers Earth to be the Ed of the three hyenas, but from what he’s seen, the Empire has never been able to just blatantly ignore such scientific staples as the conversation of mass. You think Bulma’s family’s rich now – if she moseyed over to Empirical space and started selling this technology, she’d become a bonafide space tycoon. Or have her technology ripped out from under her and find herself locked up in an imperial prison until Cooler’s scientists could crack the code so she could then be killed. You know, whichever.

But really, should Vegeta be so surprised by all the nonsensical things humans are apparently capable of? At this point, it’d almost be crazy to say yes.

The sun’s just starting to dip into the horizon, but here you wouldn’t know it. Once the two manage to cross a couple of crowded bystreets, the billboard screen advertisements and bright neon lights give the main strip a permeating sense of artificial sunlight that’ll only become stronger throughout the night. There’s less people than what Vegeta’s used to on the market planets, but still, to see so much of Earth’s life milling around in one place is slightly nauseating and a cold remainder of Vegeta’s failure to kill all of them. The chip’s struggling to translate all the noise at once – some low and deep in conversation; most screaming loud out of touristic obligation or premature drunkenness. At least on the market planets, nearly everyone has a translation chip too, somehow equaling out the tens of thousands of species and dialects and general differences. Here though, it drifts into an unrecognizable chatter he’s never been used to dealing with. Of course Earth would come off so incomprehensible. To think he failed to destroy this fucking place a few years ago. Dear god.

He’s doing better than Krillin though, who until now forgot just how many people there were here and, concurrently, in the world. It’s overwhelming. The last time he was here – and the time before that and the time before that – it was with Bulma and Yamcha, who can both navigate crowds and busy streets like they had some God-given right-of-way even when that was certainly not the case. Krillin would always have to resort to pinching the back of Yamcha’s shirt or having his wrist nearly pulled off by Bulma in order to keep up, but because of that, he could just get lost in the sensations of the city without worrying about where they were going until they got there. (He was sometimes taken to places where worrying in-transit would’ve been very much warranted). But it’s not like he can do that with Vegeta, who in his leather jacket, ANTI-YOU shirt, and too-tight-of jeans looks like a bar fight waiting to happen. To think this guy almost destroyed Krillin’s whole planet a few years ago. Dear god.

Still, here they are. Among one of the most densely populated places in the world having never felt quite so alone. As they keep moving, the crowd pushes them closer together, and it does nothing to help. In fact, it puts them both in a fairly bad mood.

After a few minutes, Vegeta makes a beeline for the curb and, in a move that reinforces his trendy motorcycle gang gag even more, spits into the gutter. Krillin, who only notices Vegeta’s departure from his side thanks to the movement of his energy, has to awkwardly apologize to a few folks in order to join him.

“Don’t tell me you dragged me all the way out here in that run-down vehicle of yours just to have me walk.”

Well, no. Apparently Krillin had dragged them all the way out here so that he could get really depressed. This had not been his intention. He had planned to… get depressed in bed after Vegeta never showed up? Or have his feelings of descending discontent and misdirection magically disappear upon deciding to go out and try to babysit the Prince of All Saiyans in one of the most densely populated metropolitan areas on the planet? 

Wow, no wonder no one trusts Krillin to make his own decisions anymore. This is clearly insane. 

“This is clearly insane,” Krillin announces.

“What?” Vegeta shouts, mostly because a car horn brigade and some screaming preteens made it temporarily impossible for him to make out anything.

“I said,” Krillin yells back because now an advertisement’s speakers have gone off the deep-end, “I thought maybe you’d wanna pick somewhere!”

Vegeta looks at him like this is clearly insane.

For once, Vegeta is right. Krillin does a three-sixty turn; then, more concerned for the world around him than his own personal well-being, takes Vegeta’s arm and pulls him off the sidewalk and a little down the lip of the road. “How about there?” he asks, pointing across the street to the first decent place he sees – a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop. “Yamcha told me the food there’s pretty good.”

“I only eat sandwiches.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

They stare at each other.

“Um, how about, ummm… there?”

“Where?”

“There. Right there, you see, by the hotel with the red sign?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I refuse to go to a place that has… whatever the fuck that is on the front.”

“That’s a mascot, Vegeta.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute.”

They stare at each other.

“Um, okay. Uhhh… how about there?”

“Would you stop pulling me?”

“ What about there?”

“The place with the naked human woman posing on it?”

“What? No! The place next to it!”

“Good, because I’m not going to strip club with you.”

“Believe me, Vegeta, I’d rather you fucking kill me.”

They stare at each other.

“... moving on–”

“Stop pulling!”

“There? Come on, there does look pretty nice, right?”

“Too many people.”

“Too many – Vegeta, I see five people.”

“Too many.”

“This is an entertainment district, Vegeta. There’s going to be people everywhere!”

That’s what Nappa and Raditz always said when they used to drag him outta his hole, though after a while, they stopped asking his opinion all together  – which makes him upset, now thinking about it, because even if their prince never answered or complied, shouldn’t his subjects always have still asked? Eh, they were never good retainers anyway. Vegeta’s trying to start fresh.

Krillin lets out a sigh. “Let’s just… keep walking then,” he says.

And that’s exactly what they do. When they hit the end of the main strip, they go onto a side street. Then another side street. Then another, and another, until they’re back on the main strip again. The sky’s pitch black now, but the advertisements make for a different kind of sun, and the flashes of people’s phones taking selfies are like blinking stars or what metaphoric bullshit you wish to apply. It reminds Vegeta of the seediest alleys on the market planets because no one there had ever been able to afford anything more than extremely aged technology. Those alleys were never meant for a prince, mind you; but like its been said, Nappa and Raditz dragged him wherever they wanted without his input, and Raditz in particular liked his haunts dingy, where the alcohol’s made in-house and probably the sex workers are too. Here though, people must think it’s upscale because there’s nothing around to indicate anything better. People beg for money on the sidewalk and people can afford to ignore them. Except Krillin apparently, who needed to make someone’s day better for his own self-esteem and thus stops to give a few zeni to every single one. Every time he does, Vegeta wants to pick him up and keep walking, but he doesn’t have it in him. All he can do is just stand there with a grimace on his face until it’s over. 

They don’t say a word to each other until finally, Krillin asks, “So… did you see anywhere?”

Of course he hadn’t. Krillin can tell by the expression on his face.

“There,” Krillin said, pointing to some brick, “there’s a wall. I know how much you like leaning.”

Vegeta gives him a look but ends up taking him up on the offer anyway.

Krillin decides to take himself up on it too. A few groups of people who had been walking behind them glance in their direction, but soon, no one pays them any mind as the crowd manages to get denser and messier until traces of tarmac can no longer be seen.

Okay, so, what? Did you really think they were going to have a good time? Seriously, how long have they been sitting now in the same room with the same food and the same inclinations, huh? Has that time together given them anything more than a few hurt stomachs and an increasing sense of dread? How did you think the great wide expanse was going to change that? If anything, the great wide expanse has already made it worse  – what, with the pig and all – and they decided more of that was in order? They were doomed before they even began, but isn’t that their way? If anything, for them to have a miserable time together outdoors is the first thing in this whole situation that makes any sense  –

– which is why, of course, one of them’s gotta ruin it.

“This is stupid!” Krillin shouts. He jumps in front of Vegeta (and several bystanders) and gestures all around them. “I mean, look at all the people!” he says. “Look at all the lights! Look at everything there is to do around here! Who cares if it looks like it’s about to rain, I’m miserable, and you wouldn’t know how to have fun even after taking a ten-week extensive course in it? This is stupid!” He throws his hands up. “You know what? Screw Goku! In fact, screw everyone! If this is somehow my life now, then I’m at least going to pretend to enjoy myself, and I’d really appreciate it if you, I dunno, participated a little? Whatever participating means to you,” he says. “Please?”

Vegeta doesn’t find Krillin’s little tirade inspiring or, surprisingly, infuriating. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he replies because, really, that’s all he can claim about himself at the moment.

And it’s… a really good point actually, now that Krillin thinks about it, though the words don’t have the bite to them that they should. Krillin looks just as awkward as he did this afternoon. “Um… you’re not… I mean, are you upset, or…?” 

He remembers Vegeta’s response from earlier this afternoon as well and pulls a bagged sandwich out of his shoulder sling backpack. He walks up to Vegeta and gives it to him tentatively with both hands. 

Vegeta rips open the bag without actually opening the bag and shoves half the sandwich in his mouth.

Krillin flops back onto the wall and slides down a bit, hands stuffed into his cardigan pockets. He clicks his tongue and looks up at Vegeta shoveling the rest of the sandwich into his mouth with some level of skepticism and resignation. “So, um,” he says because, despite all of the white noise and conversations around them, the silence between them is awkward and deafening, “do you know if Saiyans had places like this, or…?”

Vegeta’s thankful for the distraction. “Market planets,” he replies. “Remember?”

“Yeah, no, I remember,” Krillin tells him. “But those are the Empire’s. I meant Saiyans. Did Saiyans go out on Planet Vegeta?”

“Planet Vegeta was the Empire’s,” Vegeta replies bitterly.

“You know what I mean.”

“If they did,” Vegeta replies, “it wouldn’t be around a dump like this. The Empire was shit, but this planet’s the bottom of the barrel. Makes me feel sick to my chest being here.”

“Well, no, that makes sense. That’s just kinda how you feel,” (Krillin shrugs), “when you’re homesick. God,” he says, “I know I am.”

Vegeta gestures outward. “What? Your people are right here.”

“Well… yeah,” Krillin replies. He nods in contemplation as he watches the people walking by. “That… definitely puts things into perspective for me. I mean, I’m just homesick because… I mean, you’re right. People like me are right here. No matter how close we’ve come, I can’t actually imagine losing Earth, you know? Being one of the only ones left. I guess what I would say I’m feeling’s more like what you’ve gotta be feeling about the Empire, but I’m at least in a house I’m familiar with.”

“What?” Vegeta asks.

“I’ve been to Capsule Corp. a bunch of times, Vegeta,” Krillin replies.

“No, I don’t care about that! The Empire! You have it in your head that I miss that shithole?” asks the Saiyan who only a few days ago stood outside the kitchen and tried to connect to a place that, if they knew he was alive, would be obligated to come and kill him. But he had buried that moment of weakness, dammit, just like every other moment of weakness the demons could possibly grab ahold of; and he did not think completely losing his mind would drudge these things all back up at once. Deciding to no longer be held accountable for his actions might have been the worst decision in his life.

“I think you miss wherever you come from or live at for a long while,” Krillin tells him, grabbing him another sandwich out of his bag, “even when it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I lived at a temple for a while when I was really young, and seriously, they treated me like shit there, but I guess I still miss it sometimes. I dunno.”

They look out into the crowd for a good minute or two before Krillin looks back up at him and asks, “So you really don’t know if Saiyans went out?”

If Vegeta wants to be honest – which he almost never is, but the past couple of weeks have somehow made him want to be more so  – yeah, Vegeta really doesn’t know. I mean, surely they had to of. He’s never encountered a culture that hasn’t in one way or another. The amount of clubs, bars, and baby showers he’s interrupted with complete and utter genocide has been extreme to say the least; not to mention that Saiyans almost always took their leave on market planets. Surely Saiyans partook in all that frivolity back when they weren’t nearly extinct. And hell, even if they somehow didn’t, Raditz alone surely made up for soon afterwards. But on Planet Vegeta? It’s like sports – Vegeta has vague memories at best, which are more likely reinforced by him retelling them over and over again to himself rather than out of any actual truth. He barely left the castle until he left his planet, and he doesn’t remember the guards or the help ever gabbing about a great night out because  – honestly, he had never fucking cared or been too young to care or… probably the former, really, if he’s going to get into this habit of cocktailing honesty with shame. Just another part of Saiyan culture completely lost to the cosmos thanks to Vegeta’s selfishness. What else is fucking new?

He replies with measured frustration. “I don’t know, alright? You’re capable of better questions than this.”

Krillin looks up at him, and it dawns on him that he remembers the voice Vegeta’s been using tonight. It’s not as pained since, well, Vegeta’s not currently getting the shit physically kicked outta him by an intergalactic warlord who was having the worst day of his life; but it’s the same as it was then. Defeated. Krillin had still been angry at him back when Vegeta died. Hell, he’s still kinda angry at him now. You don’t get to just make a shaky alliance under terrible conditions then plop yourself in a kitchen eating sandwiches to make up for ordering your lackey to kill four people Krillin genuinely cared about. Well, more like three people, but Gohan cared about Piccolo when he died, so Krillin cared too. Still though, Krillin has a natural need to put others before himself, even if he’s working on doing the exact opposite of that at the moment and even if that person has caused him a hell of a lot of misery.

“Well,” he says, “you’re out now, aren’t you?”

Vegeta tsks.

“Then Saiyans go out.”

Vegeta tsks even harder.

“The point I’m trying to make here, Vegeta, is… you’re the Prince of All Saiyans. You’re the last one out there who knows what your home was like. Whatever you say about your people, well… for better or for worse, it’s true now.”

Krillin looks out into the street. “In my village, where I lived before I was even at the temple, we had a storyteller. Generation after generation, it was the storyteller’s job to pass down stories orally and for the next storyteller to repeat them, word-for-word, just like the storyteller before her. Supposedly, anyway. You could never actually tell since they refused to write any of it down, but I guess that’s the point.”

“Anyway,” he says, “when you’re a kid, you hear these stories over and over again, to the point where you get the gist, but it’s not like you memorized every word, you know? But then the storyteller… she died before her time, so suddenly, the gist is the story word-for-word because, like I said, it’s not like you have any other reference. You start telling it again and again and again, adding your own flair and your own recollection until it kinda starts sounding right again. Then suddenly it’s your version of the story that’s passed down from generation to generation, you know? Soon enough, to everyone else, it’s as right as the story you heard when you were young.” Krillin looks up at him and shrugs. “It’s kinda like that.”

Vegeta is officially desperate. He must be because, on any other day, he would’ve cut this conversation off at the jugular like he should’ve cut off every conversation Krillin’s willingly participated in these past few weeks; but now, Vegeta’s willing to hear just about anything. He has been for a long time now, actually, but it’s not like Vegeta’s ever actually talked to someone for this long since his planet exploded. Raditz, Nappa, and every being he’s ever perceived as being lower than him he’s always talked at; and Frieza, Zarbon, Dodoria, and that damn oracle have always talked at him. Gone were the conversations he once had with his cousin as they strolled about the castles talking legends and stars; gone were the ‘how was your day’ from the old woman he maybe once and awhile snuggled with; and gone were the long lessons from his father, who grew paler every day until Vegeta left and who probably grew paler still up until he died. As such, Vegeta’s out of practice when it comes to listening to others and, because of this, tends to jump to the exact same conclusions he would if he was talking at people or being talked at.

See, most people? They’d take Krillin words as some sort of comfort food  – you’re the only one left of your kind who knows anything about your people, so while they have a history you should keep and tell, your actions now represent them as well. If you as the last of your kind go out on the town, then your kind in a way goes out too. They’re now living through you or something – you know, the typical meaningless bullshit you try to tell people when they’re trying to get over the death of another.

Instead, Vegeta takes all this and believes what Krillin is saying is that the death of his people has now somehow made him their god .

“Saiyans do go out,” Vegeta says with some kind of wonder.

“Yeah, exactly,” Krillin replies, completely oblivious to the shitstorm he’s just created that will one day come back to bite him. RIght now though, he doesn’t mind that he’s accidentally given Vegeta more power than he can handle. “I… I also go out, Vegeta,” he adds with some level of confidence. “Because I’m here, and I am also in charge of my own person, and…” He laughs. “I still have no idea what we should do though.”

Vegeta looks around to find out because, since Saiyans apparently go out, Vegeta as the best Saiyan around should be able to figure this out immediately. He looks across the street and, due to a gap in the flow of people, sees something familiar. He points.

Krillin leans forward off the wall and squints. “Holy shit,” he says. “That’s a pretzel stand.” He looks up at Vegeta. “Want a pretzel?”

Vegeta stares down at him like the answer’s obvious.

“Um, yes,” Krillin says once they’re up at the stall. (He’s gotta tippy-toe a bit to be seen). “Hi. Um–”

“Two,” Vegeta says, pointing at the rotating pretzel rack. “Make ‘em good.”

“Vegeta!” Krillin snaps under his breath, then realizes what Vegeta actually just said. “Oh no,” he tells the guy, shaking his hands out in front of him, “no thank you! Just one, please!”

The guy’s already pulled two out.

“Uh no, really, just one–”

He tells Krillin the price.

“... yeah, okay. Guess we’ll take two then,” Krillin replies annoyed. He searches through his cardigan pockets, but having realized he had given all his small bills to the panhandlers asking around, he has to pull out his wallet; and, after sorting through a surprising amount of cash, pays with almost too large a bill. 

The guy mutters something under his breath but starts getting Krillin’s change anyway.

“And some of that yellow stuff,” Vegeta tells him.

“Yellow…?” Oh yes, a thing of mustard please, um, if you, uh… would.”

The guy almost seems like he wouldn’t. He does though and shove everything over in one big pile, including Krillin’s change. Vegeta snatchs his pretzel and mustard and starts to wander off while Krillin at first tries to shove the change back in his wallet before resorting to his cardigan pocket. He picks up his unwanted pretzel and especially unwanted dollop of mustard carefully and, turning around, finds that Vegeta had not wandered far. “Here,” he tells him, “over here.”

They sit down on the curb.

“How do they expect me to eat this thing?” Vegeta asks, pretzel in one hand, mustard in the other. He’s weighing them like he’s fucking Anubis or something.

“You rip it apart,” Krillin replies.

Vegeta places the mustard on his knee and gives it a try. It rips much easier than the ones Krillin provided the other day. Huh. Alright then. He digs in.

Krillin, meanwhile, stares at his with some disdain. His stomach’s not the knot of melded rat king that it was when they first landed, and yeah, eating is typically a thing you do when you’re out and trying very hard to enjoy yourself, but it’s not like he’s suddenly cured either. He looks down the avenue, where cars are being poofed back into capsules by authorities clearing the streets so people can now flood the tarmac as well. Vegeta’s right, Lord help him for admitting it. His people are right here. Earth rotates on. Maybe he’ll rotate on too.

He takes a large enough bite to tear off one of the loops, and he instantly regrets it. It’s not as bad as the other morning when he decided to take just as large of a bite of sandwich, but you’d think he would’ve learned from the experience by now. Apparently not.

“Aren’t you going to put this stuff on it?” Vegeta asks, waving around the mustard.

“Yeah,” Krillin replies, queasy. “In a minute.”

“So what do you people actually do in this dump?” Vegeta asks. “Just eat this shit and drink?”

“Um, yeah, mostly,” Krillin replies. “Eat, drink… There’s also entertainment of the, uh… not-so-safe-for-work variety as you saw. And, um… playhouses, I think? I dunno, I think all the theatre’s like ten blocks down or something.”

“‘Not-so-safe-for-work’?” Vegeta asks. “The hell’s that mean?”

“Usually that someone’s naked,” Krillin replies. “Though I guess people include excessive violence to fall under it too. Oh, and major drug use or gambling, probably. Pretty much stuff you wouldn’t want anyone to see you looking at while you’re at work.”

Well, Vegeta looked at all that shit while he was at work, mostly because invading someone’s planet tends to happen at a bad time for most people involved; and as such, someone’ was always naked or getting punched or getting high or getting the jackpot when Vegeta and his motley crew swept in. In fact, the amount of genitalia Vegeta’s seen without being physically involved is staggering. So is the amount of murders he’s walked in on and not committed, if you can believe it. So is the sheer variety of drugs he’s seen being used, which he really should’ve taken advantage of now thinking about it. Maybe it would’ve loosened him the fuck up. Or he would’ve had such a bad trip he would’ve died of pure shock. You know, whichever. Vegeta might be the only person in the universe who hard drugs might’ve been good for.

“Okay,” Vegeta says, “so where are the fights?”

Krillin nearly spits out his pretzel, which he’s actually made pretty decent headway with. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“Where do we go to see a fight? Not that you humans can fight worth a shit, but you’ve got fights, right?”

“Vegeta,” Krillin says, “while I’m happy you are now participating in our night out, I’m not going to go find Fight Club with you.”

“The fuck’s Fight Club?”

“I dunno. No one ever seems to want to talk about it.”

“What?”

“It’s… it’s a joke, Vegeta,” Krillin replies before realizing that it’s, “One that you obviously wouldn’t know since you’re not from here. Right. Pretty much, it’s from a movie sorta about fighting. ‘First rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club. Second rule of Fight Club is you don’t talk about Fight Club.’”

“Why do they got the same rule twice?”

“I dunno. It’s supposed to be funny, I think? Or really emphasize it? I dunno, it’s overused anyway. The point is,” Krillin says, “I’m not taking you to Fight Club. You’d probably punch a guy’s head off or something.”

“I don’t want to see the stupid movie,” Vegeta tells him. “I’m talking about an actual fight!”

“So am I!” Krillin shouts. “Why would you want to see humans fight anyway? You just said we sucked.”

Because it’d be hilarious. God, does Krillin not have a funny bone in his body? Vegeta has all sorts of funny bones in his body because he gets to decide what Saiyans have now apparently, and he wants it all. When have you ever made a joke, the demons asked. Remember that time Nappa and I convinced that bug planet we liberated them from their dictator and, while they were celebrating, blew their planet up? Vegeta replies. Oh, right, the demons reply. That was funny. Would’ve been funnier if you could’ve actually liberated people from a dictator instead of having another Saiyan fulfill your destiny though.

I’ve just decided that Saiyans don’t have demons in their head, Vegeta tells them.

Hah! they reply. Good luck with that.

“Uh, Vegeta?” Krillin asks.

“Fine,” he says. Vegeta stands up. “Finish. We’re doing something else.”

Thankfully, Krillin’s actually a decent way done, and while he’s not feeling fantastic, he’s not about to puke his guts out in the gutter either. “Oh, uh, okay,” he replies, building up the paper around it. Maybe Vegeta realized he was right? Probably not, but Krillin can pretend to at least have control over something, right? 

“Okay, Krillin says. “I have an idea.”

Really? About fucking time. “What?”

“I’m gonna show you a few things. Come on.”

“‘I… something… West City?’” Vegeta reads.

They’re in front of a typical tourist-trap gift shop, and while it would be hilarious to go inside and literally see Vegeta’s brain break in two by the sheer insanity of it all, Krillin has the feeling that the building wouldn’t survive it. So they’re outside checking out the window display instead, which honestly gives them a good enough taste of the labyrinth inside because of how absolutely packed with items it is. It would be almost impressive if it wasn’t so mind boggling.

“I HEART West City,” Krillin replies. “It means you love it.”

Vegeta presses his finger against the glass. “That’s supposed to be a heart?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look like an actual one, I know.”

“That’s not a heart.”

“Vegeta, I just said I know.”

An employee folding shirts inside sees them and makes an annoyed gesture at Vegeta so he’ll stop smudging up the window.

“Here,” Vegeta says, moving to go inside, “I’ll show you.”

“Vegeta, no!”

“Who puts a statue in the middle of the goddamn road? And why the hell would it be wanting money from me?”

“Vegeta, how well do you sense people’s energy?”

“What?”

Krillin pulls a few zeni from his pocket and bends down to place them in the duffle bag.

The statue moves. Vegeta screams. She offers them a flower.

Krillin takes it. “Yeah, Vegeta. That’s a person.”

Vegeta puts his palm out so he can blast her.

“Vegeta, no!”

“Frieza banned mimes, you know,” Vegeta tells Krillin. “Only good policy he ever made.”

Krillin’s rubbing his eyes as they walk. “First of all, yes, Vegeta, you’ve told me that like eight times already. Second of all, I’m pretty sure ‘living statues’,” (yes, he air-quotes), “are not considered mimes.”

“They don’t talk and they move weird,” Vegeta replies. “They’re mimes! Stop arguing with me!”

“There,” Krillin says instead, as they get to the crosswalk. He points across the street. “There’s some performers who won’t scare you.”

Vegeta doesn’t look across the street right away because he’s too busy defending himself. “I wasn’t scared! I was surprised! And angry!”

“Uh huh, okay, Vegeta” Krillin replies in good humor.

Once they cross, they’re able to duck through enough people to get close to the front and watch. It’s hard to hear because, between the crowds and other music happening, there’s a permanenting white noise accompanying the group, and one of the guys performing is rapping so fast that Vegeta’s chip’s said screw that noise. As such, Vegeta’s not saying anything, which usually wouldn’t be weird at all, but tonight it strangely has been; so Krillin glances to make sure another sandwich isn’t in order to find Vegeta staring at the group wide-eyed. Whoever knew Vegeta would be into amateur rap? Alright then. Krillin will take what he can get.

He rubs elbows with Vegeta. “Hey.”

Vegeta looks down.

Krillin reaches into his pocket. “Here,” he says, handing him a zeni. He nods up to where the guys have a drum case open for money.

Vegeta gingerly takes it and makes his way past a few people to get up to the front. He looks at the guys, looks down at the case, back at the guys, down at the case–

–then rips the zeni in two, throws it into the air, and says, “You suck!”

“Vegeta, no!”

“Yeah, and so, every year, people gather on this street to watch that ball drop up there. See?”

“So once I start conquering the planet, I should start here. Got it.”

“Vegeta, no!”

“Vegeta, no!”

“ Vegeta, no!”

After too many close calls, the two finally flop down at a dive bar a few alleys off the main strip. It took some convincing for Vegeta to come in, seeing as there are people in here, but Krillin’s come here a few times with an always-tipsy Yamcha and knows it’s quiet in a way Vegeta might enjoy and somehow assures him of that. Krillin’s gotta climb to get up on the barstool, then goes about removing his bag, scarf, and hat. Vegeta meanwhile makes no move to get comfortable or even sit. He leans against the bar with one elbow on the counter and either looks like the coolest person in the place or the absolutely strangest.

Krillin doesn’t feel Yamcha or Puar meandering about, but still, he glances around to make sure he doesn’t see a face full of scars and fury or a flying cat that’ll never want to keep her mouth shut. All he finds though is some girls messing with the jukebox, a few regulars, and a band setting up on the small corner stage in the back. He sighs and settles in. 

The bartender comes over and looks expectant.

At least Vegeta knows how bars are supposed to work. “Get me, uh…” he snaps his fingers a few times while thinking before hitting his fist against the counter. “Apple cider!”

“He means ‘hard cider’,” Krillin tells her. “Groundhog, if you have it. Granny Smith?”

“Thought you said that stuff you give me was made out of apples.”

“Vegeta, it is,” Krillin replies between gritted teeth. “This one’s just got alcohol in it.”

Oh. Well, alright then.

“I’ll, um… you know, I’ll have the same thing too,” Krillin tells the bartender. “And, uh, no tab, please. We’ll pay with cash if that’s alright.”

The bartender seems annoyed at first, but after she sees Krillin place a decent-sized tip in the bowl, she’s more than happy to pop the caps off their bottles and take the bill Krillin hands her for the drinks.

Vegeta picks his up and inspects it with some skepticism. Krillin grabs his as well and lifts it towards Vegeta. “Hey,” he says. “Cheers to, uh…” His face goes blank. “Uh…”

Vegeta stares.

After a moment, Krillin lifts the bottle a little higher. “... Cheers!” He almost immediately turns his body away from the transaction. “Please don’t hit it too hard.”

Vegeta tilts his so the rim clinks against the middle of Krillin’s bottle logo.

Krillin stops flinching and looks at his drink. “Oh.”

They both take a chug.

“So, you like it?” Krillin asks.

Vegeta shrugs. “Alcohol, ain’t it?”

Ah, he’s one of those people. Got it. Krillin’s not the biggest fan of bottled brews like this, but A) he’s not sure how Vegeta would react to him getting the floofiest mixed drink in the place; B) he’s not sure he could keep down the floofiest mixed drink in the place; and C) he kinda just wants to get buzzed with what he’s got. Alcohol’s been his last hill to die on in all this. He’s seen enough movies and read enough Great American Novels to know problems and alcohol don’t mix, so he’s been avoiding the combination, but surely if he adds Vegeta into the equation, he’ll be turned off from ever making this a regular thing, right?

“Hey,” Vegeta shouts, already flagging down the bartender. “Another!”

Yup, Krillin’s definitely sticking to just one.

“Okay. Okay okay okay okay, ” Krillin says, now four drinks in on a two-week mostly empty stomach and having moved on to Bend Over Shirleys, “so Goku and I just blow through the competition during the preliminary rounds of our first tournament, right? We – well, mostly me, really – Goku can be convinced of anything – thought that Master Roshi’s training had frankly been bullshit since all it was was carrying around milk cartons and plowing fields and other… whatever, but whatever he did, it let us punch people outta the ring left and right.” Krillin throws his arms up. “It was amazing!”

“Uh huh,” Vegeta replies, way more drinks in than Krillin realizes. Saiyan metabolism runs differently than a human’s, of course – and Vegeta has the benefit of having way too much bread in him at the moment – but even then, he’s definitely got a buzz and, because of it, currently appears for the most part like a normal person having a normal conversation with another normal someone. No one’s paying attention to this phenomenon, however, because the bar’s become a lot more packed in the past few hours; and the band, somewhat decent, has been playing for the last half.

“So anyway, there we are in the final eight, and for my first fight, I get paired off with this… guy. If you can call him a guy. He was more like the per – the personification of a dirty diaper. He was like, I dunno, seven-feet tall and only wore, like, boots and a speedo and weird arm bands here,” (Krillin points to where they’d be on himself), “because I don’t know why. I only remember him so – so – so so vividly because he, like, put his body inappropriately, like, all over my small child self. Someone should’ve called the cops. It was so gross.

“But anyway – Vegeta, this guy reeked. I mean absolutely – absolutely reeked, Vegeta. To this day, Goku – who’s smelt a lotta weird shit, mind you – says he hasn’t smelled anything like it. I mean, what’s – what’s the worst thing you’ve ever smelled?”

“A smullen. Easy,” Vegeta replies like it’s suddenly some kind of contest.

“A smallen?” Krillin asks.

“ Sm u llen. ”

“ Sm u llen. What’s dat like?”

“Small. Purple. Has three eyes. Lets out a smell when it gets scared.”

“Oh!” Krillin shouts like he won Jeopardy. “A skunk! It’s like a skunk! We have those kinda!”

“Skunks?”

“Smallens!”

“ Sm u llens ,” Vegeta says.

“Yeah, sm u llens ,” Krillin repeats back way too happy. “They’re called skunks here! Small. Black and white,” (Krillin holds up his fingers), “Got two eyes. Lets out a smell when it get scared.”

“The smell toxic?”

“What?” Krillin asks. “N-No.” He rolls his eyes. “Bacterian might as well have been though.”

“The fuck’s a Bacterian?”

“The guy I was just telling you about! In the underwear! That I fought! At the tournament!”

“You never told me his name,” Vegeta shouts like he would’ve remembered anyway.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t, huh? He must’ve given it to himself. The name, I mean. I mean, I’d hope some mother wouldn’t damn her child to being such a unhygienic mess. That’d be awful.

“Anyway!” Krillin says. “Vegeta, I was told this guy smelled worse. Way worse. Worse than a skunk. Even worse than a smallen.”

“ Sm u llen. Who on this trash heap was able to tell you about a smullen?”

“No one! I’m just trying to give you context!”

“What?” Vegeta yells over the start of a particularly loud drum solo.

“CONTEXT! I was trying to give you CONTEXT!”

Vegeta gives a side eye over to the band. He would go tell them to shut up if that wouldn’t suggest he was even slightly invested in whatever the fuck the two were currently talking about.

Krillin doesn’t notice. He takes a quick, enthusiastic sip of his drink and then says, “So like I was saying, I was told this guy smelled worse than anything ever!”

“You had to be told?”

“Ve ge ta, lemme get to the end of my story!” Krillin whines. “It’ll make sense!”

Vegeta huffs.

“So I start fighting this guy, right, and I can’t get a move in edgewise, right? He’s wiping the floor with me – oh, ‘wiping the floor’ – that’s a, um–” Krillin snaps his fingers a few times before enthusiastically exclaiming, “ Idiom! That’s an idiom that means that he was defeating me really, really easily.”

“Why did he not come face Nappa or I then?” Vegeta asks.

“What?”

“You just said he ‘wiped the floor’ with you, right? Why did he not come engage us in battle?”

“I was just a little kid then, Vegeta! I could knock him out with one punch now! Hell, I almost knocked him out with one punch then! Let me finish my stor-y!”

“Fine.”

“Okay.” Krillin gets super settled into his seat. “Okay, so he’s wiping the floor with me, right? Like, figuratively and literally with his big, big ass. It was awful, but somehow, it was so much worse for everyone watching. I mean, Vegeta, this guy smelled so bad! You could literally see the stench coming off of him. Do you know how hard that is? To make stench visible? I read this book that Bulma lent me, and apparently it's almost impossible unless you have, like, this thing where you experience one of the five senses mentally while you’re physically doing another.”

“Synesthesia,” Vegeta tells him.

Krillin furrows his brow. “... yeah. You know that, but not, um...”

The two stare at each other. 

“... Anyway, the guy’s stench was visible, and the worst part was, I was stronger than him.” Krillin throws up his arms. “Way stronger than him! But the fact that he smelled and the way he carried himself got into my head. I was super upset because I thought this asshole would make me lose my very first real tournament fight on a technicality.”

Krillin slaps his hands onto his thighs and leans over towards Vegeta. “Now, what’s wrong with everything I’ve been saying?”

“What?” Vegeta asks annoyed.

“Why does me having so much trouble with this guy make no sense?”

“I don’t know!” Vegeta replies. “You’re the one who keeps yelling about finishing your fucking story!”

“Vegeta,” Krillin says, “look at my face.” Krillin’s so obviously buzzed that he slaps his hands onto his own cheek to emphasis his face. “What about this whole thing makes no sense?”

Vegeta, so obviously buzzed as well, looks at Krillin perhaps harder than he’s ever looked at any other individual in his life.

“Oh my god!” Vegeta exclaims. “You don’t have a nose!”

Krillin throws his hands up. “Yes!” He notices how surprised Vegeta looks and asks, “How have you never noticed that before?”

“How in the world did you forget?”

“... fair point.”

Krillin takes the last sip of his mixed drink, which has so little liquid left that all he produces is the sound of air being sucked through the straw. As soon as he sets his glass down, Vegeta slides it forward and yells at the lady, “Another!”

“Vegeta, for like the billionth time, you’ve gotta wait until she comes over, and anyway, I dunno if I need–”

The bartender comes over and grabs his glass. Vegeta shoves his empty bottle over as well and, with a roll of her eyes, she takes that one too. Krillin sighs and, tipping over a little far on his stool, starts fishing out his wallet. “We’ve gotta stop soon, okay? I didn’t withdraw my life savings so I could ultimately get drunk with you one night.”

“Your life savings only covers a few drinks?” Vegeta asks.

“What? No, of course not. I didn’t even bring it all with me, I just…” Krillin slams his fist onto the bar because over exaggeration’s what you do when you’ve had one too many. “It’s the principle of the thing, Vegeta. After this, we’re both cut off, okay?”

“Well, give me more sandwiches then.”

“Vegeta, you ate all the sandwiches already.”

“Then we’re leaving this dump and going back to Capsule Corp.!”

“Woo! Yeah, that’s the spirit!”

Vegeta pushes away from the counter. Krillin leans out and, while managing to grab Vegeta’s arm, still topples off the stool. Vegeta moves just enough back that Krillin manages to land on his feet. “No, no, no, no, not yet!” Krillin says. “We’ve gotta drink the stuff you ordered first!”

Vegeta doesn’t really want to since he’s now on a mission for more sandwiches, but Krillin’s not letting go, so he moves back to lean up against the counter like before. Of course, he’s not paying attention to anyone else around him because why would he, so while he’s moving back and lifting his arm quite a bit to help Krillin get back up on the stool, he bumps into a guy, who nearly spills the drink he’s carrying back towards the door. 

Krillin notices immediately. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” he says, leaning off the stool to see the guy while still using Vegeta’s arm for support.

The guy states the obvious.

“Yes, I know you’re drink’s all over your shirt. I’m so sorry. Here, lemme buy you another–”

The guy storms off.

“Okay!” Krillin shouts after him. “Have a good night then!” Krillin sits up straight and, letting go of Vegeta’s arm, manages to twirl himself around back to facing the bar. “You should’ve said it too,” Krillin tells him.

“Should’ve said what?” Vegeta asks.

“Sorry.”

“You must be joking. To that? Thing should watch where it’s going.”

Krillin rolls his eyes. “Alright. Whatever, Vegeta.” Thankfully the drinks come before either of them can say anything more about it, Krillin slides the cash forward to pay, and then says, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

Krillin uses Vegeta’s arm to step back down, and really, he should be happy Vegeta in all his infinite Saiyan wisdom understands how just helpless pets can be because otherwise, Vegeta would have to yell at Krillin for using him as a jungle gym. He watches Krillin push through the crowd towards the back but doesn’t pay too much attention to his departure after that. 

He tips his bottle back and takes a nice gulp while eyeing Krillin’s floofy pink-pink drink, complete with cherry, lime, and a little umbrella. He glances around and, without setting down his own drink, leans down and to the right to take a sip out of the straw. He stands back up with a surprised look on his face. He goes back down for another.

That’s around the time spilled-drunk guy shoves Vegeta from behind.

Now, if the Saiyan Prince had even remotely been paying attention to his surroundings, this would’ve been impossible because, I mean, come on. But he hadn’t been because wow is a Bend Over Shirley good, and it’s not like most people on his planet could even remotely hurt him anyway, so he wasb;t on his guard; so yeah, the guy does manage to actually push him against the bar a bit. Vegeta stiffens and then, after a long moment, turns around. People have already moved to make space for the guy who, obviously drunk, thought this was a good idea.

Vegeta, surprisingly, isn’t originally all that game. You’d think his ego would be so fragile that a normal human managing to put their hands on him would incite a fury so great that the overreaction would be a sight to behold – especially since Vegeta’s ego’s taken a few hits in recent days and, hours earlier, just got propped up by a ‘learn to mourn’ speech like a fucking moron – but that’s just how absolutely insignificant a somewhat buzzed Vegeta views the human race. You see, while Vegeta’s ego is disastrously fragile, it is also disturbingly large; and in this case, the size wins. As such, the push doesn’t really faze him all that much. The disrespect gets to him, oh sure, but if Krillin’s taught him anything over the past few weeks and especially tonight, it’s that respect has never been drilled into humans before, and Vegeta just has time to invest into one of them, dammit. He can’t take the time out of his life to address them all. Krillin’s been enough of a confusing problem, today especially.

At the same time though, Vegeta hasn’t actually hit anything living in a while. What if this whole sandwich deal is making him lose his edge? Does that mean all Saiyans would lose their edge in such a situation as well? Well, Kakarot did if you connect it tangentially, but Kakarot’s the exception, dammit, not the rule. Vegeta defines how Saiyans are now, and in his buzzed mind, that means they at least consider beating the shit out of something living whenever they can. 

I mean, like, hah! Vegeta losing his edge, right? What a world!

The demons don’t reply.

Whatever, he’ll show them. Seems Vegeta’s ego’s that fragile after all.

So Vegeta steps away from the bar and – slowly, as if stalking – makes his way closer to the guy just a few paces away and, hands in his pockets and shoulders scrunched, makes a half circle as the guy moves too so they’re facing one another. 

The people watching are quiet because, well, they can see where this is going. Oh sure, they don’t know Vegeta’s a megalomaniac alien with enough power to destroy entire planets as he damn well pleases, but they have the distinct feeling he could since they’ve all sworn they’ve seen him trying to do so on TV before. And, I mean, come on. The guy looks like he couldn’t provide the definition of ‘work-out’ if it would land him a million dollars while Vegeta looks chiseled right out of a bodybuilder magazine’s ‘Best in Show.’ The victor here’s obvious.

The guy starts by saying something about how Vegeta’s boyfriend’s not here to save him now.

Vegeta looks skeezed.  “That?” Vegeta asks, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “I would never engage with that. That’s my pet!”

Vegeta’s chip translates ‘BDSM shit’ into some very strange images indeed.

The guy starts hopping around much too high and uncoordinated while putting his fists up in a way that, if he punched Vegeta, he’d probably break all his fingers. Vegeta’s of half a mind to let him try and let him defeat himself, but really, the guy probably deserves a solid punch for all the odd amounts of leather he just made Vegeta imagine. Didn’t Krillin say it used to be armor?

Speaking of Krillin –

“NO! No, no, no, no, no no no no no no no !” Krillin emerges from the small crowd and, unstable, has to grab onto Vegeta’s jacket to keep from stumbling. He grabs fists of leather as he moves over to Vegeta’s side and tugs. “I said no Fight Club!”

“This isn’t your stupid movie,” Vegeta replies surprisingly genuine, like Krillin really can’t tell the difference between a scene on camera and a skewed bar fight off Fifth Avenue involving him.

The guy mentions something specifically about Tyler Durden because of course he does.

“Just… lemme handle this, okay? Please?” 

After a moment, Vegeta huffs and rolls his eyes, but he is noticeably less tense now, looking more like a spoiled brat too trendy for this place rather than an alien prince about to smite it. Krillin takes it.

The thing you must understand when it comes to Vegeta and Krillin is that, sure, no one here remembers Vegeta from the day the Earth got invaded by monkey men, but there’s something just enough off with him that you get the subconscious feeling he might be from somewhere you don’t wanna go; Krillin, meanwhile, has always looked like easy pickings even in the instances where he’s been the alien of the bunch and will look that way no matter how much stronger and buffer he gets. Because he is buff – ridiculously so, especially for his height – but that height will always come back to bite him, and so will baggy cardigans that hide all of it. 

So when Krillin crosses the distance to try to meet this guy, he looks like dead meat.

Krillin, of course, for all of his hangups and current drowning depression, at least knows that he could take on pretty much everyone in this bar by himself without remotely breaking a sweat. As such, he looks a lot more annoyed and overall a lot more nonchalant and confident than a piece of dead meat should be. 

“Look, man, can we just calm down please?” he asks the guy, who’s now got the cockiest smile in the world on his face. Krillin throws a thumb over his shoulder. “You don’t wanna mess with that. Believe me, I had to mess with that once, and I didn’t walk for, like, a week. Then I had to go to an alien planet and now – look, this guy brings bad things, alright? In a way, he’s kinda royally screwed up my life, and I’m pretty sure he could royally screw up yours too, so can I please just buy you a drink and we can drop this whole thing?”

The guy replies by asking in a baby voice whether Krillin’s scared.

“Um… no. Absolutely not.”

The guy’s face goes red.

Krillin looks behind him and sees now that Vegeta’s completely disengaged. Alright, good enough. “Vegeta,” he says, turning around to walk towards him, “lets just go.”

Vegeta gives him a look like this is what they should’ve just done in the first place.

Meanwhile, the guy takes exception to this. Enough exception that he decides grabbing Krillin’s collar from behind and yanking him back is a good idea.

Krillin looks surprised as he does so. Less because he’s in any sort of danger (he’s most certainly not ), but more because this shirt took forever to iron, and dammit, Krillin’s never going to get the wrinkles out of the collar now. Does this guy know how much motivation that took? Enough that it just might motivate Krillin enough to punch him in the gut a little too hard.

He never gets the chance, and here’s why:

You see, at the moment, there’s a lot of things going on in Vegeta’s head. On one hand, Krillin’s stronger than this guy. Way stronger. Vegeta gets that. In fact, Krillin might be stronger than any other person like him on the planet, but that’s not the way Vegeta’s viewing this right now – or ever, really, because on the other hand? Vegeta’s an egomaniac, which makes him group everyone weaker than him into the same sticky category, and it takes a hell of a lot of effort to cut someone loose from that – Krillin included. Thus, in some way, Vegeta views this guy as a threat. To Krillin. Vegeta views this guy as a threat to Krillin, and his alcohol-addled mind has decided he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. Because sure, Vegeta can pick on Krillin as much as he damn well pleases. He can try to kill Krillin as much as he damn well please, or adopt him, or whatever the fuck has ended up happening over these past few weeks. But this guy? This guy? This guy shouldn’t even be talking to Krillin. Honestly, most people shouldn’t be talking to Krillin. Krillin’s now Vegeta’s to talk to. Seriously, where does this guy get off taking so much of his time?

So Vegeta does what Vegeta does best. He steps forward and punches the guy right in the face –

– hard enough knock the guy’s head clean off.

It goes flying across the room, hits the wall near the dart board, and falls to the ground with a dull thud. Everyone stares at the head. The head, thankfully, does not stare back. Meanwhile, the guy’s body finally realizes that it’s in fact dead and promptly falls over too. Everyone lets it. Their eyes go from the head to the body, from the body to the head. No one says a word.

Including Vegeta, who’s personally so surprised that he’s still got his fist all the way out. What he doesn’t realize is that, at some point during this transaction, he had reached out and pulled Krillin behind him. Krillin seems just as surprised by this and currently has his hand digging into Vegeta’s in a way that suggests that, before a guy’s fucking head flew off, he had been trying to pry it off. Krillin blinks once, and that alone seems enough to break him out of his shock. 

“Vegeta,” Krillin yells, “NO!”

A Saiyan and a monk run out of a bar. They’re running out of the bar with all the bar’s other patrons except the one that’s currently dead. The people in front of them are most likely running from them; the ones behind them must be more concerned with not being left with a decapitated body when the cops show up and, as such, don’t really care that they’re currently running in the same direction as the killer. 

Vegeta and Krillin? They’re running because everyone else is doing it and it’s nice to be sheeple every once and awhile, especially when you’re both still in shock about what just happened and could use some fresh air. Vegeta’s still got Krillin tightly by the arm, and when they force their way out of the sliding front door, they pull against each other as they try to sprint off in different directions. Vegeta wins out though, and soon they’re a few streets over where there’s no one around to point and scream at them anymore. Vegeta. There’s no one to point and scream at Vegeta anymore. Krillin really hopes everyone thinks Vegeta’s kidnapping him because, honestly, he might as well be.

“Vegeta, let go of me!”

Vegeta’s not listening. Not that he usually would because, really, doesn’t Krillin know that in situations like this, pets are supposed to be seen and not heard? But right now, Vegeta’s even more focused on himself than usual because he’s never actually felt like this before. The Gut Blood inside him feels like its rushing at mach two, needing no heart and apparently no air to function because there’s no way the shallow breaths he’s taking are possibly getting enough oxygen to his lungs. His eyes, meanwhile, feel like they’re about to pop right out, and his hands are twitchy like an addict who’s been much too long without a fix.

Krillin takes one look at that mess and wants nothing to do with it. “Seriously! Vegeta, you’re about to break my freaking forearm! Get out of your stupor and just–”

“Super?” Vegeta asks like he’s having an out-of-body experience.

“What?’

“SUPER?”

“No, stupor – what?”

He rushes Krillin a few storefronts down until he can find a display window with enough street light that he can distinctly see his reflection. He pats his hair, his face.

“I’m not… I’m not… I’m not Super Saiyan.”

“Well, yeah!” Krillin yells. “No shit!”

Vegeta drops his hold like a limp fish, and while the monk rubs his forearm with some discontent, he doesn’t seem like he’s about to go anywhere. Meanwhile, Vegeta keeps his attention on his reflection, trying to recapture the moment, but the Gut Blood’s already died down, and all he’s left with is a tightness in his chest and the distinct feeling that he just got duped by something that he can’t blame on anyone but himself.

Krillin doesn’t seem to care about that though, mostly because he’s finally wrapping his head around what just happened. He takes one look at Vegeta’s face and fucking realizes it. “Wait, did you just punch a man’s head off and try to use me to become SUPER SAIYAN?”

Thing is, Vegeta wishes he did. That would mean there was some ill intent to his actions, some direction he could get behind that could save him some face. That’s what he wants for the Saiyans he embodies, after all – to add to their history that they pursued power to such a degree that they would feign care for another being even within themselves to achieve new heights. According to him, that’s how dedicated they all were when they were told they would fulfill a destiny; they’d still pursue those results even after the events of the destiny were over, no matter the emotional or physical toll.

Ever had that talk you thought would be the one? You know, the one with a friend or a parent or a therapist you thought would magically change your outlook on everything and jump start that one specific type of movie montage of being productive and getting better and growing happier in your own life? But then comes the next morning, or the next day – or hell, the next week if you’re lucky – it’s like that conversation never happened and you’re back to just being yourself? 

It’s like when you make a New Year’s resolution and give up after a week. Change within yourself takes copious amounts of time and effort, but for someone who’s already a goddamn megalomaniac, Vegeta didn’t think dictating his people’s entire image in his own thoughts and actions would occur on such a fucking learning curve. If he really has that power, then nothing for any Saiyan should be on a learning curve, dammit, and by proxy the Saiyan Prince should have the lowest curve of them all.

Or maybe Krillin’s just a fucking liar. If Vegeta really wants to embody his people, then he should cast off his personal failings on the first damnable person around. Because if Krillin’s right – that Vegeta’s words and actions really do represent the Saiyan race as a whole now – then Saiyans apparently punch men’s heads off not for fun, not for glory, but out of some completely misguided, unnecessary, and frankly ridiculous desire to protect something small… and weak… and apparently really pissy from all the yelling it’s currently doing. And if that’s the case, that would mean that Kakarot – made Super Saiyan from such feelings – would have some clout in his species.

Which would mean that Vegeta – not made Super Saiyan from them – would not.

At this point, Krillin’s mostly talking to himself with his hands cupping his mouth. “Oh my god. No, you know, no, I… I should’ve expected this from you. The Super Saiyan thing is not what I should be mad about. I should be mad about the–the… I shouldn’t be comparing you to – you’re not Goku. This I somehow actually signed up for because I’m apparently going out of my mind. This is not remotely the same situation, you didn’t become Super Saiyan anyway, just…” He takes a deep breath. “Concentrate on the head, Krillin. Concentrate on the head.” Another deep breath, and he throws his hands down and yells, “You punched a guy’s head off, Vegeta!”

Something about Krillin yelling that five bizillion times finally worms its way into Vegeta’s currently very aching head. The prince whips around to confront him. “Would you stop yelling that?” Vegeta shouts. “I already know!”

“What? I’m not yelling it because you don’t know! I’m yelling it because what the fuck, Vegeta?”

Krillin then realizes something and completely ruins his gusto. “Oh my god,” he says surprised, “they’re gonna know it was you. They’re going to read the newspaper tomorrow morning and see that some guy’s head was punched off, and they’re going to know it was you! And they’re going to come around looking for you and they’re gonna say, ‘Hey Vegeta, why the hell were you at a bar last night?’ and you’re going to say, ‘Well, that cueball and I went out, can you believe it?’ and then I’m gonna have to move to the fucking wilderness and become a hermit – not even a turtle hermit, but like an actual fucking hermit who only eats moss and thinks he can communicate with inanimate objects in nature including the moss, and – why did I think this was a good idea?”

“Why you think anything you do is a good idea?” Vegeta yells.

“I wanted to take us out so we could have a good time!”

“I punched a man’s head off! I was having a good time!”

“So you did it to have a good time, or you did it in some convoluted attempt to become Super Saiyan?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“Because honestly, Vegeta, I’m not sure you’re capable of having multiple motivations!”

“I am the Prince of All Saiyans,” Vegeta declares. “I have all the motivations!”

“No, you had one motivation your entire life, and then that up and died, so now you’re here trying to force yourself into a new one, and – why am I trying to give life advice to you? That’s just as ludicrous as how many heads you’ve ruined. You’re not even listening to me anymore, are you?”

No, he’s not. Mostly because Vegeta spent his childhood being primed and prepped for people analyzing his every move because that’s the public’s job – to size up its government. But then Vegeta was forced into a less lucrative life of servitude, and while people still talked about him, it was mostly behind his back rather than any public forum. This was, of course, a terrible turn of events for Vegeta’s ego. As such, Vegeta is not used to hearing other people’s opinions of him, and even this snippet makes him come to a horrifying resolution.

Before Vegeta sits the only person in the universe who actually knows him. Oh sure, soldiers in Cold’s army must still tell tales of him and the last living Saiyans; some life amongst the stars must know of Rikaa and her Gut Blood, of the sacrifice she made and the people she bore from it; and there are people on this planet who obviously know him, have talked to him, and have heard his spiel by now – but all these people? They only know what Vegeta and the Saiyans stand for because, really, has Vegeta ever really talked about anything else? Sure, there’s things he hasn’t told Krillin out loud. There’s lots of things Vegeta’s never told anyone out loud, but making him think about those things and the little bit he has imparted? That constitutes actually knowing him, which maybe would be beautiful if Vegeta was just this misunderstood man from a place humans could never fully comprehend; but he’s not. Instead, the whole thing’s just really fucking pathetic, and there’s a part of Vegeta that even realizes that now.

But if this experience has made Vegeta question everything he’s ever been but has resulted in Krillin getting to know him better, does that mean Krillin knows Vegeta better than he knows himself? Probably not, but with the rollercoaster of emotions Vegeta’s been riding these past few days, he’s not willing to write it off. Either way, somehow the universe – with all its gifts and caveats – has determined that this person would, on some level, understand the person that Vegeta is; and would, somehow, so easily inspire the need to defend them against those who pose no threat.

Needless to say, Vegeta is terrified.

“Vegeta?” Krillin asks.

His immediate response is trying to level the playing field, and with Krillin, there’s only one way he currently knows how.

“Why are you here?’

Chapter Text

DIRTYING THE TABLE (PART ONE)

“Excuse me?” Krillin asks.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me. Why are you here?”

It’s cold enough now that the drizzle has turned into sleet, and it’s uncomfortable. If they had been back on the main strip, they would’ve seen the neon lights reflect off the droplets in a way that could’ve been considered pretty if you’re a little bit drunk. And they are a little bit drunk, but their race through the alleyways away from the bar has put them out by the shore with only dim streetlights and a closing pizzeria up the road; so mostly, it’s just windy and cold.

Krillin buries himself more into his scarf and cardigan. “Well,” he says through the fabric, “you agreed to come out with me, remember?” He glances around and then emphasizes, “And you dragged me here, so...”

For a moment, Vegeta wonders if Krillin really is just that dense, but even someone as unsocialized as him can recognize when someone’s being a little shit. He’ll come to find that Krillin’s awfully good at that, but right now, Vegeta isn’t out to just strike some nerve. He’s out for the fucking jugular.

“Who all knows you’re staying with the woman?” 

Despite all the layers of clothing, Vegeta can still see Krillin’s chest physically tighten. “Excuse me?” Krillin asks. Vegeta’s response is to stalk closer, so Krillin starts to take very measured steps back. As they move across the abandoned street, Krillin’s still got half his face obscured by his scarf, but his brow is furrowed and he keeps glancing from Vegeta’s advancing feet to his increasingly worrisome face. He looks more skeptical than nervous, but in the way animals do when they’re deciding whether to flight or fight.

Krillin’s back bumps into the metal railing separating the sidewalk from the beach a few feet below, and he stays there, mostly because Vegeta’s starting to crowd in. He stares down at Krillin with a look Krillin’s never seen on his face before. 

“Answer the question,” Vegeta says.

Krillin starts worrying his lip under the scarf and looks away; but after a moment, he gets even stiffer, takes a deep breath, and looks Vegeta dead in the eye. “I think you know the answer, Vegeta.”

This isn’t the reaction Vegeta’d been wanting. Krillin looks rattled, sure, but it’s almost like he knows that’s what Vegeta’s been going for and is, again, being a little shit. In fact, the anger this causes engulfs Vegeta in something much more at home within himself than honesty or uncertainty, and despite the reasons that have led him to this moment, he’s starting to feel more like the Saiyan he thinks he should be.

“I don’t care what you think,” Vegeta says.

“Yeah,” Krillin replies, “exactly. So why are you asking?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why?”

“Answer it!”

“Fine!” Krillin shouts. “You, okay? Like you already know. Just you, Vegeta. You’re the only person on this whole goddamn planet who knows where I am right now, okay? Not Bulma,” he says with palpable guilt, “or anyone else . I mean, what did you think?”

Exactly what Krillin just said – maybe. To say that would imply Vegeta’s thought about it at all, which isn’t something he’s exactly willing to admit even though he would’ve never asked if he hadn’t at least entertained the idea. Sure, he might be using it right now to level some nonexistent playing field – to make Krillin feel just as small as Vegeta has felt since… forever, really – but the fact is that he has wondered and philosophized and debated it with the demons for quite some time now, and he’s not exactly proud of the circles it’s ended up taking – especially in the last 24 hours.

Because on one hand, yeah, it had been obvious. After all, who in their right mind would allow Krillin to associate with the likes of him? Alone, no less. Vegeta’s played out his failed invasion of Earth enough times now to remember that the scarred human had taken Krillin’s place in the fight that had ultimately killed him, and it’s obvious now that Super Saiyan cannot be obtained without some level of care and that Krillin had obviously inspired that in Kakarot. But here Krillin is – out on his own, ready to adopt – and even now, Vegeta finds himself unwilling to let that go. Because on the other hand, the reason why Krillin's around hadn’t really mattered much until now. Vegeta due what he is owed because Vegeta has always been due what he is owed, so he doesn’t care how that thing he’s owed came along. He just knows he’s owed it, and currently, there’s no other Saiyan around to tell him otherwise.

Now that’s he’s been given confirmation though, Vegeta’s not quite sure how he feels. A few weeks ago, it would’ve been met with indifference. Last week? Giddiness. This afternoon? A shot to the back of the goddamn head. Now though? It’s a mix of something he’s not quite sure how to identify, but every time he tries, the vindictive reason for why he asked keeps getting more and more muddled into something that makes him irrationally angry and pent up with what feels to him to be an unusual amount of gas. If he had killed the little fucker two weeks back when he first saw him in the kitchen, Vegeta could’ve done anything he wanted with the body. Thrown it into a field, kept it in the training chamber as a sort of macabre motivation, left it in the goddamn kitchen –

“Are you stupid?” Vegeta yells.

Krillin flinches back. “Excuse me?”

Vegeta slams his fist down onto the railing. Krillin jumps out of surprise, and that motion coupled with the vibration racing down the length of the railing nearly topples him over. Vegeta grabs him by the scruff of his scarf though and violently pulls him back onto his feet.

“Stop saying that! You can fucking hear me!” Vegeta yells. “How stupid can you be? Holing up with me? Just me! ONLY ME!”

Krillin doesn’t reply. 

“I know what you did,” Vegeta says between his teeth, getting in close to Krillin’s face now. “You and your stupid death ruined everything for me.”

“Yeah?” Krillin says. “Well, join the club.”

He says it with such smoldering annoyance that it catches Vegeta off-guard, mostly because all evidence up until now has shown that this guy should be fucking babbling by now; but he’s not because apparently he’s stupid. Absolutely fucking stupid! To think Vegeta ever gave this guy the benefit of the doubt. He’s just as stupid as the rest of them!

“Why do you even care anyway?” Krillin asks. The question makes Vegeta loosen his grip. “It’s not because you care about me , right? We’re not getting that delusional here, right?”

No, because if he cared, Vegeta would be fucking Super Saiyan right now. That’s what he reminds himself of as he slams Krillin back into the railing. “I’m the one asking the questions here!” he shouts.

“No, I am!” Krillin shouts back. “Because that’s our deal, Vegeta! We have an arrangement , okay? Sandwiches for answers to questions. And who makes the sandwiches, huh? Me! I mean,” (he laughs), “why would it ever be the other way around? I’m pretty sure I’m so low on your totem pole, Vegeta, that you don’t even consider me an enemy. I’m just – space. And I needed that for a while, okay? I mean, why else would I be hanging out with you? You think if I could’ve gone to anyone else, I wouldn’t have? I mean‒”

Krillin sighs. “Look,” he says, “I’m not… I’m not mad anymore, alright? I mean, I am – you freakin’ killed a guy , but…” He shakes his head. “I kinda just don’t have it in me right now, okay? To argue with you or feel as shitty as you or whatever you’re going for here, so… can we just go back now? To Capsule Corp.? Please?” He finally gets outside of his tirade enough to notice Vegeta’s demeanor. “Vegeta?”

Krillin can sense things. I mean, of course Krillin can sense things, but it’s more like he senses things differently. Oh, he’ll deny it until the day he dies because Krillin doesn’t understand how to have actual pride in anything, but at this moment, he knows he feels something thunderous in Vegeta – something so entirely different than anything drudged out of him during his defeat on Earth or his untimely death on planet Namek; and for the first time since their arrangement began, Krillin feels honestly worried.

Because there are things Vegeta can do – things that could leave Krillin beaten, bruised, used. Things that could be far worse than death. Krillin knows death. He knows it more than perhaps any other mortal in the universe, but what if he doesn’t know this? What if he gambled too much and thought that, at least, Vegeta would give him something quick? 

There’s no point in raising his energy in order to fight. The outcome, he knows, would be the same as it would’ve been a few days ago in the kitchen. No one would arrive in time, and Krillin would not survive until they did.

His shoulders scrunch, his legs stiffen, and he waits for whatever’s coming for him.

The last thing he’s expecting is for Vegeta to yell, “You need fucking sandwiches? Fine! I’ll get you your fucking sandwiches,” and start dragging him up the road.

Suddenly, Krillin’s quiet resignation’s anything but.

“What the hell, Vegeta?” Krillin yells, planting his feet on the tarmac and using one arm to try to pull his other arm free. “Let go of me! I’m,” (he gives a particularly hard tug that makes him grunt), “serious, Vegeta! Let me go!”

Vegeta pulls even harder in response, making Krillin nearly lose his footing. “Whaddya gonna do?” Vegeta asks. “Power up?”

No, he’s going to fucking bite you.

It’s quick and deep enough to draw a sliver of blood from Vegeta’s knuckles, but considering how bruised and scabbed they are already, it’s not exactly an accomplishment. What is an accomplishment is that, during that moment of shock, Krillin manages to get the upperhand. 

You see, one of the problems with Vegeta sticking Krillin in that whole messy category of ‘weak, stupid human’ is that, when you’re dragging a weak, stupid human who won’t power up, you tend not to power up either. Why waste the effort, right? But while Vegeta was trained by… himself, Krillin studied under some of the most technical minds on the planet; and while humans may indeed be weak and stupid in the grand scheme of things, the grand scheme of things has just made Krillin even more technical. And even more precise. And even more prone to, in moments of deep distress, looking up at the grand scheme of things and telling it to go fuck itself.

And that’s exactly what Krillin does when he nearly breaks Vegeta’s thumb, pretty much dislocates his shoulder, and suplexes him right into the tarmac.

Vegeta lands with a thud, gravity tilting him onto his hands and knees as soon as Krillin’s able to untangle himself. Krillin takes a few surprised steps back and lets out an, “Uhh,” before his brain’s able to catch up with what’s actually happened. “Shit.” He takes off.

He doesn’t get very far. Vegeta’s only gotta power up enough to gain some distance, but it’s enough to crack the pavement as he launches himself a good hundred feet into Krillin’s back. The two topple over and proceed to get into a scuffle unbefitting of their stations.

At points the fight could be considered funny because Vegeta’s ego keeps right on truckin’, so Krillin’s able to get more hits in than Vegeta will ever admit; but then it’s not funny because, by the time Vegeta gets enough of a grip to continue dragging him up the street, he’s officially over it. So when Krillin tries to wrangle himself free again, Vegeta takes Krillin’s head and bashes it once, twice, three times against the side of a brick and mortar shop until Krillin’s bloody and dazed. The hits aren’t hard enough to smash Krillin through the wall, but it does look like someone took a sledgehammer it and a buzzsaw to Krillin’s poor head.

And to think, Vegeta hadn’t actually be trying to hurt Krillin up ‘til now despite all his posturing. That something thunderous Krillin sensed from deep within Vegeta’s soul? It hadn’t been the urge to kill. That would’ve been obvious. No, it had been something momentous, something different. Something like the feeling Vegeta had rushing out of that bar or all those times his body moved on his own these past few weeks, and Vegeta in his desperation was ready to let it take him wherever it led.

Now though, he’s about to just squeeze the life outta Krillin and call it a day. Because that doesn’t sound so bad, you know? After all, Krillin brought this on himself. First by being so utterly stupid that he decided to shack up with the Prince of All Saiyans, and then by thinking he could make said prince question himself so fucking thoroughly by making him fucking sandwiches! Krillin deserves for Kakarot and all their little friends to find him bloated on the beach somewhere so Vegeta could claim to have absolutely no idea what happened until one day all those little friends are dead and Vegeta’s ready to give Kakarot one last twist of the knife. Delayed satisfaction – or patience, as the oracle had called it. Vegeta could get on board with that.

Oh, who is he kidding? Look where patience has gotten him! On some human street dragging some human somebody into some human place that smells like it serves sandwiches.

The door’s locked, but Vegeta doesn’t notice because he shoves the door open with such force that it probably would’ve snapped the door off its hinges anyway. The lights in the dining area are dim, but the ones behind the counter are still bright and alive, mostly because the two teenagers on shift are trying to close up the place and get the fuck outta there for the night. When one of them tries to tell Vegeta that – rather rudely, to be fair – Vegeta decides it’s time for this guy’s head to go flying too.

But before the ki ’s even out of his fingers, Krillin’s back in action, and he uses all his weight to shove Vegeta to the side, causing Vegeta to stumble and hit the wall behind the kid rather than score his second bullseye of the night. By the time Vegeta’s able to stabilize them, the teenagers are already out the backdoor scream-running into the night.

“His head?” Krillin asks, struggling to get out of what is now basically a hug between them. “Seriously? Again?”

Vegeta lifts Krillin up by the biceps and lugs him a few tables in. He plants him down in one of the cracked red cushioned chairs near the wall. 

“Just shut up,” Vegeta tells him. “Shut up and just – fucking stay there, you understand?”

In that moment, Krillin gives Vegeta perhaps the most defiant look he’s ever given anyone in his life, but soon his shoulders slump and he gives the impression that he’s here for the long haul. Vegeta takes it.

Soon he’s behind the counter, and there’s a lot of clashing and banging for a while and very little else. While Vegeta’s doing… something, Krillin does his best to regain his bearings now that the adrenaline's died down and he can properly think. You know, while suffering from a massive headwound. To slow down the bleeding, he unwraps his scarf and places it balled up against the wound. He hisses and wonders if this is how Vegeta felt after he got hit by that drone. 

The two of them don’t speak for what feels like a very long time –

– until Krillin realizes what Vegeta’s trying to do.

“Uh, Vegeta?” he asks.

Vegeta doesn’t reply.

He tries again.

Nothing.

“… um, you do know this is a pizzeria, right?”

Vegeta looks down to find that he’s made a rather terrible calzone. Not that he knows what a calzone is; or what a pizzeria is; or what anything that comes out of Krillin’s mouth is for that matter – but he’s gotta admit, this thing looks nothing like the sandwiches Krillin makes. Instead, it kinda looks like shit.

Krillin lets out a sigh and, when it doesn’t appear like Vegeta’s going to take exception to him moving, pushes himself out of his chair and heads behind the counter. He gingerly removes the balled up scarf from his head and drops it near the register, then takes… whatever the hell Vegeta was trying to accomplish and dumps it in the nearest trash.

Vegeta’s finally regained his bearings and, now very confused and entirely in control of himself, finds he’s too absorbed in his own problems to protest.

Krillin moves around him and, after jerking open a few small refrigerators and riffling around the contents, finds some pre-made dough. “Um,” he says embarrassed. “You can go sit down. If you want.” He slaps the dough on the counter and gets to work.

Vegeta stays where he is.

By the time Krillin tilts open the oven and slides the pizza in, Vegeta’s lost all sense of steam and hasn’t moved an inch. Krillin meanwhile looks particularly tired. He closes the oven and leans against the opposite counter so that he can face Vegeta. After a pause, Krillin sighs and drums his hands behind him against the cabinets. He can’t help but look in the general direction of Vegeta’s malus opus sitting in the trash.

“Alright,” Krillin says, “I… you know, look, whatever. My head hurts, no thanks to you, but – fine. If you really what to know, I might as well tell you. I mean, honestly, what do I think you’re gonna do anyway? Run outta here and start shouting it from the rooftops? I mean…” His eyes narrow as he takes another look towards the thing in trash. He’s totally distracted as he shakes his head in disbelief and says, “... how in the world does this keep happening to me?”

“What?”

“People!” Krillin yells, his voice getting shriller by the sentence. “Losing their minds! I come around and then something terrible happens, and then they all lose their fucking minds! They start acting completely out of character, like – what, I make you sandwiches for two weeks, and what happens? You punch a man’s head off ,” (his voice just keeps getting higher), “because somehow you agreed to go out drinking with me after we buried a pig in Bulma’s backyard together and what – what the absolute fuck!

“You know what,” he says after he’s calmed down a little. “This probably sounds crazy, but maybe you out of all people can honestly answer this for me. Are you sure you haven’t completely lost your mind? Like, really look deep within yourself, Vegeta. You made a sandwich for me. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Isn’t it obvious that Vegeta has no idea anymore? He might’ve know back when he was young when ‘okay’ was synonymous with who he was – but let’s face it, he’s not that person anymore. He’s just coming to terms with the fact that he hasn’t been that person for a long, long time; and that the person he was when he was young and okay might very well be just another well-constructed lie in the conga line that seems to be Vegeta’s life. He might’ve never been fine at all. Even the motivation that drove him for so many years is gone, so what, did he lose the whole of his identity again or did he lose the only actual identity he’s ever had? He thrived off that adversity, the perfect narrative the death of his planet wove into his life. Becoming better than Kakarot – becoming better in any way at all – is, at the end of the day, the last bit of adversity Vegeta has left; and in the place where he perhaps does have a heart, he knows it doesn’t matter. It’s just something to hold onto.

Perhaps Krillin’s right.

What the fuck has happened to him? What’s happening to him right now? Has Vegeta completely and utterly lost his mind? Was that what the thunderous inside himself was? Insanity? Complete and utter insanity? Krillin’s right: what the fuck has Vegeta been doing with his life? You think Krillin ruined it back on Namek? When they both died and Kakarot became Super Saiyan? No, Krillin’s ruining his life right now! By being alive! Vegeta had been doing just fine, thanks. He had been burying all his self-loathing into hours of training and never directly confronting all the revelations mentioned two paragraphs above, thanks. And sure all that self-oppression had manifested itself into nonexistent demons snickering in his head, but you know what? Vegeta had been handling that just fine too! Who is this guy to come in and make the Prince of All Saiyans question himself anyway? Who is this guy to make the Prince of All Saiyans make him fucking sandwiches and make him think he cares when he’s not fucking Super Saiyan right now despite it? What the actual fuck?!

Vegeta screams the only response he can give: “Okay? Okay?! You’re ruining my fucking life!”

Unlike last time, Krillin’s taken aback. “I’m ruining your life? How do you think I feel? One minute everything’s hunky-dory and then boom! Goku has a fucking brother – and wouldn’t you know it, he’s an alien from outer space because of course he is. And then there’s more of you, and of course the Saiyans have a fucking legend one of you gotta fulfill because who hasn’t heard that old song and dance? And of course Goku’s gotta be the one to go do it against a goddamn overlord of several goddamn galaxies because, apparently, the universe doesn’t understand the meaning of ‘OP’! And wouldn’t you know it, the reason it happened was because I died because that’s apparently the only thing I’m fucking good for! Dying! Inspiring an insane amount of Saiyan rage because I DIED! It kills superpowered demons, intergalactic autocrats, and ruins the lives of orphaned alien princes apparently! And just when you think a guy would get over it, another Super Saiyan comes outta god-knows-where and says, ‘Oh yeah, by the way, you’re all fucking dead in three years – including the guy who’s death made you go fucking insane a couple of times now. Have fun with that!’ Lemme tell you, that went over really well. So fucking well that now I’m in the middle of a goddamn pizzeria with you because genius Mr. Super Saiyan decided he had to go and–and fucking–”

“What?”

“–break my goddamn water main!” 

The restaurant’s quiet other than the low sound of the pizza sizzling in the oven and one of the refrigerator motors kicking on. Perhaps this is the reason why in retrospect it seems like Krillin’s words echoed, but most likely mass media has influenced them both to believe that important revelations tend to. 

Krillin slaps his hands over his mouth like his words just set off the apocalypse. Vegeta doesn’t think that he’s too far off.

“Oh my god,” Krillin says muffled through his hands. “I didn’t mean to tell you that. I meant to lie!”

“You meant to what?” Vegeta asks. He sounds just as shocked as Krillin does, but that’s typically how he sounds when he’s very confused and incredibly angry about it. 

Somehow, Krillin sounds even more muffled, enough that Vegeta’s chip has difficulty translating what he’s trying to say. “To lie!” he replies high-pitched. “Tell you that, I dunno, I’m just super depressed and overreacting or–” He stops when he realizes that his lie’s not exactly off the mark. He lowers his hands and hugs himself. “... maybe I am just overreacting.”

After a moment, he sighs. “Okay,” he says. “Do you remember the reason I told you I was staying at Bulma’s in the first place?” Despite looking very pale and like he’s about to puke, Krillin has enough wherewithal to roll his eyes when the confused expression on Vegeta’s face worsens. “It was because the water main at Kame House was broken. Still broken, actually,” he says with some disdain. “I wasn’t… that was true. See, Kame House is on an island surrounded by miles upon miles of ocean, so it needs a system to bring fresh water from one of the larger islands to the house. It’s called a water main. Well, since I’ve lived there, the water main’s always been a piece of shit, but this time, it broke. It actually broke. Like, or good or whatever. So while everyone else is staying with Goku, Bulma’s been sending team after team out to fix it, but well… something’s gone wrong every single time they get close to being done, so…”

“And you think it’s Kakarot?” Vegeta asks in disbelief.

“I know it’s him,” Krillin replies. “I can sense his energy.”

“Around the house?”

“Through the fried parts of the water main, mainly,” Krillin replies. “But yeah, around the house too, I suppose. Sometimes. He mostly just–” (Krillin makes a motion with his fingers to suggest Instant Transmission) “–because apparently that’s something the universe decided he needed to know how to do too.” Krillin hugs himself tighter and shakes his head. “I think I need to throw up.” 

Vegeta’s reeling. On one hand, this is new information about Kakarot, which he wasn’t expecting to get when he decided to do… whatever the hell he’s doing right now; and despite the fact that he’s recently admitted that pursuing Kakarot’s actually a worthless endeavor, Vegeta’s always been quick on the rebound, and as such he should be eating this up, especially when the revelation’s so Saiyan. Vegeta, who is still trying in vain to convince himself that he is in fact the most Saiyan-Saiyan of all Saiyans, would’ve taken a more direct approach to… whatever Kakarot’s trying to accomplish, but it still involves property damage and collateral heartache, the latter of which Vegeta did not think Kakarot was capable of. Which he might still not be capable of because on the other hand –

“That makes no sense,” Vegeta says. “What possible reason would Kakarot have do that for? He’s a buffoon, but he’s either not that smart or not that–” (dare he say it?) “–stupid.”

“... it’s a long story,” Krillin replies. He decides to distract himself by checking on the pizza, which he really hopes is close to done. He doesn’t give any indication that he has any intention of continuing the conversation.

“Well?” Vegeta asks.

Krillin still looks tired and a little bit sick, but the motion of doing anything else but talking about this has helped fortify most of his defenses. “You just wanted the basics, right?” he says. “Well, that’s what I told you, alright?” 

He crosses between the counters so that he can grab a peel and, tilting open the oven, slides out the mostly finished pizza and slips it back down on the counter where he originally prepared it. “You’ll want to wait a minute before eating it,” he tells Vegeta casually, pointedly ignoring the darkening of his face. “If you try to cut it right away, the cheese’ll just slip off.”

Vegeta remembers why he’s here. Not why he’s here in the universe or why he ever went out with Krillin in the first place, but why he’s here in this pizzeria with a Frankenstein sandwich sitting in the trash. He’s here to get even. After all, this may be the first time he’s able to do so in his life. Oh sure, many who harmed him have gotten their just desserts – just never directly from him. They’ve always gone some other way, by some other hand. Doesn’t Krillin understand just how many times Vegeta’s not wanted to answer but did so because of their agreement? It’s time for Krillin to buck up and give Vegeta something he wants for once. 

He doesn’t want to look desperate. He’s been desperate about a lot of things lately, and while all Vegeta really wants to do is flop down and kick his legs in the air and cry out to the universe like a small child, he’s got standards. But at the same time, he’s embarrassed himself enough already, and if he really wants to get even, then he might as well go all the way.

He blocks Krillin from leaving behind the counter.

Krillin looks unimpressed. Vegeta decides to change that. 

He presses two fingers against Krillin’s forehead and says, “When a Saiyan Prince asks you a question, you answer it, not make him jump through hoops to get it.”

For a moment, Krillin has the same look he did out by the beach when Vegeta had cornered him into the railing, but then he settles in. “You’re the one that dragged us to a pizza joint,” he replies.

“Listen, you little shit.” Vegeta grabs Krillin by the collar of his shirt and pulls him forward so that the fingers digging into his forehead are sure to bruise. “I don’t think you realize just how much trouble you’re in. For some stupid reason, you decided it was a good idea to hole yourself up with a guy who doesn’t fucking care about you. Who’s never fucking cared about you. Who will never fucking care about you. You think we’re friends?”

“No,” Krillin replies easily.

It pisses off Vegeta way more than he thought it would. Before he knows quite what he’s doing, his abandoning the scruff of Krillin’s clothes and going straight for the throat. He squeezes. Why has this been so hard until now? 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Vegeta feels Krillin take a very large gulp.

He then feels him say, “Finally.”

It takes Vegeta a moment to properly register what he said, but once he does, it throws him off enough that he drops his hand from Krillin’s throat and takes a step back; but before he can withdraw entirely, Krillin grabs his fingers and forces them to stay against his yaufen. They stumble back until it’s Vegeta who’s cornered against the counter.

“Finally!” Krillin says. “It’s about fucking time! If you had done it this afternoon like you wanted to, you would’ve saved us both the trouble!”

When he sees Vegeta’s shocked face, he says, “What? You asked if I’m stupid, right? Well, I am, Vegeta. I’m stupid in a lotta ways, but I’m not that stupid. If you wanna kill me, just do it already. Honestly, I could go for a long nap. But if you’re gonna do this, you better make sure you go through with it and make it fucking good. Because when Goku finds me – and he will, Vegeta – that’s it. That’s your fight. That’s the last fight you’re ever gonna get because they’re not gonna have a soul to sort in Other World because you damn well better believe that Goku’s gonna make sure there isn’t one. Do you hear me, Vegeta? If this is what you want, then just do it already. Please!”

They stand like that for a moment: Krillin pushing Vegeta’s fingers hard enough against his forehead that they feel like they could force themselves all the way through; Vegeta looking down at him like the universe had finally truly broken in two.

Krillin huffs, red-eyed, and bats Vegeta’s hand away. “That’s what I thought.”

Vegeta watches slack-jawed as Krillin retreats back to the table. In Vegeta’s mind, he’s helped a lot of people commit suicide over the years because, to be fair, most people throwing themselves into a fight against him might as well have a death wish; and sure, he’s been asked point blank as well, but no one has ever tried to threaten him into it. And even more worrying, Vegeta’s never not stepped up to the challenge before. Krillin’s gambit should’ve worked.

This is what happens when you get to know people, the demons tell Vegeta. They end up being just as crazy as you are.

While Vegeta’s behind the counter reeling, Krillin flops back down into his chair and looks on-edge like if Vegeta wanted to fight, he’d be willing. With each passing breath though, Krillin goes from combative to angry-confused, angry-confused to mostly panicked, then mostly panicked to downright scared.

Mostly though, he looks really fucking embarrassed.

“I’m–I’m so sorry,” he says. “Here, um–” He jumps out of his seat and rushes behind the counter and, with Vegeta in hand, tugs him back over to the table so he can sit down too. “The pizza should be, um – it should be cooled down by now, so.” He sits back down across the table. “So how about you go ahead and eat and we’ll just not talk for the rest of the night or the rest of forever and ‒ oh my god, I forgot the pizza.”

The chair nearly topples over as Krillin races behind the counter and back with the pizza in record time. He drops it down on the table then drops himself back down into his seat. “Okay. Okay,” he says, “so pizza is quite a bit different from sandwiches as you can see, but don’t worry! Dontchu worry. They’ve got a lotta similar ingredients, like… uh… um… bread sorta, and cheese, and tomatoes – though the sandwiches I make you don’t have tomatoes, oh my god – look,” he says, “pizza’s very popular on Earth, alright? Maybe even more popular than sandwiches and–”

The pizza’s not cut. Krillin notices this and, quickly glancing around, realizes this is the type of place that keeps plasticware at every table, so he grabs a knife and manages to cut the pizza into pretty passable slices. “It’s like a pie!” he says once it’s done, gesturing to the result with both his hands. “That’s why it’s called a pizza pie! See? Some people – they folder their pizza like this,” (he takes the slices Vegeta just auto-picked up out of his hands, folds it like a taco, and hands it back), “so it’s a little like a sandwich, see?”

Vegeta sees.

“Okay, so like I said before, pizza’s good, it’s not a sandwich, I’m sorry, and I–I just, I…” Krillin becomes too choked up to puke out any more words, so after mouthing a few things and only getting croaks, he shakes his head and stops trying.

Vegeta’s been out of his depth when it comes to just about everything in his life, but he’s never been willing to admit it until, uh, right now, actually. So he does the only thing he can think of:

He stuffs the slice of pizza into his mouth.

Krillin goes ahead and shove a piece into his mouth too.

Is pizza as good as sandwiches? It’s hard to tell, mostly because Vegeta feels as though he’s sitting beside himself rather than inside his own body, so the jumbled piece of cheese and sauce and bread tastes distant in his mouth – almost like it had been breathed into him rather than eaten. In fact, he feels like his entire self might as well be made up of hot air poured out of a hot mouth on a cold winter’s morning; and while he’s feeling flighty, he also feels numb like he’s about to acclimate to the morning air and dissipate fully into the ether, never to be seen again.

Krillin looks out of sorts as well but better off than before, mostly because the act of trying to eat an entire slice of pizza all at once after having barely stomached anything solid for two whole weeks has presented itself as a unique enough challenge to bring him back to reality a bit. He no longer looks like he’s about to have a breakdown, but he does look about the same amount of embarrassed.

They swallow around the same time.

When diffusing an awkward situation, Krillin always resorts to demeaning himself. “You know, I really thought my rock bottom was the water main, or deciding to squat at Capsule Corp., or deciding it was a good idea to talk to you, but… man, this really takes the cake.”

“Yep,” Vegeta hears himself reply.

“What? This feels like rock bottom of you too?”

No, rock bottom feels like being suspended several hundred feet in the air with tears streaming from your eyes as you come to the stark realization that after all this time, after all these fantasies, after all these close calls that, no, you are not strong enough to defeat the man who destroyed your planet and, no, you probably never will be. Rock bottom feels like having your lung punctured when you’re no longer fun or worthwhile, so you’re left gasping on the ground as you’re forced to beg for comeuppance from a man who’s never truly missed his real home as you take your dying breaths. 

Rock bottom feels like waking up alive again afterwards and realizing your rock bottoms meant nothing.

Surely this is better, right? Some step in the right direction? Okay, maybe we won’t go that far, but surely it’s in the same rock formation. After all, it’s not like Vegeta hasn’t had these revelations before. He’s had them plenty. They’ve just never been… quite so well-formed. And he certainly was not in a pizzeria with this person while having them. 

It’s not rock bottom. It’s just strange.

Krillin’s used to Vegeta not answering him, and anyway, he’s got some distracting conversation to tend to. “Man,” he says, “where are the police when you need them anyway? You would think one of those kids would’ve called them when their heads were nearly blown off by some guy’s finger. What, is that normal now? Do guys just come into pizzerias all the time now and try to blast kids’ heads off with things that aren’t guns?” He takes a moment to think before he looks back to Vegeta with a look of utter shock on his face. “... I don’t know. I actually don’t know. It has been so long since I’ve been in general society without one of you people that I literally do not know.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “... Is this rock bottom?”

Vegeta doesn’t know, but Krillin’s the only thing different here, and without him he wouldn’t be in a pizzeria having an out-of-body experience right now. He has had these feelings before. He has understood that all of this was pointless before. What about this guy is making this different? What is making him feel so differently about it?

Look, he’s outside of himself, okay? He’s not thinking straight, but has that ever stopped him before? Of course not. If it had, Vegeta wouldn’t be here right now. Vegeta wouldn’t be anywhere. Vegeta would be dead. Like, dead- dead – not brought-back-to-life-from-being-dead dead, not dead-on-the-inside dead, but dead -dead. 

He’s not, and he’s here, and he’s going to figure this out. He decides to let his body determine how to proceed. 

It apparently does so by poking the hornet’s nest. “Kakarot?” his body asks.

Krillin jumps and sits more at attention in his seat, mostly because that was not where he expected the conversation to be going. He thought he had scared them both out of that, but apparently not. The funny thing is, now thanks to that attempt, Vegeta has picked what has now somehow become the second most contentious topic of the night. Krillin finds himself suddenly more willing to concede to that. “You still really want to know?” he quietly asks. 

Vegeta’s body doesn’t answer, but Vegeta supposes it’s a yes.

Krillin huffs and settles deeper into his chair. Sure, Krillin’s first resort is to demean himself, but when that doesn’t work and he is forced to talk about whatever needs discussing, he’s able to put up a surprisingly good front. “God,” he says, “if it’s this hard to explain it to you, god knows how hard it would’ve been trying to explain it to everyone else. Glad to know I made the right decision.” He sounds sarcastic, but it’s muted.

“Alright,” he says. He figures he might as well just get it over with. After all, what’s the point in having a rock bottom when you can just pick up a shovel and keep on digging? “Let me tell you something about Goku. I know to you he probably seems like a Saturday-morning magical girl protagonist who’s super in-touch with his feelings since you, well… have all the emotional resonance of an athletic sandal, but he’s always had trouble expressing himself, you know? When it comes to the really serious stuff, anyway. He’s never responded… normally to those kinds of things, yeah?” 

He tilts his head in consideration. “Now, has that ever resulted in property damage or Machiavellian-esque schemes to get someone to listen to him? No – but for him, all he’s ever really been able to express is happiness, anger, or confusion. And hunger, I guess, if that’s an emotion. If he feels anything beyond that, he tries to slam whatever he’s feeling into one of those four categories. Usually when he decides to file it under anger, he’s able to punch something. Seeing that he had no desire to punch me, he, uh… well...” Krillin finally loses his edge and goes back to sounding like the person who asked Vegeta if he really still wanted to know. “... he apparently decided to take his anger out on part of what he was angry at. The house.” 

“The house?” Vegeta’s body asks.

“The water main,” Krillin replies. “Whatever. It’s,” (he motions to his right with his hand in a claw up against the brick wall beside them), “up against the house. You know, like a panel?” He then points with this other hand over to his other side. “The whole thing runs through the ocean, you see, but the controls to it are right up against the house.”

Vegeta’s body’s starting to get distracted, mostly because they’re back to the place they were before when this story made no fucking sense. “And he… knew that,” Vegeta’s body states much more than asks.

“Oh yeah,” Krillin replies, nodding his head while both of his hands are still out. He sounds like it was a genuine question rather than one to make Krillin question himself. “You remember how I told you how Master Roshi – the turtle guy – trained Goku and I when we were kids? Well, during that training he had us do some pretty weird stuff.” Krillin’s apparently getting distracted to because, this time, his annoyance seems genuine and high strung. “Mostly, he had us doing his chores.”

“Chores?”

“Yeah. You know, like delivering milk or tilling land. That sorta thing.”

Vegeta and his body have no idea what Krillin’s talking about. Unless you count his entire time in the service of the Empire as one massive chore being performed for adopted daddy dearest, Vegeta’s never done a chore in his life. Vegeta’s body apparently wants to say that living’s a chore, but Vegeta seems to have enough control to shut it up. Maybe the demons took it over. He finds himself too invested to care.

“Anyway,” Krillin says, “some of it was actually pretty helpful. Made us a lot stronger than the competition, you know? Others were, well…” His eyes narrow. “... just stuff the old bastard didn’t want to do himself. You know, like fix the damn water main.” He finally brings his hands back down to the table. “The thing’s honestly always been a piece of shit. How he hasn’t had to outright replace it before now is beyond me, but if there’s one thing you need to know about Master Roshi, it’s that he’s cheap. Really cheap.”

When Krillin realizes Vegeta didn’t need to know that, he goes on to say, “The point is, if there’s one piece of technology Goku does know how to operate, believe me, it’s that fucking water main.”

Vegeta and his body are still not convinced. “So he punched it?”

“What?” Krillin asks. “No! No, of course he didn’t punch it. He more…” In order to illustrate, he brings one of his hands back up in that claw-like shape of the panel and jitters it around like it’s just been electrocuted. He drops his hand back down and looks increasingly embarrassed. “To be honest, I’m still not sure if, uh… well… I’m still not entirely sure if he meant to or not. Break it, I mean. The first time.”

“The first time?” Vegeta and his body both ask.

“Well… yeah. I mean, why else do you think I’m still here? It doesn’t take this long to fix one lousy water main if you’ve got Bulma Briefs throwing money at it. It just– He just keeps doing it!” He slumps more into his seat and crosses his arms. “If it wasn’t intentional before, it sure is intentional now.”

Both Vegeta and his body have come around to believing this whole story a bit more now, but from the look on Vegeta’s face, neither of them are satisfied. “... why?”

Krillin gives him an unsure look. He knew when he first started talking that he’d have to give reasons along with logistics, but he had honestly hoped Vegeta would lose interest or the police would barge in. Hell, he’s actually kinda ready for Goku to just walk in and get this over with. The crunch in his chest says otherwise. “Because, um… well…” He leans forward and becomes much more interested in the sinking of the air bubbles in the cheese of the pizza than talking. 

But he takes a deep breath and says, “Goku – as part of the, uh, many facets of the disagreement we’re currently having – has decided that he no longer wants the residents of Kame House to live at Kame House. Mostly,” (he sounds very distracted now), “he has a problem with me living at Kame House. He wants me to live where, well… everyone else from Kame House is staying at the moment.” 

He finally chances a look up at Vegeta, but when he’s met with a look of confusion rather than shock or surprise, he rolls his eyes. “His house, Vegeta. Where I told you everyone was staying before, remem–” Of course he doesn’t. Krillin leans back and huffs.

Vegeta’s following, but apparently his body’s not. “He wants you to live with him?” it asks.

With an embarrassed half-shrug and a face that might as well be on fire, Krillin replies, “I mean… yeah? I guess? Pretty much? I mean, Bulma provided Roshi and all them a capsule, so technically I’d be living next door, but... yeah?”

It takes Vegeta and his body a moment to process. Really, it does. After all, this is a lot of information to digest, and his body’s never had to consume information with only the help of the demons before, so it’s bound to get something horribly wrong in the process. He stops it from saying something… wrong? Vegeta’s not sure if he’s ever thought something he was going to say was wrong before.

Krillin sees the look on Vegeta’s face and sighs. “... alright,” he says, “look. There is a whole, you know… crux to this disagreement thing. What the disagreement actually is.” He leans forward and, uncrossing his arms, goes to scratching at a particular bit of dead skin on his web of his hand. For a moment, he looks like he did behind the counter, like he’s about to just drop the whole thing all over again; but he doesn’t.

“Goku,” he says, “in all the infinite wisdom apparently bestowed upon him after becoming Super Saiyan, has decided that I’m no longer allowed to fight. At all. Not against the androids, not against whatever evil’s bound to come up after them, not even against my own nephew in a sparring match – nothing. According to him, I’m done. For good.”

“And before you say anything,” Krillin mentions before Vegeta and his body open their big, fat mouth, “I already know your opinion and don’t really care to hear it.”

Alright then.

“Anyway, I… I suppose I took exception to that, you know? When I realized what had actually happened to the water main, I… I might as well of blacked out. I just left. ” He sounds confused even now after weeks of having done it. “It felt like I wasn’t even in control of my own body, you know? It was like it just moved on its own. It packed up all my stuff, withdrew all my money, made me lower my energy, and poof. Here I am. Has that ever happened to you?” 

Vegeta and his body nod in unison.

Krillin was afraid of that. “I-I-I don’t usually act like this,” he says somewhat hysterical. “It’s like I said before – since Namek, everyone’s gone insane.”

Tell Vegeta about it. Namek was… well, not how everything was supposed to end – and it definitely got weird – but it was still in Vegeta’s wheelhouse, you know? People still ostracized him, he still had something to prove, and he still had impossible odds he thought only he could overcome. So much had changed by that point, sure, but it hadn’t mattered. Vegeta likes to convince himself that Raditz and Nappa had never mattered, so they hadn’t. Vegeta had still be there; Vegeta had still been kicking; and for all he knew, Vegeta had been about to fulfill his destiny.

And then he died. And that was… fine, he supposes, now that he is out of his body and a few rock bottoms removed. He was ready at that point in a lot of ways, and he had thought everyone on Namek would have to be ready too. He feels like it would’ve been better if a black hole had just materialized outta nowhere and taken Namek and all its inhabitants and invaders with it. Vegeta could’ve lived with that – or, you know, whatever you call it when you’re fine with something but also dead.

But then he woke up on Earth again, and what do you know? People have gone crazy. The universe’s has gone crazy ‒ far crazier than Vegeta’s used to, anyway, and he wonders if it’s his punishment for somehow defying death. Sure, a magical dragon can bring you back to life as though you never died, but the universe knows. It knows you no longer belong, that you’re an abnormality now, and it affects everything you touch. Vegeta comes back to life, and he’s welcomed. Vegeta comes back to life, and he no longer has anything to prove. Vegeta comes back to life, and the only thing really left for him to overcome is himself. His legend’s gone – embodied in some Saiyan who doesn’t understand it, who uses its fury to lash out at houses and poor humans who cannot fight back, apparently.

And in a sudden flash of empathy, Vegeta realizes that if it’s been this way for him, then it must’ve been this way for Krillin too.

Vegeta feels himself suddenly flung back into his body.

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” he says.

Krillin’s taken aback by the sudden passion in Vegeta’s voice. “Excuse me?”

Vegeta knows what he said. He’s just still trying to catch up with why he said it.

Krillin meanwhile nods in that way people do when they’ve heard what you’ve said but can’t believe you said it. “Okay, while I’m sure that’d work for you, I don’t think that’d go over very well for me, so–”

“Why?”

“Because–Look, Vegeta, I’m not looking for advice here, alright? Especially from…” He looks Vegeta up and down.

Suddenly full of boundless energy, Vegeta jumps out of his chair and begins pacing the aisle between this row of tables and the next. “So you’re just hiding out at the house?”

Krillin folds his hands together and looks skeptical. “At Capsule Corp.? Yes.”

Vegeta stops. “Until what?”

It takes him a moment to answer. “... I guess until recently, I was kinda just hoping that it’d all solve itself, you know? Like, after a while it’d all just – stop? – and then I’d get to go home and we’d never, ever talk about it again, but…” He starts picking at the crust of the pizza. “Remember a while ago when I said I was considering my options? Well… I guess that’s what I’m doing right now.”

“Other than telling him to go fuck himself.”

“Apparently,” Krillin replies.

Vegeta might not have as much control over his body as he thinks because, before he knows it, he’s saying, “You know you’re stupid, right?”

“I think we’ve established that already, yes,” Krillin replies measured. “I mean, I know it’s not a smart decision, but it’s not like I’d even have any support if I did.” He sombers upon saying that. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think any of our friends would think what he’s done is okay, but... “ He goes back to picking at the pizza. “I dunno if you’ve noticed, Vegeta, but I’m kinda bad luck.”

Tell him about it.

“Or rather, I have bad luck. Either or. Probably both, I dunno. The point is, while I don’t think they’d agree with the action, I know they’ll agree with the reason, you know? They’ve always been…” He picks at the pizza more harshly. “... probably rightly worried about me ever since the first time I died, and well… I just…” He stops when he realizes he’s ruined a whole slice. “I barely have the strength to do this, alright? Going up against all of them, I don’t... I don’t think I’d survive.”

They stare at each other. Vegeta, just now catching up to having full control of his body again, hasn’t quite grasped what made him react this way. He knows the feeling – it’s deep in his chest, he knows it’s connected to the something thunderous he felt before – he just can’t find the words to make sense of it to himself or the idiot sitting across the way. He rears up a few times like he’s about to come back with something, but after a few failed attempts, he gets frustrated, grunts, and leans against the opposite table with his arms crossed. 

Krillin’s not sure if it’s a sign of defeat or the pose a tiger takes when it’s trying to convince its handler it’s alright to step into the cage, but either way, he’ll take it. Krillin hopes this is the natural close to the conversation because, really, he doesn’t know how much more he can explain before he starts to doubt himself. He’s been working on trying to not do that, thank you very much, and he’s not about to let Vegeta of all people convince him otherwise. 

“Can we go now?” Krillin asks. “Please?”

Vegeta gives a full body huff.

Krillin will take that too. “Alright then.” He gets up from his chair and passes Vegeta so he can reach behind the counter and pick up his bloodied scarf. He turns around with it folded in his arms, but then stops for a moment and stares back at Vegeta and more specifically the table. After a moment, he sighs and leans behind the counter again to grab a small pizza box. He passes Vegeta again and, with the scarf still hanging off one arm, starts shuffling the pizza into the box.

Vegeta leans forward for a moment like he’s about to take a step towards him, but thinks better of it and goes back to the way he was.

Krillin closes the box, picks it up with both hands, and uses his feet and the rest of his body to correct the chairs. Once they’re back to the way the teenagers surely arranged them before the two of them busted in, Krillin turns and, looking at Vegeta, motions slightly towards the door with the pizza box. 

Vegeta stands up and heads out the door. He stands aside just long enough for Krillin to slip out.

“... thanks.”

They walk. They shouldn’t have to, seeing that Krillin has his capsule plane still in his pocket, but they do. It’s like one of them just picked a direction and the other one followed because they’re not even heading back towards Capsule Corp. In fact, they don’t seem to be heading back towards anywhere at all. After a while, tall buildings become shorter ones and then somewhat shorter ones that then become some with yards and others with gardens that have churches and grocery stores nestled on the corners of the neighborhood, and Krillin and Vegeta are the only ones walking for miles. The rain has long since stopped, and it’s so early now that it’s hard to tell the leftover rain from the dew.

They’re halfway through an old established subdivision when Krillin says, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Bulma. You know, about me staying at Capsule Corp.” 

Vegeta’s in a more sour mood than ever. The fresh air hasn’t helped the turbulence inside of him, and he’s no closer to learning why he’s behaved this way all night. He’s got his hands in his pockets and is slouched over in a way to suggest he’s bored and up to no good. Once he registers what Krillin’s actually said, Vegeta’s face scrunches like he’s being insulted. “Why would I?” he asks.

“I dunno,” Krillin replies because, really, why would he? Still, Krillin finds himself wanting to play damage control because that’s at least some kind of control. He says, “I guess she might ask at some point? I mean, she hasn’t asked you yet, right? About me?”

“The woman and me don’t talk,” Vegeta replies like it’s scandalous for Vegeta to even suggest they do so. Krillin’s the only one Vegeta talks to, and look how well that’s turning out. The last thing he needs is that bratty blue-haired machine.

“Well, alright…” Krillin says. He doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, if she ever does, I’d really appreciate it if you said you have no idea what she’s talking about. You haven’t seen me since Frieza and the Saiyan kid, alright?”

That… sounds a lot like a demand. Vegeta doesn’t take too kindly to demands, even if they are to do something he would’ve done anyway and issued by someone who has about as much command over him as a daisy. “Why should I listen to you?” he asks. He can’t even raise his voice effectively at this point. It comes out more like a complaint. “You’re the one who’s decided to hole up with me. I’ll do what I want.”

“Fine,” Krillin replies. “No more sandwiches then.”

For all the times Vegeta’s tried to kill Krillin and understood that this would be a consequence, he sure looks gutpunched. “What?” he yells before he can’t stop himself. “That’s not a part of the deal!”

This is approximately the reaction Krillin was going for, but when Veget shouts, he still jumps a little. He instinctively backtracks. “It’s-It’s not a threat, Vegeta,” he tells him. “Think of it as updated terms and conditions. I mean, think about it. If Bulma knows I’m at Capsule Corp., she’ll tell Goku; and if she tells Goku, then I’m no longer going to be at Capsule Corp., so that means no more sandwiches anyway, so…”

“Why?”

“Why?” Krillin asks. “Whaddya mean ‘why?’ Vegeta, what have we been talking about this whole time? I’m pretty sure ‘making sandwiches for the Prince of All Saiyans who’s tried to kill me a bunch of times’ is going to be on the top of Goku’s ‘no-no’ list.”

Finally, the first thing that’s made any sense tonight! But if that’s true, does that mean that Kakarot actually does view Vegeta as some kind of threat and hasn’t just thrown him to the side of a new and shinier enemy? He could recall that he’s recently admitted that his rivalry with Kakarot means nothing, but Vegeta’s moved on to new and more pressing problems, and that one’s been buried right back where it belongs. As such, it actually makes him feel a bit better.

Krillin continues, “And anyway, I make you way more sandwiches than I ask you questions, so I think this is more than fair.”

Vegeta finds himself in the mood to bicker. “What could that possibly mean? The deal was, ‘You make sandwiches, I answer your dumb questions.’”

“Yeah,” Krillin replies. “Ques tions. I make you, what, thirty sandwiches a day, and sometimes I barely get the chance to ask you one!”

“You want to ask me thirty questions a day?”

“Oh god no!” Krillin replies like the thought actually disgusts him. Vegeta gives him the side-eye. “I’m just saying, I think it’s more than fair for me to request that you don’t do something that would end this arrangement anyway when the sandwiches drastically outweigh the questions. That’s all.”

So is that what this has all been about? Has Vegeta been putting himself out on a limb and been looking straight into the face of despair because he hasn’t been honoring their arrangement enough? Of course not, because Vegeta’s never actually upheld an agreement in his entire life and, even if he had, he shouldn’t be this butt-hurt over one he made with Krillin; but there’s a delusional part of him that thinks he has kept promises in the past and that this could be the reason for his disassociation and strange actions tonight. He was taught to be honorable, you know, once when he was young and in the care of that old woman and his darling teacher cousin. He had been taught a lot of things. There’s a part of him that likes to think he still heeds those things, even when most of the time he doesn’t. Has he truly not upheld his part of the deal?

No, he must’ve. Otherwise, why would Krillin still be here, making him sandwiches and not running for the hills at the first sight of escape? Oh, right. The house. The water main. Kakarot. If Vegeta’s learned one thing about humans, it’s that they’re social and cannot be alone. Just another thing to add to the topsy turvy state of the universe since Vegeta’s regained life. Vegeta comes back to life, and he is the last social beacon for a human he was supposed to kill. Krillin comes back to life, and Vegeta’s the only person he has left.

There it is. The feeling Vegeta had before on the beach, behind the counter, and in the seat next to his body. The something thunderous. It’s the feeling he’s realized now that he had standing outside Raditz and Nappa’s door late at night wondering if this was the night he should end their meaningless lives and put them out of their misery. He had been responsible for them, and he hadn’t been able to carry out the deed until one of them was already dead and the other utterly humiliated. 

He hadn’t done it when he had the chance because… it’s not like he hadn’t wanted to, it was just because… he hadn’t wanted to. He was a coward then and, he realizes in his new arrangement, he might be a coward now.

Questions do not have to have answers. Questions can be in the form of a request, and if requests are questions, then to receive sandwiches, Vegeta must answer any request.

If Krillin had asked ‘Do you want to kill me?’, it would’ve warranted a verbal response. If Krillin had asked ‘Please, won’t you just get it over with and kill me so I can be at peace?’ , it would’ve warranted something else entirely. 

But Krillin hadn’t asked. He had plead. He had looked him in the eye and dared him to do it. That was not a part of the deal. That was not a part of the arrangement. It appears that neither of them had understood the terms and conditions.

It is at this moment that Vegeta realizes he can redeem himself in some way. It’s terribly minor, mind you, compared to the weight that’s been placed on his shoulders since the moment he could understand speech, but you know what? At this point, he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever minor influence in the universe that he can have. If anything, he’s desperate for it. He’s desperate for something that could be considered redeeming, and with his planet and destiny gone, fuck it, right? What if this is what his life boils down to? Mercy killing a human on a backwater planet much too far from home?

Krillin wants options, right? It’s the least Vegeta can do.

“You get one favor,” Vegeta announces.

Krillin’s surprised to hear him speak. “A favor?” he asks. “From who?” He looks around and realizes that there’s only one person Vegeta could possibly be talking about. “Wait,” he says. “From you?”

“Yes, from me,” Vegeta replies, the bite mostly gone from his voice. “Who else could I possibly be talking about?”

“... I dunno,” Krillin replies. He’s skeptical to say the least. He knows Vegeta well enough by now that the Saiyan Prince doesn’t hand out assistance readily without some ulterior motive. The thing is, he can’t imagine what his motive could be now. Could it be to make up the ratio of sandwiches to questions? Krillin had… well, not been kidding about that per se, but he didn’t think Vegeta would actually take it seriously. 

Though hesitant, Krillin decides to go with it. “... what do you consider a favor?”

That’s right, Vegeta had forgotten. Krillin is stupid. Will he have to do everything for him? No, he must ask so Vegeta can answer. It’s the only way. He opens his mouth to say that, but apparently his body’s in control again, because instead he asks, “Whaddya mean?”

“Like… is this like a normal-person favor or a mafia-Godfather favor?”

“... What’s the difference?”

“Well, one’s like: ‘Hey, Vegeta, could you take the trash?’ while the other one’s like: ‘Hey, Vegeta, how do you feel about killing someone?’”

“The second one,” Vegeta replies with a nod.

“Oh,” Krillin says. “Okay. Wow.”

There’s a moment of silence between them where Vegeta’s expecting the question that’ll end their arrangement and Krillin’s expecting Vegeta to rip off his mask and reveal he’s been Master Roshi the whole time and this has all been a trick.

“... how much is too much?” Krillin asks.

Vegeta’s too flabbergasted to immediately reply. He said it was a favor from him and said it could involve killing someone – how many more hints could this guy possibly need? Still though, remember how Vegeta has a terrible habit of being sidetracked? Well, he finds himself falling into the pattern that’s been set these past few weeks at the kitchen table.

“A-A galaxy,” Vegeta replies like he’s pulling his answer out of thin air.

“A galaxy?” Krillin asks. “What do you mean ‘a galaxy?’”

Vegeta feels some pink coming to his cheeks. “I – I mean that I won’t take over a galaxy for you if you asked.”

“A galaxy?” Krillin asks again. “Wait, lemme get this straight: taking over a galaxy is your cut-off point in terms of granting a favor to someone?”

“Yes,” Vegeta replies like that’s a perfectly acceptable threshold and Krillin shouldn’t be questioning it.

“Uh huh…” Master Roshi can rip off that mask anytime now. “How about a planet?”

A planet? Just who does Krillin think Vegeta is anyway? His stupid turtle teacher? Of course Vegeta could take over a planet for him! Taking over planets is Vegeta’s bread and butter! Oh, sure he ended up getting fired (or he quit, he’s not actually sure – maybe it was a mutual parting of ways?), but that was because Frieza destroyed his birthright because Frieza was a racist motherfucker, not because Vegeta was bad at his job. Far from it. In fact, if Vegeta hadn’t been so damn good at his job, he probably wouldn’t have been allowed to do it. He would’ve been stuck in Frieza’s court for the rest of his days as some kind of prize to be shown off at parties. Nice little show of complete and utter conquest, you know? But because Vegeta is so goddamn good at destroying planets, it was better to show him off that way, so off Vegeta had gone into the universe. He took pride in his work despite all the drama surrounding it, thank you. He almost wants to go take over a planet just to show Krillin how good he is at it right now.

“So Earth,” Krillin says. “You’d take over Earth for me as a favor?”

“Wouldn’t your little friends shit their pants over it?” Vegeta asks.

Krillin shrugs. “I mean, when they first saw you, yeah. Definitely. But once they realized that I’d be the one ruling the planet, I honestly don’t know what they’d think. I mean, I don’t think any of them actually care who’s running the planet as long as they’re not, like, up and destroying everything or killing everyone or just being a really, really big jerk about it.”

Now Vegeta’s really sidetracked. “... so I could rule Earth?”

“What? No!” Krillin’s apparently sidetracked too because he actually looks alright when he leaps in front of Vegeta and starts walking backwards to talk to him. “This would be a favor you’d be doing for me, remember? I’d be the one ruling Earth. You could…” He sizes Vegeta up. “... I dunno, command my army or something?”

“Command your army?” Vegeta asks scandalized.

“I haven’t actually thought that much into it, alright? It just became an option for me.” He twirls around so that by the time he stops, he’s walking by Vegeta’s side again. Vegeta raises an eyebrow. At least the dolt understands this is about options. “I mean, in order to take over the planet,” Krillin continues, “I’d have to write, like, a manifesto or some kind of statement of purpose, right? And it couldn’t be dumb. It’d have to be, like, official enough or intelligent enough that I don’t just sound like some guy that’s about to go gun down people in a grocery store rather than take over the international government, you know? That’ll take months at least. Possibly even years!”

“I don’t want to run your army,” Vegeta says.

“That’s… fine?” Krillin replies.

“Your soldiers can’t even punch things. What would I do with that?”

“That is true. I mean, they use these things called guns,” Krillin tells him. “You know, kinda like those arm cannon things Frieza’s soldiers had? Which you think would be a better option than punching people, but our lives make zero sense, so here we are.”

“Your soldiers would be useless in intergalactic domination,” Vegeta continues like this is somehow offending Krillin to his very core.

It’s not. “I thought you said you wouldn’t take over a galaxy.” 

“Not for you. I would have an army to do with what I wish!”

Krillin stares at him the way Vegeta feels like staring at Krillin most days and replies, “Vegeta, that’s not how government works. I’d have to tell you to use the army for intergalactic domination, which I’d never give you the authority to do, so–”

“–I don’t want to command your army.”

“Fine!” Krillin hugs the pizza box and his cardigan to his chest and looks indignant. “I don’t want Earth anyway.” He thinks about it for a moment, and then says, “I mean, I can’t even manage my own shit anyway.” He throws his head around. “Imagine me trying to manage all this!”

“Earth’d be easier,” Vegeta replies.

Krillin flinches back like Vegeta really does have a mask he just peeled off. He slows down a bit, and when Vegeta looks down to figure out what’s wrong, Krillin’s staring up at him with the box and scarf still clutched to his chest like he’s legitimately concerned.

“Did you… did you just make a joke?” Krillin asks. “Like, an actual joke? At my expense? That was actually kind of funny?”

Vegeta doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so embarrassed, but the pink that had been on his cheeks earlier have gone to a full blown red that he hasn’t felt since the woman forced him to move into her house. “I wasn’t joking!” he says. “I was making fun of you!”

“Yeah,” Krillin replies, “with a joke.” He narrows his eyes. “Do you even know what a joke is?”

“Of-Of course I do!” Vegeta replies.

“Okay, then tell me another one.”

“... You’re short!”

“Okay, no, now that’s just making fun of me.”

Vegeta’s at the end of his rope. His face feels as though someone has made camp inside his cheeks and caused a wildfire that’s spread all the way down to his constricted chest and is now causing even more ruckus to his nerves. He’s no longer sidetracked because he realizes the only reason he was in the first place was because he had been drawing things out. Why, he doesn’t know, but it kickstarts the something thunderous in him into overdrive.

He should be able to do this. He has to be able to do this. All Krillin’s got to do is ask.

“Then whaddya want?” Vegeta shouts.

Krillin looks at him in a way that indicates he’s just as worried as before. “A joke,” he replies, “like I already–” He realizes what Vegeta’s getting at. “You mean as the favor? I have to decide right now?”

“Yes,” Vegeta replies desperate. “Are you going to try and convince me or not?”

Krillin’s brow furrows. “Convince you? Convince you of what?”

“To kill you!” Vegeta shouts. “Do you want me to kill you or not?”

Krillin stops dead in his tracks. It takes Vegeta a few extra steps to notice, but when he does, he whips around like a shark and comes to meet Krillin head-on. It’s like the railing by the coast all over again, but this time, Krillin cannot fake confidence or comfort. He’s been caught red-handed.

“What?” he asks. “No! I mean–I don’t–I don’t want you to–I mean, I never thought–” He shakes his head like he’s at a loss for words, but after mustering up something within himself, he stiffens his hold on the box and the scarf against his chest and decides to stand his ground. 

“I guess, Vegeta, I never thought that killing me was something I’d ever have to convince you to do. Not that I want–I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not asking you to–Why wouldn’t you want to kill me Vegeta?” he asks. “Why are you making this so hard? What sort of convincing would you possibly need?”

“Be honest,” he says when Vegeta doesn’t answer. “I thought before tonight that you thought of me as empty space, but obviously that’s not true. Hell, you said it yourself, Vegeta. My death turned Goku Super Saiyan. My death ruined your life. I mean, who fucking knows? Maybe just me dying ascends every Saiyan in the whole tristate area. By killing me, you could turn Super Saiyan right here, right now!”

“It didn’t turn the kid,” Vegeta finds himself replying.

“What?” Krillin asks. When he realizes what Vegeta was going for, he yells, “Vegeta, I was fucking kidding! God!” He shakes his head and his face turns from anger to a confusion that’s tinted with desperation. “Just humor me then, Vegeta, and answer my goddamn question: Why? Of all these times that I… I think you’ve wanted to kill me – why haven’t you?”

Vegeta must answer. He knows that now. He could reply that Krillin had simply not asked in the way arranged in their agreement, but he knows that’s not the truth. Vegeta was going to kill him because of the arrangement. As his unwilling owner, Vegeta should be responsible for that. His cousin had told him once, while they were young and she was tending to her shiido, that you must take responsibility for everything that’s yours. You must give it every ounce of yourself, and when it’s time to let it go, you take responsibility for that too. And she had showed him that when, two years later, her shiido had stopped being able to move and she put it out of its misery herself.

Vegeta is stronger than his cousin. He is the strongest Saiyan the universe has ever known. He is the testament to Rikka’s bloodcurdling screams as She pulled out Her stomach so that Her blood would always survive no matter how the universe tried to stretch and bend Her out of existence. This is just another thing Vegeta, Prince of All Saiyans, Two-Hundred-and-Second of His Name, is responsible for – another thing he’s going to have to let go. He can do this and he should do this so he can move on.

But perhaps for the first time in Vegeta’s life, he doesn’t want to be that person. For once, he finds he wants to be selfish for reasons he doesn’t misconstrue as pride or a higher calling or proper Saiyan manners. For once, he wants to be like everyone else in the universe and just be selfish for the sake of being selfish. 

Vegeta comes back to life, and he never wants to kill Son Krillin again.

Vegeta’s bad with words. He’s worse with feelings. He still doesn’t understand a way to phrase it that makes any sense even to himself, but he feels honest when he says, “You make me sandwiches.”

Krillin’s going to protest. Really, he is. After all, who would want to hear that their life boils down to fulfilling such a subservient role to a pariah of the universe after everything he’s experienced tonight? Because isn’t that what this is – when someone has the ability to kill that which has already died but then makes the conscious decision (over and over again) not to and then tells them the reason why – isn’t that the summary of what that thing is truly worth?

The part of Son Krillin that’s always struggled to quantify his own value thinks that even this is too much for him – too much responsibility for him to possibly bear. It’s a part that’s been mulling inside him for so long now that he hardly remembers its birth, and it has grown throughout the years into something so ravenous and undeniable that it threatens to consume him entirely.

But there’s something else that lives in Son Krillin. It’s a part of him that he thinks is small, but that’s just the other, bigger part talking. But he’s aware of it in the way he’s aware of ants crawling across the carpet in the mornings – of the way they file out one-by-one through the wall to their colony outside his door that could be stomped out at any time by the giants roaming the earth. He’s aware of it in the way that he’s aware that, even if it was stomped out, that colony would just be replaced by another and another and another because there are more ants out there than there are giants – and if Krillin concentrates, he can feel them all.

And he knows that, as much as he wants to deny it, this is the part that really brought him here tonight. Because whether you’re religious or not, it’s hard to think that your life does not have some meaning, especially when you’ve found yourself dead one day and alive the next – and dead again, and alive again – in what could become a pattern if you’re not careful. You want to have some control even if you think you don’t deserve it at all.

This part of Krillin… it’s small, but it’s thunderous. This part of Krillin will never steer him wrong. This is the part of Krillin you want to look out for.

And so, it is this part of Krillin that speaks when he blurts out, “I know what I want.”

Vegeta feels something heavy drop in his stomach. The Gut Blood rumbles, and just for a moment, Vegeta swears it passes through his beating heart unscathed before sinking impossibly low into his abdomen and becoming still in away he hasn’t felt since death. He waits for it.

Dropping the pizza and his scarf onto the ground, Krillin lunges forward and hugs him.

“Oh my god,” Krillin says almost immediately. “I regret this. I already regret this. This was a terrible idea.”

Vegeta’s got his arms up in the air like the universe has finally come to arrest him and he’s ready to surrender lock, stock, and barrel. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” he asks hysterical.

“I don’t know!” Krillin replies with just about as much shock. “I thought this would–help. I dunno!”

“Well, is it?”

“No! Not at all! You’re, like, really stiff,” Krillin tells him. His eyes are puffy, but there’s genuine humor in his voice that hasn’t been there in a long time. “I’d tell you to see a chiropractor, but I’m pretty sure trying to crack your back would break the both of you in two. Like, seriously, you’re really uncomfortable. Wow.” He doesn’t let go.

Vegeta wonders if the universe allows take-backs. Nope, apparently not. He still doesn’t want to kill Krillin. Vegeta’s over this newfound sentiment already. 

Krillin senses that rather clearly. “I’m going to let go now,” he announces. “You take a step back, I’ll take a step back, and you and I never do this again.”

“Yep,” Vegeta replies because it’s literally the only thing that’ll come out of his mouth that’s not a giant burst of ki.

“Alright. One… two… three!”

The two separate and proceed to wipe and brush themselves off like the other’s infected or something.

“Well,” Krillin says. “That’s certainly one way to end a night. What a terrible waste of a favor!”

“A favor?” Vegeta asks. He doesn’t look particularly thrilled. “That wasn’t a favor! You just launched yourself at me! That–That was a pass! Don’t do it again!”

“Believe me, I won’t,” Krillin replies. Soon he’s on another topic though because he turns around and realizes what he’s also done. “Oh no,” he says, kneeling down beside his discarded stuff, “the pizza’s ruined! It’s–” He wipes some tomato sauce off his fingers and onto the collapsed box. “–all over the sidewalk. Dammit!”

“Just leave it,” Vegeta tells him. “The sandwiches are better anyway.”

“I’m not just going to leave it all over the sidewalk, Vegeta. We should at least find a trash.”

He gives Krillin approximately two seconds to try to scoop it back up before Vegeta’s fed up and dragging him by the arm away from the mess. Krillin barely gets enough time to grab his blood and now pizza stained scarf. “Just come on, would you?”