Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Out in the far reaches of space, a large elliptical-shaped spaceship sped in the direction of a spiral galaxy. Blue light spat out from its engines, burning fuel at the absolute highest speed the ship could handle. Inside stood a large white-and-purple skinned alien creature with two thick black horns, holding a chalice full of red wine in one of his black clawed hands. He gazed out of the ship’s large front window at that spiral galaxy with a bored expression, as if that galaxy held nothing valuable or interesting for him or their empire. 

Truly, to King Cold, this galaxy was beneath him. The planet moreso. It provided no vital resources to exploit or worthy challenges to conquer. But this wasn’t his call, and really, there was no way he would tell his beloved son no. Not after what that monkey did to him. 

From behind him, his son asked, “How much longer now, Captain?”

At the helm adjacent to King Cold, Captain Ginyu replied, “Less than an hour, Lord Frieza.” 

“Excellent.” The ugly sound of creaking metal clunked its way towards him. “Prepare your men. Destroy every single being on the planet. Leave nothing behind.” King Cold glanced down at Frieza when he finally stood beside him, his body held together by wires and metal more than flesh. Their dual hardened gazes met as his son growled, “But leave that wretched Saiyan to me.” 

King Cold smirked. “ And me. No one attacks the Frieza Force and lives to tell about it.” He offered him his chalice. “The final blow will be yours, of course.”

Frieza returned that same smirk. He took the chalice with his metal hand, his attention returning to the spiral galaxy coming rapidly closer to their spaceship’s front window. 

“Soon…” Frieza chuckled, bringing the chalice to his purple lips. “Soon I will have my revenge.” 

***

Meanwhile, deep in the Paozu Mountains of Planet Earth…

“HAAAAA!” 

Nine-year-old Son Gohan stood in front of a row of trees in purple gi and a red sash, his straight arms slicing in a diagonal direction. Blue ki shot from his hands, slicing all the trees down in one go, right at the trunk. He hopped back a good distance away as they collapsed one after the other like dominos until the last one fell with a puff of grass and dirt pillowing into the air like smoke. 

Once he double-checked nothing else was going to fall, he hovered over each tree one at a time, cutting up piles of logs until nothing remained but piles of wood. When he finished, he wiped a hand across his brow, a small smile rising on his dirty face. 

“There.” He put his hands onto his hips. “That should be enough for the next couple of weeks.” 

In the far distance, a voice called out: “Hey Gohan! Gohaaaan!” 

Gohan turned in the direction of that voice, glancing up. He watched his uncle Raditz’s form come closer and closer towards his direction, the man wearing blue gi with a red sash, similar to Vegeta’s in the past. He waved to him above. “Hey! I got all the firewood!” 

“I can tell!” He landed before him, grinning in a way similar to his father. “Lady ChiChi ordered me to come help you out.” 

“You mean she kicked you out of the kitchen.”

“Nooo...” 

Gohan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Raditz shuddered. “Ugh, stop that, you look—”

“—like Vegeta, I know.” 

“You even do that scary growl of his!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He turned away, walking towards the first pile of logs. “Now hurry up, we don’t wanna miss lunch or mom will be mad.”

Raditz snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah! Did I forget to tell you? Your mom’s making us an amazing feast for today!” 

“She is?” 

“Yep!” Raditz flanked Gohan’s side as they gathered up all the piles of wood. “Nappa called earlier while you were studying and said he’s coming over today to visit.”

“Awesome! I hope he’s been liking his new job.” 

“I hope so too. Honestly, I think he enjoyed being a bouncer more than this bodyguard stuff, but the pay this time is waaay better. Remember he upgraded from that old crappy apartment in West City to that neat condo near downtown?” 

“Uh-huh! It’s so nice!” 

“We really should hit him up on that offer he made last time.” 

“You mean having dinner at his place?” Gohan picked up one of the last logs he couldn’t carry with his tail, a gesture Raditz mimicked with his own last piece of firewood. “I’d love to go, but you know how mom is.” 

Raditz sighed. “Yeah…” They levitated off the ground almost in tandem, heading up towards the sky. “I mean, I get it. She’s their urave. Kakarot’s really, but I know she considers herself Vegeta’s too. She wants to be there for them when they come home.” 

As they flew side by side, Gohan shook his head, a deep frown on his face. “It’s not okay though. She doesn’t need to hurt herself like this.” 

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s not allowing herself to go have a life. She won’t hang out with you, she won’t go into the city to see Bulma or Nappa, she won’t go shopping or anything like that…” Gohan sighed. “All because she feels this sense of duty of being there at home for them. So she can cook and clean and do whatever needs to be done for my dad and Vegeta when they finally come back.” His jaw set firm, his face turning solemn. “I don’t know why dad had to stay away for so long, and I knew Vegeta would’ve gone and found him even if he didn’t know Namekian and was able to wish himself away. But I really wish he hadn’t.” 

“Who hadn’t?”

“Vegeta.” 

Raditz flew a little closer to him, his face a deep frown. “Why him?”

“He’s the leader of this pashika, right?” When he caught Raditz’s small nod, Gohan continued, “Then he had a duty to my mom to keep her safe more than he did my dad. I know they’re mated, but my mom matters. She’s given up so much of her life and her happiness and the least Vegeta could’ve done was stay with her and have the both of them wait here on Earth for my dad to come home. That way, she could’ve had someone to commiserate with. I know mom isn’t alone because you’re still here living with us. Then there’s Nappa, Mr. Piccolo, Krillin… she’s got friends and family. But it’s different when it’s someone you love. Vegeta might not care about mom, but they both love my dad. They could’ve helped each other through this. Now my mom’s dealing with it alone, while Vegeta gets to be with my dad for the last two years—” 

“You still resent him.” 

Gohan startled a little mid-flight, almost losing his hold on the bundle of logs. He caught his composure again, muttering under his breath, “Not really.” 

Raditz rolled his eyes. “Oh c’mon.” 

“I’m not…”

“Lying’s beneath you.” 

“I’m not lying! I swear.” 

“Uh-huh, sure.” 

“Uncle Raditz—”

“You’re so much like Grandpa Bardock.” As ChiChi’s home came closer and closer in the horizon, Raditz started to slow down, something Gohan mimicked. “Smart, insightful and wise beyond your years, but absolutely crap at dealing with emotions.” When Gohan opened his mouth to retort, Raditz smirked at him, cutting him off. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about, kid. We have the same emotional constipation.” Their boots landed on the green grass one after the other. “Granted, not as bad as Vegeta’s —”

Gohan chuckled. “I don’t think anyone will match his.” 

“Ehhh, you’re kinda close.” 

“Hey!” 

“Ahh, boys!” ChiChi’s voice caught their attention, their bodies turning in the direction of the source coming from the nearby open kitchen window. ChiChi smiled at them both, gesturing towards the side of the house. “Drop those there and come on in! Food’s almost ready.” 

They answered in return, their voices overlapping each other: “Okay, mom!” “Yes, Lady ChiChi!” 

By the time they finished laying all the wood into neat, clean stacks, another voice chimed in from above, one they hadn’t heard in some time. 

“Raditz! Gohan!” The two of them looked up at the sky, where a descending Nappa floated, wearing his bodyguard outfit: an all black ensemble, from his tank top and blazer down to his pants and boots. He waved down at them, his sunglasses up over his bald head. “M’holo to you both!” 

They replied in stereo: “M’holo, ta’joni!” Good morning, general!

“Oh please, I’m far beyond the use of that title.” Once he landed onto the ground, he walked right up to Gohan, opening his arms wide. “How are your studies, young prince?”

“They’re going great!” Gohan hugged Nappa tight, an embrace Nappa returned ten-fold. Their unwound tails wagged happily behind each of them. Gohan ended the hug, leaning up to look at him. “I’ve moved on from algebra and I’m learning pre-calculus now!” 

“Amazing, sire.” 

“Mhm! And mom says I’m close to graduating to organic chemistry, but I’m currently stuck when it comes to entropy and the second and third laws of thermodynamics. They’re kinda confusing but I think I’ll call Bulma and ask her a few questions about that.” 

“That would be very wise, yes.” Nappa patted his shoulder. “I’m more than positive you’ll be able to master these concepts in no time.” 

“Hehe, thanks Nappa!” 

The sound of ChiChi’s voice caught all their attention. “Ahh, Nappa, you’re here!” She waved the three of them over towards the house from where he stood at the front porch. “C’mon in boys, I’m about ready to serve!” 

“Alright!” Gohan bounded forward towards the house. “Hurry up you two!” 

“Coming!” Raditz shouted. He then snuck up beside Nappa, muttering, “You have no idea what the hell he was talking about, do you?”

“Not one fucking bit.”

“Good, me either.”

Nappa chuckled as the two of them made their way to the house. “Never doubted that for a second.”

“Eat shit, old man.”

“Bite me, sprout.”

***

Far away from the wilderness of Mount Paozu stood West City, the place Capsule Corp headquarters called home. Deep inside its dome-shaped interior, Bulma walked around the compound in a red horizontal-striped dress, her heeled boots clicking on the linoleum floor. A blue headband kept her bouncy blue curls in place, her hair puffing out like an Afro. 

She barely noticed any workers or other people around her as she walked the hallways, her focus zeroed in on the tablet in both of her hands. She frowned at the data one of her satellites relayed back to her an hour ago: an object headed towards Earth at an insanely fast pace. An object of considerable size that broke through the Kuiper belt that surrounded their solar system not too long ago. 

The size and shape of the object didn’t change. It’s trajectory didn’t change either. She followed its path the past thirty-or-so minutes since her satellites detected it, and so far, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Most likely, it was an asteroid that—worst case scenario—she could call Gohan or Nappa or Raditz and have one or all of them blast it to hell before it made impact on the planet. Even Yamcha, Tien, Krillin and Chiaotzu could take care of it. 

The least likely, but most preferred scenario: Goku and Vegeta were finally coming home. But after analyzing the object for this long, she ruled that out. Goku most likely escaped Namek with a Saiyan pod. Having been on Frieza’s ship before being transported away back to Earth, she knew what that ship was capable and not capable of. It could relay messages, receive messages, but it could not take off and escape a planet. Bulma made sure of that when she arrived on the ship’s bridge, way before Vegeta died. Way before Goku turned into whatever that thing was. The Super Saiyan thing. 

The guilt she harbored over disabling the ship entirely came and went over the last two years. In her heart, she knew she did the right thing at that time. She ensured Frieza wouldn’t be able to get off the planet if worse came to worse and no one could defeat him. At least in death, she made sure to make Frieza’s life as inconvenient as possible. But the guilt popped up when she remembered what she almost did, before the Dragon transported her and the others to Earth: installing a 10 second self-destruct sequence if someone tried to override her system in place.

So she knew this object wasn’t Goku and Vegeta’s ship. It couldn’t be. As much as her brain rationalized that maybe this was a ship they took from the planet they were on the last two years, Bulma’s gut told her otherwise. The shape, the size, the speed—it reminded her too much of Frieza’s ship. Uncomfortably so.

It only left one option left. One horrifying, terrible option she didn’t want to use as her most probable solution, but it was the only one that made the most sense. Not just to her brain, but to her heart as well. 

As she descended down the stairs towards the underground lab, Bulma brought her communicator watch to her lips, her focus still on the data the satellite transmitted to her. “Hey dad, any visual confirmation of the object yet?”

“Not yet, sweetie.” 

“Damn.” 

“Unfortunately our cameras out in space can only look so far—”

“—and daylight doesn’t help when it comes to using our most powerful telescopes. I know. Ugh.” She finally looked up from her tablet as she reached the bottom of the stairs, entering the lab where her father sat in front of a large computer screen, typing away at the keyboard. “ETA on potential impact?”

“Less than thirty. Possibly twenty.”

“Mm…” Bulma walked up beside her father, flicking her attention back and forth between the tablet and the large computer screen. She chewed on her bottom lip with her teeth before muttering, “I think I should call them. This doesn’t feel right. Something’s off.” 

Her father’s usual upbeat voice sounded uncharacteristically serious. “You’re right.” She snapped her attention back up to the big screen, where her father pointed to a set of numbers. “That’s the speed of the object. Look at what’s happened over the last half hour.”

She ran her gaze down the recorded numbers, landing on the last set—the current set—and her jaw dropped wide open. “Oh gods… it’s decelerating .”

***

Twenty-five minutes later, Earth’s line of defense gathered in a desert far away from any of the cities. Bulma tracked the ship’s trajectory, while the others followed it via their ki senses. She typed away at a holographic screen, her tablet mounted up on an upright tray laying across on her lap. 

“They changed course, you guys.” She glared at the map of the object on her screen—an object that their satellites finally discovered was a ship. One styled and shaped nearly the same as Frieza’s back on Namek. “They’re headed in our direction now.”

Nappa flanked her side, dressed in his fighting gi. “Good.” He cracked his knuckles, along with his neck. “The less casualties, the better.” 

Raditz flanked her other side, also dressed in his fighting gi. He bent at the waist to stare at Bulma’s screen, asking, “Any word from Kakarot or Vegeta?” When she shook her head no, Raditz cursed, “Of fucking course.” 

“I’ll keep trying.” She toggled her screen, changing from the map to lines of code. Her fingers typed frantically over the holographic keyboard. “I’ve been transmitting the highest frequency our satellites can send. Hopefully our message hits someone from the Galactic Patrol and then they can put the search out for them.” She sighed, then muttered under her breath, “If only Tights wasn’t so AWOL, I could ask her to call Jaco…”

Up ahead, Krillin stood beside Gohan, both looking at the sky. Between gritted teeth, Krillin hissed, “Sure would be great if we could talk to King Kai…”

“I’d ask Kami for help on that,” Piccolo said, walking up towards Krillin and Gohan, “but getting to the Lookout and back will take too long. We all need to be here to stall Frieza as much as possible.”

Raditz added behind him, “Plus you’re still pissed at him for the shit he pulled on Namek.” 

Piccolo shot him a quick glare before turning back to the sky. “If Bulma can’t contact them within 15 to 20 minutes, I’ll rush to Kami’s as fast as I can. We can’t wish on the Dragonballs if I die, so it’s best if I go to the Lookout if needed and if I have the chance to.” 

Whatever anyone else wanted to say didn’t matter. Not when Bulma’s loud shout echoed across the wasteland: “They’ve breached the atmosphere! They’re here!” 

Krillin pointed far ahead, also shouting, “Over there!” 

Gohan powered up first, growling, “Let’s go!” 

The others powered up second, almost in tandem. They followed Gohan’s lead, heading towards the ship as it descended towards the ground. Its metal claws dug into the reddish ground, the engines coming to a full stop. 

Bulma eyed it from where she sat, 10 kilometers away from the landing site. While her self-preservation instincts yelled at her to get as far away as possible, her need to help and her stubborn determination to finish a job kept her in place. 

She flickered her attention between the computer screen and the sliding door opening from the front of the ship. “Come on… come on…” A ramp followed. Rows of soldiers dressed in Frieza Force attire stormed out, holding blaster guns. “Work dammit…” 

At the front of all the thousands of soldiers stood five men—a red-skinned one, a blue-skinned one, a green-skinned one, a fair-skinned one with red-hair, and a purple-skinned one. The latter soldier took a step forward, pointing to Gohan. 

“You! Child of Prince Vegeta!” The soldier cackled while Gohan snarled at him, falling into a fighting stance. “We are the Ginyu Force, the greatest soldiers of Frieza’s army. You have besmirched the honor of our great leader. Now you will perish at our hands as punishment!” 

In front of her, all of her friends fell into fighting stances like Gohan did. Her body shivered all over at the sight of Frieza emerging from within, followed by someone similar-looking but much taller. They stayed on the ramp, far from the five soldiers and the others in front of the ship. 

Her shivers increased as she watched Frieza motion with a single hand towards her friends, as if bored and annoyed with the whole situation at hand. Her breathing picked up, terror choking her throat and her lungs in tandem. 

She forced herself to look away back to her computer screen. Highest frequency sent. Multiple attempts at contact. 

Nothing. Not a single response. 

“Goku… Vegeta…” Her voice wavered. “Please… please come back—”

A sudden ki blast hit the front of the ship out of nowhere. 

Dirt and dust sprayed into the air, covering the ship entirely.

The horrified screams of soldiers followed, along with the sounds of sliced flesh and broken bones. 

Bulma startled in place, the tablet falling from her lap. 

Everyone in the distance looked as startled as she felt. Equally as shocked and confused as to what just happened. 

As the dust settled, she covered her mouth with one of her shaky palms. 

All those soldiers. All of them. Dead. Mutilated. Ripped into chunks, some into little pieces, almost leaving nothing resembling a formerly living creature behind. 

Frieza and King Cold still stood on the ramp, gawking at the horrific sight as much as Bulma was. As much as the others were. Blood coated patches of their arms and legs, the same blood that stained the sides of the ship and splattered across the ground. 

Amongst the carnage stood one being. A light purple short-haired, muscled being, dressed in black pants, purple crop-top jacket, black shirt—and a lavender tail, waving lazily behind him. 

He sheathed his bloodied sword back into its holster behind him, the brown leather straps crossing from left shoulder to right hip. He stared down Frieza, his back turned to everyone. 

Even with this distance, she could make out what Frieza said. “W-What… how…” He eventually controlled himself and growled, “ Who are you? ”

The mysterious Saiyan snickered. “Oh. You know.” He glanced over his shoulder, and she locked onto blue eyes similar to her own. Blue eyes—and a smirk that looked way too familiar. Uncomfortably familiar. “Just another Saiyan you can’t kill.”

***

Out in space, not too far from Earth, a battle pod barreled through the Kuiper belt, zooming past Neptune soon after. Inside, two beings sat together in the cramped space. Both wore the same outfit, both crossed-armed, both with their eyes closed. 

Of the two, the larger one opened his eyes first. He stared past the red window, out into the vast darkness of space. The other opened his eyes second, looking out in the same direction. 

Goku broke the silence between them. “I’m sorry.”

Vegeta glanced at him. “For what?” 

“He shouldn’t be alive.” 

“Ah.” He unfolded his arms. “You didn’t hold back on Namek.”

“I might’ve.” 

“I know you didn’t. I felt it.” 

“Still—” 

“I promise we can talk about this later. For now? Focus on this.” He offered his hand out to his mate with a smirk. “We get to finish him together. Like we were always meant to.”

Goku gave him a half-hearted smile. He took Vegeta’s offered hand, twining their fingers together. 

Vegeta squeezed their hands before leaning in to kiss Goku on the lips for a brief moment. 

When he leaned back, Vegeta changed the pod’s trajectory away from Earth and then turned off the engines. The lack of friction in space kept the pod moving, but it wouldn’t head towards their home anymore. Once finished, he raised his free hand up and placed two fingers to his forehead. 

He squeezed Goku’s hand one last time. A squeeze Goku returned along with a small nod.

Within a few seconds, they disappeared, leaving the pod to drift in space forever. 

Chapter Text

Frieza gawked at the sea of dead soldiers before him. Amongst them, he zeroed his attention right on five particular bodies. The Ginyu Force. All slaughtered. All dead. As if they were nothing but simple playthings for this practical child before him. 

He sneered at that lavender-haired Saiyan, his tail lashing behind him. His purple-pink ki radiated in furious waves from his half-mechanized form. 

Another Saiyan. Another damned, bloodied Saiyan, and he wasn’t even golden-haired like Son Goku was. 

Beside him, his father shouted, “How dare you! You will pay for this!” 

That eerily familiar smirk grew wider. He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Considering your track record lately, I doubt that will happen.” 

“My son annihilated your whole race, monkey!” 

“Ah, yes, that. Not wrong. And yet…” Frieza’s ki nearly exploded at the haughty way this Saiyan child gestured down the front of his body with one hand, chuckling under his breath. “… here I am.” The last shreds of Frieza’s control began to unravel as that damned Saiyan lifted the tip of his sword at him. “How about I give you one last shot at killing a Saiyan.” Those piercing blue eyes flickered over towards King Cold. “Or maybe your dad can do what you can’t—”

Two beings appeared out of nowhere, blocking Frieza’s view of the Saiyan. The disorienting sight of two people appearing out of thin air galvanized Frieza, knocking him out of his frenzied, angered state. 

The moment he realized who these two beings were, that anger returned in spades. 

“You.”

***

Vegeta brought his fingertips down from his forehead, releasing Goku’s hand soon after. He glared right at Frieza and King Cold, ignoring the happy cheers of their friends and family not far away from them. 

Behind him, he vaguely heard Goku say to someone, “Go back with the others.” 

“What?” 

“This is his score to settle. Not yours.” 

“But I can help—”

”Appreciated, but unnecessary.” He felt Goku’s ki recede behind him, along with that other ki—the one Vegeta zeroed in on when he teleported the two of them back home to Earth. “He can do this on his own.”

“But—”

“Trust me.” Vegeta smirked at the sound of Goku’s proud chuckle reaching his ears. “It’s not needed. Not anymore.” 

He shut his eyes tight, bending his elbows, his hands turning into tight fists. 

A tilt of his chin to the sky. The ki inside him burned like a calm flame. 

Teeth gritted. Fingers clenched tighter. 

Goku’s face, back on Yardrat. The struggles they endured. The frustrations and anger. The disappointment, disagreements, despair, confusion and hurt and that look, that damned look on Goku’s face when he said—

Vegeta threw himself into the flames of his ki. 

The roar of the Oozaru escaped him, bellowing out from deep inside. 

That flame transformed into the familiar all-encompassing inferno, the burning embers and incomprehensible heat threatening the edges of his sanity. His brain rejected the pain. His body rejected the pain. 

He tapped into the water needed to cool the flames down. The image of Goku’s sweet smile. The sound of his laugh. The way he felt in Vegeta’s arms, above Vegeta’s body, below his body, looking at him like he was the most important person in the universe. Not like before. Not like he looked after Namek. Different. Better. Healthier, all thanks to Vegeta’s help.

A soft sigh escaped his dry lips. His whole body released its tension, the burning ki nestling around his limbs in a comforting cocoon of power and strength. 

Vegeta opened his teal eyes right onto Frieza and King Cold. Equally terrified. Equally flabbergasted. 

He slowly raised two fingers to his forehead without looking away. 

Frieza’s trembling whimper overpowered the shocked cries of his family and friends in the background. “You… you’re… h-how did—?”

The air wooshed around Vegeta. 

Without pause, he yanked his hand down, turned it into a tight fist again and jammed it through the upper left back of King Cold’s body. 

Frieza’s horrified cries sounded so good to his ears. 

Blood sprayed out, coating his whole arm and hand. He squished King Cold’s heart between his fingers, the fibrous tissue and fascia warm creating a loud squelch . A yank of his hand back and he discarded the mushy organ over his shoulder, where it slammed against a wall and slid down to the ground below, leaving a dark purple streak in its wake.

King Cold’s body collapsed in a heap of skin and bone and flesh, leaving Frieza wide open to his pointed gaze. 

He didn’t bother waiting for Frieza’s response. His words didn’t matter. His actions didn’t matter. All of this did—every punch, every kick to this tyrant’s half-alive, half-robotic body. Every crack of machinery and every crack of bone. Every sunken cheekbone, deep cut, dislocated joint, mangled fingers and toes. The tear drop coming from the dangling eyeball. The loss of teeth as that horrified mouth begged without voice no more. 

Vegeta loomed over Frieza’s half-dead form on the dusty, rocky terrain of his new home. He crouched down onto his heels, elbows resting on top of his dusty thighs, his bloodied arms hanging loose between his thighs.

A tilt of his head. A narrowing of his teal eyes. 

He stayed emotionless in his voice and with his facial expressions as he said, “It’s sad. I’ve dreamt of this moment for such a longtime. Beating you like this.” He reached a gloved finger forward, pushing into Frieza’s sunken cheek. “ Humiliating you like this. And yet…” A flick of his finger and Frieza hissed in pain. Vegeta retreated the finger back, chuckling. “It’s funny. I don’t feel as satisfied as I thought I’d be.” He tilted his head the other direction. “I think I know why, though.” He chuckled, his smirk rueful and astonished. “I moved on. I’m beyond you. Superior to you. You don’t control me anymore. You don’t rule my life anymore. There’s no reason to continue this fight any further. You’ve not just been beaten by one but two Saiyans in your lifetime. That would be enough justice for most people.” He leaned down a bit more, growling, “But you know me, Frieza. I’m not like most people. I may be a different person now…” He lifted a hand over Frieza’s left pec. “…but I’m still one vindictive son of a bitch.” 

Like King Cold, Vegeta ripped Frieza’s heart from out of his body, squeezing it in his palm before incinerating it into ashes with a small burst of ki. He stood up and lifted one of his boots, smashing into Frieza’s face before the light left his eyes. Bone, purple blood and brain matter splattered across the red sand, along with pieces of wiring and machinery. 

As Vegeta yanked his foot out of Frieza’s skull, he kicked his dead carcass a good distance away, adding it to the pile of bodies surrounding the ship. He wiped the blood and leftover muscle tissue onto his ruined purple armor from Yardrat, followed by shaking out the blood and tissue lingering on his boots. 

Once a good amount of Frieza’s bodily organs were off his clothes, Vegeta floated over to where Goku stood, cross-armed and stoic. In the background, he caught the horrified, grossed-out faces of his family and friends. From what he could see, the only two not phased whatsoever were Nappa and Raditz. 

When he landed in front of Goku, he witnessed the stoic demeanor melting away, leaving behind the smile he loved and the look of pride and awe he adored. “You did it.”

“No, Kakarot. You started it on Namek, and I finished it here.” Vegeta closed the minor gap between them, touching Goku’s cheek with his dirtied, gloved fingertips. “We did it together. Just like you promised.” 

Whatever Goku was about to say next was cut off by a small voice behind them. “Wow…” Vegeta released his mate’s face so they could both look behind and see that purple-haired, purple-tailed Saiyan gawking at them. “That was awesome. You’re so brutal, daaa-aaaang!” 

Vegeta narrowed his gaze at the obvious cover-up this Saiyan said. “Who in Tor’s name are you?” He flicked his attention to the purple tail. “Ni’quo ti’au zusa bala ongaheleka?” And why do you have such odd coloring?

The Saiyan grimaced. “Yeaaaaah… we should go talk.” He pointed to a place out in the distance, far from everyone behind them. “Privately. Just the three of us. There’s a lot of stuff I gotta tell before I get out of here.” 

“Hm.” He turned to Goku, asking, “Go say hi to Gohan and the others. I’ll handle this.”

“Oh, uhhhh—” The Saiyan gestured between Vegeta and Goku—“I was hoping he’d come with?”

“Tch.” Vegeta’s tail tip twitched back and forth in an agitated manner. “One of us has to go say hello to our family. We haven’t been back in almost two years.”

Goku interjected with a soft tone, “Maybe you two can start talking and then I can join?” He gave Vegeta a small smile. “Give me something like five or ten minutes.” 

With a nod, Vegeta cut off the Saiyan from saying anything else. “Satisfactory.” He took off to the sky, telling the Saiyan, “Follow me.” 

***

Hours later, Goku sat outside in the middle of nowhere, deep in the heart of Mount Paozu. He sat on a smooth boulder, hugging one of his knees to his chest, the other long leg hanging over the rounded edge. He watched the gentle ripples in the river before him, the crashing sounds of the waterfall nearby distracting him from his dark thoughts. 

Being at home, seeing ChiChi and Raditz, getting praise and hugs from Nappa and Piccolo and everyone else—it was all nice and welcoming. Then Vegeta had to break the news about what was coming in three years, and Goku shot over the bond about needing to get away for a bit. Once he got the mental okay, he bounded off into the sky, pushing away the same old dark thoughts that threatened to usurp his mind. 

Meditating helped for a little while. Performing a slow kata helped a lot after sitting still didn’t work anymore. Then he went for a walk in the forest. Then he ran down the trail he knew, until he came across one of his favorite waterfalls. Another meditation followed. Another kata followed that. 

Now, nothing worked. The dark thoughts stayed—the new ones and the old ones. The worries, the flashbacks, the anxiety, the guilt and anger, all compounded by the words that Saiyan said. The warnings he gave. The backstory. The future. 

Trunks. 

Bulma and Vegeta’s child. 

Born not like how Gohan was. Born not too long after Goku’s death. 

A Saiyan half-breed child, born into a bleak and desolate future where he fought for his life, alongside Vegeta and Gohan, the last three hopes for salvation against these terrifying androids. Humans-turned-robots with no detectable ki, immeasurable strength, creatures created by a foe Goku thought he defeated long ago: the Red Ribbon Army. Instead, Dr. Gero waited patiently, planning and organizing and executing the perfect plan to kill Goku and get his well-deserved revenge. 

Except his counterpart died before that even happened. A heart virus. Of all the things to take him down, a never-before-seen pathogen with no cure killed him for good. He died not on the battlefield, not in combat, not fighting with all his strength, but in bed. Unable to attack. Unable to defend. 

Dying, apparently, in Vegeta’s arms. 

No kutshisha happened, of course. Not to Vegeta. The man did possess stronger mental skills. But he moved on, falling for Bulma, creating Trunks—though apparently, that wasn’t the case. Trunks explicitly emphasized that point. 

“I was and wasn’t planned,” Trunks explained with a smile on his face. “According to mom, she agreed to be dad’s urave about a year before Goku got the virus. But they were waiting for the right time to have me. Then Goku got sick, then the androids attacked and killed everyone… if it wasn’t for Dad knowing instant transmission, he and Gohan wouldn’t have been able to get away. Not too long after that day, Gohan told me Dad moved into Capsule Corp, after getting ChiChi’s blessing. A couple months later, Mom got pregnant with me, though apparently it wasn’t supposed to happen ‘that way’—”

“Kakarot?”

Goku startled in place. He yanked his head in the direction of that voice and found Vegeta walking out of the thicket of trees towards the riverside. He no longer wore the outfit the Yardrats gave them, now dressed in black sweatpants and grey tank top—an outfit ChiChi bought for him as a welcome home present, along with a plentiful meal. He forced a smile, pushing his thoughts and feelings far, far back in his mind, to a place Vegeta couldn’t access through their bond just yet. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t sense you. Caught me off guard.”

“I noticed.” 

“How did they take it?”

“You know them. Everyone’s ready to train for the next three years.”

“Is ChiChi okay with Gohan training too?”

“As long as he gets a good amount of time studying.”

“That’s great.” 

Vegeta stopped right beside the boulder, his face solemn and expressionless. “They know about the virus too.”

“Ahh.” He swallowed the bile in his throat, asking, “Did you talk to Bulma?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’d she say?”

“She’s going to try to replicate the heart virus medication as a fail safe in case the original gets lost or broken. She also wants Gohan, Nappa, Raditz and I to take the medication as well, just in case.” Goku resisted the urge to flinch when Vegeta added, “I told her about Trunks too.”

“Oh.” He turned his attention back to the calming water. After a beat of silence, Goku muttered, “He acts a lot like you.”

“Not surprising, considering I’m still alive in his timeline.” 

“I liked him.”

“He’s an arrogant little shit.”

“So are you.”

“Bite me.” 

Goku chuckled. He prepared a sarcastic reply in his head, until he registered Vegeta’s ki closer to himself. Much closer. 

Soft lips touched the base of his neck. Strong arms weaved around his torso, hugging him tight. Legs appeared on either side of his hips. A warm chest pressed to his large back. 

His vision blurred as Vegeta whispered, “At’ro m’eh.” Talk to me. “It’s just us.”

Goku caught his reflection in the water. He observed the outfit ChiChi gave him once he landed in Mount Paozu with Vegeta—black tank top, khaki pants. Just like she did for Vegeta, it was a gift for Goku. It felt good when he put it on, a needed sense of normalcy, as if he and Vegeta weren’t gone for so long, so far away from home. Now, it didn’t look right. It didn’t look okay. He didn’t look okay. 

The bags under his eyes. The messier-than-usual hair. The slightly paler-than-usual skin. Vegeta’s strong arms around him, holding him together. 

In his reflection, his gi turned into his Yardrat clothes. In the water, the blue sky above turned pink, the same color as Yardrat’s sky. But his look stayed the same. The hurt, the unaddressed anguish, the pain—

Vegeta’s lips pressed against his mating mark. A strong kiss to the flesh.

Another kiss followed. Just as strong. Just as long.

Goku’s eyes fluttered shut as Vegeta’s tail sneaked around his waist, hugging him as tight as his arms did. 

Slowly, Goku curled his own tail around Vegeta’s thigh, squeezing the flesh a little. 

The waterfall amplified the comfort and ease Vegeta’s tempered breathing and soothing scent provided. 

A soft sigh. Goku released his knee and straightened his leg out before him.

He wrapped his fingers hard around Vegeta’s forearm. 

Under his breath, Goku whispered, “I don’t want to leave you.”

A squeeze to his torso and his waist. A gentle kiss to his mating mark. Vegeta’s deep voice rumbled against his back in a good way. “You won’t.”

“But Trunks didn’t know when and where I got the virus.” He cut off Vegeta, babbling in a rushed, anxious tone, “He said you all die to those androids. Everyone. No Dragonballs around, no way to contact New Namek, no one comes back. Gods, even Gohan eventually died. He died in your arms. He died, I died, ChiChi was left alone—but that can’t—it can’t —” He hiccuped on his next breath. “—not ChiChi. Not Gohan. Not our son.”

Gentle strokes to his biceps. “Nothing will happen to Gohan or ChiChi.” Gentle kisses to his neck. “Nor you.”

He bit back his retorts—the ‘how are you so certain’ and ‘what’s to say it won’t happen’ and ‘you can’t say that, you don’t know what’ll happen.’ He shoving them all back from being vocalized either verbally or over the bond. Instead, Goku squeezed Vegeta’s forearms tighter and slumped into his embrace, releasing all the pent-up tension in his body with a single exhale. 

Behind him, Vegeta purred, nuzzling Goku’s mating bite with the tip of his nose. A soothing noise. A needed noise. 

All too soon, he stopped his actions with a lingering kiss to the area. He then trailed his lips up towards Goku’s ear, where he said with conviction, “We will beat them. Just like we beat Frieza. Together.”

“Yeah…” Goku casted aside his doubts with a small smile and a tilt of his head to kiss Vegeta on the cheek. “Together.” 

***

In another timeline, far in the future…

Mirai Trunks exited the time machine right in time before his mother entered the lab. He turned to the computer he was supposed to be working on for the last hour, typing away mindless code with serious focus, his lavender tail wrapped tight around his waist.

He glanced over his shoulder as she tinkered around with the machine as usual. Checking parts. Checking schematics. Double and triple checking that everything was ready to go once Trunks finished his end of the project: the program needed to run the command module on the ship itself. 

Flicking his attention back to the screen, he deleted random pieces of code, in different places from before. Another peek over his shoulder to ensure his mom wasn’t looking, and he toggled his screen over to the change log, deleting previous edits so nothing could be tracked, just in case. 

As he toggled back to the usual program screen, his mom asked behind him, “How’s it going, son? Made any progress?”

“Still tinkering away!” 

“Oh? Well, I know I’m not as good at Taipan as you are, but I can try.”

“Heh heh, no, I’m good. I can finish this, I promise!”

He froze when his father’s voice echoed through the lab. “You better.” Mirai Trunks fully turned to the right, where his father stood in the doorway to his Gravity Chamber, sweat trickling down all the crevices of his scars—especially the deep one on his face. “I will not tolerate failure. Not when it comes to saving the life of my mate.”

Trunks forced a smile. “Absolutely, father!” He gave him a thumbs up, resisting the urge to shake in place. “You can count on me! I won’t let you down!” 

A grunt, and Mirai Vegeta spun on his heel. The door slid down behind him.

Behind him, his mom said, “Don’t worry about your father. He’s just anxious about going to the past.” The click of boots across linoleum tile. A hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve got this, sweetheart. Breathe, take your time and focus. You’re the best coder in the world. Better than me! Why else would I let you be in charge, hm?”

“Ahaha, yeah, well, if I was that good, we’d be done by now.”

“Okay, now you’re sounding like your father. Stop that.” Another squeeze to his shoulder. “Remember, Trunks. Once this machine is finished, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Heh heh, yeah, mom. We definitely do.” He waited until his mom was out of earshot to mutter under his breath, “Unless what I did worked and I fixed it for you…” He smirked. “…then dad can stop comparing me to Gohan…”

Chapter Text

The next day, with Gohan out of the house, ChiChi finally found the opportunity to approach Vegeta. As much as the doubt inside her head warned her this wasn’t the right time to bring it up, she listened to her burning need to get this subject out in the open finally.

She waited until Vegeta finished eating his lunch before asking, “Is it possible to talk with you and Goku?”

Her anxiety dissipated as Vegeta nodded with a small smile. “Of course. He’s almost home, but I’ll shoot him a message over our bond to transmit over sooner.” 

“Oh gosh no, that’s unnecessary. If he’s on the way, we can wait.”

“It’s no trouble.” Vegeta wiped his mouth with a napkin. “He says he’ll be here in a few seconds. What did you want to ask of us?”

ChiChi fought against the tightness in her throat as she confessed, “Gohan. We never had that conversation with him.” She glanced away. “You know. That conversation.”

“Ah. That is true—”

The sudden appearance of Goku materializing right behind Vegeta startled ChiChi, nearly knocking her out of her seat. Goku waved to her. “Hey ChiChi!” He bent at the waist to kiss Vegeta on the cheek, then took a seat next to her. “What did you want to talk about?”

Vegeta interrupted her, saying, “Gohan. And before you start asking, no, he has not done anything lately. This is about that conversation we were supposed to have with him two years ago. Before Raditz and Nappa showed up.” 

“Oh man.” Goku slumped into his seat, scratching the side of his head. “It’s really been that long, hasn’t it?”

“Mm.” Vegeta turned to ChiChi, asking, “Is Gohan due back anytime soon?”

She shook her head no. “I sent him off to train with Piccolo for a while.”

“I see.” Her jaw dropped open when Vegeta shrugged and said, “Unnecessary. We won’t be having that conversation any longer. There is no need.”

Goku vocalized her shock. “What?! Why not?”

“He has to focus on his training and his studying, not about what happened two years ago. On top of that…” She almost collapsed to the ground when Vegeta grumbled under his breath, “I shouldn’t have a relationship with Gohan any longer. Not after what I’ve done.”

Almost in stereo, both her and Goku shouted, “Don’t say that!” ChiChi continued, “What Gohan said about you was uncalled for. You are his ja’ta—”

“A title I lost the privilege to a while ago.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

“ChiChi’s right.” Goku leaned in towards Vegeta, curling his tail around Vegeta’s thigh under the table. “He still cares about you.”

“Tch.” Vegeta snapped his attention away, off to the side. Some of his bangs obscured his face from ChiChi’s gaze. “He tolerates me at best. My need for upholding Saiyan values and traditions pushed him away at a young age. It’s too late to repair a relationship I damaged before it could flourish.” 

Just as ChiChi prepared her retort, Raditz‘s voice from outside her home interrupted her. “Lady ChiChi! I’ve come back from the market!” She stood up as the front door kicked open, revealing Raditz in dirty overalls, muddy black boots and an empty box in both of his burly arms. The large straw hat on his head must have obscured his eyesight, since he kept talking as he made his way through the kitchen. “I made quite the steal today! Wait, is steal the right word? Oh, what does it matter, I sold everything I harvested! HAHA!” He dumped the empty box onto the counter with one arm, his other hand unraveling his long ponytail. He spun on his heel, asking, “So what’s for lunch? Do you need any—” He paused, gawking at Vegeta, then Goku, then ChiChi. “Oh shit, were you guys in the middle of something?”

“We just finished,” Vegeta answered, coming to his feet. “Enjoy your lunch.” He left with a parting, pointed look at ChiChi, a look she understood quite well after being in a pashika with Vegeta for the last nine, almost ten years of her life: subject over, do not bring this up again, because I said so.

ChiChi glared at Vegeta’s retreating form exiting her home, leaving the kitchen door open. She heard Goku sigh and grumble on the other side of the table, a familiar sound she found comfort in. The sound of someone commiserating with her frustrations and pain, but on a level ChiChi had no desire to ever understand. Not with Vegeta of all people.

Behind her, Raditz huffed and asked, in his very Raditz way, “Oh for Tor’s sake, what the hell crawled up and died in his ass this time?”

Almost in stereo, Goku and ChiChi replied, “Don’t. Just don’t.”

***

Bulma knew this conversation with Vegeta was inevitable. After learning about the androids and Goku’s heart virus and her apparent son with Vegeta in the future, she prepared herself mentally and emotionally for the day Vegeta approached her. When it would happen, she had no idea. Months from now? A year or two? Probably never? In any case, Bulma felt she had enough time. 

Then Vegeta showed up two days later in her lab, asking the dreaded question she wasn’t fully prepared to hear. “Do you want to be my urave?”

“You know my answer.” 

“Then tell me it again.”

“Yes and no.”

“Yes to the position, no to the kids?”

“That’s right.”

Her jaw nearly fell off her face at the sight and sound of Vegeta’s relieved sigh and smile. “Good. I can’t fuck up another relationship.”

She noticed his hand lifting towards his forehead—that teleport trick he and Goku learned on that planet they were on—and she stopped him in time from leaving, snatching up his wrist in her hand. “The hell do you mean by that?”

He didn’t yank his hand back, nor did he hesitate in his reply like she expected. “I never should’ve proposed the urave to ChiChi years ago. Gohan would’ve had a better life without me in it.”

“Are you kidding me? If you hadn’t proposed it, I’m positive Gohan wouldn’t even exist.”

“He would, if I never interfered.” 

“Like hell you wouldn’t have! I saw how crazy you were about Goku before we concocted that plan to make him jealous.”

“It wouldn’t have been terrible letting him go.” His sad smile looked so wrong and unnatural on his face. “I would’ve had you.”

“Okay, no.” She yanked her hand away from his wrist in order to point a finger right into his face, square between his eyes. “Stop it. Stop this pity pot shit right now. This isn’t you.” She crossed her arms with a sigh. “Dammit, I was going to wait until you had some more time settling back home, but fuck it. What the hell happened on that planet?” Vegeta’s gobsmacked expression confirmed her suspicions. “You’re not acting this way simply because of our future kid warning us about the future or about Goku’s heart disease. Something else is there. Something happened. Between the two of you, you’re at least semi-normal. At least, I thought you were, until… well.” She gestured with one unfurled arm over his entire body. “This.”

Vegeta chuckled, his shock turning into bemusement. “Your perceptiveness astounds me.”

“Uh-huh. Spill it.” 

He shook his head no. “It’s not my place to say. It’s Kakarot’s.”

She ran a hand over her face, a frustrated sigh escaping out against her will. She then slapped her hand onto her thigh before growling at Vegeta, “Don’t be stubborn on this. I know what Goku went through back on Namek. I saw what he looked like from Frieza’s ship. That was all before Nappa told us about what a Saiyan goes through when kutshisha happens. I also know that this is Goku’s story to tell, but you matter , Vegeta. You do.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “At’ro m’eh.” Talk to me. 

Her Sadalan must’ve been accurate because Vegeta didn’t hesitate in replying—painting a picture in one sentence that galvanized her to her spot. “He endured more pain than any Saiyan should in their lifetime… through no fault of his own.” 

She hesitated in reaching out to him for a moment, then banished that hesitation a second later, grasping Vegeta’s bicep in her hand. “Taking care of him must’ve been hell.”

“Nothing compared to the hell he suffered through.”

“I bet you haven’t talked to anyone about this.” When he nodded, Bulma squeezed that bicep hard and said with conviction, “Then I formally accept being your urave. You need someone in your corner that isn’t Goku or ChiChi.” She smirked. “Might as well be me, considering our potential future.” She placed a finger over his lips when she noticed his potential retort. “Yes, yes, I know I am under no obligation to have a child with you. You’ve made that perfectly clear. Cram it already.” She pulled her finger away at the sight of Vegeta’s frame relaxing before her, followed by his small, genuine smile—a rare sight that she only saw given to Goku most of the time. “And hey, if I change my mind? It’s like I told you years ago.” She winked. “We made one sexy ass kid.”

Before she could take a step back, Vegeta‘s strong arms crushed her into a tight hug. He buried his face into her shoulder, the fabric muffling the words she heard. “How I ended up with a mate and an urave, I will never understand.” 

Bulma petted the back of his head with one of her hands, her other arm squeezing Vegeta tight. “Well, a prince deserves the finer things in life, right? And I’m the finest thing you’ll ever have.” She paused, pursed her lips, tilted her head to the side and added, “Well. Aside from Goku.” She pulled back to look Vegeta in the eye with a big grin. “Because daaaayuummm.” 

The tension from before—and the tension in her body—dissipated at the sight and sound of Vegeta’s bellowed laugh. 

***

Vegeta stayed at Bulma’s place the majority of the day. By the time he headed back towards Mount Paozu, the sun had set and night began to settle. More and more stars appeared in the sky the further away he flew from the city. The glow of ChiChi’s home, along with the glow of his mate’s warm ki, led him through the encroaching darkness until he landed a few feet away from the door. 

Inside, he only found ChiChi sitting at the dinner table. No Goku or Gohan. He first sought out Gohan’s ki and found it in his bedroom. Then Goku’s, and be frowned when he found it in their home next door. 

ChiChi met his gaze with a small, worried smile, a sight that raised the hairs on the back of Vegeta’s neck. “Welcome back. How’s Bulma?”

“She’s fine.”

“Did she formally accept?”

“Yes.” He waved a hand in the air, cutting off her eventual happy exclamation. “That’s not important right now. Why isn’t Kakarot here?”

“Oh. He said he wasn’t hungry.”

“… Ah.” 

“I boxed up a small meal for him, just in case. It’s on top of the stove. Should still be warm.” ChiChi motioned over towards the oven behind her. “Yours is in a hoi poi capsule with enough left over in case he’s still hungry.”

“Thank you.” He walked towards the oven, pausing when he stood right beside where ChiChi sat. He didn’t meet her gaze as he asked in a low voice, “Did he say anything else? Do anything else?” 

From the corner of his vision, ChiChi shook her head no. 

He felt her fingers touch his forearm. A very light, reassuring touch. 

Her fingertips traced their way down to his gloved hand. 

Vegeta closed his eyes. 

He twined their fingers together, squeezing ChiChi’s hand almost at the same time she did. 

Her gentle question stabbed him in the gut. “He’ll be okay. Right, Vegeta?”

He replied with a curt nod first before adding in a hoarse whisper, “Absolutely.” He swallowed, loosening up the sudden tightness in his throat. “He was worse on Yardrat. Much worse.”

“Mm.” She slowly released his hand. “I’m glad you went after him.”

“Hmph.” His hand turned into a fist. “I abandoned you and Gohan.”

“You did nothing of the sort. I wasn’t alone. I was okay. Raditz helped. Piccolo and Nappa too. Our pashika—”

“—isn’t the same thing as Kakarot and I. Especially Kakarot. Your husband.”

“My husband, yes, but your mate .” He winced when ChiChi’s gentle hand touched the inside of his right wrist—the Saiyan sign of comfort for a fellow member of a pashika. “I don’t know if Goku told you this but while you were gone, he and I talked about his guilt over forgetting his promise—”

He slid his wrist away from her touch.

“Dammit, Vegeta! Listen to me.” Her ki raised at the same time as her voice. “You made my life better.” He must’ve done something—a grunt, a snort, a flinch—because her ki and her voice raised even higher. “You did. I don’t know what the hell happened on Yardrat to make you act like this, but I won’t let you push me or our pashika away because of your guilt over how you treated Gohan—”

“ChiChi.” He barely recognized his own voice. “Please.” The tightness. “Not now.” The hurt and desperation. “I can’t.”

Her ki lowered as she released a long, loud sigh. 

A chair skidded across the floor. 

Strong arms wrapped around his torso. Arms he hadn’t felt embrace him in a long time. 

His face heated up as ChiChi whispered, “I love you, Vegeta. I love the life you gave Goku and I.” She hugged him tighter, her face burying itself into his shoulder. “And I know deep down, Gohan loves you too.” 

He fought the urge to fight her off by clenching his fists and his jaw. He breathed slowly through his nose, fighting the sudden punch of heat and pain threatening to tear up his lungs and eyes. 

Eventually, ChiChi let go, releasing him with a parting kiss to his cheek. 

Vegeta took a long, deep breath. He released all the tension and anxiety inside with his exhale. 

With a curt nod towards ChiChi, Vegeta picked up the food and made his way out of the house. 

Once Vegeta left, Raditz emerged from the depths of the living room, scratching the side of his cheek with a deep frown. “Man. Poor guy.”

ChiChi nodded, watching Vegeta head towards his home next door. 

From inside his bedroom, with his books and papers strewn across his desk, Gohan glared at Vegeta’s retreating back, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips a deep frown. 

***

Much later on that night, Goku stared out the window, fixated on the stars and the trees and the moonless night outside. Vegeta held onto him tight in his sleep, spooning him from behind. He snuggled back into his naked, warm body, their bath from before having cleansed and softened their skin after their bout of lovemaking. 

He stroked Vegeta’s arm lazily, submerging himself in everything Vegeta: the warm breath against the back of his neck, the softness of Vegeta’s tail wrapped around his waist, the sound of Vegeta’s purring, the same purr Vegeta gave him earlier when they made love… it should’ve pulled Goku into a deep, comfortable sleep. Especially after all the things they did to each other in bed. Instead, he laid awake, forcing his mind to stay blank, not to focus on what could be.

The easiest thing to do was to leave the bed and go meditate until he could fall asleep. But he didn’t want to worry Vegeta with his issues yet again. The man dealt with so much of his bullshit back on Yardrat. Things were better now—at least, they should’ve stayed that way. But it wasn’t meant to be. When Trunks showed up and gave them that warning and the medicine, it killed the hope Goku possessed when they decided together it was time to leave Yardrat and go home. The hope that things would be okay now. That they didn’t need to fight anymore unless they wanted to, not because the universe dictated it. 

Goku brushed his fingers over the tops of Vegeta’s knuckles. Then the top of his hand, tracing the old scars. The faint bruises. 

He leaned forward just enough to kiss those scars and bruises, without disturbing Vegeta’s sleep. 

The last thing Vegeta needed was yet another thing to worry over. Goku had to stay strong. To train hard for the inevitable fight of his life. To live, no matter what. 

Vegeta’s promise from earlier still echoed in his mind, a promise that soothed and terrified him at the same time. 

“I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Not even death itself.”

Goku fluttered his eyes shut. 

He twined his fingers with Vegeta’s, giving his hand a light squeeze. 

Behind him, Vegeta murmured in his sleep. He snuggled closer, hugging Goku tighter. More murmurs spilled out as his face buried itself deep into the crook of Goku’s neck, right over the mating mark. 

Goku leaned into Vegeta, a wet, stinging sensation burning his eyelids.

He hissed under his breath, “Vu’kuwa, Kakarotto.” Fight, Kakarot. His tail curled around Vegeta’s left wrist and squeezed tight. “Vu’kuwa ni’mele’la.” Fight and win.

In his sleep, Vegeta’s tail repeated the motion, squeezing Goku’s waist just as hard.

Goku eventually passed out to the gentle rhythm of Vegeta’s steady breathing.

Chapter Text

Deep in the heart of Capsule Corp, Bulma typed away at her holographic computer screen. Two other larger screens flanked the one she focused on, images of different landscapes and the data her satellites and robots transmitted scrolling in rapid succession. A few feet ahead of her stood a huge whiteboard with her mathematical equations, list of locations and black pen marks scratching out all possible solutions to the problem no one knew she dedicated herself to fixing. 

Adjacent to the huge whiteboard, one of her robots projected a holographic map of the world today. Another robot projected a similar image, but of the world back when Goku was a child. On both maps, two dots flashed—one blue, designating what was then. The red dot on the other map marked the location of where Dr. Gero’s lab should have been, but no longer existed. 

Surrounding that red dot were a plethora of black dots, locations she scouted over the last year, to no avail. The clock ticked away. Two years left now, before the androids arrived. Two years before Goku apparently died from that virus.

Two years left to find Gero’s lab, hopefully arrest Gero and dismantle the androids.

There was no way any of them could know. After being around Saiyans for this long, especially someone like Vegeta, she knew what and what not to do. Most importantly, these Saiyans taught her a key fact: they had pride. A lot of pride. Much to their detriment and folly. If she tried even mentioning the thought of possibly taking down Gero before the three years were up, she knew what Vegeta’s reaction would be: a resounding hell no. Vegeta would most likely reason with her to ‘not screw around with the timeline, let it happen as it’s supposed to,’ no matter how much Bulma provided evidence to the contrary. It’d escalate and escalate until she had enough and call him out on the underlying selfish truth beneath his very reasonable and rational response. Then it’d keep escalating until Goku and Piccolo and whoever else had to come between them to separate the two—and she knew she’d still be outvoted. Everyone looked up to Vegeta, almost as much as Goku did. Even reasoning with Goku alone would’ve been a lost cause. The man always followed whatever Vegeta decreed. They’d tell her, ‘well, you’re not wrong, Bulma, but,’ and as a woman in engineering and science, she heard those words enough in her lifetime.

So this became her project. Her burden. If this all worked out, she wouldn’t need anyone’s help except Nappa or Raditz. Maybe Krillin if he wanted to tag along. Yamcha and Tien would’ve been her top choice, but the two of them just got engaged, and she didn’t want to disturb them. Last time she spoke with Yamcha, they were already stressed out planning for their wedding next year. She didn’t need to add any potential stress to their plate. 

Krillin would’ve been the next top choice, if he wasn’t so busy studying to become a cop, of all professions. It did suit the man and he did seem happy about his future job. But that meant she had to rely on the two people who seemed the most likely to blab to Vegeta about her potential plan. Between Nappa and Raditz, she trusted Nappa more. Not only did he frequent over Capsule Corp more often as he lived and worked in West City, but he provided endless amount of information about space, the Galactic Patrol, Galactic Federation, Frieza’s Force, other planetary organizations, Saiyan language, Saiyan lore, Saiyan culture items and so much more. He seemed the most level headed and the most mature of the Saiyans she knew. 

Plus, Nappa didn’t have a human-ex lover like Raditz did. A human ex-lover Bulma never expected Raditz to have met, let alone dated this past year, until she learned over dinner one evening at ChiChi’s about this woman who drove Raditz crazy with lust then crazy with her antics. When she found out who this woman was, Bulma cackled on top of her lungs and Raditz gave her the dirtiest, grumpiest look she had ever seen. Worse than any ugly look Vegeta ever gave her. 

Now wasn’t the time to tell anyone her plans though. When the time came—when she finally found Gero’s lab and was able to take him down before the androids ever existed—then she would call upon Nappa and ask for his help. Until then—

“Hi mom!”

“GAH!” She shot out of her chair at the same time she slammed a palm down onto her emergency defense button next to the keyboard. When she turned around, ready to defend herself, she got a good look at who was there behind her and stopped herself mid-yell. “T-Trunks?” 

Her future son waved at her with one hand, the other hidden behind his back. He grinned at her from ear-to-ear, unperturbed by all the different weapons surrounding his cheeky face at all angles. “How’s it going?” 

“Uhhh f-fine…” She looked him over as she hit the button again, the weapons retreating almost instantly. “What’re you doing here? Did something else happen that you needed to warn us about?”

“Ahhh, nope!” 

“Oh thank goodness.” 

“I was just wondering if I could live here for a bit.” 

“… what.”

“Mhm! Just to make sure I didn’t come empty handed…” He finally revealed his other hand, where he held a drawstring sack obviously full of hoi-poi capsules. “I brought lots of tech from the future.”

Her brief bubble of shock and joy quickly burst as her usual scientific doubt and knowledge of “Saiyan’s being dumb” kicked in. “Does your mother know?” She shot him a glare, one she hoped her future self did in the future—a glare she reserved for unruly dumb Saiyans doing dumb things, like Vegeta. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Well… um…” He slowly dropped his offered hand holding the sack down to his side, shaking his head no. 

“And why is that?”

“Because dad got mad at me.” 

“Because…?”

His cheeks turned a soft pink as his gaze drifted down to the floor. “I… wasn’t supposed to be here.” He mumbled at the end, “To begin with. That is.”

One of her hands lifted to her temple to rub it in small circles. “Of course you weren’t.” She sighed. “Saiyans.”

“I promise I can explain everything—” 

“Oh, I’m sure you will. I won’t let you stay here otherwise.”

“Just don’t tell dad! Please?”

“Yeah, that won’t be a problem.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t have the time nor the patience to deal with that man’s overdramatic perspective.”

“Great!” 

“You have to do me a favor though.”

“Anything!”

She thumbed over her shoulder to the many screens behind and beside her. “Help me find that bastard Gero’s lab.”

Trunks frowned. “You mean it’s not in the Southwest region—”

“—near Korin’s? Nope.”

“Oh wow. It never moved in our timeline. Mom was able to find his lab but everything about the androids was erased, along with most of his other work.”

“Well, that won’t be the case this time. Not if I have anything to say about it.” She pointed at Trunks. “So that’s the deal. I won’t say a word to Vegeta that you screwed his future self over from coming to the past, as long as you don’t tell him that I’m working on finding Gero behind his back.” 

“You got it!” His smile turned into one Bulma recognized quite well: Vegeta’s shit-eating grin. “I can’t wait to take down those androids myself this time. Gero too.” That grin disappeared at the familiar sound of a roaring, empty stomach echoing in her lab. “Oops.”

She rolled her eyes. With a pivot onto her heel, she turned back to her computer screen. “Drop the bag here and go eat already. I’m sure Mom’s already got some food prepped for you, since I’m positive she’s the one who not only let you in but told you where to go to find me.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Damn right I’m not.” Bulma flopped back down onto her seat, waving over her shoulder. “Bring me some food down here once you’re done, okay?”

“Can do!” 

Bulma waited until she heard the retreating footsteps and subsequent lab door shutting before she slumped back into her chair and stared at the ceiling, arms folded behind her head. “Why the hell did Trunks do this behind Vegeta’s back to begin with?” She frowned. “What did Future Vegeta do?”

***

In another timeline, far in the future…

It didn’t take Future Bulma long to find him. She landed her flying car a good distance away from the crater—the exact site where Vegeta first landed decades ago. The crisp mountain air chilled her skin as she exited the vehicle, her long blue hair obscuring her vision here and there. She tucked a strand behind one of her ears as she walked towards Vegeta and the crater. 

Vegeta didn’t move at all. He stayed perfectly still like a statue, sitting on the grass that eventually grew to surround the crater in Mount Paozu. He hugged one knee to his chest, his attention focused solely on the man-made lake Vegeta turned the crater into after Goku’s death. 

Once she closed the gap between them, she knelt down beside him, tucking her legs under her body. She bowed her head at the three gravestones in front of them, staying quiet for a bit to send her prayers towards the three souls they cherished deeply. One who left this Earth too early in the prime of his life, one who left tragically after being killed in battle, and one who left unexpectedly, in a way none of them could’ve imagined. A terrible, horrible way, as tragic as the others.

Vegeta’s gruff voice cut through the silence. “Did you watch the security footage?”

Bulma lifted her head towards him. She shook her head no. 

She watched Vegeta’s gaze turn down, right to the three gravestones situated at the edge of the crater lake. She barely heard him as he hissed, “He lied to us.” Vegeta began to tremble, his fingers squeezing his leg to his chest tighter. “He went back already. He went twice.” He grit his teeth and said louder, “It was supposed to be me. Not him. He has no ties to them, to him—”

“Trunks did the right thing.” She stayed still as Vegeta startled, her voice shutting him into silence. She kept talking, even as Vegeta snapped his head in her direction to glare at her. “I don’t like that he lied to us. But Goku was the love of your life. Your mah’kha.” She leaned in, one of her eyebrows raising. “Do you honestly believe that you’d do the right thing and let him stay there in the past instead of trying to bring him back here?”

“I wouldn’t do that to my past self.”

“But you’d do it. You’d try.”

Vegeta shut his eyes. He tilted his head back in the direction of the three gravestones. Under his breath, he confessed, “The temptation exists.” 

“Exactly. Trunks has no connection to Goku. He delivered the heart medication the first time. He wanted to go back a second time to help them fight and warn them about Cell.” She sighed. “I don’t like that he was trying to do it a second time behind both of our backs… sneaky little shit.”

“He gets it from you.”

“You too, dickhead.” 

“More a human trait.”

“Saiyan’s are prideful dumbasses. You know I have examples. Don’t even try me.” The tension in her body released at the tiny smile that graced Vegeta’s scarred face. She touched his shoulder, saying, “Be angry with Trunks for lying to us. Not for wanting to help. He made the right call. You should be proud of him.”

Vegeta smirked. For a moment, she hoped for a witty quip, or a curse, something that was a hint of the old Vegeta. But when he glanced at the second oldest headstone—the one Vegeta created by hand, just like the others—Bulma’s vision blurred over, all from the palpable regret and angst that bled into Vegeta’s gaze, staring right at Gohan’s gravestone. 

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat before saying, “Don’t beat yourself up. Don’t go down that road again.” When he didn’t respond, she said louder, firmer, “You promised you wouldn’t.”

Relief washed over her as he raised his tail to curl around her left wrist—the Saiyan sign of reassurance towards uraves and others in the pashika.

The relief grew tenfold when he leaned into her touch and murmured under his breath, “You know I don’t break promises.”

She slid her hand from Vegeta’s shoulder down his back and to his waist, so she could hug his side to her chest. Vegeta leaned into her touch again. He didn’t resist as she pulled him close, even releasing his leg to embrace her better. 

Soon, Bulma found herself cuddling Vegeta’s side, burying the side of her face into his neck. Her nose ghosted the mating mark there, Goku’s mating mark, a sight that used to make her feel guilty and ashamed, but now gave her a weird sort of comfort. Vegeta was hers only because Goku encouraged it all those years ago. He asked her personally to stay by Vegeta’s side in his place, even telling her to become his wife on top of his urave. As awkward as Bulma felt, she wasn’t going to deny a dying man his last request. They married in a small ceremony with their loved ones present—the last time everyone was alive. The last time they all gathered for a semi-happy occasion, a few months before Goku died. Months before the androids destroyed everything. 

Her gaze drifted towards the newest gravestone. Her tears finally fell as she read the inscription: 

Son ChiChi. 

Wife, mother, urave, hero. 

The strongest woman on Earth. 

The woman who saved Bulma’s life in so many ways. The woman who stood up against Cell, saving Trunks and Bulma’s life before Vegeta showed up to kill him. The last integral part of their pashika, gone forever. 

She drifted her teary gaze towards the oldest gravestone, one that displayed Goku’s name. Gohan’s grave sat next to it. Vegeta’s son. Vegeta’s soulmate. The family he made when he first arrived on Earth all those years ago.

Without looking away from the gravestones, Bulma searched out Vegeta’s hand. Their fingers eventually touched and twined together, resting on top of Vegeta’s muscled thigh. 

Despite the wetness in her voice, she managed to say with conviction, “Trunks will win. He won’t fail. He will come back to us.” She squeezed his hand. “He will.”

Vegeta squeezed her wrist back with his tail. 

They sat there for a few more long, quiet moments, the occasional breeze and rippling water filling in the silence. Eventually, Vegeta moved first, helping Bulma to her feet. He kissed the top of each gravestone, lingering on Goku’s the longest, before finally taking Bulma’s hand in his and heading back home.

Later, when she tried finding the video footage of Trunks’s departure, she found it nowhere in her database nor her lab. She didn’t have to investigate very long as to what happened. The way her lab looked trashed, as well as the scorch marks on her cameras, told her everything she needed to know. The sad part was she knew she wasn’t going to get anything out of Vegeta about what actually happened between him and Trunks. Not until Trunks came home. Hopefully came home. 

***

Back in the other timeline…

Trunks grinned from ear-to-ear from where he sat at the kitchen table, empty dishes and bowls strewn across the top. “And that’s it!” He shrugged with a small chuckle. “That’s why I’m here. Gotta get stronger and help you guys out!” 

Across from him, Vegeta glared at him, the suspicious gaze similar to his father’s in the future. The biggest difference was the lack of anguish and scars on his face. “Mm.” He placed his elbows onto the table, his chin resting on top of his clasped palms. “I’m surprised ‘future me’ let you go in his place. If he’s as strong as you say he is, what with this next level of Super Saiyan—”

“Oh yeah, he’s way stronger than me, aha!” Trunks masked his nervousness with a wide smirk—a look he knew his future dad always succumbed to back then: the Saiyan look of pride and determination. The truth bled out alongside the lie as he explained, “But that’s why I had to come back here! I gotta make my dad proud. I’m a Saiyan Prince and I have to get stronger, just like dad has!” 

He knew he won when Vegeta’s suspicious glare subsided into one of ambivalence and acceptance. “Still should’ve come with.”

From the stove, ChiChi chimed in mid-cooking another batch of fried rice with her gigantic wok. “Oh hush. You just wanted to fight him and you know it.”

“Feh!” 

Everyone at the table chuckled at Vegeta’s indignant response. Trunks observed them all, these people he only knew stories of. Nappa and Raditz, Yamcha and Tien, Krillin and Piccolo. People who died fighting the androids to the best of their ability. 

Immediately next to him sat Gohan. A younger, happier Gohan, dressed in purple gi like Piccolo. He watched Gohan turn towards him, a big grin on his face. “Bulma told me you brought lots of technology from the future to help us out too.”

On the other side of Trunks, Bulma spoke up, leaning in over the table. “He did!” She tapped her watch and out came a holographic image, showing schematics to a weapon his future mom created. “Look at this! I never thought something like this could exist—”

“Oi, Bulma,” Goku said, coming up behind her, carrying in from outside a huge bundle of chopped firewood for the stove oven. “You know the rule ChiChi has at the dinner table. No shop talk.”

“Ugh, okay, fine.” Bulma slumped back into her seat. She pointed a finger at Gohan. “After dinner. You and me.” She shot a grin over her shoulder towards ChiChi at the stove. “Consider it a science project! Gohan can apply the science he’s learning now.”

ChiChi grinned. “Ohhh, great idea! I like that!” She turned from the stove, taking the huge bundle of wood from Goku. “Thank you dear. Get eating! Vegeta’s on the way to having fifths.”

“Aw, no fair!” Goku turned towards Vegeta with a pout. “You better have saved me some of her spam musubi.”

Vegeta shrugged. “Your fault for coming in late.”

“Hey!” Before Goku could protest further, Vegeta revealed to him a plate full of spam musubi. His pout turned into a wide smile. “Yes!” Goku bounded up to Vegeta’s side, giving him a big kiss on his cheek, his tail wagging happily behind him. “You’re so good to me.” 

“Yes, yes, I know.” The sight of his father returning that affection by turning his head and kissing Goku on the cheek too nearly made Trunks fall off his chair. “I spoil you.”

Raditz’s groan of disgust caught everyone’s attention. “Please, I just ate.” 

Goku stuck his tongue out at his brother while Nappa rolled his eyes and muttered, “You’re just a bitter ex.” 

Everyone at the kitchen table started laughing at Raditz going on his latest tirade about his ex, a woman they apparently all knew and were familiar with, except Trunks. He stayed quiet and listened in, observing everyone from where he sat at the head of the table with a small smile on his face. This must’ve been what his future mom talked about, how they had a ‘huge, loving pashika.’ It was nice, finally experiencing this. 

He wondered if what else his mom said would come true. How ‘your father was different back then.’ So far, he hadn’t seen much of a difference outside of the physical aspect… until he saw his father kiss Goku’s cheek. Even now, as Goku teased his brother, adding in to the boisterous cacophony of voices around him, he noticed his dad’s tail do things he never did with his mom. How that tail nuzzled Goku’s under the table. How his tail curled around Goku’s thigh. Even the way Vegeta looked at Goku was different. He gave his full attention to Goku, but he looked at Goku as if he was the only person in the room. The only person that mattered. 

Trunks pointedly ignored the two of them together for the rest of the evening, suppressing his growing irritation and frustration at Vegeta. It wasn’t that he didn’t like seeing his father be affectionate with Goku in ways he wasn’t with his mom. It was the fact that his father was affectionate at all. That he did possess the ability to be kind and nice and sweet. That his mom seemed to be right and that his dad must’ve changed after Goku and Gohan’s deaths. He definitely did after ChiChi’s death—

He shook his head, hopeful no one saw him perform the action. No. No sympathy for dad. Zero. He observed everyone, his main focus on his father. I’m here to prove him wrong. He glared at him as he chewed his food, the edges of his own lavender tail bristling. I am better than Gohan, dammit. You’ll see. He smirked—a smirk just like Vegeta’s. I’ll make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Raditz huffed from where he sat on the medical metal table, his head propped up in his palm, elbow digging into the top of his left thigh. Red and blue wires stuck to various places on his body. A big screen behind him read off current data values, the numbers and words popping up alongside a silhouette of his own body. 

He glared at Bulma typing away at her computer, babbling some science crap he barely understood. Beside her stood Trunks, holding a tablet and a stylus pen, jotting down copious amounts of notes. He glanced at the clock nearby on the wall, a groan slipping out when he noticed how much time had passed. 

A whole year of this medical bullshit. Going to Bulma’s, taking test after test, checking and rechecking their vitals to ensure no one was getting this heart virus, poking and prodding and scanning their bodies again and again until Raditz wanted to scream and blow up the nearest thing beside him. The only consolation he had was the fact that he didn’t suffer through this alone. Nappa, Vegeta, Goku and Gohan all had to go through the same tests. Even Trunks. 

This was getting ridiculous though. Hours spent sitting here, going through experiment after experiment, treated like a proverbial lab rat, when he could’ve spent that time training in one of those gravity chambers Bulma created… 

He growled under his breath, tail bristling behind him. “How much fucking longer?”

The sound must’ve caught Bulma’s ears, because she stopped mid-sentence and turned towards him with a big, apologetic smile. “Just another minute, promise! We’re compiling the data.” 

“Tch. Fine.” He rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath, “Not like I got a world to save or some shit…”

“I heard that!” 

Raditz chuckled, ignoring Bulma’s pointed glare at him. He surveyed her lab, still fascinated by this place, even after coming here for so long. The more he came, the less his ‘attacks’ appeared. He reacted much more differently from his brother who cried and screamed in horror just by the appearance of a needle. Bulma told him so.

The very first day he started coming to Bulma’s place for these tests, he suffered his first ‘attack.’ Bulma barely started her first exam before Raditz’s mind transported him back to Frieza’s ship and the horrors he suffered there. When he finally returned to reality, he had no idea how much time had passed or how he ended up on a bed and not on the lab table. 

Bulma didn’t judge nor did she insist Raditz divulge any details. Instead, she described what she believed it was—something called post-traumatic stress syndrome, or ‘shell-shocked.’ He remembered something like that on Planet Vegeta, something that Nappa told him was a common side effect soldiers endured post-war. ‘Dra’zela.’ War mind. When Bulma offered to help treat these attacks, he listened to them all and decided to do the only Saiyan-sounding option: put himself into these situations that caused these ‘attacks,’ figure out what caused them to happen and then train himself out of whatever it was that affected him. 

He couldn’t afford these ‘attacks.’ Not when his brother’s life was on the line. Not when apparently everyone died fighting these Androids. According to Trunks, they only had one year left. Neither he nor Nappa turned Super Saiyan yet, something Vegeta swore they were close to achieving, but Raditz really, really did not want to suffer through kutshisha for it. He didn’t believe Vegeta either when he stated he achieved Super Saiyan without it. There was no way it could be true. His brother clearly wasn’t the same after Namek, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

Part of him wanted to talk to Goku about this. Somewhere deep inside himself, he believed his brother suffered the same thing he did in some capacity. The other part of him decided to leave it be. He understood too well what it was like to keep things quiet. The only people who knew he had dra’zela were Bulma, Trunks and ChiChi. No one else needed to know. Not even his brother. The last thing he wanted to do was add something else for Goku to worry about. 

Raditz glanced up at the clock again, checking the time. The second hand ticked away, counting the seconds that passed. More time wasted here. More time spent in this place, being tested and monitored. Not fighting, not getting stronger. Staying stagnant. Staying weak. 

The ticking of the clock matched the beep of the heart monitor. Each tick increased in volume. Each beep too. 

His breathing picked up, his focus solely on the moving black line. 

Time passed by. Time wasted here. Wasting away.

His skin turned cold. 

Weakling. Zarbon’s voice. 

The beep of the heart monitor turned into the beeping of a regeneration tank. 

Useless. Dodoria’s voice. 

Pin-prick sensations down his spine. Needles poking his arms and legs. Tubes shoved down his throat. 

Bones crushed under powerful fists. Mocking laughter. Annoyed sneers. 

Raditz’s teeth chattered. 

Frieza loomed over his broken bones, shaking his head back and forth. 

Pathetic little monkey. 

White clawed hands reached out for his neck—

“Raditz!” 

He gasped, falling backwards against a solid, cold wall. He blinked rapidly, clearing his mind, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

Trunks stood right in front of him. “Breathe. You’re okay.” He patted Raditz’s shoulders. “You’re on Earth. You’re in the lab. Squeeze your hands. Deep breaths.”

He followed what Trunks instructed as Bulma came up to his side, sitting next to him on the table. “Do you remember what it was this time?”

Raditz took a moment to clear his voice with a few coughs before answering, “The clock. The sound.” He flicked his attention to the heart monitor and pointed to it. “That thing. Both of them. They sounded the same. In the ship. Before they...” He ran a hand over his clammy, cold face, pulling at the skin with a disgruntled sigh. “Demet.” Dammit. He shot up to his feet, ripping the numerous chords away from his chest. “I’m sorry. I can’t do anything more today.”

He walked forward, ignoring the platitudes Trunks and Bulma shouted his way. The “It’s okay!” “No problem!” “Don’t worry about it.” “We got enough data.” “You’re fine!” Like usual. Like always. He shrugged off their attempts at comforting touches, ignored their suggestions for him to go home and take the day off training. He had work to do. A goal to achieve. 

Once he slipped back into his gi top, Raditz marched his way out of the lab to the outside front lawn of Capsule Corp. There in front of him stood the two large Gravity Chambers, identical in size and in shape but labeled and colored differently. One was labeled “Chamber 1” and had black and gold trim. The other was labeled “Chamber 2” and had black and red trim. 

Piccolo stood cross-armed in front of Chamber 2, the one that housed Nappa and Gohan’s fluctuating ki. Raditz nodded to him as he passed by, heading towards Chamber 1. 

As he approached the door, he heard Piccolo say, “I suggest waiting your turn.” 

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Raditz, wait—”

“Fuck waiting. I’m done waiting.”

“Goddammit— ”

“I don’t even care if they’re fucking in there right now!” He raised a fist towards the door. “I have to—”

A clawed green hand squeezed his wrist hard, holding his arm in place. 

Raditz snapped his head to the side, shooting a glare at Piccolo. 

The irritation and indignation Raditz harbored inside disappeared at the sight of Piccolo’s grim face. 

He slowly lowered his arm to his side. Piccolo released his wrist one clawed finger at a time. 

His heart dropped when Piccolo said, “They need to be alone. For now. Their kis haven’t felt right for the last thirty minutes. Especially Goku’s.”

He swallowed a few times, holding back the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t sound as composed as he wanted to be as he mumbled, “My brother hasn’t been doing that great lately.”

Piccolo nodded. “He hasn’t. I keep thinking it’s the heart virus, but it doesn’t feel like that.” Nausea bubbled in his stomach as Piccolo shot a pointed, concerned look at the door to Chamber 1. “It feels… like hurt. Pain. Panic.” 

Whatever Raditz wanted to say next, the opening of Chamber 1’s door silenced him. Piccolo and him stepped back and out of the way as Goku emerged from within, his gi in tatters, small cuts and bruises littering his face and bare arms. His tail wrapped around his waist, holding his tattered pants up. 

For a split second, Raditz caught his brother’s eye, and he froze in place at what he saw. 

A haunted, pained look. A pain he knew well.

That pain disappeared as Goku’s mask came right up. He grinned at both of them, thumbing over his shoulder towards the open door behind him. “All yours, bro! I’m gonna head home for the rest of the day, okay?” He shot up into the sky before Raditz could say anything. He waved over his shoulder as he shouted, “Have fun!” 

He watched his brother fly off, frozen in place. The urge to fly after him, stop him, give him a big hug, tell him he wasn’t alone, that he understood, that they could talk and that they could get through this together—Raditz ignored it, for now. Time and place. Now wasn’t it. Not yet. 

The nausea never left. It stayed as he entered the chamber and found a shirtless Vegeta there, standing hunched over in front of the machine. His gloved fingers almost created dents into the steel, his bristling tail whipping back and forth, the tip of it low to the ground—a Saiyan sign for boiling rage, simmering anger. A sign that should’ve told Raditz to high-tail it out of there and leave Vegeta alone. 

Behind him, he heard Piccolo say, “Raise your ki if you need out. I’ll let Bulma know and she’ll hit the emergency shutdown button.” 

Raditz nodded without looking back.

The door to the chamber hissed shut. 

He stayed perfectly still, staring at Vegeta’s hunched over, sweaty back. The hum of the computer filled the uncomfortable stretch of silence between them. 

Vegeta’s thrumming tail finally stilled. The tip of it stabbed the silver ground beneath his boots. 

One of Vegeta’s gloved hands unfurled, slipping away from the gravity console. The deep dents in the steel he left in his wake shined under the artificial light.

The anxiety inside Raditz intensified as Vegeta slowly said, “You will not leave this place until you are a Super Saiyan.” He watched Vegeta slowly turn his body around, taking in his red-rimmed eyes, tousled hair and wet cheeks. “I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if you beg for mercy. It has to be done.”

He nodded. “Time is running out.”

“Exactly. We can’t afford being the only ones anymore. Not with—” 

“I know.” 

“Tch.” 

“I understand him.” 

“Sure you do.”

“Yes. I do.”

Vegeta’s glare didn’t scare him like it used to in the past, because this glare wasn’t the one Raditz knew. There wasn’t the underlying rage, the need to destroy, or the promise of carnage and violence. Instead, all Raditz found were two emotions only: uncertainty and hope. 

He watched Vegeta slowly turn around to face him fully.

Vegeta crossed his arms, his tail rewrapping itself around his waist tight. 

A full body tremor ran through Raditz’s frozen frame as Vegeta stared right at him—almost right through him—his voice low, almost throaty. 

“The day I turned Super Saiyan was the best and worst day of my life. I mean it when I say kutshisha isn’t needed.” Unsaid hurt and anguish peppered Vegeta’s tone. “The pain, anger and self-hatred I felt inside was more than enough to trigger the transformation.” His voice wavered. “Because I failed him. I hurt him.” His ki raised higher, and higher. Vegeta grit his teeth hard, his lips turning into a snarl. “It was my fault.” As quick as that ki arrived, it disappeared in time with Vegeta’s long, drawn out sigh. The usual mask of indifference settled over him, his voice now even-toned and leveled. “That is what you need to tap into. That is what I will push you towards. If you’re not ready for that, leave now and bring Nappa here instead.”

Raditz instantly fell into a battle stance. He gestured Vegeta forward with one of his hands, his lips a thin, tight line. 

Vegeta reached behind him with one hand. He slammed his palm onto a big button on the console. 

The lights turned from fluorescent white to deep red. The gravity machine read off the numbers until it stopped at 200Gs. 

Despite the intensity and the pain, Raditz managed to grumble out, “Do your worst.”

Without looking away, Vegeta followed suit, falling into his own stance. He flared up into Super Saiyan with ease, the golden glow surrounding his whole frame. With a small smirk on his face, Vegeta chuckled and replied, “I plan on it.”

***

ChiChi knew something was wrong with her boys. She knew ever since the day Vegeta and Goku came back from that planet they were on. Yardrat. After living with Raditz in her home for the last two years, she recognized the signs when it came to Goku. The two of them really did have similar tells. Her heart ached when she noticed particular signs that reminded her of Raditz’s condition. As much as she wanted to bring this up with Goku, she didn’t feel like it was the right time to do so. They all had to focus on training for the upcoming battle of their lives. 

But it proved harder and harder to not bring it up as time went on. She knew Goku too well. She knew when he put up some sort of mask to hide his emotions. Vegeta did the same thing, as did Raditz, Nappa and her little Gohan. It was the Saiyan in them. But she knew how to get through to each of them in her own way. Gohan was always the easiest to break through. Raditz happened over time. Nappa started opening up to her finally. 

Vegeta and Goku were never a problem, until now. 

She observed them from afar the last two years. Aside from Goku holding up an obvious mask to cover his emotions, there was something else there. Something she couldn’t describe well enough. Raditz told her one evening that it was most likely Namek-related, and she agreed. They didn’t divulge much about what happened there or on Yardrat. Just that they trained and that Vegeta achieved Super Saiyan without kutshisha and that was it. She knew deep down that wasn’t the full story though. 

Part of her hated the thought of Vegeta and Goku no longer trusting her. The other part of her—the one that knew it was a total lie—won out. She knew it wasn’t a matter of trust. That, and ChiChi knew their relationship wasn’t the way it used to be. They weren’t a pashika of three, raising a half-Saiyan child in the middle of nowhere. She wasn’t a bright-eyed girl, thrilled to be married to the man of her dreams and in a pashika with a fellow royal. After what happened the last couple of years, change was bound to happen. She still loved both of them, still wanted to be part of their lives, but this wasn’t going to be her life forever. 

ChiChi knew what she wanted to be. Who she wanted to be with. Three problems stood in her way of achieving what she wanted. One: the fact that these androids were on the way and she might not have this future she wanted. Two: the fact that she needed to receive Goku’s blessing to pursue this relationship. And three, the scariest one: the fact that she most likely would be the one to make the first move, and the fear and likeliness of rejection remained quite high. 

She stood in front of the living room window, watching Raditz descend onto the ground, his gi in tatters. Despite the lack of sunlight, she was able to make out the cuts and bruises that littered his whole body from head to toe. One of his shoes was missing. His right cheek swelled, the eye almost closed shut. 

A moment later, Vegeta landed behind him, looking almost equally as wasted as Raditz did, sans the swelling and lost shoe. The way they looked at each other quelled the rising worry inside of her. 

From where she stood, she could hear their conversation filter inside the house. “Let that be a reminder,” Vegeta said with a big, shit-eating grin, crossing his arms over his chest. “Never ask for my worst.”

Raditz spat a glob of blood onto the ground. He flipped Vegeta off with a playful smirk.

Vegeta chuckled. “You’re welcome.” He spun on his heel, walking away towards his home. “Get yourself fixed up. You earned it.” 

“Damn right I—ow, ow, ow—” Raditz clutched the right side of his face with both of his hands. “Uurrrhghgh, huuuurts.” 

“Crybaby.” 

“Eat shit!” 

“No thanks.” 

“Grrr!” 

As Vegeta walked away, Nappa, Piccolo and Gohan landed near Raditz, one after the other. Piccolo and Nappa both appeared exhausted, their gi in ruins like Raditz, but their bodies not as busted up. Gohan raced towards the front door, his gi not as ripped up as the others, his body only sporting a few cuts.

“Mom!! MOM!!” ChiChi turned in time to watch the door slam open. Gohan stuck his head inside, shouting, “Uncle Raditz did it! He’s a Super Saiyan!” 

“Oh my goodness!” She followed her son out the door, running over to her pashika. “Congratulations!” She flung her arms around Raditz’s neck, hugging him tight. “You did it! You actually did it!” 

“Ahh, watch the neck, watch the neck!” 

“Oops!” She instantly released him. “Sorry about that!”

Nappa came up to Raditz’s side, clasping a hand onto his shoulder. “I think we should celebrate this occasion.” He chuckled, shaking Raditz a little under his grip. “It’s not every day this cub beats me at something first.” 

“Oi!” Raditz shrugged off Nappa’s hold, giving him a stink-eye. “I’m not a cub anymore!” 

“You sure act like one.”

“HEY!” 

ChiChi stepped between them, waving her hands in front of her. “Now now, none of that, boys.” 

In stereo, Nappa and Raditz mumbled, “Sorry, Lady ChiChi.”

“That’s better.” She giggled, clapping her hands. “This is fantastic news. I was already prepping dinner, but now I have to make it extra good!” She walked around both Saiyans, heading towards Vegeta and Goku’s home. “Let me go ask if they—”

Piccolo’s hand on her shoulder stopped her mid-step, as did his gruff warning. “It’s best if they have the evening alone.”

She glanced up at Piccolo, taking in his deep frown. She noticed the same concerned look on Raditz and Nappa’s faces, as well as Gohan’s. 

Turning towards Raditz, she asked, “They’re okay, though… right?”

“They are. No injuries.” She watched Raditz turn his worried gaze towards the other house, muttering, “They just need some space.”

“…oh.” She swallowed the rising bile in her throat, forcing a smile onto her face. “Okay. That’s fine.” ChiChi turned back towards her home, ushering everyone inside. “Come on, boys. Let’s get inside before it gets too cold, okay?”

She stood beside the front door, waiting for everyone to enter. Once they all headed in, ChiChi turned her attention back to Goku and Vegeta’s house. She stood there for a good moment, observing the moving trees, the orange-pink sky turning purple and black. 

Under her breath, she muttered, “Please be okay.”

***

Sleep didn’t come easy to Gohan that night. At first, when he flopped onto his bed post-dinner, he passed out quickly. Two hours later, though, he found himself staring at the ceiling, wide awake, his body filled with a sudden bout of anxiety. 

He tried breathwork at first, but his anxiety didn’t dissipate. So he focused on fixing his sleeping area instead. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position. He flipped his pillows, rearranged the sheets, rolled onto his side, his back, his stomach, his other side—but nothing worked. A glance at the clock on his nightstand informed him his efforts were in vain. Four hours passed since he initially woke up. 

Climbing out of bed, Gohan rubbed his palms over his face. On unsteady feet he walked forward towards the window, his loose tail dragging behind him. With one hand, he unlatched the lock and pushed the glass upwards. The cool night breeze and its mountain scent simultaneously filled his lungs and removed the stuffy air inside. 

He rested his palms onto the windowsill, blinking his eyes open. 

In the near distance, a figure sat on the grass under the waxing.

Gohan focused on the body’s silhouette. 

Muscled, shirtless frame. Spiky hair, shaped in a widow’s peak. 

He frowned. 

Vegeta. Sitting there in the front lawn of his house. Alone. 

Part of him prepared to shut the window and go back to bed. The other part pushed Gohan to climb out of the window and head over towards Vegeta. 

He fully expected and prepared to listen to the former. 

He had no idea he listened to the latter until he found himself outside, almost halfway towards Vegeta. 

Vegeta’s gravely voice stopped Gohan from coming any closer. “Go back to bed.”

Gohan’s hands turned to fists by his sides. His tail began to bristle behind him. “You should too.” 

“Mm. True.” 

“So why aren’t you?”

Despite Vegeta’s whole body obscured in darkness, Gohan made out the outline of his hunched over frame, his arms hugging one of his legs to his chest, his tail laying limp on the ground, and his piercing gaze. “I’m thinking.”

“About?”

Vegeta shrugged.

“That’s not helpful.”

“Not looking for help.”

“Of course you’re not.”

“Hi’nai, kr’o’tash.” Shut up, child.

“Make me.”

He caught the tail end of Vegeta’s smirk. “Not in the mood.” Gohan’s sarcastic retort died on his lips at the unnerving sight of Vegeta’s tail lifting up, only to pat on the ground beside him a few times. “Sit.” 

His whole body trembled, his anxiety from before spiking as he took a seat next to Vegeta. He maintained a good distance from him. Close enough to hear Vegeta, but far enough to not be anywhere in touching distance. 

A gust of wind chilled his skin. Gohan rubbed one of his cold arms. He wrapped his tail around his waist, forcing himself to focus not on Vegeta but on the view of Mount Paozu at night. 

Vegeta’s next words caught him off guard. “I want you to spend time with your father tomorrow.” He snapped his attention directly to Vegeta, finding him looking not at the view, nor at him, but at the house instead. “He needs it.”

Gohan flickered his attention between the house and Vegeta. He noticed which window Vegeta stared at must’ve belonged to their bedroom. His father’s ki radiated from within that area. A glance over of Vegeta’s body language, and all Gohan was able to discern in terms of his mental state came from that uncharacteristically unwound tail. 

It remained limp on the grass beside Vegeta, but the tip thrummed back and forth. A sight Gohan once saw years ago in the hospital, the day his father was injured after the fight with Dodoria. 

He licked his dry lips before voicing the question that burned in Gohan’s mind for a while now, since they returned to Earth. “Dad hasn’t been okay, has he?”

Instead of the silence he expected, Vegeta answered him, without hesitation. “He’s better than he was before.” He froze at the sound of Vegeta’s shuddering breath, his quivering sigh. The emotion in his voice, the emotion that seeped into those six words he uttered: “On Yardrat… he was… I didn’t…” 

Then with a speed Gohan barely followed, Vegeta shot up to his feet, turning his whole back to him. He snapped his twitching tail around his waist, the thrumming long gone. 

Gohan climbed to his own feet as well. He stayed in place, observing Vegeta. How he stood perfectly still like a statue, his breathing even-tempered, his ki too. 

A long, long sigh filled the silence between them. 

“Forget what you heard,” Vegeta said. “It’s not my story to tell.”

It took Gohan a moment to find his voice. He answered with a gentle, “S’okay.” 

“Do what I asked of you for tomorrow.” 

“I will.”

“Hn.” The darkness of the night submerged Vegeta’s frame as he walked away towards the house. “En’l’esh.” Good night.

Gohan waited until Vegeta was completely out of earshot and inside the house before he answered in a very soft, very gentle voice, “En’l’esh… ja’ta.”

Chapter Text

Out in the middle of nowhere, far from the cities and the mountains, a large creature sat inside an oval-shaped, heavy piece of machinery with steam coming out from its three sides. The morning sunlight warmed its cold, smooth skin, reflecting light that bounced off his dark green thorax and the tip of his shining, spongy, needle-like tail. 

A computer screen on the console flashed the words in big red lettering: “LAB NOT FOUND.” 

“Goddamnit.” It slammed its webbed hands down near the keyboard, the force of the hit rattling the whole machine. “Where is it? Why wouldn’t it be there? How the hell am I supposed to be—?”

beep 

beep beep 

It blinked a few times as the console screen changed. The data on the lab it needed disappeared as another lab popped up instead. It scanned the attempts at contact with the time machine, the computers recognizing each other, but not understanding how this machine was vastly more superior than the other one.

The machine’s on-board AI began to speak in a monotone robotic voice: Connection to CCap01 failed. Commence ‘Operation Battery?’

It frowned. “What is that?”

A tool made in place to force a link to CCap01 when connection between the ship and headquarters cannot be established. 

A big, toothless grin crossed its face. “Proceed.”

In an instant, the screen visibly turned black. 

Within seconds, the screen restarted. In big green lettering, two words flashed before it: ‘CONNECTION ESTABLISHED.’

Those words reflected off its big bug eyes. It caught its own smirking reflection on the console. 

When a voice kicked in over the internal PA system, it lost its elation and sense of triumph. But that sudden bout of fear and nervousness disappeared when he recognized the voice of a woman it killed not too long ago. Not just any woman either, but the very creator of this machine it confiscated for itself.  The woman it would have gone after, because only she would’ve been the one to find the place he needed. 

His grin turned into a gigantic smirk as he heard Bulma say, “You did it, dad. You found Gero’s lab.”

***

Deep in her lab—surrounded by holographic images of data, computer screens filled with locations around Earth and thousands of papers—Bulma gawked at a digitized map her father found, along with a signal and its pin-pointed location. 

The signal Bulma waited for. 

Finally.

She mumbled under her breath, “It… I just… it couldn’t be this easy. It shouldn’t have been.” She turned to her father, her shaky hands sliding into her hair to pull on it. “How did I miss this?!”

“Err…” Her father glanced around her lab. “Well.” He scratched the side of his cheek with an index finger. “Sometimes it is easy to overlook what is quite obviously there if you’re too, shall I say… uh, ‘lost in the weeds’ to really see it.”

“Bah! I wasn’t distracted at all!”

“Sweetie, that’s not what it—”

”Look at all of this! You see?!” She gestured to the entire lab and the screens around her. “All I focused on was this and this alone!”

“Yes, dear. This and this alone, for three years.” 

“Two years, ten months and sixteen days.” 

“Exactly my point.”

Bulma opened her mouth—and shut it just as quick. She growled, her hands turning to shaking fists by her sides. “Well, excuse me! I had to basically do what no Saiyan in their right mind would allow me to do, save for Nappa of all people!” Her anger melted away as she smiled, snapping her fingers. “Oh yeah! Gotta call Nappa.” A quick glance at the clock and she whipped out her cell phone from her lab coat front pocket. “He’s on break right now so this is perfect timing.” 

Her father chuckled, turning on his heel to exit the room. “Shall I prepare your hover car?” 

“Yes, go, go!!” She waved him off with one hand, the other clicking away at her cell phone keyboard without looking at it. “I gotta text him!” 

“Oh, why not Vegeta too—”

“Dad! I’ve told you a million times why I can’t tell that idiot anything!” 

Her father blinked a few times. “Ah. Yes. The maiming.”

“Yes, dad , the maiming.”

“I still believe he won’t do anything physically to you—”

“Duly noted, now go!” As her father finally left the lab, Nappa responded to her with a text message of one emoji: a simple thumbs up. “Oh come on.” She rolled her eyes, typing away at the cell keyboard. “How about giving me an ETA?”

As she texted with Nappa, her back stayed turned to the computer screen. It didn’t matter that she finished her conversation with Nappa in five minutes. That was enough time for a foreign computer to start downloading the exact same data, sending it off to a different piece of Capsule Corp machinery.

A piece of machinery eerily similar to the one Trunks brought from the future.

***

Almost an hour later, Nappa regretted leaving work early. 

Standing in front of a cave deep in a mountain range he had never visited before, he held himself back from barfing as some kind of bug-like creature swallowed a human whole, head first. From that creature, he registered the kis of almost everyone he knew: Goku, Vegeta, Raditz, Piccolo. Even a little bit of Frieza and himself, which really confused him when they started heading out to Gero’s lab. His gut instinct told him to call Vegeta at least, to get some back up out here. It didn’t feel right or safe not having any kind of backup. But Bulma refused to listen to his concerns. “Stick to the plan,” she insisted. So he did, resisting the urge to surreptitiously text Vegeta behind Bulma’s back. 

Now, Bulma stood beside him in the middle of Gero’s lab, screaming her head off in terror at the disgusting sight before them. 

Jean-covered legs and white sneakers kicked in the air, the upper half long gone, sucked up by what looked like the creature’s tail. The signs of struggle littered the surrounding area, cracked tubes and broken rock and thick steel doors torn to pieces. Gero’s severed head and crushed body parts strewn around the room added to the chaotic scene. 

It made sense to turn Super Saiyan. He planned on using it, even though his bodyguard uniform would most likely tear into pieces due to the high intensity of Super Saiyan ki. Being potentially naked didn’t matter when it came to kicking the ass of a powerful, terrifying creature like this one. 

Then, over the sound of Bulma’s scream of terror came another feminine voice inside the lab. A loud, terrified voice. 

“Seventeen!!” Another female voice. “BROTHER!” 

Nappa found the source of it coming from a corner of the lab. 

A woman with short blonde hair, bloodied torn clothes, struggled to come to her feet. She clutched at what obviously looked like a dislocated shoulder, hissing blood out and down her chin through her clenched teeth. 

Her rage dissolved into shock as she shouted again, “NOOO!” 

He turned back to the monster in time to watch the tail suck in the entire body, the tail’s flesh molding around the struggling frame.

Nappa turned away, his stomach lurching, as the tail pushed the obviously alive body towards the creature itself. 

“Nope.” He grabbed Bulma’s arm, yanking her to him. “Not staying for that shit.” 

“W-Wha?” He hooked Bulma under his armpit, the motion clearly knocking the sheer terror from before out of her. She struggled in his grip. “Nappa! What’re you doing?!”

“Not staying for whatever the fuck sci-fi shit happens next.”

“But—!” 

“NOPE.” 

“My ship!” 

“You have a fleet of ships, get over it!” He zoomed his way to the blonde girl, snatching her up in his other burly arm. “We’re outta here.”

She, too, started struggling in his grip. “But my brother—!” 

He growled down at her. “NOT.” Then at Bulma. “STAYING.” 

They didn’t have a chance to respond. Nappa blasted out of the lab and into the sky with as much ki as he could muster. He headed towards Capsule Corp, growling under his breath not from the two women struggling and yelling in his grip, but from the sheer rise of ki from the monster they left behind. It kept getting higher, and higher . Astronomically so. Worse than Frieza. Much, much worse. 

Over the whistling wind around him, Nappa muttered to himself, “Never not telling Vegeta anything again.”

***

Mid-spar, Piccolo and Gohan froze in the air. They gaped at each other, then turned towards the fast growing ki in the far distance. 

“Mr. P-Piccolo?” Gohan floated closer to him. “Why do I feel… you over there?”

A few seconds later, Raditz flew over towards them in Super Saiyan form. He gawked at his nephew and at Piccolo before he too looked in the same direction as the others. He trembled all over as the ki kept growing, and growing, and growing. He wiped a hand over his mouth, muttering to himself in a tight voice, “What the fuck? ” He shook his head. “What the hell is that?”

***

On the Lookout, Kami startled in place, the surge of ki knocking him out of his meditation. He trembled all over, grasping his staff with both hands, struggling to wrap his mind over how huge that ki was and how it didn’t seem to stop. Even more worryingly, that ki held the same signatures as his top two students—

“K-Kami?” Mr. Popo entered his meditation room, poking his head through the door. “What is t-that?”

“Something… I’ve never...” He shook his head no. “This is impossible.” He growled, squeezing his staff hard. “Goku and Vegeta, Piccolo and Nappa… all in the same place? At the same time? How can this be?” 

***

Deep in the forest of Mount Paozu, near the crater where Vegeta landed over a decade ago, Goku powered out of Super Saiyan, his tail sticking up straight behind him in shock. 

In front of him, Vegeta’s curled tail around his waist bristled and twitched. He, too, fell out of Super Saiyan, their spar cut short by the sudden rising ki coming from far away. 

Together, they turned in the direction of that ki. Goku broke the thick silence between them, murmuring, “I feel… everyone there. Everyone.” 

Vegeta floated closer to Goku, his hands twitching by his sides. “Frieza too.”

“Are these… do you think—” Goku’s shaky hand reached out towards Vegeta’s hip. “—this is it? The androids?”

“No. Too early. Not what Trunks described at all.” 

“But Trunks said—”

“I know what he said about possible timeline divergences. I don’t care.” He snatched up Goku’s fingers in his gloved hand. “It’s still too early.” He twined their fingers together hard, the leather of his gloves squeaking from how tight he held Goku’s hand. “It’s not them.”

Goku turned his focus back towards Vegeta, his gaze sad, his lips a firm line.

Vegeta stared ahead, his face ashen, his jawline firm. 

A small whistling breeze waved their messy hair here and there, filling the tense silence. Their torn gis rustled, the breeze chilling their skin.

Slowly, Goku returned the hand squeeze, just as hard, just as tight. He nodded once.

Vegeta audibly and visibly swallowed, his cheeks reddening. His eyelids closed shut in time with his shaky exhale. 

Their tails eventually met in a twine as tight and as firm as their clasped hands.

***

Back at Capsule Corp, Trunks sat in the living room, eating his lunch. He stopped mid-chew of his sandwich, his tail twitching and eyebrows shooting up at the insanely strong ki he registered from far away. His shock changed into recognition for the briefest of seconds, then confusion. Palpable confusion.

He swallowed his bite before muttering to himself, “Now? He’s here now?” 

Trunks glanced at his cell phone on the couch beside him. It read today’s date—March 12th—not May 12th. Three months before the androids were supposed to show up. At least fifteen years before he was supposed to show up. 

“Hm. Well.” He shrugged. “Okay then. Timeline divergence. Had a feeling it was going to happen since Mom said so. Anyway...” He picked up his sandwich again in one hand, the remote in the other, turning his attention back to the television. “Wonder what else is on…”

***

Back in Gero’s lab, the bug-like creature glowed a bright white light. Its body transformed, growing taller, larger in overall size. Its bug-like appearance with its wings disappeared, its horns pointing upward, forming a crown shape. The creature’s much more humanoid-like face—sans a nose—began to appear. Once the light dissipated for good, the rest of the creature’s humanoid body took large steps towards the entrance, its broad lips curling into a big smirk. 

“Hmm… seems my sister took off without saying goodbye.” Cell chuckled. “Oh well.” He powered up and growled under his breath, “Guess I’ll have to pay her a visit.” 

Chapter Text

High above on the Lookout, Kami knelt before a disheveled, quivering blonde woman, handing her a cup of hot tea. Behind him stood all of the Saiyans, ChiChi, Bulma, Krillin, Yamcha, Tien and Chiaotzu. They gathered inside one of the most spacious rooms on the Lookout: his very own meditation room. 

“Here you go, my dear,” Kami said, placing the cup and saucer next to her on the nearby wooden side table. “Mr. Popo will come by with some food momentarily.” 

She nodded, staring ahead at the floor. Her trembling hands hugged the thick dark blue blanket tighter around her hunched over frame. Under her breath, she muttered a low, “Thanks.”

“Thank you for sharing your story with us. Everything you said has been most valuable.”

A half-hearted shrug.

“Would you like for us to leave you alone for a moment?” 

She nodded. 

“Very well.” He came to his feet using his staff. A glance over his shoulder, and he met Vegeta’s firm gaze. “Let us retreat towards the Chamber.” Vegeta replied with a grunt. As everyone filed out of the room, Kami turned back to her with a kind smile. “You’re safe now, Lazuli—”

“No.” His smile faltered at the furious growl she released, in time with her nails tearing into the blanket. “Not anymore.” Her blonde locks cascaded over her icy blue eyes, hiding her face from his view. “That name and that woman died a long time ago.” His chest ached as she hissed, the anger and the hurt breaking her voice, “I’m nothing but a number now.”

He dared not to reply. Not with the way Eighteen glared up at him, a silent demand to be left alone, now. Kami followed through without a word said, turning away and out of the room, trailing behind the others. 

***

The ride to Dr. Gero’s lab stayed relatively silent, a blessing Bulma appreciated more than anything. Yamcha, Tien and Chiaotzu sat in the far back of the plane, occasionally talking quietly amongst themselves. Raditz sat with her in front along with ChiChi, the two of them equally tense. The pent up anger and frustration from the conversation—argument, really—with Vegeta from earlier on the Lookout clearly still lingered. Luckily, Bulma hadn’t faced any type of passive-aggressive behavior from either one. Only thirty more minutes to go until they landed, and neither ChiChi nor Raditz said a word to her, or to anyone. 

Bulma didn’t bother attempting conversation with either of them. The silence over the last hour, as tense as it was, established a quiet time Bulma needed so she could mull over the new details and reassess where she went wrong. Dr. Gero. The years of research she put into finding the damn madman’s lab. Cell. A bug creature compiled of everyone’s DNA, including Frieza’s, that wasn’t supposed to show up until years from now. Time travel theory being proven correct: what happens in one timeline might not happen in another timeline due to convergences, like the one Trunks made coming to the past. 

Cell, getting to the lab, and to the androids, before she and Nappa did. Cell, absorbing a half-man, half-robot, before she and Nappa could stop him. 

Cell, now Semi-Perfect, off to absorb as many humans as possible, as he hunted down Eighteen. 

She knew Cell would come. Trunks told them all about the creature when he first arrived three years ago. The when was up in the air. Who knew if it would happen at all. It was why Bulma needed to do what she knew Vegeta wouldn’t have liked: finding Dr. Gero’s lab and dealing with that bastard and his experiments personally before things went to shit. It was the very least she could do for Vegeta, for Goku, for their pashika.

He didn’t react the way she expected when he found out what she did. He nodded, grunted and turned his attention away from her, barking out orders left and right like the prince he was. For a moment, she believed she was in the clear, that Vegeta didn’t resent her. Maybe he even thought she did the right thing. 

His pointed glare to her once he finished ordering everyone around told Bulma otherwise. So did his growl of, “Go back to the lab with Yamcha, Tien and Chiaotzu. Get that other android she spoke of. Gero’s son. Raid the lab as well. See what you can find. Whatever can help us.” She didn’t get to respond. Vegeta snarled, low under his throat, “Never lie to me again. Ever.” 

Bulma simply nodded, holding back her frustration and exasperation. Any other person, and she would’ve let them know what she thought, damn the consequences. But Vegeta wore his emotions easily, once a person knew what to look for, and she did. After all these years, she learned quite well what Vegeta’s tells were. 

Beneath the anger and resentment, the growls and the snarls, there was hurt. Disappointment. Confusion. 

It was all there, right there in front of her, and it silenced her. It guilted her. It caused her to agree with Vegeta and Goku on having Raditz and ChiChi come with her to the lab, instead of staying on the Lookout. Even though she believed the Lookout was safer than her own underground fortress of a lab. Even though she believed Cell wouldn’t be able to detect ki from that high up and that they were still vulnerable to whatever Cell wanted to do to them back on Earth. She needed to atone somehow. Agreeing seemed the easiest, simplest first step to do, no matter how disgusted she felt afterwards. 

The sound of Raditz’s growl caught her ear. 

Bulma glanced to the side. 

Raditz sulked in his seat on the far left side of the ship. His arms crossed over his chest, his chin hitting the top of his collarbones. His bristling tail circled low on the floor, a sign ChiChi once told her displayed irritation, frustration, boiling rage.

ChiChi stared ahead, her seat situated between Raditz and Bulma. She acknowledged no one. Her body remained still and stiff, her steely gaze focused outward and nowhere else, her jaw firm and set. 

Bulma returned her attention out to the sky ahead of her. 

Her gloved hands squeezed tight around the steering handles. 

She cleared her throat, licking her lips—

“Don’t,” ChiChi snapped. “Yi’gra.” It is done. Bulma’s throat dried up just by the cold way ChiChi said, “We made a decision as a pashika. It must and shall be upheld. That is how it has always been. A fair vote between pashika members.”

“Nappa didn’t vote though.”

“Because he isn’t officially part of this like you are. You are Vegeta’s urave. I am Goku’s. Raditz is Goku’s brother. Vegeta is the ve’ho’ti and leader of this pashika.” Her stomach dropped as ChiChi growled, “This is what you chose when you said yes.”

“But I feel bad.” 

“Tough shit.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. I acknowledge your apology. I am not ready to accept it. I’m angry, Raditz is angry, and we are allowed to be angry.” In her purview, Bulma watched ChiChi’s body turn away from her, towards Raditz. “But we don’t hate you. Do we, Raditz?” 

A grumble of, “Yeah, sure.” 

“Radiiiitz…”

“Uhhhhghghghg.”

“Raditz.”

“OKAY! Fine, I don’t hate you, sheesh.”

“There you go. Neither do I.” A gentle hand reached out towards her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We will not only be safe with you, but we will be able to help you, however we can. Because that’s what pashikas do. What we do, as a family.” 

Bulma nodded, blinking the sudden wetness from her eyes. She ignored the pang of guilt weighing on her chest and her mind as that hand retreated away, leaving a warmth behind she craved for a bit longer. For now, she re-oriented herself on the tasks at hand: get the other android. Find anything in the lab to use against Cell. Reach complete failure, not a pitiful excuse of one—just like Vegeta told her, every time. 

***

Gohan waited until Vegeta transmitted away to New Namek to approach Trunks. He found him sitting at the far end of the Lookout, hugging one knee to his chest. The other hung over the Lookout’s edge along with his lavender tail, both appendages swinging here and there. He didn’t bother announcing himself or saying hello. He took a seat next to him, both of his legs hanging over the edge, his palms resting flat on top of his thighs. 

He stared down at the blue sky below, the white clouds floating by. Not a speck of Earth could be seen from this high up. Not even the changing of time. If it was afternoon down there, or nighttime. Or the next day. 

A few more seconds of silence passed between them before Gohan broke it, saying, “Can’t believe Kami’s gone.” When Trunks didn’t respond, he continued, “I mean, he’s still there, in Mr. Piccolo. So he’s not really gone. I understand he wanted to help by fusing with Mr. Piccolo and giving us a better chance at fighting Cell, but I still feel sad. He meant a lot to my dad, and to yours.”

Trunks shrugged. 

Gohan frowned, tilting his head.

The lavender tail stopped moving when Gohan asked, “We’ve never really talked, have we, Trunks?”

A brief pause of silence. Then: “Mm.”

“I take it you don’t like me.”

He suppressed his shock as Trunks replied, without hesitation, “Not this version of you.”

Gohan unfurled his tail. He gestured it towards Trunks and his lavender tail in a sweeping s-shape, a sign Vegeta taught him meant ‘talk to me’ and ‘I am friendly.’ 

His apprehension eased away as Trunks replied with the similar motion. He relaxed all over with a sigh before asking, “Okay, was I mean or rude to you in your timeline?”

“No.”

“Did I do something to you then? As kids?”

“Never.”

“Adults?”

“Not really.”

“Huh.” He wrapped his tail back around his waist, turning away from Trunks to stare at the blue sky and its white clouds below. ‘Then—”

Vegeta’s ki returning, along with Dende’s, cut him off short. Gohan snapped his head up and over his shoulders to look at the newcomers. Something caught in the corner of his eye though. A sight he didn’t miss, even though Trunks clearly tried to suppress it. 

His whole body stiffened from head-to-toe. His fingers tightened more around his knee. The lavender tail bristled all over, more so around the base of it—the tail sign of pent-up anger, frustration and rage. U’si’do imfama. Rage blindness. Something Gohan knew much too well. Something that a certain Saiyan prince made Gohan’s tail perform that very action his whole life. 

That one gesture answered everything for him.

He began to rise to his feet, turning fully towards the Lookout building itself. There, he found Vegeta standing behind Dende with a hand on his shoulder, addressing Goku, Nappa and Piccolo. From the interior of the building, Mr. Popo emerged, holding the Dragon statue needed to create a new set of Earth Dragonballs. 

Without looking at Trunks, he said, “I won’t ask what happened between us since that’s not my place to know. I have only one request.” He took in the sight of Goku—the black circles around his eyes, the paleness, the haunted look he was sure everyone thought he was ignorant to but it was too obvious and blatant to ignore—and he sighed. A long, heavy sigh. “Take care of my dad in there. Please.”

A grunt. “I harbor no ill will towards Goku. Or to you.”

“I believe you.” He turned his sight back to Vegeta. A small, rueful smile played on his face as he said, “Give this Vegeta a chance though.” From this close, he heard that incredulous gasp, and he chuckled, nodding along with him. “I know. It’s Vegeta of all people. Again, I don’t want or need to know what happened…” He caught the worried gaze Vegeta sent his father, one he knew Vegeta did when he was certain no one was looking, and his smile transformed into a thin frown. “But whatever that Vegeta did to you in your timeline doesn’t justify whatever it is you’re holding back from us in this timeline.” He shook his head at the sudden gasp hitting his ear, along with the rise in ki from Trunks. “I don’t expect a confession or something from this. As far as I know, I might be off base here. Just…” He squeezed his fists as tight as his tail squeezed his waist. “From one brother to another. Please. Take care of Goku. For the sake of our pashika.” 

He dared a glance over his shoulder towards Trunks and found a Vegeta blue-eyed stare glaring back at him. A glare Gohan knew he matched perfectly. 

Then, he caught a glimpse of a nod. 

Purple usurped icy blue. Boots hit the ground. 

As Trunks walked away, far away from him and the others, Gohan smiled at the retreating form. He muttered low under his breath, “D’in m’yo, te’iti.” Thank you, little brother.

***

Nearly twenty minutes later, Goku and Trunks stood at the mouth of the Room of Space & Time. Mr. Popo and Dende, now the new Kami of Earth, stood by the chamber’s door, ready to open it for them. In the distance, far away from the building as per Vegeta’s demands, stood Piccolo and Nappa, both big men turning their backs to whatever was about to happen. 

Dende nodded to the two of them. “One year. I hope that is enough for you both.”

Goku nodded in return. “Me too.” He turned to Trunks, holding out a fist for him. “You ready?”

Trunks replied with a stiff, curt nod and an equally stiff, thin-lipped smile. He barely bumped knuckles with Goku before turning on his heel and heading towards the Chamber door. 

Beside Vegeta stood Gohan. Barely a second passed before Gohan zoomed forward, flinging his arms around his father’s waist. He buried his face against Goku’s side, his fingers clinging to Goku’s orange gi. 

Despite the material muffling his voice, Gohan’s words reached Vegeta’s ears. “Rada buya husel’yi kulinge.” Come back safe and well. 

Goku hugged him with one arm. His palm rested against the back of Gohan’s head, his fingers giving the long black locks a ruffle. He unfurled his tail to wrap around Gohan’s right wrist—the Saiyan sign of a pashika offering comfort and love to another. 

Without hesitation, Gohan repeated the gesture with his own tail.

Once Gohan let go, he turned on his heel, heading towards the direction where Nappa and Piccolo were. The door behind Goku opened, casting an ethereal white glow around his large, muscled frame. 

Vegeta stood before him, his arms by his sides, his tail unfurled. 

Goku closed the gap between them in a few steps. He stared down at Vegeta without a word, a gesture Vegeta repeated as well, gazing up at him, his face emotionless. 

Their tails touched almost at the same time. They twined together twice as their eyes fluttered shut, their foreheads pressing together to connect.

Tips of the noses brushed. Hot breath warmed skin. 

Vegeta’s tempered breathing held a slight twinge. As did Goku’s.

An audible swallow. A shuddering sigh. 

“It’s just a day,” Goku whispered, his lower lip trembling. “One day. That’s it. That’s all there is.”

Vegeta mouthed the words, “I know.”

Goku’s forced smile looked wrong in the bright white light. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

This time, Vegeta’s voice accompanied his words. A very thick, very watery voice. “I want to believe that.”

A squeeze to their tails punctuated Goku’s gentle request: “Try.”

Gloved hands dove into hair. Bare hands sunk into a spandex back. Lips shoved together in a kiss that appeared less like a goodbye and more like a farewell, until Vegeta finally let up, releasing the control and the pressure around Goku’s whole face and body. 

Goku lingered into the kiss. His hands wavered by Vegeta’s sides, down to his hips. As if ready to grab again, hold on and never let go. The same way Vegeta’s hands acted, hovering over Goku’s hips, up to his waist. As if ready to take him, protect him, hide him away for good.

A tilt of his head up. Vegeta’s lips brushed Goku’s earlobe as he whispered, “Vu’kuwa, m’yo mah’kha.” Fight, my mate. “Vu’isiba sokunsa m’eh.” Swear this to me.

Goku brushed his own lips against the shell of Vegeta’s ear, pouring over their r’bhon’or every feeling he possessed inside, without hesitation. “Kuboquibela.” To my last breath.

The smallest hitch in a tight voice. The last brush of lips to an earlobe. 

Vegeta broke away first, taking a huge step back. He didn’t linger his gaze on Goku at all, instead turning instantly on his heel and heading away from the Chamber’s doors. 

The sound of those large doors closing echoed for miles and miles. 

Chapter Text

Out in the Northwest Mountains, buried amongst a huge thicket of trees, stood a very small, very quaint village. One that Krillin apparently knew from his childhood, when he used to train with Goku. One that was apparently so far off the radar, so hidden away, that it would take a miracle for Cell to figure out where they were. According to Krillin, no one really lived out here. The harsh tundra environment, year-round insanely cold temperatures, terrible wind storms and lack of natural resources made this place a near-uninhabitable one. 

What kept the people of this very small village afloat were a few things. The first was obvious: the export of a particular holiday good no one else in the world managed to create or duplicate. It provided the most revenue for the entire village. The second was the plentiful amount of terrifying predators roaming the tundra. Apparently, these villagers found a way to kill them, utilizing their meat for food, and their pelts and bones for clothes and other home goods. The final piece of help came from Bulma herself, a thank you for taking care of Goku in his younger years. Every house possessed a Capsule Corp backyard greenhouse with artificial light and shade conditions as needed, so every person in the village had access to any fruits and vegetables of their liking. 

Eighteen glanced around at the small homes, the thousands of trees, the near foot of snow covering everything around her. Lamp lights hung from every home’s door, next to their wooden frames. They seemingly lit the way towards the very last house at the back of the village, the very home Krillin walked towards, right ahead of her. 

The safest place on Earth, outside of the Lookout: Jingle Village. 

She frowned. “Some safe place this is.” 

Krillin stopped mid-step. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows shooting up. “Hm? You say something?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, okay. Well, we’re here!” Krillin stopped in front of the last house at the very back. He motioned her forward. “Don’t be shy. These are old friends of ours.” 

“They were expecting us, yeah?”

“Mhm. Bulma called them for us and asked for help. They were happy to oblige.” Krillin winced. “Wellllll, almost happy. One of them…well, she used to date Goku’s brother—”

Eighteen glared. 

“—and they didn’t have the best breakup—”

She crossed her arms. 

“—but it won’t be a big deal, promise!” Krillin waved his hands in front of him. “Seriously! It’ll be fine!”

“Hmph.” 

Whatever Krillin was about to say was cut off by the opening of the door. Once it opened all the way, a red-headed, pale-skinned woman in a green long sleeve and khaki pants stood before them with a big smile on her face. “Krillin! So nice to see you! Bulma phoned us saying you were on the way!”

“Suno!” He opened his arms for a quick hug, one Suno gave to him easily. As they parted, Krillin asked, “How’s it going?”

“Fantastic! Can’t complain at all whatsoever.” Suno peered over his shoulder, tilting her head to the side. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Eighteen’s face burned as Krillin flailed on the front doorstep, screaming, “OH GOSH NO. NO NO NO. NO!” He fumbled, “This is, uh—uh, um—she’s—”

“Oh I’m just teasing, heehee!” She gestured them inside. “Come in, come in! I have some cocoa waiting for you on the kitchen table!” As they followed through, Suno closed the door behind them, continuing, “Bulma told me you’re being hunted down by some terrible monster. I’m so sorry to hear that! Not to worry. Me and my lovebug will take care of you and keep you safe.”

Eighteen asked, “Lovebug?”

“Oh yes! My girlfriend, of course!” She guided them over to the kitchen table, where four huge mugs of cocoa sat on marble and wood coasters. “Krillin hasn’t told you about her yet?”

The sound of a door slamming open on the opposite end of the house caught all their attention. Eighteen began to raise her ki in response, especially when she saw Krillin’s horrified face. Suno, though, simply turned towards the source of the sound with a big smile. 

Marching inside with combat boots, long black leggings and a bright red snow jacket was a blonde, curly-haired woman with a red bow in her hair, a cigarette in her mouth, a machine gun in one hand and a dead animal carcass in the other. Her eyes went wide as she took in Krillin, the animal carcass and machine gun collapsing to the floor. 

“AAAYYYYY KRILLIN!” The blonde woman charged over towards Krillin, snatching him up in a swinging bear hug. “Long time, no see! How’s it going, buddy?!” She then stopped mid-swing, catching Eighteen’s eye. Her big grin turned sneaky, almost dirty. “Heeeeey, who’s the hot chick?” Her devious glare turned lewd, too. “Your sexy ass girlfriend?” 

“L-LAUNCH!!!”

Suno giggled from the other side of the kitchen table. “Oh lovebug, leave him alone! Let’s bring our guests some snacks and make them feel welcome at home.”

“Ahhh alright, alright.” Launch dumped Krillin to the ground before marching her way over to Eighteen. She offered out a gloved hand to her. “Name’s Launch.” With her free hand, she thumbed over her shoulder towards Suno. “Used to hang out with these idiots, and I once made the terrible decision of dating Goku’s dumbass older brother, until I met that lovely lady over there. You?”

“Eighteen.” She shook Launch’s hand. “Trying not to get killed. Or eaten.”

“Aren’t we all? Fucking men, am I right?” Launch let her hand go to turn towards Krillin, who was finishing up coming back to his feet. She swung an arm around him, squishing him to her side. “Ayyyy, not you, Krillin! You’re not a man, you’re a stuffed animal. Or a little lamb. Or a—”

“OKAY LAUNCH.” He flailed in her hold, grimacing through his clenched teeth. “THANK YOU. THAT IS ALL.”

“BAHAHAHA!” She released him, pointing a gloved finger in his direction. “HAHAHA—ahhh…A-AH-AHH-CHOO!” Just as she sneezed, her hair changed from blonde to blue, her devilish smirk now a sweet confused smile. “Oh dear me!” 

Eighteen took a few steps away from her, and Krillin, and Suno, towards the front door. “Ohhhhhkaaaay…” She glared at Krillin, yelling, “What the FUCK just happened?!”

Suno popped up next to her, asking in a sweat voice, “Oh, Krillin didn’t tell you?” She kept talking, even when Eighteen startled in place and then glared at her. “Launch has a condition where she changes personalities when she sneezes and her hair changes color too. Poor thing. I feel so bad.” She walked over to Launch, swinging her arms around her neck. “Ooh, no matter what though, I love her, all aspects of her!” 

“Awww!” Launch returned the embrace, nudging their noses together. “C’mere Suno!” 

As they kissed, Eighteen deadpanned, “I’m going to gag.”

Krillin side-eyed her. “Uhhhh, is it cuz of—”

“I hate displays of affection. They disgust me.” Eighteen sneered, “And nothing else, you fucking mook.”

“Okay, okay, just checking! Cuz I mean, Goku and Vegeta, they’re—”

“Got it, don’t need to justify yourself, yeesh.”

“Yep, sure thing, no prob, yep.”

Both Eighteen and Krillin startled in place as Launch asked them, “What’re you two doing over there by the front door?” They found the couple now sitting on the living room couch, an unfinished puzzle sitting on top of the large round coffee table. “Come finish this cute puzzle Suno and I started a few hours ago! It has a cute horse in front!” She sat up from the couch to pick up the dead animal carcass. “I’ll go clean this right up and get our dinner ready for later! Have fun you guys!” 

“Uhhh, yeah, sure,” Eighteen replied. As they walked over towards Suno, she leaned down and hissed into Krillin’s ear, “Are you sure this was more secure than that Lookout place?”

“Well. Vegeta had to make sure God was protected. No God, no Dragonballs, no undo button.”

“Joy.”

“It won’t be that bad. It can’t be.”

Eighteen eyed the stack of other puzzles and board games underneath the coffee table, along with the many cutesy decorations around the home. “I’ll take that bet.”

***

Fourteen hours. Only fourteen hours passed since this version of Cell emerged, yet it felt like days, simply because of the destruction this horrible monster left in his wake.  

So far, three cities laid in utter ruins, their smoke visible to the naked eye from miles and miles away. Those first two cities were the first attacked by Cell while they ran and hid on the Lookout, preparing their next moves. 

Hundreds of humans perished by Cell’s hand, all absorbed into his body as he searched the Earth for Android Eighteen. If it wasn’t for Vegeta, Nappa and Piccolo, hundreds more would’ve died too. But they worked together, along with Yamcha, Tien and Chiaotzu, to warn and evacuate as many cities as possible, before Cell arrived. 

Not every city heeded their warnings though. Mayors who didn’t believe a true evil was coming. Village leaders who scoffed in their face. Vegeta didn’t bother staying behind to help once they realized their fatal mistake. He left that to Nappa, Piccolo and the others. 

Vegeta tried not to count how many people he saved so far. The number most likely was abysmal compared to the number lost. It didn’t matter anyway. Their faces haunted him. Their screams haunted him, screams of terror that echoed the screams of the thousand he slaughtered once upon a time, back when he used to work in the Frieza Force. Unlike then, these screams hurt. A lot. Every mother he couldn’t save. Every father he watched turn to mush and melted skin. Every child he tried to grab in time, only to see their shoes and clothes as the last pieces of identification left behind. The only indication that they were once alive. 

He fought back his inner turmoil, determined to save and help as many people as possible. Even when Nappa and later Piccolo told him to rest. Even when Bulma called him over his communicator in his ear and yelled at him to go eat and take a break. He couldn’t. The more Cell absorbed, the stronger he became. He had to cut off his supply chain, had to do something, anything—

ChiChi’s words pierced through his defenses, as usual. “Stop distracting yourself, you idiot,” she hissed over the communicator to him, around hour fifteen. “I’m worried about Goku too, but driving yourself into an early grave again isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“But the people—”

“You’ve done enough.”

“I—”

“ Enough . The devastation on Earth would be worse if you hadn’t done anything, but you did, and you’re done . Come home, go back to the Lookout, whatever you want. Just go and rest. That’s all you can do now until Goku returns.” 

He couldn’t fight her. Not when she called him out like this and spoke the truth, as she tended to do. Every bone in his body screamed at him to keep fighting, keep searching, keep saving people. But he knew she was right. 

Vegeta stared at the door to the Room of Space and Time. Black circles rimmed his hooded eyes. His shoulders slumped forward, his armor dented and dirtied from the hours he spent saving people on Earth with the others. 

Slowly, he lifted a hand to his neck, resting his palm over the mating mark. 

He closed his eyes, taking in a big breath. 

Over the r’bhon’or, he said, Please be okay.

Nothing replied back, as he expected. His chest still hurt a little though, a small ping right where his heart resided. 

Vegeta lingered in front of the door for a few moments longer before retreating to the room Dende and Mr. Popo prepared for him. When he entered, memories hit his head—fond, sweet memories, what felt like a lifetime go—and it took all of his mental strength not to break down. 

His room. The room where he first woke up and met Goku all those years ago. 

The same bed. The same sheets. Same window. Same books. Even from the doorway, he could tell one of those books didn’t belong—a book Vegeta handmade himself, full of Sadalan words, history and cultural traditions. 

He waited until everyone’s kis seemed to be far away enough from him. Only then did he feel safe enough to walk to that bed, curl up and fall asleep. He hugged the pillow underneath his head with both of his arms, his body turned in the direction of where Goku used to be, when he used to sleep on the floor, watching over him as he healed. 

Sometime during his sleep, his tail unfurled, reaching out across the sheets for a body to curl around. When it met air, it tried a few more times, until it gave up, simply curling around itself, as if an invisible arm resided there beside Vegeta on the bed. 

*** 

It wasn’t working. The medication wasn’t working. 

Trunks sat slumped over in a chair beside a bedridden Goku in the Chamber, his hands tangled up in his long locks of lavender hair. He pulled at the strands, his blue eyes bugged-out wide, staring at the floor with a blank expression. 

His brain defaulted to logic, usurping the need to vomit and scream his anxiety and frustration inside. One by one, he went through every single fact that happened thus far. One: the virus hit around month six, mid-spar between them. Two: he gave Goku the medicine immediately, ensuring every single drop was taken and none was missed. Three: he monitored Goku every single day for two weeks, waiting for the improvements to come. Four: no improvements of any kind appeared until the beginning of month seven, when Goku’s fever lessened, his heart finally stabilized, and his breathing no longer sounded like a heavy wheeze. Five: the fever was almost gone, his heart sounded healthy, his blood pressure was finally sound, but Goku still hadn’t woken up, and they were close to halfway through month eight. 

Something must’ve gone wrong, somehow. 

His options on solving this problem were minimal. He couldn’t leave the Chamber with Goku at all. Vegeta would lose his shit and most likely make dumb decisions, just like his future counterpart did. He couldn’t leave the Chamber at all, even to get scientific tools to engineer a new vaccine. Vegeta could somehow get wind of what happened, and that led to the same problem as the first option. That left the only course of action Trunks took the last few months: sit, observe and wait. 

Almost two months of waiting, and Goku didn’t improve at the rate Trunks hoped. He held onto the simple fact that he did improve, he did get better. Just… slowly. Much slower than he anticipated. 

From what his mother told him, Goku should’ve been better within a week’s time, maybe even sooner considering his full Saiyan physiology. The chance—the ungodly chance that this applied to the medication as well, that the virus in this timeline was a different genetic mutation from the one in his own timeline—horrified Trunks to the bone. Because the more time passed, the more Trunks believed that hypothesis to be true. 

Time travel theory clearly stated the chances of divergences. The facts to prove his theory correct were right there. Dr. Gero’s lab wasn’t in the same place in this timeline as it was in his timeline. Cell showed up much, much earlier than anticipated. It stood to reason that a variation of the virus also occurred.

Trunks pulled at his hair, clenching his eyes shut. 

He hissed through his teeth once, twice. 

Under his breath, he muttered, “Fuck. Fuck.” He stomped a foot into the white marble floor a few times, chanting, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck— ” He jerked himself upright, snapping his attention onto Goku’s prone form. He sneered, “You were never in my life. You’re just Gohan’s dad, the guy my dad fell for before my mom. I’m supposed to not care about you. I was never supposed to care about you. But then you—you sparred with me, encouraged me, taught me techniques, treated me like—like I was your own son. The way I wish my dad—the way I wish he’d—he’d— ARGH! ” He came to his feet, his voice raising in volume. “Why did you have to be so kind to me? Why did you have to show me all the reasons why my mom and dad loved you as much as they did? Why couldn’t you just treat me like shit like dad does?” He yelled, “I hate that they were right! I hate that you are the kindest, sweetest Saiyan in the damn universe, just like dad always said!” His vision blurred, his voice turning hoarse and wet. “You better beat this dumb virus, Goku, or so help me, I’ll… I’ll—”

“Heh.” A cough followed, sounds that came from the bed. Trunks froze in place as he watched Goku’s eyes open into slits, an exhausted smile rising on his ashen face. “Just like Vegeta.”

“Goku!” Trunks rushed to his side. “You’re awake!” He helped Goku up into a seated position on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Hungry.” He coughed again, followed by a shaky hand running through his messy, sweaty hair. “How long was I out?”

“Almost two months.”

“Shit.”

“It’s okay, really. What matters is you’re awake and that the medicine worked. We still have four more months left to train.” 

“Yeah. That should be enough time, I hope.” Goku slumped a little from where he sat against the headboard. “Wish I still didn’t feel this damn sleepy though.”

“It’s probably from the medication. I’ll go make some tea, maybe heat up some broth for you to sip. Okay?” When Goku nodded, Trunks gave him a parting squeeze to his forearm and a gentle pat with his tail to his shoulder. “Be right back.”

Before he left the makeshift bedroom completely, he heard Goku mumble, “I’m sorry.” He froze mid-step as Goku continued in a louder voice, “I wish I had been around to help you.” He looked over his shoulder and nearly toppled over from where he stood, all from the annoyed expression on Goku’s face. “I would’ve beaten some sense into Vegeta.”

“Y-You mean it?”

“Aiii.” Goku gave him a wry smile. “I love him with all my heart, but I know when he is acting like a goddamn dipshit.” 

Trunks choked on his laugh, sudden moisture hitting his eyes. He looked away, down to the floor. The ground beneath him felt a little lighter, the room almost suffocating and hot. He barely recognized his own voice as he said, “I never thought… what with how dad praised you and all… I always figured you’d support his decisions no matter what.”

“Maybe future me did. But I’m not that person.” The moisture in his eyes increased ten fold as he heard the conviction and sincerity in Goku’s voice. “To me, you are my son, and I am your ja’ta. And not even Vegeta can treat my son that way.” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat before muttering a soft, “Thanks...” His lips and tongue played with the beginning of a ‘j’ sound for a second. A shake of his head, and Trunks left the bedroom with a soft, Vegeta-sounding grunt. 

Behind him, Goku watched him leave with a wistful, tired smile on his face. 

Chapter Text

Eighteen turned on the television once, out of boredom, and out of defiance. Launch’s rule on “no television” didn’t sit well with her. She waited until Launch and Suno were out of the living room before grabbing the remote and flicking the television on. 

Within a minute, she clicked it off, throwing the remote onto the coffee table. It landed on the finished puzzle, right on top of the horse’s face. 

Endless destruction. Bodies sucked up, leaving only clothes behind—or nothing at all. People disappearing as if they never existed. Families broken apart.

No one knew who it was, or what it was, that caused all of this chaos. Eighteen didn’t have to try hard conjuring up the image of Cell when she first woke up in her cryosleep. The ugly face. His sinister laugh. 

Seventeen, by her side. Fighting alongside her. Yelling at her to stay back. Demanding Cell to leave her alone. His scream as Cell ate him alive. The image of his white shoes hanging out of that tail. 

Her brother, Lapis. The only fact she knew about him, and about herself. Gero didn’t remove all of her memories of her past and her identity. She knew her original name. She had a twin brother. They had no family, only each other, sticking together through everything and anything. 

Even through all the experiments and torture Gero put them through, Seventeen never abandoned her. He never succumbed to the pain. Never gave into the madness that creeped on the horizon, all from Gero’s experimentations on his body and brain—most of the time, done alive, without anesthesia of any kind. Just like she went through. 

He was always there, watching over her, calling out her name, encouraging her, telling her not to give up, demanding she stay alive. In the lab, when she was the one being tortured. In the chamber, when she was forced to do things against her will, repeatedly. Seventeen was there. Seventeen would always be there. 

Until he wasn’t. 

She stared at the blank television screen for a long, long time. 

Eventually, Suno and Launch came back. She stayed on autopilot, responding to whatever they were saying with curt nods and fake small smiles. She abandoned the couch for the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. Some of it splashed out of her glass to the floor, her hands unstable and shaky.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Eighteen sighed, averting her attention to the cup of water in her hands. She stared, and stared, and stared, blocking out the sounds of Suno’s giggles and Launch’s happy, boisterous laugh. 

Nothing felt right. Nothing felt okay. 

Cell was coming. 

He’d find her and—

The sudden skidding of the chair seat next to her startled her out of her stupor. “Hey.” Krillin took the empty seat next to her, a small gap between their bodies. “How you holding up?”

Eighteen deadpanned, “Just super.” 

“C’mon. Be honest.” 

“Hmph. Considering it’s this—” She gestured to the couch, where Suno and Launch cuddled up, giggling and kissing in between soft whispers. “—or certain death?” Eighteen grimaced. “My options truly suck.”

“Hey, look… I know they’re a bit much, but it’s nice to see Launch so happy. Suno too. I’m glad they found each other.” 

“Mm.” 

“You, uh, need anything?” 

Eighteen chuckled. “Man, I don’t fucking know anymore. I’m still wondering where the time went.” She sighed, staring at her glass of water. “If I’m even worth all this trouble.”  

“You are.”

“Sure.” 

“I’m serious. Even if you weren’t being tracked down by Cell, you matter.” 

She snorted. “Yeah, right. A half human who can’t remember shit about her past except…” She shook her head. “Nevermind. Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

Krillin’s response stopped her from leaving the kitchen table. “No, I wouldn’t. Not a hundred percent exactly. But I think—I hope I have some idea about what you’re feeling right now.” 

Eighteen finally turned towards him with a sharp, speculative glare. “How’s that?”

Her jaw dropped when Krillin said, “I died.” She froze in place, staring at him, as he continued, his face grim, almost ashen, a far away look on his face. “I was fifteen. That green guy back on the Lookout, the younger one? Piccolo? He had a dad who wanted to take over the world. He sent out one of his henchmen to attack me. I don’t remember when it happened. I only remember how it happened. How it felt when… when he—” Krillin shook his head. That grim expression turned apologetic. “Sorry about that. I don’t really talk about it much.” He glanced away, down to the kitchen table. “I’m only bringing this up cuz, y’know, when you said back on the Lookout that your name, the person you were before, that she died? Well… I kinda feel the same way too, about who I was before my death. I mean, I’m still me. I’m still Krillin. I still like and hate the same things, still have the same memories, still feel like me… but I’m also not me. I died. I wasn’t here anymore, and then, I was reborn. I came back. It’s a weird concept. I’m grateful to be here, beyond grateful, but no one really gets it. The only other people who could, like Master Roshi, or Tien, or even Piccolo? I’ve never spoken to them about it. Maybe it’s a guy thing, y’know, don’t want to share these kinds of vulnerabilities with other guys. I wish I could’ve talked to Goku about any of this, since he’s my best friend, but in between him going to Kami’s to train, meeting Vegeta, getting married and mated, having a kid, the whole Namek thing… we haven’t really had a chance to talk. I know Vegeta’s his partner, but I was his best friend. I know I’m still his best friend, but I miss him. Weird, right?” Krillin waved a hand in the air, turning his attention back to her. “Gah, sorry, I’m making this all about me! Babbling like an idiot, haha.” He rested that hand onto Eighteen’s shoulder, a touch that sent heat to her face. “I guess the whole point I’m trying to make is that I kinda get where you’re coming from. I don’t want you to go through this alone like I have. I don’t expect you to talk my ear off like I have you this whole time, heh. I won’t pressure you to talk either. I wanted to offer the invitation, y’know, to talk, when you want to. If you want to. Whenever. Doesn’t matter.” He gave her shoulder a parting squeeze before letting it go. “That’s all.” 

It took Eighteen what felt like a long, long time to respond. Her body remained frozen in time, her whole face burning, just like the spot where Krillin touched her shoulder. When she did, she barely recognized her own voice, how she croaked aloud, “Thanks, Krillin.” Even when she cleared her throat, that hoarseness remained. “Appreciate it.”

His smile increased the heat on her face ten fold. “Of course.” He stood up from the kitchen table, heading towards the living room. “Wanna play a board game or something? I can make some popcorn.” 

Eighteen followed him from where she sat, a shy smile appearing on her reddened face. “I’d like that.” 

***

Bulma glanced at the clock in her lab, checking how much time was left. In front of her lay the body of Android Sixteen—a body based on Dr. Gero’s own son, Gevo. According to the documentation she found in the lab, he was the first experiment before Seventeen and Eighteen. His prototype before perfecting his work. Erasing his protocol to kill Goku proved easy enough. Rewriting his AI, giving him improvements, upgrading certain body parts—those were all the fun parts. What wasn’t easy: removing the nuclear weapon inside of him, without triggering anything. She dedicated most of her hours of work to that very issue. By the time the sun rose the next day, Bulma finally removed the damn bomb. ChiChi and Raditz took over for her so she could crash and recover for at least an hour or two before hitting the ground running with the rest of her needed work.

She grit her teeth at the time on the clock. 

One hour left. 

Drifting her attention down from the wall, she focused on the huge television screen broadcasting the latest news report on the newest wave of destruction happening, all because of Cell. Despite all the hard work Vegeta, Nappa and Piccolo did for hours, Cell found a way to find humans. At the rate he was going, there wasn’t going to be much of an Earth left to save. 

With her left hand, she touched her communication device embedded around her left ear. “Nappa, Piccolo, any way you two can stall him?”

Nappa answered back, “Already on it. We’re heading there now.” 

“You’ll keep Vegeta asleep, right?”

“Absolutely.” 

Piccolo chimed in, “Dende’s ensuring he stays knocked out. The man needs to recover before it’s his turn in the Chamber.” 

Bulma glanced at Raditz and ChiChi, both of whom sat across from her at the lab table, both also wearing communication devices in their ears. She didn’t look away as she promised, “We’ll revive you if things go south. I swear it.” 

An involuntary smirk appeared on her face as Nappa replied, “Then I’ll make sure I’ll be the one dying. Green Man can’t afford it.” 

Piccolo scoffed. “New Namek is a thing, genius.”

“Meh, easier to let me die.”

“How about no one dies?”

“Yeah, but that’s unrealistic.”

“Nappa…” 

Raditz rolled his eyes. “Just get married already, fuuuck .”

Bulma suppressed her giggle at the way Raditz’s face turned bright pink when Nappa growled over the line, “Oh you’re one to talk! Why don’t you and Lady Chi—”

“I stand corrected, go die, byeeeeee!” Raditz threw off his ear communication device clear across the room. He sat up from his chair and stormed out, yelling over his shoulder, “Taking a piss, don’t ask questions!” 

ChiChi watched him go with a small, sad smile on her face. She muttered over the communication device, “One hour. You two can survive one hour. I know it.”

Bulma chimed in, adding, “She’s right. You got this. Goku and Trunks will be out soon.” 

Nappa chuckled. “Even if we don’t, at least I’ll die with my boots on.”

“I can sense we’re closer to him,” Piccolo said. “Culling the communication line now.”

Bulma barely got a chance to respond before the sound of a wrr and a robotic voice chimed in, announcing, Transmission ended. She removed her ear piece at almost the same time ChiChi did. The two of them stared at each other from across the lab table where Sixteen laid asleep with tubes and wires attached to his head, arms and legs. 

ChiChi broke the silence between them first, whispering a gentle plea. “Don’t say anything. I need to tell Goku and Vegeta myself— after this is done.”

She nodded. “Understood.”

***

Back on the Lookout, inside a room that hadn’t been used since the day two particular Saiyans left for Earth, Vegeta shot straight up in his bed, a soft gasp ripping out of him. One of his hands touched the side of his neck, the mating mark pulsing in tandem with his very own heartbeat. The r’bhon’or thrummed just like his shaky hands. 

Goku’s voice sounded so wonderful in his head. 

M’yo mah’kha… molosianda. 

My mate… I am home.

He grinned from ear-to-ear.

Two fingers to his forehead, and in a few seconds, he appeared right in front of an exhausted Goku, the light of the Chamber illuminating him like it did the day prior. He crushed him to his chest, burying his face into the side of Goku’s neck, right over the mating mark. Those strong arms hugged him just as tight in return. Their tails mimicked their embrace, twining together twice, squeezing lightly. 

Behind him, he registered the voices of Gohan and Trunks. Most likely, Gohan was informing his future son what happened while they were gone in the Chamber. He ignored them for now, releasing Goku from his embrace and stepping back to check how he looked. He ran his palms down Goku’s arms, his gaze flicking here and there as he soaked in every little piece of his mate. 

The torn gi. Clammy skin. Pale-ish face. Slightly sunken cheeks. Black circles around his eyes. Tired smile—

“I’m fine,” Goku said, releasing their tail embrace. His smile grew, but it didn’t look right at all in Vegeta’s eyes. It looked… wrong. Very wrong. “The medicine worked.” 

“Vu’xoka m’eh.” Do not lie to me.

“I’m not.”

“Kakarot—”

“Goku!” Vegeta growled, his tail lashing behind him. He snapped around to glare at Trunks coming towards the two of them, Gohan trailing closely behind him. “We’ve got to get to Earth. Nappa and Piccolo have been fighting Cell for the last hour and they need our help!” 

“Understood.” Goku walked past him to touch Trunks’s shoulder with one hand. The other brought two fingers to his forehead. Vegeta met his gaze as he said, “Get going. We might need you two.” 

“Kakarot, wait—!”

He missed touching him by half a second. His hand waved through the air where Goku once stood. 

Vegeta stared at that hand as he turned it into a tight, shaking fist, his teeth grinding together. 

Gohan’s voice cut through his building anger and frustration. “He’s hurting himself again.” He snapped around, meeting Gohan’s cold gaze—one that Vegeta often found in the mirror. “He’s been doing that since you two came home. I don’t know what happened on Yardrat, but I deserve to know. You can’t do this on your own.” Gohan held up a hand, stopping Vegeta from interrupting. “I know he is your mate. I know you have a responsibility towards him. I’m sure you feel like since I’m a child, I shouldn’t have to worry about my father.” Gohan lowered his hand down. He crossed his arms over his chest, another gesture Vegeta often found in a mirror too. “But I’m not a child. I’m a Saiyan and Earth prince. And I’m not about to spend a whole year training with you without getting something back.”

For a long, long moment, Vegeta glared down at Gohan, his clenched fists by his sides. Gohan met that glare dead on, not backing away for an instant. 

A small “hmph” emerged from Vegeta. He flicked his tail low to the ground behind him, a Saiyan sign of challenge and questioning, all in one. 

Gohan replied with his own tail gesture, one that flickered towards the ground, but it created a small loop at the end. The Saiyan tail sign for challenge and preparedness to fight. 

Vegeta narrowed his gaze. 

Soon, his lips formed a bemused smirk. 

“About time you showed some pride in your heritage,” he muttered, turning towards the Chamber doors. “Masiambe.” Let’s go.

They entered one by one, Vegeta first, Gohan second. As the doors shut behind them, Vegeta sent out over their mental link a final parting message for his mate, hoping Goku would get it before he didn’t hear or feel him for a whole year. 

Wait for me. I’m right behind you.

***

Goku knew he wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t need to read Cell’s ki to know he didn’t stand much of a chance against him at all. Vegeta read him right, as he usually did. The virus did a number on him. The medicine worked, it cured him, but his body needed more time to recover. It didn’t matter that deep down, he possessed the power to give Cell a good fight, definitely enough to wear him down so Trunks could tag in and give the final blows. His body still ached. His chest, his lungs, his joints, everything—even his tail—hurt, a lot. 

Four months in the Chamber post-virus wasn’t enough time to recover. The harsh condition of the Time Chamber didn’t help matters. The most Goku could do was train Trunks and make him strong enough to do something against Cell. He was able to push Trunks to a level beyond Super Saiyan, but it wasn’t a viable solution overall. The form was too bulky, too heavy, used up energy way too fast. As long as Trunks listened to him and used that form as part of the final blow to Cell, then they stood a chance of defeating him. Or at least wound him enough so they could fight another day, this time with Vegeta and Gohan on their side, back from their year of training in the Chamber. 

Trunks must’ve known the same truth Goku did. The moment they arrived at the battlefield, he pointed to Piccolo and Nappa’s bodies and yelled, “Take them back to the Lookout!” 

Goku frowned at first. His inner Saiyan popped up, demanding to stay, to fight, to not run away. One look at Trunks’s pointed glare—one that looked so much like Vegeta’s—and he gave in with a curt nod. 

He gathered up Piccolo and Nappa, holding them both, flanking them on each side of his body. He took in the sight of Trunks staring down Cell, wearing the same armor Vegeta wore, and he felt his chest swell with pride. 

“Vu’kuwa, my son.” He pushed two fingers to his forehead, zeroing in on Dende’s ki. “Fight and win.” 

***

Trunks didn’t look behind him. He stayed there, staring down Cell, waiting for Goku’s ki to vanish behind him, along with Nappa and Piccolo’s. When it did, when he was finally alone with Cell, he let loose a small chuckle.

Cell tilted his head to the side. “What’s so funny?” 

“Oh, I’m just imagining how good it’ll feel to kill you…” Trunks crossed his arms. “Once you’re complete , that is.” He smirked—a big, devious smirk—as Cell gaped at him. “That’s right, bug man. I know where that android is… and I’m going to take you right to her.” 

Chapter Text

Goku barely had a moment to sit down and relax like he needed. The moment he arrived back to the Lookout with Nappa and Piccolo’s unconscious bodies, Dende and Mr. Popo rushed up to him with the most horrified looks on their faces. 

He accidentally dropped Nappa and Piccolo’s bodies like sacks of potatoes when Dende exclaimed something he never, ever expected to hear. 

“Trunks snapped! He’s taking Cell directly to Eighteen!” 

In that very instant, flashbacks of their year spent in the Chamber rushed through his head. Trunks revealing how Vegeta-like he was, along with the many aspects of Bulma there too. Telling Goku all about what happened to Gohan and ChiChi and how that impacted Trunks, Vegeta and Bulma going forward. Trunks taking care of him when the virus hit. How he didn’t leave Goku’s side until he was able to get out of bed without a headache, a fainting spell or a shortness in his breath. The endless amount of training Goku put the two of them under, prior to the virus hitting him. The endless amounts of advice and relentless training Trunks endured, under Goku’s tutelage. How eager and excited Trunks was to get back out into the real world. How determined and Vegeta-like he looked, talking about the Saiyan credo—honor, strength, pride—and how he’d make his dad proud, how he’d do something his dad would never expect in a million years—

“GOKU!” Dende waved something in front of him. “Get a hold of yourself!” 

“Urgh.” He shook his head multiple times. “Hnngh.” His body moved slow, too slow, his brain barely catching up with his voice. “Y-Yeah, I—I’ll—”

“Take Mr. Popo’s carpet!” Hands shoved him onto something. “He’ll take you right to where Krillin’s at in Jingle Village.”

“I-Instant—”

“No time! I took out of Piccolo’s ear a communication device, so I’ll call Bulma so she can warn Krillin and the others. Hopefully she got that other android working.” 

Mr. Popo’s gentle hand touched his forearm. “Deep breaths, Goku. Focus. Remember your training. It’s one more fight. One more, then you can rest.”

He listened to his old mentor, latching onto his soothing touch and voice, his eyes falling shut. Even as the carpet moved within seconds, taking him from the Lookout to the heart of Jingle Village, he focused on his breath work. Four count inhale. Eight count exhale. 

He made it through two rounds before fluttering his eyes open, staring at the front door to Suno’s home. He stepped off the carpet, giving Mr. Popo a quick wave. “Get on outta here.” He added in a low mutter under his breath, “And thank you.” 

Goku reached for the doorknob as Mr. Popo disappeared behind him. He barely got to touch it before it swung open, revealing a distraught Suno. “Oh Goku! Thank goodness it’s you.” 

“Where are Krillin and Eighteen?”

“They went into a hiding place deep inside the Jingle forest. Bulma told us.” 

“Clear out the place—”

“Already underway. I’m heading out there now with Launch to ensure everyone’s fled elsewhere.” She walked past Goku, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Please be careful.” 

He gave her a quick nod. “You too.” 

One last squeeze to her shoulder, and Suno headed out. In the near distance, Goku caught the sight of a blonde Launch leading a team of villagers out of the area. He watched Suno run right up to her, the two of them giving each other a quick peck on the lips, before rushing out with the whole village into the forest. 

Ten minutes later, the arrival of two powerful kis registered. Goku walked towards the middle of the village as those kis increased in size. He stopped right when two figures floated in the air above him—one in Saiyan armor with a lavender tail, the other in green with a needle-tipped tail. 

Slowly, they descended to the Earth. Trunks touched down first. Cell second. Both stood in similar stances: cross-armed, legs slightly wide, jaws set firm. 

Goku glared right at them both, his arms resting by his sides, palms down and relaxed. 

Trunks broke the interim silence between them with a small, bemused chuckle. “I’m surprised you’re still awake, let alone even able to stand on your own two feet.” He tilted his head to the side. “How did you get here so quickly?” 

“Stand down.” 

“Ah. Not telling, I see. Hmph.” He shrugged. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Hm? Do what? Ah! You must mean—” He gestured to Cell from head to toe with one hand. “—this gentleman here.” Cell chuckled beside him, almost at the same time he did. “Why, he’s here simply to visit someone. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s correct.” Cell’s voice went down a few octaves as he growled, “I believe you know my dear sister, Eighteen.” 

Goku snarled, “She’s not your sister, and she’s not coming with you.”

“Oh? And who’s going to stop me?” Cell took a few steps forward, closing the gap between them. “You? The almighty Son Goku who looks like he can barely stand on his own two feet?” 

Without looking away, Goku fell into a fighting stance. 

Cell followed suit, coming into his own stance. 

A gust of wind picked up some snow, waving it into the air. 

The trees around them rustled, breaking up the thick silence between them. 

Goku grit his teeth, his fists tightening. 

Cell snickered, lowering himself into a deeper stance. 

The second Goku charged forward, Cell hopped up into the air, far away from him. He landed behind him, far away into the thicket of trees that surrounded Jingle Village. 

Goku barely had a moment to recalibrate before Trunks landed a fist squarely against his jaw, sending him skidding across the snow. 

More fists and kicks landed on his aching body. More snow and ice hit his face and bare skin, the impact adding to the pain of Trunks’s fists. He ended up into the trees, the branches and leaves and pockets of snow hitting his body again and again and again, all in time to Trunks’s ki attacks and kicks. 

He raised his own ki to protect himself, cocooning his body into a shield of some kind. The more Trunks landed powerful hits, the more Goku went on the defensive. He dodged, ducked, rolled away, jumped away, brought forearms up in front of his face to protect his head and neck. All of his work did some help in preventing further damage to his worn body. But he couldn’t land a hit back. He didn’t have a moment’s rest to recalibrate and focus his tired body on one powerful hit. Instant transmission required concentration, and he had none. His body couldn’t focus on anything except on one thing only: survive. 

Eventually, a powerful kick caught him off guard, sending him flying into rows of trees. He landed face first into a rock and ice formation, the blood spraying from his broken nose and busted teeth. Thick droplets ran down the ice, the blood congeling fast in the cold temperature. 

Goku came to his hands and knees, coughing up blood here and there, clearing it out of his nose and mouth. It stained the white snow beneath him bright red, creating a small puddle underneath his face. 

Two gold-tipped boots walked into his swimming vision. 

Trunks’s voice echoed in his head. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I did this.” A strong hand gripped his hair, pulling at the base of his scalp. “It’s simple. I wanted the fight. The challenge—” He hissed through his teeth as that hand dragged him to his knees, yanking his head up. “—to beat Cell at his full power. Not his base form, like my father did.” Even with some blood running into his vision, he made out the very Vegeta-like sneer on Trunks’s face. “Can’t you see I’m right? Can’t you feel your blood boil, thinking about how amazing that fight would be?” That hand shook his head back and forth, rattling his vision and his injuries. “Tell me I’m wrong. Look at me and say you don’t feel the same way.” 

Blood trickled into his mouth, choking his voice. He managed a small shake of his head no. 

“Liar! You feel it. You know I’m right.” His cackle chilled Goku’s body from head to toe. “Come now, Kakarot.” Trunks leaned in, yelling into his face. “Where is your Saiyan pride?!”

He spat a huge glob of blood right into his face.

That hand yanked on his hair hard, throwing his whole body into the air. 

Two strong arms caught him before he landed into anything else. 

Below, he heard Trunks shout, “What the hell?! Who are you?” 

The person who caught him replied in a soothing, slightly robotic tone. “I am Android Sixteen. Initially programmed to kill Son Goku.” Those gentle hands laid him down onto the cold, snow-covered ground. As they slid away, Sixteen growled, “Now I am programmed to stop Cell and you.” 

Trunks’s ki escalated to a level Goku recognized: that other form of Super Saiyan. Bulky, slow, imperfect, but just strong enough to destroy this unfinished version of Cell. That ki blasted off and away into the air, followed by the booming of fists colliding, the sound echoing throughout the forest. 

He crawled onto his side, spitting out more blood originating from his broken nose. Just as he sat up, the arrival of a familiar ki—lower than usual—appeared behind him. A firm hand rested against his upper back, the other grabbing one of his shoulders to steady him upright. 

“Here,” Krillin said, releasing his shoulder. “Let me reset that.” 

Goku waved him off. “I got it.” He winced through the pain, hissing through his gritted teeth as he fixed the issue. Wiping the blood on his gi pants, he ordered, “Go protect Eighteen. Get away from here.” 

“No can do, buddy.” Both of Krillin’s arms wrapped around him, helping Goku to his feet. As he refocused his vision, he looked down at Krillin, who looked up at him with a determined expression. “She’s safe where she is. Cell won’t find her.” 

“But—”

“Nope. I’m not leaving you here like this.” He thumbed over to where Trunks and Sixteen fought mid-air, throwing ki blasts here and there. “We need to knock some sense into that kid before Cell finds her. From how powerful he feels, I think Sixteen can hold off Cell until we get Trunks back on our side.” 

Goku glared at Trunks above. “I doubt it. He’s dead set in his choice.” 

“Then we can at least try.” Krillin patted his back, giving him a pointed look. “I know you’re exhausted. You probably haven’t had much time to recover.” 

“Heh. I look that bad, huh?”

“Even without the broken nose. It’s bad. But I know you, Goku. You dig in deep and fight. You won’t quit, even when your body wants you to.” Krillin nodded to him with a proud grin. “You and me. Let’s do this. Together.” 

Goku nodded back, a small tired smile on his bruised face. “Together.” 

They bumped fists together before flying up into the air, flaring up their kis as high as they could go. Goku shifted into Super Saiyan—hiding the wince from the pain that hit his chest as he did so. 

***

Something felt wrong to Vegeta. There was no explanation for it. They were a couple months into training here in the Time Chamber, and the entire time, he hadn’t felt like this. He tried pushing through this unknown feeling, working as best he could with Gohan, focusing his mind and body on training as hard as they could. But the feeling didn’t dissipate. It didn’t go away. It lingered on his mind and body and it bothered him. Really bothered him. 

Fighting didn’t make it go away. Meditating didn’t make it go away. He tried all the mental gymnastics he knew and utilized in the past to keep his mind focused on what mattered: getting stronger to defeat Cell. But that feeling stayed. This sense of utter… wrongness. This bitter taste in his mouth from something he couldn’t remember or pinpoint as to what it exactly was. It simply felt wrong. 

The only time he felt something similar to this in his life came from a place he didn’t like to think about, didn’t want to think about, ever. Even though his life—and in particular, Goku’s struggles, post-Namek—constantly brought that place and his time there back up again, and again, and again. 

It was the same weird sense of wrongness he felt back on Yardrat. 

He thought he was hiding it well from Gohan as the days passed. While he did promise to talk to Gohan more, especially when it concerned what happened on Yardrat with his father, he didn’t think it was wise to tell him about this. Whatever this was. He had a job to do: train Gohan and himself to defeat Cell, in case Trunks and Goku couldn’t. 

Three days later, a Super Saiyan Gohan pinned him to the ground mid-spar. His growl right into his face caught Vegeta off guard as much as that pin did. 

“Talk, Vegeta,” Gohan demanded. “Now.” He released his hold to pull Vegeta up to his feet, glaring up at him. “You’re hiding something from me.” 

He returned that glare, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Gohan mimicked his stance. He unfurled his bristling tail, waving it back and forth behind him, low to the ground. 

Vegeta glanced at the tail. At Gohan. “Hmph.” A small smile appeared on his face. “You know my tells too well, it seems. Just like your parents.” 

“Duh. I lived with you for how many years?”

“True.” 

“So, spill. You promised.” 

“Aiii, I did.” He sighed, diverting his attention elsewhere, down on the ground. Unfurling his arms, he muttered, “I think… I can’t fully explain it…” His hands balled up into fists by his sides. “But it has to deal with your father.” 

Gohan’s Super Saiyan form faded with a soft whoosh . “I thought you couldn’t communicate with him from here.”

“You’re right. I can’t. The Room of Space and Time is a different dimension from the one we inhabit.” 

“Then… why?” 

“Because.” He took a deep breath, unfurling his fists and his tail at the same time. He relaxed his palms by his sides, his tail loose and limp. His shoulders slumped forward, his back turning into a small ‘c’ curve. The weight of the struggles, the nightmares, the endless fighting, the staggering self-hatred and self-disappointment he still harbored inside for what he did to his mate—it all crashed down on him as he finally confessed: “He did this before.” 

*** 

The battles went on for hours. Pieces of the forest disappeared. Some pieces of Jingle Village were spared. Reinforcements arrived—Tien, Yamcha, Piccolo, Nappa—and it provided a little help. But only a little. 

By the end, only two remained standing: Trunks and Cell. 

Trunks observed from afar, perched on top of a snowy cliffside overlooking the valley of broken trees and broken homes below. He watched Cell stalk his way past the unconscious bodies of Sixteen, Nappa, Tien, Yamcha, Piccolo, stopping at Goku’s body to kick his side for the hell of it. Even from this high up, he heard Goku’s agonized groan of pain. 

A few more feet, and he stopped in front of Krillin’s still moving body, smirking down at him. He leaned down to snatch up Krillin’s neck in one of his huge hands, dragging him up until he dangled at eye-level, floppy arms swinging like his legs.

Cell pulled Krillin closer to him. “I think you’ll be the first to go.” 

Goku yelled as loud as he could in a straint, “N-No! Krillin!” 

One by one, Cell closed his fingers around Krillin’s neck—

“STOP!” Trunks smirked as Eighteen bounded out of the forest from whatever hiding place she was in, heading right for Cell. “Stop, please! I beg you! Let him go!” 

“Ahhhhh, dear sister. There you are.” Cell chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “Why should I spare this human?”

“I’ll give you me.” Despite how tough and strong she sounded, her voice cracked in places. “I swear it. Let him and the others go, and you can absorb me.”

Through gritted, bleeding teeth, Krillin choked out, “N-No… Eighteen…”

She smiled at him. “Hey, it’s okay. I mean it.” Eighteen gazed at him for the last time, tears running down her pale face. “I know it wasn’t long but…” Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Thanks for making me feel human again.”

Each moment that followed happened fast. Cell flung Krillin away, his body crashing into the snowy ground. He aimed his tail right for Eighteen, who shut her eyes tight and slammed her arms to her side, bracing for impact. It only took a few seconds for Cell’s tail to expand and swallow her whole, but the screams of Krillin and Eighteen lasted much, much longer. 

***

The more Vegeta spoke of the memories of Yardrat, the more the Chamber surroundings melted away. He didn’t feel Gohan’s ki anymore, or the changing weather conditions, or the overwhelming whiteness of the vast empty void. All he saw, all he felt, was then, coming back to life, one at a time. 

Goku clawing at his face, yanking at his hair, scratching at the skin of his arms and neck, screaming until his voice turned raw—all because of the ungodly burning pain in his head every time he transformed into Super Saiyan. The nightmares upon nightmares about killing Frieza, breaking his code of giving mercy to others, how he then continued killing others in the universe in those very nightmares, including his own family and friends, even Vegeta. The emptiness in the bond, caused by Goku himself, to push Vegeta away, to keep him at bay, to shield him away from the kutshisha still picking away at Goku’s mind and soul. The wrong sense of Saiyan pride his Goku felt, this unhealthy dedication and determination to do this on his own, fight his own demons, beat this back, beat it and himself into submission, demanding to be left alone. Demanding to prove he was strong, he was capable, he was worthy of being a Saiyan, being the Prince’s mate, being a great warrior. 

The day Goku yelled at Vegeta to go back to Earth, now, or else. 

The explosive physical fight that followed, Vegeta barely able to keep up with an emotional, unstable Super Saiyan Goku. 

The pain Goku caused him physically didn’t hold a candle to the mental and emotional pain. Ten months of a shut off bond. Ten months without talking to his mate, feeling his mate, knowing his mate in and out, down to his very soul. He only received one day of their bond as it once was, and that was the day he arrived on Yardrat. No other time since. 

The tears on Goku’s golden face as he looked down at Vegeta, begging him to stop fighting. To leave him. To give up and go home. The anguish and hurt and raw misery in his voice and on his face as he asked forgiveness from Vegeta. For treating him like shit this whole time. For not being strong enough in beating back his kutshisha. For not being strong enough back on Namek. For not saving him. For not preventing his death. For being a weak excuse of a Saiyan. 

The surge of power that rushed through Vegeta, born from the pain he suppressed for so, so long. 

His inner rage, decades in the making. His inner self-hatred, also decades in the making. The deep, suffocating guilt he felt in bringing Goku into this world of his. How he should’ve left Earth like Kami demanded the day Goku turned Oozaru for the first time and discovered he killed his Grandpa. How Goku was so much better than him, how he didn’t deserve any of his kindness and sweetness from the beginning to now. The neverending doubt he harbored to this day over deserving Goku in his life. The hate he possessed for himself, not thinking about the kutshisha when he took that beam from Frieza, when he had admonished Goku for that very thing when they fought Dodoria on Earth. 

Confession, after confession, after confession. They spilled out of Vegeta, the dam he fortified his feelings and thoughts behind finally breaking down. How he hated himself. How he hated what he did to Goku. How he himself was a worthless excuse of a Saiyan, not Goku, never Goku, because he was the prince, and it was his responsibility to be the one strong enough to protect, to lead, to help. And he didn’t do it, because he was the weak one. He hurt him. He wounded him. He broke him. He couldn’t leave, not now, not with his mate like this. He needed Goku’s forgiveness, his love, his trust, everything he believed deep down he lost the day he died. The bond wasn’t the same. The bond wasn’t right. It felt wrong, everything felt wrong, and he needed to atone for his actions, he needed to. 

Goku’s face when he confessed it all, right in front of him, blood blurring his vision as much as his tears. 

How he begged Goku not to abandon him. Not to push him away.

How Goku smiled—in awe, in pride—at the same time. 

The way Goku touched his face with both hands, cupping his wet cheeks. The way he sounded as he told Vegeta what had happened, what Vegeta himself hadn’t even noticed. 

“You did it, my prince,” he said. “You are the Legendary.” 

The bond finally opened at that very moment. Goku re-opened that bond, and nothing felt wrong anymore. Nothing like before. It felt right again. It felt okay again. Like home. He was home.

Everything was going to be okay. 

Everything should have been okay.

The sound of Gohan’s voice pierced through the fog of memories. “…wow.” 

Vegeta licked his dry lips, finding his mouth equally as dry. He cleared his throat, blinking his eyelids rapidly. He found himself sitting on the ground of the Chamber, hugging one knee to his chest, the other straight out in front of him. 

Across from him sat Gohan, sitting cross-legged, his tail laying limp behind him on the ground. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He gawked at Vegeta, completely still all over. 

Diverting his attention away back to the ground, Vegeta finished off his story with a mumble of, “So… that’s why.” He swallowed some saliva, his throat dry too. A few more coughs to clear his throat, and his voice sounded more normal than before. “I apologize for such a long winded answer.” 

He smirked at Gohan’s response: a soft “holy shit .” 

“You’re lucky I don’t care about cursing. But I believe your curse is warranted, considering what you just learned.”

“Uh. Yeah.” Gohan drifted his attention elsewhere, out into the void. “Gods. This explains so much. Why dad’s been acting off, why you’ve been acting off…” He shook his head. “And you dealt with it alone. Both of you. For years.” 

“Mm.” 

“Now Cell’s here… the virus hit… dad’s out there, probably still recovering… you’re feeling this same thing again…” Vegeta startled as Gohan quickly climbed to his feet, his tail bristling and whipping behind him. “No. Not again.” He suppressed a gasp as Gohan jerked his head back to him with a very pointed, very angry, very Saiyan-like glare. “You’re not going through this alone again. Neither of you.” He flared back up to Super Saiyan, uttering words Vegeta never, ever thought he’d hear from Gohan in his lifetime: “Vu’lowe m’eh.” Train me. “Akho sizi. Akukho kota.” No mercy. No quarter.

Vegeta shot up to his feet, gaping down at him. 

Gohan turned his whole body towards him, his ki rising higher and higher, reaching levels Vegeta hadn’t felt before. 

He answered Gohan’s call by flaring up to Super Saiyan himself. With a smirk on his face and his voice seeping with pride, he replied, “Va’lowe’h.” I will train you. “Ve’ho’ti Gohan.” Prince Gohan. 

A booming laugh bubbled out of Vegeta as Gohan threw the first punch, without a shred of hesitance. Just like a Saiyan.

***

Time didn’t matter to Goku. Whatever part of the day it was, how much longer it would be until Vegeta and Gohan emerged from the chamber, none of it mattered. Not when Cell got what he wanted in the end. Not when there was only one week until the beginning of what he called the Cell Games. 

It didn’t matter to Goku either that everyone praised him for his quick thinking, how he manipulated Cell into putting on a tournament to showcase his new power, as well as fighting Goku at the peak of his physical condition. Saiyan pride lived well inside Cell. The same so-called Saiyan pride inside Trunks. 

He didn’t hold a shred of anger or remorse towards Trunks. He watched Trunks fight Cell from his snowy grave out on the battlefield, completely numb inside. When Trunks eventually lost to Cell, overpowered by the creature’s new, perfect form, he possessed no joy, no relief, no disappointment, no anger, nothing. 

That sense of nothingness stuck with him as he pulled himself to his feet, addressing Cell to the best of his ability. That numbness lingered through Cell’s mocking laugh as he left to announce to the world his Cell Games. The sight of Mr. Popo and Korin, the taste of senzu beans in his mouth—he knew they were there, but he still felt absolutely nothing. Even the gentle touches of his friends and family felt off and weird.  

Not even Trunks phased him. His pleas for forgiveness, his shock over losing, his anger over how he misunderestimated Cell and how his father will always be one step ahead of him—Goku didn’t have the energy or the willpower to handle him or anything else. The most he could do was ask two things only: for Trunks to go home to Capsule Corp, and for he and the others to go to the Lookout. When Trunks tried pleading and begging with him to come with, Krillin and the others stepped in, snapping and yelling at him the way Goku couldn’t. 

He must’ve done something—or not done something— in the way he moved or acted. Or maybe he had some sort of look on his face. Maybe both. Whatever it was, it tipped off everyone to give him some space. The second he arrived at the Lookout, no one bothered him. No one came to him. Only Mr. Popo guided him forward into the Lookout and its many hallways, taking him somewhere deep inside, away from the others. 

The numbness began to fade when Mr. Popo opened a familiar door, revealing a very, very familiar room inside.

Goku took one step in, inhaling a fresh scent coming from the bed. 

His numbness finally disappeared as he realized where he was—and who was recently there. 

Mr. Popo’s voice sounded underwater behind him. Whatever he said didn’t matter. He stumbled his way towards the bed, flopping onto it, right onto his side, his back to the door. He curled up into a tight ball like he did as a child, like he did when he used to sleep next to Vegeta. He tried to make himself as tiny as possible, something he once did easily when he was smaller than Vegeta for a little while. But it didn’t work. He was too bulky, too big, not the way he used to be. Too much changed. Too different. 

One fist clawed into the pillowcase beneath him. His eyelids screwed up tight, holding back the stinging wetness that threatened to break through and release. 

No more kis nearby. No one else around. 

Only this. Only this bed—their bed. Their room. The place they spent their early days together. Before Cell. Before Frieza. Before it all went wrong. 

He hissed through gritted teeth. His tail curled up over the area where Vegeta usually slept. Where he should’ve been. 

With every inhale, he calmed down. The more he breathed, the more he smelled Vegeta. As if he was there with him. As if he never left. 

Slowly, he lifted a hand to his neck, resting his shaky palm over the mating mark. 

Over the r’bhon’or, he whispered, Help me, Vegeta. Help me be okay.

Nothing replied back, as he expected, but it hurt. It still hurt. 

Sleep eventually came to him. Goku stayed in that exact spot, his body unmoving as he rested. At some point, his tail unfurled from his waist, reaching across the sheets for a body to curl around. When it met air, it tried a few more times, until it gave up and simply curled around itself, as if an invisible arm resided there beside Goku on the bed. 

Chapter Text

All across the Earth, people stood in front of television screens that varied in sizes and shapes. Some stood in the middle of busy city sidewalks, gawking up at the gigantic screens above. Some sat on couches or chairs in front of smaller screens, hugging the nearest person or pillow or pet to their chest. They absorbed every word Cell said as he announced the Cell Games in a week’s time. 

The only people who didn’t watch a single word of that broadcast: the ones high up on the Lookout, away from Earth, recovering from the fight against Cell. 

Yamcha and Tien sat side by side on the steps to the Lookout’s entrance, leaning against each other with twined hands. Sixteen leaned against one of the pillars, nursing a cup of water handed to him by Mr. Popo. Krillin stood beside him, staring at the white tiles below, his face ashen, his shoulders slumping forward. Piccolo conversed with Dende in Namekian, their faces serious and grim. 

Nappa finished chewing his senzu bean, grimacing at the sudden zenkai boost it offered him right after. He steadied his breathing, settling in with the new power for a moment, before addressing Korin with a small smile and a nod. 

Korin returned the nod. He offered Nappa the rest of his pouch—much lighter in weight than before. “My last three.” 

“Thank you.”

“No sweat.” Once he passed off the pouch, Korin leaned on his staff with both of his paws, his attention downcast. “Still didn’t make enough.” 

“Well…” Nappa shrugged. “It’s not like you knew we’d get our asses kicked by Cell.”

“Heh. Yeah, true… still—” 

“Three is better than none.”

“Mm.” 

The sound of a door creaking open caught the attention of everyone on the Lookout. They congregated towards the source of the sound, entering the building itself. The moment they gathered at the door, it finally swung wide open with a loud bang . 

The silhouette of Vegeta and Gohan stood in the doorway, lit up by the endless vast whiteness of the Chamber inside.

A collection of murmurs and soft gasps emerged from the others as Gohan took the first steps forward—in Super Saiyan form. 

Piccolo reached out towards him with a shaky hand. “G-Gohan…?” 

Gohan smiled. “Yep, it’s me.” His smile waned as he looked over everyone. “You guys look a little… tired. Did something happen?” He frowned as he came to his tip toes, swinging his head back and forth. “Where’s Trunks? And my dad?”

No one said a word as Vegeta followed right behind Gohan, also in Super Saiyan form. He crossed his arms over his chest, observing everyone with a cold glare that froze everyone in place and into deep silence. 

“Hmph.” He lingered his gaze on Mr. Popo, growling, “Tell me what happened. Now.” 

***

Vegeta didn’t need any help finding Goku. He didn’t need ki sensing, nor their bond, to know exactly where he was. Wandering through the Lookout sent him down a good memory lane, before Cell, before Frieza, when things were simpler and easier. When all Vegeta had to worry about was eventually getting off the planet, finding Raditz and Nappa, and dealing with a very clingy, very annoying, very abnormal Saiyan. 

He opened the door to his old room slowly, mindful not to make any noise. On the bed laid a curled up orange blob, black hair sticking up all over the place, back turned to the door. So similar to back then. Over time, Goku starfished the bed, taking up as much space as possible, sheets strewn here and there. Sometimes, though, that curled up ball showed up, usually when Goku was exhausted or wanting to cuddle as the little spoon. But now, with this room, and that sight before him, all Vegeta saw was how things used to be. 

The times Vegeta woke up early in those days to go train by himself, later coming back into the room to find Goku still in that position, clinging to the pillow, tail twitching in sleep. He closed the door behind him like he did then, as quiet and as slow as possible. Goku usually slept deep, but Yardrat ruined his usual patterns. 

Part of him relaxed when he noticed Goku didn’t move or twitch at all as he approached the bed. The rest of his anxiety disappeared as he checked their bond, still alive, still there. He stood by the bed, observing Goku sleeping like he used to. Completely oblivious. Dead out. Pure exhaustion riddled Goku’s sleeping face, his nose and lips scrunched up tight, teeth grinding here and there. Nothing Vegeta wasn’t used to seeing after returning back to Earth. But at least he was sleeping. At least Goku wasn’t half-in, half-out of sleep, like he usually was post-Yardrat. 

He took his time climbing into bed, his body facing Goku. He scooted in until his nose almost brushed the tip of Goku’s, his mate’s body heat radiating his own skin. The urge to touch, to wake him up, to use their bond to nudge him out of those bad dreams, almost won out. But Vegeta held himself back. He waited, like always, because he knew Goku. He knew his mate could do this, without his help. 

It didn’t take long for Goku’s whole face to settle, the tension and anxiety and worry gone with a simple exhale through his nose and parted lips. A long sigh followed, Goku’s fingers curling tighter around the pillow he clutched onto. 

Eyelids fluttered open. Sleepy black eyes found him, the haze of dream melting away to recognition. 

He smiled at the same time Goku did, breaking the silence between them with agentle, “Hi.” 

Goku’s gaze drifted up and down his face, his smile growing the more time passed. Soon, he settled his attention right on Vegeta, relief and awe permeating his voice. “I knew it would work.” 

Vegeta chuckled. “I should know by now not to doubt you. You’re a genius when it comes to ki.” 

The pink blush dusting Goku’s cheeks warmed Vegeta deep inside—a sight he hadn’t seen in much too long. “Yeah, well… you’re better at battle strategy than me.”

“That shit doesn’t matter when it comes to Cell.”

A ping of shame hit his gut at the visible sight of Goku’s guilt eating away the brief glimpse of his mate’s old self. Those eyes drifted down, away from Vegeta. He barely heard Goku’s voice as he murmured, “Mah’ni.” I’m sorry.

“Suk yehala.” Do not worry.

“M’eh’bu gen’amandla—” I wasn’t strong—

“H’na.” No . He reached out with one hand, fingertips touching Goku’s chin. He tilted it up and met his sad gaze as he growled, “Buxoki akwal.” Lies are not welcomed here.

“Vejita…” 

“At’ro m’eh.” Talk to me. 

“Andinokwazi.” I can’t.

“T’au’ga.” You can.

Goku shook his head no, moving his chin out of Vegeta’s grasp. “M’eh’dazi kuba n’di’thi.” I don’t know what to say. His face soured as he switched out of Sadalan, “I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and you’ll tell me I’m remembering it wrong.”

“Emva ko’m’eh thula.” Then I’ll be quiet.

“That’s not fair to you.”

His fingertips reached for Goku’s cheek this time. The tips brushed cold skin as he switched out of Sadalan too. “What’s fair to me doesn’t matter when you are the one in pain.

“So are you.”

“It’s not about me.” 

”It should be. I’m being selfish, again—”

“Kakarot, konele . Bhu’tir.” He cupped that cold cheek in his warm palm. A sigh seeped out through his nose as he leaned forward, closing the minor gap between them. Forehead touched forehead as he said, “We’ve been through this before. You can trust me. This isn’t Yardrat—” The anticipated shaking head, frustrated sigh and retreating body catapulted Vegeta into defense mode. He grabbed Goku in an instant, hugging him to his chest, keeping him in place. He squeezed him tight while pressing his lips to his cheek, his breath bouncing back onto his face. He growled, “It isn’t. You know it is.” 

“Yes it is .” 

“How?”

“I failed you. I failed everyone .” 

“That’s not true—”

“I didn’t recover fast enough.” Goku’s tail swished and curled behind him, his soft voice rising in volume the more he spoke. “I couldn’t stop Cell, couldn’t stop Trunks, couldn’t prevent these deaths on Earth from happening—I’m a failure now like I was then, back on Yardrat.” 

He froze himself into silence, despite the urge to yell and argue with Goku about how wrong he was. Instead, he stayed quiet, allowing Goku to lean back, even releasing the tightness of his hold on Goku. A ping of relief washed over him when Goku didn’t fully recoil or leave him. He stayed on the bed with him, in front of him. They didn’t meet eye-to-eye, but at least he could now look at Goku in the face somewhat. He could see him and his emotions as he spoke. 

It still hurt listening to every word Goku said aloud. Still wounded Vegeta like ki blows right to every vital organ in his body as Goku berated himself, revealing every little self-hate and self-lie he harbored inside himself. Everything Vegeta knew Goku felt about himself since Yardrat, but hoped deep down they truly moved on from a good majority of it. 

Like a broken record, Goku said the lines Vegeta knew by heart, just with added lyrics here and there. “Couldn’t control Super Saiyan fast enough.” “It’s my fault we didn’t get to have a normal life on Earth after Frieza.” “I should’ve been strong enough to take that blast instead of you.” “Not strong enough to handle the kutshisha.” “Should’ve ordered Krillin to give me whatever senzu bean was left.” “Too weak to take on Cell alone.” “Too weak to stop Trunks.” 

He waited until Goku stopped talking, the thick pause of silence between them long enough to cue him it was okay to speak. But he couldn’t. His throat hurt. His chest hurt. Whatever he could’ve said or done wouldn’t have made a dent in however Goku felt in this moment—and the reality of it, the cold truth that nothing would work, wounded him more than any blast could. 

He buried those emotions deep down with a long, drawn-out sigh, curling his arms around Goku as tight as he could. He buried his face into the top of Goku’s head, breathing in his scent. His tail found its way around Goku’s waist, squeezing it tight. The hurt inside eased away somewhat at the sensation of Goku’s tail wrapping around his own waist too, giving him just as tight of a hug. 

The sound of Goku’s breathing lulled him into a lucid state, half awake, half asleep. He almost fell completely asleep until Goku’s soft voice broke through the fog of relaxation, asking, “Do you think… is it ever…” 

The sigh that followed cut Vegeta deep. 

He answered that unspoken question with a kiss to the top of Goku’s head. 

Goku answered in return with a kiss to the underside of Vegeta’s throat.

Over the bond, Vegeta sent every feeling of love and reassurance he possessed inside for this man, his mate—all the while, repressing his own feelings of anxiety and foreboding. Especially when Goku did not respond to his feelings over the bond, his emotions muted, his mind silent. The same way Goku used to do on Yardrat. 

***

Trunks hoped for a day’s reprieve when he saw his father return to the Time Chamber so soon after emerging from it, this time with Goku in tow. That hope died within thirty minutes. Goku and Vegeta re-emerged—Goku now Super Saiyan like his father and Gohan—heading right towards him with dual emotionless gazes. He didn’t bother protesting or pleading. He simply followed Vegeta’s silent command: a pointed glare towards a hallway inside the Lookout. When Vegeta walked towards that hallway with Goku flanking his side, Trunks followed, his head hanging low like his lavender tail. 

Each footstep echoed in that hall, as if ticking down the time to his demise. Behind him, he registered Gohan’s ki trailing behind him. No one else followed. Gohan didn’t come closer like he expected, or hoped. Instead, Gohan kept his distance, his cold ki chilling Trunks to the bone. 

He anticipated yelling of some kind. Possibly even a few punches, physically and emotionally. This was his father after all. A different timeline, but still the same man. He deserved it, though, after what he did. 

They entered a room in the Lookout devoid of all furniture and color, except for one large blue couch. Trunks prepared for the inevitable, steeling himself mentally and physically for what was to come. He stood before Goku and Vegeta, fists tight by his sides, staring right at their boots, unable to lift his head just yet. 

The sound of the door clicking shut behind him echoed in the quiet room. 

Soon, Gohan’s shoes entered his view, coming to stand beside Goku. 

He maintained a steady, even breath, despite his nerves. 

The heavy silence suffocated him as much as the anticipation.

He heard Vegeta sigh, watched his feet take a step closer towards him. 

Trunks swallowed against his dry throat. 

The knuckles of his fists turned white. 

A hand touched his shoulder. 

Trunks began to power up—

His father’s gentle question hit him harder than any ki blast. “Why, Trunks?” His jaw dropped open, as wide as his bugged-out eyes. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

He stared at his father. Really stared at him. He took in every piece of uncharacteristic emotion on his face—the concern, the frustration, the care, actual care—emotions he mostly got from his mother and Gohan and even ChiChi, but never his father, never—

In the background, he found those same emotions on Goku’s face, along with palpable confusion and hurt. Gohan reflected those same emotions, but only he and he alone possessed the anger Trunks expected Vegeta to have. Even then, that anger paled in comparison to his hurt and concern. 

The hand on his shoulder squeezed a bit harder. He returned his attention back to Vegeta, still looking concerned. Still not yelling at him. Still acting like—like he actually cared and didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him, didn’t—

“You don’t have to talk,” Vegeta said, in that tone, that voice, one he rarely heard before, or ever in his life. “If it’s okay with you—” Another gloved hand on his other shoulder. Same reassuring squeeze. “—I can read your mind instead and share the images with Kakarot and Gohan.” 

Behind Vegeta, Goku piped up, saying the words Trunks needed to hear, and yet hurt to hear at the same time. “He won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

His vision blurred. 

The memories of what happened flooded his mind. 

A short, sharp nod of his head was his only reply. 

He closed his eyes as two gloved hands touched the sides of his head. 

***

Trunks didn’t need to use ki to know where his father was. He wandered downstairs, deep into the lab, finding him where he last saw him: in front of the console next to the Time Machine, gloved hands resting on top of the steel keyboard frame. He wore his same all black clothing, the very outfit he wore earlier that day to ChiChi’s funeral at the crater where his father arrived all those years ago. In the dimness of the light, he caught the telltale wetness on his cheeks, a wetness Trunks hadn’t seen at all, until now. 

His mother warned him to leave his father alone. Even now, he heard her voice in his head, begging him to turn away, to go back upstairs, to give him space to grieve. But he couldn’t do that. He had to fix this, had to do something to make up for the monumental mistake he made. An act of hesitance led to the end of everything his father knew—the end of the life he had before Goku died and the Androids arrived. Before Frieza. Before it all went wrong, before he was born. 

He took a step inside the lab, emerging from the shadows of the hallway into the artificial light. His steps echoed, one after the other, the closer he came to his father’s hunched over back. 

His father made no movement, no noise. He stayed perfectly still from where he was in front of the console. Not even his tail twitched. 

Once he stood a short distance away from his father’s back, Trunks licked his dry lips and mouthed the first word that came to mind. When no voice accompanied the word, he cleared his throat and attempted it again. 

This time, his voice carried. “Father…” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, a waver tainting his voice as he murmured, “I’m so sorry.” When he received nothing but silence, he fought against his anxiety and kept talking, his tone meek, almost docile, as well as regretful. “I-I screwed up. I know I did. Not just with going back in the past without telling you or mom, but with…” He blinked his eyelids rapidly, clearing his blurry vision. “Gods, I should’ve… I didn’t s-sense her, or him…” He stared at the impassive statue of his father’s figure, his voice firming up, losing the sadness and gaining determination instead. “I swear I’ll get stronger. I’ll be better. I won’t disappoint you again. I promise.” 

Silence was his answer. Again. 

“Dad, please.” Trunks dared a step forward. “Talk to me.” Then another. “You haven’t spoken in days.” Another. “I’m worried.” He stood a foot’s distance away from his back. “Mom’s worried.” He reached a hand out to his back. “I know you’re hurting—” 

“Child.” Vegeta’s cold sneer caused Trunks’ hand to recoil in mid-air. The fingers curled up and flinched away with every word Vegeta spat out, the vitriol and despair pummeling Trunks’ chest. “What I am… how I feel…” He found himself frozen in place as his father slowly turned around to address him, his eyes bloodshot, shadows clinging to every crevice and curve of his unusually pale face. “I am beyond that worthless word.” 

He found himself speaking without thought, mouthing the words, “I’m sor—”

“Say that phrase again—” Vegeta snarled, his eyes flashing red for a brief moment. “—and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Trunks shook his head no.  “Y-You…” He took one step back. “You don’t mean that.” 

His stomach sank at the cold, emotionless way his father said, “I would trade your life in an instant for any of theirs.”

Again, his vision blurred. “F-Father—” 

“Quiet.” Each word his father said struck him deep. “You are a pitiful excuse of a Saiyan.” He recoiled physically, walking backwards as his father walked towards him, almost looming over him as his voice raised. “Your lack of pride and honor disgusts me. You allowed her, a woman with the ki level of almost nothing, to protect you, a Saiyan prince. You disappoint me. But I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew you’d never amount to anything.” He pressed up against the lab wall as his father delivered the final blow. “If Gohan had been around—”

“Fuck you!” Trunks pushed off the wall, yelling into his father’s face, “It’s not my fault!” 

“YES IT IS!” A gloved hand snatched up his shirt, yanking him off the ground. His father shook him back and forth as he screamed, “You should be the one dead, not her! You should’ve been the one to fight Cell, not her! Not ChiChi!” 

“Dad—AHH!” 

He cried out when he hit the steel wall again, his head bouncing off of it. His vision swam as his father kept shaking him back and forth, screaming into his face, “Coward! Weakling! False Saiyan!” 

“Dad, please!” 

The shaking finally stopped, only for him to be thrown to the ground a good distance away. His head bounced off the tile, his legs hitting the base of the Time Machine as his father snarled, “Get out of my sight, boy.” 

Hurt and anger filled his senses as Trunks came to, watching his father’s retreating back leave the lab. He slowly sat up on the ground, wiping the dirt from his face. The years of abuse he took from his father, the endless comparisons to Gohan, the unsaid and unspoken resentment towards Trunks for being the one who lived because Gohan saved his life, the resentment that built after Trunks came back from the past, the frustration and hurt that he’d never be enough for Vegeta, he’d always be a failure, he’d be an eternal disappointment that never should’ve existed in the first place—it all bubbled up to the surface in one loud, inhuman scream. 

“NO!” Yellow flooded his vision, as did red. He pointed at his father’s back, his whole body thrumming from head to toe with pure rage. “You’re the coward! You’re the weakling!” He felt no fear as his father froze mid-step and turned around. Not even his indignant shock didn’t phase him. “I’m not the one who didn’t IT fast enough to save ChiChi! I’m not the one who failed in stopping Gohan from going after the androids alone! I’m not the one who couldn’t find a way to save any of them!” He staggered to his feet, delivering to his father his own killing blow. “NOT EVEN GOKU!” 

“GET OUT!” 

“FINE!” He flung his hands to his forehead, shutting his eyes tight. “Solar flare!” 

The sound of his father’s shocked scream made him smile from ear-to-ear like he hadn’t in a long time. That smile stayed on his face as he opened the Time Machine and began the sequence to turn it on. Revenge fed his anger as he taunted, “I’ll show you, dad!” The lid closed as he laughed, shouting at his father, “I’ll show you who the real coward is!” 

His last image before the machine faded into the past was his father’s desperate look and equally desperate scream of his name. “TRUNKS!!” 

***

Trunks blinked his wet eyes open as gloved hands slid away from the sides of his head. He met Vegeta’s gaze head on, preparing to fight, to explain himself and his actions away. How he lied, how he wasn’t here to help but to prove his father wrong, to prove he wasn’t a mistake, wasn’t a false Saiyan. That he wasn’t a fuck up. That he could do something right, for once. 

He found himself silenced by the unshed tears he found there in his father’s eyes. 

Those gloved hands touched each of his shoulders. They gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. An unnatural touch. A not normal gesture. A needed one, though.

Vegeta shook his head no. His voice radiated ache and pain with every word said—words Trunks he’d never heard in his life. “He’s wrong.” Another reassuring squeeze. “You are not a coward, nor a weakling. You didn’t cause any of their deaths.” 

“He’s right,” Goku said, coming up to Vegeta’s side. He too laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze too, his face just as emotional, just as teary-eyed. “He used you as a punching bag for his pain. You never needed to prove anything to anyone, especially him.” 

Gohan came to Vegeta’s other side, nodding along to what Goku said. “You came back to the past twice to help us.” He touched Trunks’ bicep, giving it a squeeze. “You gave my dad a fighting chance to live. You are strong. A strong Saiyan prince who embodies the Saiyan credo even more than me.” 

“Trunks…” He returned his attention back to his father as he spoke, locking eye-to-eye with him. “I know this isn’t the same as hearing this from your actual father, but if it won’t be from him, then it’ll be from me.” His vision turned completely blurry as Vegeta said, with sincerity and pride, “None of this was your fault. None of it. I failed you. I am truly sorry for what I did.” The brush of his father’s tail to his own—a sign of reassurance—and then the words he never, ever thought he’d hear from his father’s lips, ever. “May the goddesses have mercy on me for the wrongs I committed against you.”

Something physically broke inside Trunks. Something deep down that caused him to release the ugliest sob he ever had. He lost track of time and where he was, succumbing to vomiting out every single dark emotion and bad feeling he buried deep down for so long. But he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t abandoned. Strong arms held him close. Two pairs of strong arms. Three tails, each one squeezing a limb of his. Soothing strokes. Soothing, gentle kisses to his forehead and the top of his head. Familiar scents. Safety. Comfort. 

Family. 

His family. 

He clung hard to whatever fabric he could—spandex, cotton, linen, it didn’t matter—not wanting to let go of this feeling of safety, of acceptance. No one released him. No one abandoned him. Even when he kept ugly sobbing. Even when he clawed and scratched at skin and clothing and babbled words he couldn’t understand. They didn’t go away. They didn’t push him away. 

Gloved hands stroked his hair, a gesture Trunks remembered receiving once in his life, so many years ago. Gestures his father rarely gave. Gestures Trunks treasured, like now. Those gloved hands weren’t alone though. Equally strong, equally warm hands stroked his back, along with soothing purrs that rumbled against Trunks’ chest. He registered the purrs coming from Vegeta’s side, where Goku had stood, and he reached through the blurriness of his vision to find him, to cling to him too. His father’s mate. His ja’ta. 

Against some patch of warm skin, Trunks caught himself babbling words. He made them out and then gave them a clearer voice as best he could. “I will make this right… I will fight… I will… I promise, I will…” 

Two pairs of strong arms gave him a gigantic hug. 

On the left side of his head, he heard Goku say, “You will.” 

On the right side of his head, he heard his father grunt in agreement. 

Somewhere close by, he heard Gohan grunt too. 

His lavender tail sought out the others. Three limbs met his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze—a gesture Trunks returned in spades to their tails as well. 

Chapter Text

Six Days before The Cell Games…

Krillin didn’t care that he probably wouldn’t be of any use or help on the battlefield. The last image in his head of Eighteen—her words, her look, the sound of her scream—still haunted him, fueling him to train until he collapsed, every day. The connection they had, as brief and fleeting as it was, meant so much to him. She had a bad deal in life, along with her twin brother. They were tormented, experimented on, repeatedly hurt, again and again and again, only to be eaten alive and used for some other android’s power up. Neither of them deserved this. She, especially, didn’t deserve this. 

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one who was determined to make Cell pay. 

“Don’t hold back from me!” Android Sixteen shouted at him from above. He powered up, his steely-eyed blue gaze locking onto him. “Cell won’t hesitate in using all his power, and neither should you.” 

Krillin smirked up at him with a small nod. “You’re right.” He powered up, grimacing his teeth from how much ki he was using. “Don’t hold back on me either, you got that?”

“Affirmative.” 

He shot up into the air, meeting Sixteen’s fists dead on.

***

Five Days before The Cell Games…

Out in the wasteland where they first fought Dodoria together all those years ago, Nappa and Piccolo sat side by side on a rock formation, sharing a bottle of water. Dirt and sand peppered their torn gi and shoes. Sweat, bruises and cuts littered their visible skin under the cloudless sky. They stared out at the horizon, passing the bottle between them without a word said, until every drop was gone. Once empty, Piccolo crushed the plastic in one hand, disintegrating it with a burst of ki. 

Only then did Nappa break the silence. “Y’know what I just realized?”

“Hm?”

“My boss might show up.”

Piccolo turned his attention to Nappa with a frown. “To what, the Cell Games?”

“Heh heh, yeah. Before all this shit went down with Cell, I landed a gig being the bodyguard to some big shot martial artist. Think he won the last World Martial Arts Tournament. Y’know, that thing you, Kakarot and Vegeta participated in?”

“I’m aware.” 

“Yeah, so he won it, and now he’s the most popular guy on the planet.” 

“You don’t say.” 

“A’yep. He’s a weak human who loves a good pay day but adores the fame even more so. Generally he acts nice, but holy Tor above and below, he is absolutely stuck up and arrogant. Worse than Vegeta ever was, I think.” 

“I doubt that.”

“Ha! Yeah, true, true.” Nappa finally turned to Piccolo. “So I got to thinking right now. When Cell invited all martial artists to show up, I thought, ‘wait a minute, what if he shows up? Would he be that stupid?’” He smirked. “Dumbass questions to think, right?”

Piccolo smirked in return. “What’s his name?”

“Mr. See-tin. Say-ten. Something like that.” 

“Dumb name.”

“Right??”

A shared small bout of laughter floated between them. Once it petered off, the thick silence of anticipation and anxiety returned. Both of them looked away from each other, back out to the far distance. 

The gust of harsh wind nearly overpowered Nappa’s soft voice. “If something happens to you—”

“—I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Without looking away from the view before them, Nappa unfurled his tail from his waist and brought it over towards Piccolo’s upturned left hand. The tip of it brushed the inside of Piccolo’s wrist—the Saiyan sign for comfort, for pashika members, for those they cared and loved for. Piccolo responded with a flick of his sharp nails over that fur, the ki in his flick causing a small burst of wind to ruffle Nappa’s fur in a good, comforting way. 

Neither said another word for a long, long time, nor did Nappa remove his tail from Piccolo’s wrist for a good long while too. Not until they both moved at the same time to come to their feet and wordlessly spar together for hours on end, until the sun finally began to set. 

***

Four Days…

Raditz waited until ChiChi was alone in the house before approaching her. He knew it wasn’t the right time to bring this up. But the Cell Games were closing in. There was a very high potential of those games being his death along with the death of the entire Earth. Most importantly was the fact they never really explicitly talked about the thick tension between the two of them. So as much as he wanted to keep postponing the inevitable conversation, Raditz decided to throw caution to the wind and follow his own personal credo: screw it, gonna die anyway. 

He found her not in the kitchen as usual but in the living room, sitting on the family couch. Raditz double checked no one was around—no ki from Goku, or Vegeta, or Gohan, or anyone at all—before taking his time walking towards her. 

His anxiety heightened with every step forward. Sweat trickled down the side of his face and neck. His heartbeat increased two-fold once ChiChi came into view, taking in her messy bun—a rare sight—and pink fluffy morning robe. On her lap was one of those things full of pictures. A scrapbook, that was the thing ChiChi called it. He watched her flip through the pages one by one with a wistful, sad smile. He caught photos of Goku and Vegeta inside, Goku and Gohan, even recent photos of the last few years with himself, Nappa and the others. 

Her hand lingered on one photo, fingertips skipping over a picture of ChiChi in a gorgeous white-and-pink dress. To her left stood his brother in a white suit. To her right stood Vegeta in a black suit. All three of them, smiling. All of them looking so happy, so young. Even Vegeta. He recognized that photo and the significance of it. Goku had the same photo in his house with Vegeta. The not-mating day between Goku and ChiChi. The day they became husband and wife in terms of human standards, as well as urave and Saiyan. 

The soft, drawn-out sigh she released into the cold air hit Raditz like a punch to the gut. 

The exhaustion of the last few months—years, really—clearly showed on her ashen face. Black circles around her eyes. More wrinkles. More white hairs. There was none of her usual light makeup. Gone was her usual poise and proud posture. Before him sat a tired, sad, worried human woman in a pink fluffy robe, looking at pictures of how their life used to be, before he and Nappa showed up. Before everything changed. 

Lady ChiChi. Princess ChiChi. Urave to his brother ChiChi. 

The most beautiful, most badass woman he ever saw in his life. 

He cleared his throat, bringing a fist to his lips. As he pulled it back, he looked above at the ceiling, unable to meet her in the eye whatsoever while he spoke. “Lady ChiChi—”

“I like you too,” she replied, calm, collected, as if discussing the weather. 

Raditz gawked at the ceiling. Blinked a few times. 

Slowly, he closed his mouth and tilted his head down. 

He found her still on the couch, still looking at her scrapbook. She didn’t look up at all at him, focusing only on that photo of her, Goku and Vegeta together. She did smile a bit wider than before at least. Less sad. More tender. “You’re just like Goku, y’know,” she said, adding with a chuckle, “You’re not subtle.” 

“…huh.” He clicked his tongue. “I’ll be damned. Guess you people were right about us.”

“Told you.” 

“Wish you’d stop saying I’m ‘definitely’ his brother though—”

“We can’t.”

“What?”

“You and me.” She tilted her head up to him, her smile waning. “Now isn’t the right time to tell them.” 

“Oh gods no, no no no!” He waved his hands in front of him as he walked towards her, closing the gap between them. “I completely agree. World’s at stake, we all might die, they gotta focus, yep, totally agreed, one hundred percent and a pickle.”

She chuckled. “A pickle?”

“I dunno, I heard that on the TV the other day.” He fumbled with his fingers as his gaze drifted down towards the floor. His cheeks heated up as he mumbled, “I just wanted to, y’know, tell you. Just in case. Cuz we’ve done that tippy-tippy thing—”

“Tip-toe.”

“Yeah, that, we’ve done that over this thing between us for so long, and I wanted to make sure that, well, you knew. Definitively knew, that is. From me. In person.” He gestured between them with both hands. “Right here. This. Me to you, that is.” 

The sound of the scrapbook slamming shut startled Raditz in place. He jerked his head up, meeting ChiChi’s cold, very Saiyan-like gaze. He stayed frozen in place as she spoke like a general leading an army to battle. “Keep your Saiyan pride. You will defeat Cell. You will come home, alive. I will accept nothing else.” 

He slammed a fist over his heart, giving her a curt nod. “Yes, Lady ChiChi.” A big, lewd, toothy grin appeared on his face. “Fuck you are so hot.” 

“Don’t be vulgar.” 

“Yes ma’m.”

***

Three Days…

Vegeta felt the oncoming ki before the click-click of footsteps drew near to him. “ChiChi.”

“You weren’t at lunch today,” she said. 

“Wasn’t hungry.” 

“Hm.” She came to a stop beside him, almost shoulder to shoulder. “Any other time, I would’ve doubted that.” 

Outside the window, Goku tackled Gohan to the ground, the two of them falling in a heap of laughs that mimicked each other perfectly. Even with how heavy his chest felt, Vegeta still found his lips curling up into a smile. 

That smile instantly faded at the memory of what was to come. The fight of their lives. The uncertainty of that fight’s outcome. 

He sighed, turning away from the window.

Chichi’s soft “I’m sorry” stopped him mid-stride.

Vegeta turned back. He found Chichi looking right at him, her arms crossed over her chest—a mirror of his own stance. Proud and poised like a royal would be, just like his own, a stoicism that he appreciated and admired during a tense time like this. 

“I’ve tried getting through to Gohan,” she continued. “But he holds a grudge that I’m afraid I instilled into him at a young age.”

“You’ve done nothing of the sort.”

“Haven’t I? The arguments we had when he was a child? The resentment?”

“You were young, ChiChi.”

“And angry that I couldn’t have Goku for myself all the time.” She unfurled her arms. “But you never, ever retaliated. You never called me out on it.”

“Of course not.”

“Goku even told me you would’ve let me be with him if I wanted that.” 

He nodded. 

“And yet…” She sighed. “I never understood how you could be okay with all of this. How you weren’t possessive of Goku to begin with.” 

“Oh, I’m possessive, but not in the way you humans perceive it.” At ChiChi’s confused stare, Vegeta continued. “Kakarot is my mate. We are bound together in a way humans cannot ever fathom or understand. I do not doubt his love for me. Not with our r’bhon’or. Not with what we’ve shared together. Besides…” He gave her a small smile. “Kakarot has the biggest heart I know. He had room to love another, like you.” 

She smiled in return—a tiny, watery smile. “I cannot thank you enough for letting me be part of your lives.” 

“Thank you for coming into ours.” Vegeta chuckled. “Granted, it took some time for me to let you in, but Kakarot was right. It was only a matter of time before you broke me down.”

“Oh hush. I did no such thing.” 

“So you say.” 

“Quiet, you.” 

“Heh. Honestly, I expected nothing less from the urave and the mother of Kakarot’s child.”

“ Our child.” 

Vegeta barely held back his wince. He diverted his attention elsewhere—to the outside, where Gohan and Goku were sitting now on the grass, laughing and chatting away, as if nothing was wrong in the world. As if there wasn’t a countdown happening that would threaten the life of his mate and their loved ones. 

He shut his eyes. “I lost that privilege years ago.” 

“Bullshit.”

“ChiChi—” 

“You love him and you love me, just as much as you love Goku.” 

He growled, “It doesn’t matter to him.”

“Because he is a child. A child I most likely infected with—” 

“He made his choice.” Vegeta re-opened his eyes, focusing his attention right onto ChiChi. “He acted like a Saiyan would and made judgment upon me of being an unworthy parent. I will continue to work to earn his respect.” 

“And I wish you didn’t have to.” She closed the gap between them, coming face to face with him. “I wish we could just be a normal, happy family.” 

He smirked. “Woman, you married a Saiyan who is mated to the Prince of all Saiyans. Normal is as far as you can get with us.”

She chuckled. “True.” ChiChi touched his shoulder, rubbing it up and down. “Then not normal. Just happy.” She sighed. “And safe.”

It wasn’t natural for him to give affection to anyone that wasn’t his mate. The last time he had given any of the sort to ChiChi was during her pregnancy, with the very last embrace he gave her around the time he thanked her for letting him hold a newborn Gohan. But the way she looked, the tension and sadness in her frame, spoke to the side of Vegeta that always admired this woman who became as integral to his life as Goku did. 

His tail wrapped around ChiChi’s waist. 

He chuckled at her wide-eyed stare and soft gasp. 

His arms unfurled and with a tug of his tail, she landed onto his chest. His arms looped around her shoulders, and he rested his cheek on top of her head. 

“I will protect them,” he whispered against her scalp. “And you, princess.” He squeezed his tail the same time he squeezed his arms. “I promise.” 

Slowly, ChiChi returned the embrace, her arms uncertain and unsure on where to go. Her hands eventually rested in the middle of Vegeta’s back, palms pressing down over the fabric of his shirt. 

The silence that followed felt okay. Not suffocating. Not uncomfortable. Just a quiet moment between the two of them. 

Against his shoulder, he heard ChiChi mutter, “I… found someone.”

Vegeta smiled. “I know you did.” When she startled in his arms, he pulled back from their embrace to look her right in the eye. “You know how observant I can be.” His smile turned into a smirk. “That, and Raditz cannot hide his emotions whatsoever. Just like his brother.” He released their embrace as ChiChi chuckled, covering her mouth with her palm. He waited for her to stop before his smile disappeared and he said in a serious tone, “But we cannot talk about this now. Not yet.”

She nodded and replied, her tone as serious as his, “Agreed. After you win.” Her gaze hardened, a gaze that reminded Vegeta of his own mother when they used to train together in the palace gardens. “Vu’kuwa, Vejita. Understood?”

He grinned. “Aiii. To my last breath.” 

***

Two Days Left…

Bulma knew this wasn’t the right time to bring it up. Not in the middle of a get-together at ChiChi’s house where everyone was eating, talking, sharing stories, laughing, trying to forget what was to come in two days. Just a bit of normalcy in their lives. But after talking with Trunks and learning about his timeline, she had to do this. At least broach the topic with Vegeta. Even though her logical, rational side cautioned her not to do this, for once, Bulma listened to her gut. 

She found Vegeta on the outskirts of the party, his usual spot in these get-togethers. He watched him observing Goku from afar, as well as the others in ChiChi’s home, with a thin smile on his face. He rarely showed any emotion, but Bulma learned Vegeta’s tells over time. She could see the worry in his actions, his facial features, and the tip of his tail, uncharacteristically available for viewing. That right there was a huge telltale sign. Vegeta always wrapped his tail meticulously around his waist, hiding every aspect of it from view. This time, she saw the tip, how it thrummed back and forth with nervous energy. The sight almost made her pause in approaching him. Almost. 

Vegeta’s gaze met hers as she approached. His smile disappeared with every step she took closer. One quick look over her body, and she sighed in relief when Vegeta simply nodded over his shoulder towards an empty dark room in the house. 

Once inside, they met face to face in the shadows. The sounds of the party were muted and faint in this room.

She tossed out any semblance of hesitation and stated without breaking her attention away from Vegeta, “I want to make Trunks.” When he said nothing, she continued, “He deserves a better future, one where we are all together as a family. I know it isn’t the same. I know he still will go back to his timeline and having a Trunks in our timeline won’t fix the damage done to him then. But he came back to give us a chance to fight for a better future. Even though he screwed up with Cell, he’s a good kid. Hell, he really is my kid. The more I spend time with him, the more I want to actually have him. So it’s not just me wanting a kid with you. I want to have a son like him. I want to raise him. And as stupid as this sounds? I really, really want some version of our own son to have a better, happier life than the one he has in his timeline.”

She anticipated a blow back, a downright rejection. Maybe even a yell or two. In the thick silence that followed, Bulma steeled herself for the inevitable fight. 

Vegeta’s curt nod nearly made her fall face first into the floor out of sheer shock. “Very well,” he said, without a shred of anger or annoyance. He sounded… sincere. “When do you want a sample from me?”

“Ah… uh, um…” Bulma fidgeted in place. She shrugged, mumbling, “Whenever?”

“Tomorrow it is.” Even in the darkness, she could make out his pointed look. “It would be wise of us not to tell everyone just yet.” 

“Oh gods, hell no, not yet.”

“And you decide when you wish to—”

“Well, obviously, after Cell!” 

“Heh. Then we’re in agreement.” He turned towards the door, heading out back towards the party. Over his shoulder, he added a very soft, very faint, “Thank you.” 

She didn’t get a chance to reply back to him. Instead, she stood in the darkness of the room, watching the silhoutte of Vegeta head back towards the party. A smile crossed her face at everyone greeting Vegeta, but none were as enthusiastic as one person alone. A person that Vegeta gravitated to. A person he didn’t recoil from when big arms wrapped around him and lips planted a huge kiss on his cheek. 

The sight of Goku’s happy smile—a sight she hadn’t seen in a while, since they came back from Yardrat—made her smile too. Really smile, without a shred of unwanted jealousy or hurt. All she felt was content and even a little bit happy, all from her watching Vegeta observe Goku like he always did—from afar, with no one supposedly watching, with a loving, sweet smile on his face. 

***

The Night Before The Cell Games…

It was a perfect day, one that Goku knew he’d treasure forever. Everything was perfect. From waking up late in the day with Vegeta in his arms to sparring in his base form with Gohan, Raditz and Trunks, a spar that ended in basically a tickle fight. Then the time spent fishing in his favorite river with all of his loved ones, Nappa boasting over Piccolo and Raditz how he got the biggest fish out of everyone. The perfect lunch that was made by ChiChi with Raditz’s help. The stories that were shared by everyone, learning more about Vegeta’s adventures in space via Nappa and Raditz. Stories everyone shared for hours on end until the need to eat again arose. The intimate dinner for just he and Vegeta alone, a meal set up in their home by their loved ones. The way Vegeta looked in the candlelight. His look. His smile. Their after-dessert kiss. 

Simply perfect. 

Too perfect. 

Vegeta’s purr knocked Goku out of his thoughts. A brush of lips touched the top of his forehead. “Sleep, mah’kha.” 

“Mm.” Goku snuggled closer to Vegeta. His nose pressed up against the underside of Vegeta’s jaw. “Trying to.” 

Vegeta’s fingertips skipped down his naked side and up again. “Sounds like I didn’t do a good job wearing you out.” He gave Vegeta a warning growl, one that Vegeta responded to with a chuckle. “Konele, mah’kha, I’m teasing.” Those fingertips stopped at his shoulder. A thumb rubbed the skin in reassuring circles. “I understand. I do. I don’t know how tomorrow will go.” 

“Exactly. I’ve never been so uncertain about a fight—”

“I have.”

“What? When?”

“Frieza.” That palm squeezed his shoulder. “But I had you. My mate. My Kakarot.” Underneath the sheets, Vegeta’s tail found his. “As long as we are together…” Their tails twined together. “…everything will be okay.” 

Goku sighed through his nose, swallowing the tight lump in his throat. Somehow, he managed to choke out, “I hope so.”

“It will. I promise.” Vegeta whispered against the side of his head, the sensation soothing the heaviness in Goku’s heart and mind. “I won’t leave you again.” 

That promise was all Goku needed to finally relax. He allowed his eyelids to close, his lips curling into a tiny smile. He passed out to the soothing sensation of Vegeta stroking his arm and his tail at the same time, all the while hearing Vegeta’s steady heartbeat against his ear.

In his sleep, he missed the last thing Vegeta whispered, not into his hair but out into the darkness of their room. It was a hope, a plea, based on something Goku had no idea about. Something Vegeta kept to himself, back on Yardrat. 

“I just hope I don’t have to use it.” 

Chapter Text

A quarter to noon, everyone arrived at the site of the Cell Games. In the center of a barren, grassy wasteland sat a huge circular slab of concrete. On one end of it stood Cell, cross-armed and closed-eyed, a small, pensive smile on his pale face. 

One by one, each fighter landed near the opposite end of the circular ring. Nappa and Piccolo first, Nappa in blue and green gi, Piccolo in his usual attire. Krillin and Android 16 second. Raditz arrived soon after in blue gi and red sash. The last four appeared beside him: Goku in his regular orange gi; Vegeta in his blue gi and gold sash; Gohan in purple gi with white sash; and Trunks in Saiyan armor and blue spandex. 

No one moved for a good, long while. No one said a word. 

The sound of beating wings closing in from above broke the silence. 

Everyone, including Cell, tilted their heads up to see what the source of the noise came from. 

Everyone, including Cell, frowned at the sight of a helicopter slowly landing nearby. A helicopter with a cameramen hanging off the wing, an announcer with a microphone, and—

Nappa groaned, slapping his forehead with his palm. 

—a large man in brown gi, thick black mustache and a booming laugh. 

Piccolo snickered, grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear. 

Nappa growled from under his palm, “Not. A. Word.”

That very loud, very hairy-looking human emerged from the helicopter within. His voice echoed throughout the wasteland, the tone and inflection similar to that of a seasoned professional wrestler. 

Everyone, except Nappa, gawked at the human and his boasting. Things like, “The champ is here!” “You think you’re the man?! You gotta beat The Man to BE The Man!” How this human turned to Cell, pointed a finger at him, laughed like a crazy person and kept shouting inane, dumb things, like, “I’m gonna stomp a mudhole in your ass and walk it dry, slapnuts!” “Whatcha gonna do when Mr. Satan runs wild on you?!” 

Krillin scratched his cheek. Android 16 tilted his head. Raditz scowled like Vegeta. Goku and Gohan sported matching confused stares. 

Nappa… looked downright mortified. 

Piccolo leaned in closer to Nappa, asking, “Think he’ll recognize you?”

He got the answer to that question when Mr. Satan stopped his promo on Cell and yelled across the ring, “HEY! BALD GUY!” When Krillin pointed to himself, Mr. Satan waved his hand, shaking his head no. “Nah, not you! The other one! What’s his name, uh, Nap-phe? Nappers??” When Nappa groaned, louder than before, Mr. Satan yelled louder, “Yeah, you, whatever your name is! What’re you doing here?! Don’t you know this isn’t safe for you?! Why don’t you head on back to Mr. Satan’s mansion and do your job guarding my stuff, hmm?!?!”

Everyone, even Cell, stared right at Nappa. 

Nappa slowly buried his face in both of his palms. 

Cell asked, his voice incredulous, “Did you invite this moron here?”

Before Mr. Satan could answer, Nappa screamed right at Cell, flinging his arms back to his sides, “YOU SAID ALL FIGHTERS! ALL! FIGHTERS!” 

“Oh. Huh. This is true.” Cell pointed a glowing finger right towards Mr. Satan. “He’s no real fighter, though, so—”

“For the love of Tor above and below, do not kill my boss!” 

“…your boss?”

From nearby, Nappa heard Vegeta deadpan, “That’s your boss. That guy.”

“Okay, can we not right now? Please!?” Nappa ignored Piccolo’s muffled laughter as he addressed Cell. “Blow him away, knock him out, I don’t care—just don’t kill him, alright?! I need a job and that asshole pays well!” 

Mr. Satan’s shout of “HEY!”was swallowed up by Cell’s blast—one that rocketed him away from the tournament area. Far, far away. The cameraman, helicopter and the announcer followed in Mr. Satan’s wake.

Cell chuckled. His lit-up finger stopped glowing, his arm coming back to fold across his chest with the other. “Oh, how cute. You think you’ll still be alive tomorrow.”

“Rather be safe than sorry.” Nappa elbowed Piccolo by his side, growling, “Shut. The fuck. Up.”

Piccolo, as straight-faced as he could muster, replied, “I’m not doing anything.”

“I said SHUT UP—”

Vegeta appeared between the two of them, growling at them both, “If you two are done flirting like a bunch of lovestruck idiots—” Both Piccolo and Nappa blushed a light pink as Vegeta turned his attention to Cell, yelling across the stone ring, “—I’d like to get this dumb tournament underway!” 

Cell answered him with a gigantic smirk. He unfolded his arms, gesturing to the ring with both of his hands. “By all means.”

***

Gohan knew it wasn’t time to intervene. There was no way Cell could still be as powerful as he was before the fights began. Even though Cell defeated Krillin easily, followed by Nappa and Piccolo, his uncle Raditz gave him a hard fight, one that obviously caused his power level to take a hit in some capacity. But it wasn’t enough of a blow. When Trunks stepped in for his turn to take on Cell, the monster was still powerful. It took a while for him to defeat Trunks though. The struggle Cell endured gave Gohan hope that there was a chance he would be defeated before his father had to step in. 

When Vegeta stepped up, Gohan was positive this was it. There was no way Cell could last against him, not with how powerful Vegeta felt in that moment. His hope wavered when Cell pulled out a solar flare mid-fight against him, stole the senzu beans from a still-recovering Krillin and ate one of them. Whatever hope was left died when Cell disintegrated the last two. 

He wanted to hold his father back when it was his turn to fight this monster. The entire week leading up to these so-called “games,” Gohan knew his father wasn’t at a hundred percent. He wasn’t the naive child he used to be, thinking his father was invincible, that he could do no wrong, that nothing could affect him in any way. The last three years since his father’s return from Yardrat caused his faith to waver, but it didn’t dissipate completely. It took training with Vegeta and finally learning from him what exactly happened on Yardrat. That was the final nail in the coffin Gohan needed, the catalyst for understanding how things had changed for his father in ways he couldn’t and didn’t understand. 

At a base level, he knew his father endured a severe change due to the kutshisha. He witnessed the transformation himself in the flesh on Namek. Even now, Gohan could transport himself back to the moment when Vegeta took Frieza’s blow for his father. He could hear his father’s inhuman scream as he crawled across the blood-stained sand, scrambling for Vegeta’s lifeless body with his shaky arms. How his father Vegeta rocked back and forth, mumbling Sadalan and Standard words in a broken, wet voice, choking on every breath he took just like Vegeta did. 

He never caught a good look on his father’s face when Vegeta died. Only when he transformed into the golden legend. 

The rage his father embodied in that moment. The torture of guilt. The inconsolable, indescribable pain that defined his movements, soaked his speech, festered his very existence with each passing second on that planet. 

The way his father looked as he asked him to bury Vegeta with honor. The scream he released when Gohan inadvertently tried asking a question. 

That moment—every single moment of it—burned itself into Gohan’s mind. Almost as much as his father burned from the transformation. 

Logic told him this wasn’t the same though. His father had control this time. His father went through training, twice. Once with Trunks for a year. Once with Vegeta for a few paltry two months. His father could handle this. His father could fight Cell and put an end to this nightmare. Everyone already did a good job wearing Cell down prior to the senzu bean fiasco, and his father and Vegeta were so much stronger than all of them, including himself. They didn’t need to interfere. He didn’t need to interfere. He didn’t need to fight. 

“I said no!” Vegeta’s sharp yell knocked him out of his thoughts. Gohan turned to him, watching him argue with his uncle Raditz. “You’re staying here.” 

“You can’t do this alone!” 

“You had your chance—”

“Because you underestimated him.” Raditz spat blood to the ground, near Vegeta’s dirtied boots. “Like a fool.” 

Vegeta hissed through gritted teeth, “Watch your tongue.” 

“I will when you decide to stop acting like an ass.” 

“Raditz…” 

“You promised.”

“I said—”

“ You said you wouldn’t do this again. You wouldn’t let him—” Raditz nodded up towards the sky, in the direction of his father fighting Cell. “—or you make those mistakes again.”

Vegeta snatched up the front of Raditz’s gi shirt, yanking him close until they were face-to-face. “Listen to me well…” 

For a moment, Gohan prepared for a fight between the two of them. He started to power up, ready to intervene—

His jaw dropped as he heard Vegeta whisper at a very low level, “I promised her to protect everyone. Especially you.” He picked up his uncle’s soft gasp, followed by Vegeta’s hiss of, “She needs you. After everyone she’s been through, she deserves you.” 

“Y-You—”

“You’re not subtle.” He caught Vegeta’s chuckle. “Just like Kakarot.” He watched Vegeta release Raditz, his smirk disappearing. He crossed his arms over his chest. “But now do you see why I can’t allow you to fight with us?” He growled at Raditz, cutting off his protest. “Not until it’s absolutely necessary. Everyone needs to save their strength. If Kakarot and I cannot defeat him ourselves, then we will at least wear him down enough where all of you can step in and give him the final blow.” The soft sigh Vegeta released seemed to also release his pent-up anger and frustration. “I know it’s not the smartest decision, but it’s the only one that feels right—”

The sudden sharp drop in a large ki caught everyone’s attention. 

All eyes from down below shot up to the fight above. Eyes that followed a pale body in singed orange gi falling to the ground. 

Around him, Gohan heard everyone shout his father’s name. Out of all of them, Vegeta’s yell reverberated the loudest. 

He stood still, frozen in place, as he watched Vegeta scoop his father’s tired body in his arms, helping him down to the broken concrete ring floor. Even with the distance between them, Gohan made out the hushed worried whispers from Vegeta to his father. 

The sight of Vegeta’s tail actually unfurling from his waist to touch Goku’s limp one nearly made Gohan wobble in place. His sudden shock and dizziness disappeared as he watched his father’s tail squeeze Vegeta’s, a sight he hadn’t seen in so long. Possibly not ever. 

From above, Cell cackled on top of his lungs. He spat purple blood down below, followed by a tired yell of, “Who’s next?! I’m getting bored!” 

Behind him, he heard Krillin mutter, “Bastard.” On his other side, he heard Nappa hiss, “If only we had those damn beans…”

In front of him, Vegeta helped Goku to his feet. His uncle ran into his view soon after, coming up to his father’s other side. From here, he heard their whispers of Sadalan, trying to keep quiet from the others about how his father was doing. But Gohan didn’t need to know the exact words and sentiments. All he had to do was look his father dead in the eye, and the answer was right there. 

The virus did a number on him. On top of the turmoil he went through post-Namek. On top of the pain he went through for three years, holding up a mask to the world that everything was fine and okay. Dealing with all of this stress and hurt and trauma without asking for any help, outside of Vegeta. 

For the first time in his life, Gohan didn’t see his father, the all powerful Son Goku, the Super Saiyan. 

For the first time, he saw a fellow Saiyan in pain. In need of help. 

His hands twisted into tight fists by his sides. 

He barely recognized his own voice as he growled one word in perfect Sadalan: “Ndiyalwa.”

All three of them locked gazes with him the moment he said it. Raditz gaped at him, his eyes bugging out. Goku frowned, clearly puzzled and confused by what he heard. 

Vegeta… stared.  

In his purview, Trunks appeared, offering out an arm to Goku, Raditz and Vegeta. He watched Vegeta release Goku so Trunks could take his place. 

As his father passed him along with Trunks and Raditz, Gohan said again, louder than before: “Nidyalwa.” 

Behind him, he heard his uncle hiss, “Stop that.” 

“H’na.” No . “Nidyalwa.” I will fight. 

“Gohan—!”

“M’eh’fu ne’ka n’di’xe.” I need to fight.

“Your mother will kill me!”

“Quiet, Raditz,” Vegeta growled. 

“But—!”

“ Hi’nai .” When Raditz stayed silent Vegeta closed the gap between them, walking right up to him. “While you are right that ChiChi would not approve of him fighting…” He stopped right in front of Gohan, a small smirk slowly forming. “She would be proud of him too.” That smirk disappeared as quick as it arrived. A solemn look came over Vegeta as he looked down at him, growling, “Vu’kuwa ni’mele’la, kr’o’tash.” Fight and win, child. 

With a nod, Gohan responded, conviction and determination in his voice: “Va’ku’yo qi’bela fu’lo.” To my last breath.

As he turned towards the battlefield, Gohan missed the look on Vegeta’s face—a look of pride and concern, the two emotions warring with each other. A look his own father possessed as well. 

***

Back in Mount Paozu, Bulma and ChiChi sat side-by-side on the living room couch, holding hands. Elsewhere in the house, the voices of their other loved ones—Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu and others—filled up the tense silence that appeared here and there. From there, they could make out what was on Fortune Teller Baba’s crystal ball. Gohan’s cries and yells at Cell. The taunts Cell threw into Gohan’s face. Raditz’s scream of pain. Then Piccolo’s. Nappa’s. Krillin’s. Both of them winced when they heard Vegeta’s scream, followed by Goku’s. 

Only once did Bulma need to leave to get fresh air. But she returned right back to ChiChi’s side, holding her hand again. 

Neither one said a word to each other. Bulma couldn’t handle saying anything, let alone watch what could possibly be happening on that wretched battlefield. 

ChiChi didn’t have to look. She could follow the fight right from her couch. She might not have been the strongest human, but she knew those kis better than anyone else on this planet. The kis she could sense no matter where she was on Earth. 

Raditz’s ki wavered here and there, but it was still there. Still alive. Nappa’s too. Piccolo’s as well. 

Goku’s ki… felt weak. As if wounded from the inside. Something she hadn’t felt since he returned home from Yardrat. 

Vegeta’s stayed strong. His ki registered close to Goku’s, something that eased the tension inside ChiChi. As long as Goku had Vegeta, she didn’t have to worry about him too much. 

Gohan’s ki blazed. It fluxed here and there, in time with his emotions most likely, just like his father. But it stayed strong. It stayed calm—unfortunately calm. 

Under her breath, she hissed, “Gohan… if you can hear me… do it. Don’t be afraid. Release it. Please.” She squeezed Bulma’s hand, a squeeze Bulma returned, as she said, in Sadalan this time, “M’eh’aku funekibambe…” You don’t need to hold back…

***

It wasn’t the fact that Cell could multiply and create all these mini Cells that freaked Raditz out. It was the fact that he could tell Gohan wasn’t using all of his power. He tried finding a way to get Gohan’s attention, but anytime he tried getting closer, one of these blue mini Cells stopped him in his tracks. He fought them with all his strength, his attention torn between Gohan floundering against Cell, his brother and Vegeta trying to yell at Gohan to release his power, and his own self preservation. The last thing Raditz wanted to do was fail against his own motto of not dying. 

Something was holding his damn nephew back. Now wasn’t the time for Gohan to endure any doubt. Not with Goku being as hurt and weak as he was in this moment. Not with Vegeta being this exhausted post-Cell. Whoever else could’ve stepped in, like himself or Nappa or Piccolo, didn’t matter anymore. Everyone was focused on spending their energy fighting the mini Cells. 

If only he could get some sort of opening. Some sort of reprieve so he could zoom over to Gohan and knock some sense into him—

Don’t hold back…

He froze mid-strike. 

“… C-ChiChi?”

In his head, he heard ChiChi’s soft plea continuing, as if she didn’t hear him at all. Gohan, please—

“AGH!” 

A hard punch to his head forced Raditz back down to Earth. He crash-landed in a pile of dust and soil face-first. Blood dripped down the side of his chin and nose, staining the ground red. 

Even with his head pounding and his body in shock from severe pain, Raditz found a way to climb onto his hands and knees. One of his shaky hands touched the side of his bloodied temple, his jaw falling slightly open. 

Her voice. In his head. 

Without a bond. Without the r’bhon’or. 

Don’t hold back, she repeated, her voice wavering, almost choking back emotion. Don’t be afraid. 

“Afraid…?” He slowly came to his feet, mindful of his injuries and the sound of that mini Cell charging up an attack from above. “What could he be afraid of—?”

ChiChi answered his question in a way that punched Raditz in the chest and gut at the same time.

You are not your father. He jerked his head towards the battlefield, gawking at Gohan’s dirty, bloodied form fighting Cell as best he could. You won’t succumb to the kutshisha. Above him, Raditz heard the sound of an attack being thrown his way, but he found himself frozen solid as he heard ChiChi plea in a louder, clearer voice, You won’t be what Future Vegeta became when he transformed to Super Saiyan 2—

“WATCH OUT!” 

Strong arms scooped him up, getting him out of the direction of that mini Cell’s blast. 

More dirt landed in his face. More blood filled up his throat. 

He coughed up that soil and blood right to the ground beneath him. Above him, that burly body let him go. 

A flick of his head above, and Raditz found that android there, glaring down at him. “What were you thinking?!”

Raditz spat out more blood, hissing through his bloodied teeth, “G-Gohan…” He collapsed onto his back, propping himself up with his elbows. “He’s… afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Kutshisha. S-Saiyan thing.” His body suddenly gave up on him, as if someone switched a flip inside him, telling him he was done. His upper body collapsed to the ground with a grunt. Despite the pain, he managed to growl, “Fuck, c-can’t get up—I gotta—”

“You need to rest.”

“No. Listen…” He found the Android’s arm with one hand, giving it a tug down. When the Android’s ear touched his lips, he hissed, “Tell G-Gohan… it’s okay.” 

“What?”

“No kutshisha. No pain.” He used the last of his strength and his consciousness to whisper one last plea. “Not. Vegeta.”

He passed out to the sensation of the Android answering his plea with a grunt and a squeeze to his shoulder. 

***

No one on the battlefield understood why Android 16 charged against Cell. No one could stop him either from making such a grave, foolish mistake. The only person who could’ve given some sort of answer was passed out on the ground, being tended to by Nappa and Piccolo. 

Everyone heard Android 16’s words though. His call to Gohan to let go, to stop holding back, to not be afraid. His reassurance to Gohan that everything will be okay, that he will be okay. That he will not suffer the kutshisha. That he will not be Vegeta and will never be Vegeta—or his father. 

Almost at once, everyone eyed Vegeta when that was said. But neither Vegeta nor Goku paid any attention to any of them. Both of them focused solely on Gohan on the battlefield.  

A collective gasp echoed from everyone when Cell crushed Android 16’s head. A gasp that was followed by a thick silence of shock and awe when Gohan’s power level skyrocketed higher than ever—higher than Goku and Vegeta’s—and he released a scream to the heavens above. 

No one said a word, not even Cell, as Gohan recovered from his sudden transformation. More electricity surrounded his golden body. More power radiated from his frame. His golden tail slowly curled and released, the ends of it bristling and flattening here and there. His hard gaze stayed focused on Cell alone, paying no attention to anyone or anything else around him.

Only Vegeta found a way to break the thick silence in the wake of Gohan’s new transformation. He smirked from ear-to-ear, pride and awe seeping in every word he said. 

“That’s my boy.”

Chapter Text

The opening they needed arrived in the form of Cell vomiting up a body. Piccolo held back his nausea at the sight of a blond woman covered in spit and mucus landing on the sand between Cell and Gohan. In his purview, Krillin appeared, screaming a number for some reason. He put two and two together when he rushed towards the scene, right to the unconscious woman. His nausea, and his anxiety, disappeared as he watched Krillin cradle the woman in his arms and lift her away to safety. Cell couldn’t stop Krillin. Couldn’t do much of anything anymore judging by his ki. 

Beside him, Nappa cackled, pointing to Cell’s de-transforming body. “He’s losing power! You feel that?!” 

On the other side of him, Trunks added, “He’s going back to his previous form. He’s—he’s not Perfect anymore.” The relief in his voice eased the tension in Piccolo’s chest. “It’s over.” 

Piccolo nodded, unable to hold back his own grin. 

A quick glance at Gohan’s smirk—his very cocky, very arrogant, very Vegeta-like smirk—and that small grin disappeared, along with his brief sense of hope. 

***

Never had Goku felt as weak and powerless as he did until now. Not even his struggles on Yardrat compared to this. These mini Cells depleted him of all his energy, along with Vegeta, Raditz, Nappa, Piccolo and Krillin. Gohan had taken care of the menaces, but the damage was done. No one could interfere between Gohan and Cell now. No one was powerful enough to stop Gohan from making the stupidest mistake of his life. Nappa tried, but one single punch from Gohan was enough to knock the man out cold. The memory of it still chilled Goku to the bone, as did the way Gohan looked when he yelled at all of them not to interfere. 

This wasn’t his son out there. This wasn’t even a rational person. Part of him thought the usual—that this was the u’si’do imfama, Gohan’s ‘rage blindness’—but these didn’t appear like the usual symptoms. He wasn’t lost in his rage. He wasn’t consumed by anger or a need to kill. He was in complete control of his mental and physical faculties. There wasn’t a far away look or a red tint to his eyes, no slurring of his words or inhuman Saiyan growls overpowering his voice. 

Instead, Goku saw one person there, more than ever before. 

From the way he carried himself down to the way he looked, Gohan acted like a perfect Saiyan prince. The exact way Vegeta did. 

It was Gohan’s death glare at him that convinced Goku he made a mistake training with Trunks for a year. That, and the way Gohan snarled at him in Sadalan the same words Vegeta told him on Yardrat. The same things Vegeta kept telling him ever since they came home.  

“H’na! M’eh’ga ta’hir!” No! I have to do this! “M’eh vu’lem’au sayi emeru ozokwa!” I won’t let you hurt yourself anymore!

If his brother and Nappa had been conscious, he knew they would’ve given him pointed, confused glares. Instead, the only two who could understand what Gohan said—Trunks and Vegeta—were too busy yelling at Gohan to kill Cell and end this fight once and for all. But nothing they said went through his head. He kept toying with Cell, taunting him in ways that kept reminding Goku of Vegeta. Full of pride. Full of arrogance. 

It didn’t surprise him whatsoever when Cell started powering up again in a different way than before. Part of him expected this. There was no way Cell would’ve allowed Gohan to continue his mockery of him. Cell had too much Saiyan DNA in him. He found himself gasping like Trunks and Vegeta did when Cell started growing in size, getting bigger and bigger until he dwarfed even the largest tree in Mount Paozu. Goku gawked up at him like the others, listening in to his threats. But he felt nothing inside when Cell started prattling off what he planned on doing. How he was going to take the planet with him as he blew up. How he was going to survive thanks to Frieza and Piccolo’s DNA in him. How no one could do anything and that it was Gohan’s hubris that led them to this point. 

He felt like an outsider to his own body, watching everyone react to Cell’s words. Krillin holding an unconscious Eighteen closer, whispering his goodbyes to her. Piccolo beside Nappa and Raditz’s bodies, half trying to protect them, half trying to wake them up so they could help out in some way. Trunks pulling at his hair, screaming at Gohan to stop this, at Vegeta to stop this, someone, anyone. Vegeta growling under his breath, fists shaking by his sides, his uncharacteristically unfurled tail whipping back and forth behind him, bristling from roots to tip. Gohan falling to his knees, tears streaming down his face, hissing through clenched teeth. His fists shaking just like Vegeta’s. His tail whipping back and forth, just like Vegeta’s. 

His family. His friends. 

His mate.

Slowly, Goku turned his attention to Cell.

He released a long, well-buried, tired sigh into the stale air. 

One hand formed two fingers by his side. 

His voice ached as he whispered, “Vejita… mah’kha…” Sudden hot wetness stung his eyes. “I’m—”

Dry, cracked lips shoved over his, shutting him up quick. 

Emotions not his own knocked Goku out of his state of cold numbness and into a state of warm shock. Love. Comfort. Anger—not spiteful, just annoyed, the usual Vegeta-like anger, and it made Goku smile somewhere inside. Gloved hands grasped his hair, his gi, shoving his cold body against a warm one. Then came Vegeta’s reassuring purr, the touch of his tail winding with his, the taste of Vegeta’s tongue against his, and his eyelids fell shut, his arms coming to wind around Vegeta’s torso. 

The urge to push back, to tell Vegeta goodbye, to reassure him he’d survive the kutshisha if it happened, that he’d come back and he wouldn’t be that long, he promised—the urge died off when Vegeta deepened their kiss in a way he never had before. Not in public. Not like this. The hands that stroked his hair and back the way Goku loved and needed in moments of vulnerability, like now. The taste of his tongue and lips, the vibrations of his purr, how he drank Goku’s very breath with each inhale and exhale. A kiss that Goku didn’t realize he needed more than anything at that moment. A kiss that reassured Goku he was making the right choice. It was his turn, after all. His sacrifice to make, thanks to his own mistakes.

The soft smack of their lips parting overpowered Cell’s disgusting cackles and Gohan’s frustrated sobs. 

Noses brushed. Their tails unfurled. 

Forehead pressed to forehead.

Bare fingertips skipped their way up to his face. Warm palms cupped his cold cheeks. 

Vegeta’s breath felt so good against his lips. 

More warmth radiated from Vegeta’s hands. One of those palms went to his neck, right over the mating mark. 

His throat tightened at the slew of emotions coming over their bond. Sorrow. Hurt. Understanding. The love Vegeta always held for him deep down in the darkness of his heart where no one but Goku could find because it belonged to him alone. That sacred, secret part where only Goku could go. 

The warmth in Vegeta’s hands increased, especially over his neck. Their mating mark. 

From this close, he made out the waiver in Vegeta’s breath. The unshed wetness and pain. 

Goku leaned into those warm hands, fighting back the heaviness in his chest and heart. To put him through this, the same thing he went through on Namek—

A jolt of molten electricity shot through him, starting at his neck. 

He startled in place with a sharp gasp. His eyes snapped wide open, unshed tears flying into the air. 

Heat. Electricity. From his neck, to his heart. 

He heard and felt an audible click inside his chest.

Those hands left him, fingers skipping over the mating mark in a way that felt too familiar. Ungodly familiar. 

Vegeta stared at him. Unmoving. Somehow… calm. 

Smiling like—like—

His eyes bugged out. 

The image of Vegeta’s final smile to him, on Namek, superimposed over the image of Vegeta there, right in front of him. 

Everything inside him went cold, except that place where the… click resided. Near his heart. 

Vegeta’s ki, there, near his heart. 

He could barely form the word ‘no’ before Vegeta’s sad whisper cut in like a stab to the chest. 

“Wait for me.”

His scream cut off at its birth. Instead, he released a choked whimper into the air as Vegeta’s hand hit the back of his neck and everything turned to black. 

***

Gohan didn’t notice anything around him. He only heard Cell’s triumphant laughter and his own self deprecating thoughts. So lost in himself and his self-hatred of his failure that he missed the sound of Trunks questioning his father, asking what he was doing. The way Piccolo asked Vegeta to reconsider what he was doing, what he planned on doing. How Krillin begged Vegeta no, not like this, there had to be another way. 

He didn’t hear them yelling his father’s name. Didn’t even register the sensation of Vegeta’s instant transmission, nor the sudden arrival of his ki appearing right in front of him, between himself and Cell. 

It was only when he stopped hearing Cell’s laughter that he noticed something changed. But he didn’t lift his head until he heard Vegeta’s voice, loud and clear, say the words he never, ever thought he’d hear in his life. 

“I’m sorry, Gohan.”

Gohan snapped his head up. 

There before him stood Vegeta in his torn blue gi and gold sash, two fingers to his forehead. The other ungloved hand rested against Cell’s gigantic belly. 

He tried saying Vegeta’s name, tried asking him a question, what he was doing, what was going on. All that came out was a choked sound as he mouthed Vegeta’s name, his head shaking. 

More of the words Gohan never thought he’d hear in his life came out of Vegeta before him. “I was too hard on you growing up. I should’ve treated you better.” His vision blurred, his throat tightening as Vegeta chuckled, that usual arrogant smirk appearing on his tired face. “This here—” Vegeta patted Cell’s stomach. “—wasn’t your fault. You did your best, just like you always do.” His vision blurred as that smirk turned into a smile—a real, genuine smile—and he said the words Gohan dreamed of hearing since he was a child. “I’m so proud of you.” His tears finally fell when Vegeta added, loud and clear, without any hesitation or fear, the two words he never thought he’d hear in his lifetime: “My son.”

Then Vegeta started turning away from him, and Gohan choked on his own sob. He scrambled for the words, the power, fighting his limp, tired arms to reach out to Vegeta, to stop him, to say something, anything. He managed to get one arm to work, lifting up towards Vegeta, and a flashback of a memory hit him in that moment. 

Four years old, reaching out to Vegeta as he cried in bed, asking for his help, to stay, to not leave him after having a bad dream. That was the first time Vegeta didn’t push him away. The first time Vegeta stayed to comfort him. To hold him and tell him things would be okay, that he was strong, that he didn’t need to be afraid, he was here, ja’ta was here…

“Ja’ta…”

Vegeta froze mid-turn. 

Gohan said again, louder than before, “Ja’ta, please…” His trembling arm reached higher. “Please, no…”

No fear settled inside Gohan as Vegeta turned back around to look at him. Only relief that Vegeta wasn’t going. He was staying. Not leaving him behind.

His tears fell harder at the sight of Vegeta’s own tears finally falling, in time with Vegeta’s soft, broken gasp of surprise and relief.

He barely recognized his own voice, begging in a broken whisper, “Don’t…”

That smile reappeared on Vegeta’s face, along with more tears. “It’ll be okay, Gohan.” He turned away, for good, adding in a final broken whisper, “I promise.” 

A gust of wind slapped Gohan’s face, kicking sand and dirt into the air. He failed to resist the urge to wince, to even blink. His eyes shut in reflex and he snapped them open as quick as they closed. 

He found nothing there. Nothing. 

Vegeta was gone—along with Cell. 

“NOOOOOOOOO!” 

***

Back at Mount Paozu, ChiChi’s head snapped up, a gasp ripping out of her. Her whole body trembled from head-to-toe. Tears stung her dry, tired eyes, escaping down her cold, pale cheeks. 

One of those precious kis, gone. 

Her next exhale sounded like a sob. So did her inhale. 

Beside her, Bulma squeezed her hand. A good, needed sensation, but ChiChi barely felt it over the overwhelming numbness consuming her. 

She heard Bulma say something. Possibly ask something, a question, maybe more than one question. She couldn’t make out what it was. Her ears felt sunken in, as if dumped in a pool of cold water. Everything muffled. Choking. Hurt. 

Another squeeze. A shake to her arm. 

Bulma sounded so afraid. 

She found a way to squeeze her hand back. It took her even longer to find her voice. 

ChiChi couldn’t look at her as she whispered, “Vegeta… he’s…”

There was no need to continue talking. Bulma’s wail was the confirmation ChiChi needed. 

***

Back on the battlefield, Trunks collapsed to his knees, his gaze transfixed upon Gohan screaming in Sadalan and in Standard for Vegeta. He shook his head no, the memories of his father in his own timeline appearing one by one. Vegeta standing at Goku’s grave when he was a very young boy, introducing Trunks to his ja’ta. Vegeta sparring with Gohan and Trunks, demanding the very best of each of them. Vegeta holding his mother close in the living room late at night when they thought Trunks was asleep, both of them reminiscing about how things used to be, before it all went to hell. Both of them wishing Goku was still alive. Both of them hoping that things could’ve been different.

Vegeta, yelling at Trunks that this was his fault. That he was weak. Useless. A terrible excuse of a Saiyan. 

The Vegeta he met here, in this timeline. The words he told Gohan. The very words Trunks knew, deep down, this Vegeta felt about he himself too. 

The hope that maybe, just maybe, his own father felt the same way too. 

Somewhere behind him, he heard Krillin hiss, his voice thick with anger and sadness, “That idiot. That stupid, self-sacrificing—” 

Piccolo cut him off with a snarl of, “He did what needed to be done.” 

“At what cost?” He turned towards Goku as he heard Krillin ask, “What about Goku? Their bond? You weren’t awake when he transformed the first time! You don’t know what he looked like!” 

“Don’t you feel it?” 

“Feel what?!” 

“Check Goku’s ki.” Trunks followed what Piccolo suggested, and his eyes bugged out, his jaw dropping open. 

Behind him, Krillin made an audible gasp, followed by a soft, confused whisper of, “How can that be?”

Trunks cut off Piccolo, answering for him. “He must’ve planned for this.” He walked towards Goku as he spoke. “My father once spoke of a technique he heard about on Yardrat but never learned. I don’t remember the name but it allowed a person to separate and manipulate ki from their target. It probably wouldn’t have done much good against the Androids, but…” He came down to Goku’s unconscious side, resting a hand over his beating heart. “Dad once told me that Saiyan mating is a lot like magic, or ki manipulation. You share ki and bind them together. It’s why the saying goes mah’kha’or esh t’air. Mates, bound by the soul. This Vegeta must’ve learned a version of it to help Goku.” A sad smile appeared on his face as he felt his father’s ki right there, alongside Goku’s. “Just in case.”

***

Somewhere in Otherworld, two beings landed on a small planet at the end of Snake Way. One of those beings, glowing a bright gold color, sped away from the ticking time bomb of a larger being. 

King Kai startled in place, ready to scream at Vegeta. But Vegeta yelled at him first, picking him up at the same time. 

He yelled at King Kai, “No time to explain! Where’s Bubbles and Gregory?!” 

“O-Over there! Near the house!” 

“Got it!” One by one, he scooped up them into his arms. Despite holding three squirming creatures in his hold, he found a way to put two fingers to his forehead. “Gotta find—”

There wasn’t enough time to teleport away, let alone find a ki to lock onto. Cell screamed as his body started to glow an ungodly color. 

Out of instinct, Vegeta held King Kai, Bubbles and Gregory close to him, trying to shield them from the blast. 

A second later, the huge explosion ate up every living thing around. The planet no longer existed. Neither did any of the creatures that inhabited it. 

Nothing, except one tiny, minuscule green cell, floating in the pink sky. 

***

Back on Earth, Trunks watched Piccolo kneel down on the ground next to him, in front of Goku’s unconscious body. “So… he took a part of his ki and bound it to Goku’s?” When Trunks nodded, Piccolo clicked his tongue, his lips curling into an annoyed snarl. “And he didn’t bother telling anyone. Sneaky bastard.”

“That’s dad for you.”

“Tch.” Piccolo’s arms began to slide under Goku’s unconscious body. “Tell me about it.” As he lifted Goku off the ground, coming to his feet, he ordered, “Go help Gohan. I’ll take care of Goku from here.”

“What about Raditz and Nappa?”

“I’ll get them next. Priority right now is getting Goku back to the Lookout so he stays unconscious while we get the Namekian Dragonballs—”

“Namekian??” Trunks came to his feet as well. “Did you say Namekian?? As in the Dragonballs of New Namek?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You know where New Namek is?!”

“Of course we do. Dende’s from that planet and knows where his home is.” 

“That’s amazing!! We don’t know where our New Namek is because Kami never merged with you so we have no Dende. Plus no one asked where they would be before they left our Earth. But!” Trunks gestured towards the sky and to Goku. “Maybe your New Namek is in an area similar or close to ours!” 

“It’s worth a shot.” Piccolo started to power up. “Later though. We have to wish Vegeta back and heal everyone.” 

“Of course! Now that Cell’s gone—”

The whistle of a ki shot struck flesh and bone. 

Blood splattered on the ground, between Trunks and Piccolo. 

In an instant, Trunks collapsed to the ground, face-first. 

Piccolo and Krillin’s dual screams echoed throughout the wasteland, along with Cell’s triumphant laughter.

Chapter Text

It was a mistake Gohan couldn’t afford, but it was worth it. When Cell powered up to attack Piccolo and his father, he didn’t think twice. He flew after the two of them, taking the blast meant for them. Protecting what was left of his loved ones mattered more than his own life. Even though his right arm was a complete mess and couldn’t function anymore. Even though Piccolo scolded him worse than Goku, ChiChi and Vegeta ever did, calling him an idiot. It did make him smile when Krillin scolded him too, equating what he did as ‘stupid Vegeta-like bonehead move.’ Because Krillin was right. That was a very Vegeta-like move, and he couldn’t feel prouder of the fact. 

He wasn’t going to fail now. Not after the sacrifice Vegeta made for him and the planet. Not after what Cell did to Trunks. He had a planet to save, a family to protect, a promise to keep. 

Cell wasn’t winning. Not today. 

With one arm, he charged up a final Kamehameha wave, his focus solely on Cell and Cell alone. 

***

As Gohan prepared one final stand against Cell, Raditz started to come to. He groaned, rolling onto his side, mumbling random Sadalan words. Not far from him, Nappa started to rouse as well, coming out of his unconscious state. At almost the same time, they sat up, checking their surroundings—and then stopped to gawk at the scene before them of Gohan against Cell. 

Raditz mumbled, “The fuck did I miss?” 

Nappa’s response was drowned out in Gohan’s yell and subsequent blast. 

***

Back on Mount Paozu, everyone gathered around Fortune Teller Baba’s crystal ball. Tien and Yamcha held each other. Chiaotzu cuddled Puar and Oolong. Master Roshi watched on, his lips a thin line, his wrinkled hands holding his staff tight. 

Bulma and ChiChi stood side by side with wet cheeks and solemn faces. They leaned against each other, clasping interwoven hands. After what happened to Vegeta, and then Trunks, neither wanted to hold themselves back from watching what was going on live. They wanted to see Cell die first hand. 

ChiChi broke the tense silence, hissing under her breath, “You can do it, Gohan. Defeat him. Avenge them. Do it. ” 

Bulma echoed her sentiments with a nod, her throat still too tight and her chest still too hurt to talk. 

***

As Gohan fought Cell with one arm, Raditz, Nappa, Piccolo and Krillin flew back, creating a good amount of distance between them and the dual blasts. Krillin kept holding Eighteen’s unconscious body close to him, as did Piccolo with Goku. Nappa made himself in charge of Trunks, Raditz being too in shock to handle holding his dead body.

It took every ounce of control in Raditz to stay calm. The whirlwind of new information from before he passed out to when he woke up nearly sent him back into unconsciousness. Not only was ChiChi able to communicate to him via a telepathic bond somehow, but his nephew was now at a new, more powerful level of Super Saiyan, Trunks was dead, and so was…

He glanced at Piccolo nearby crouching on the ground with Goku in his arms. Still blissfully unconscious. Still harboring inside a visible piece of Vegeta’s ki. 

His fists clenched by his sides, his tail whipping behind him. 

What the fuck were you thinking, Vegeta? He shook his head. Why would you do this to him, twice? 

***

Death, this time around, wasn’t like floating into a comfortable darkness. Vegeta didn’t have Goku there holding him as he passed. He didn’t see or hear his mother or father when he crossed over. The moment Cell exploded, his world flickered off like a light. Within moments, he wasn’t on that planet anymore. He wasn’t holding King Kai, Gregory or Bubbles anymore. 

This time, Vegeta simply… floated. 

He floated in this darkness, numb all over. He tried finding his limbs, his own sense of self, but it didn’t work. The darkness consumed him. The darkness, and the numbness. 

No sound. No sight. No control over where he was and what to do. 

Then he heard it. 

Vejita .

A voice. 

Ve’ho’ti ye’inplanethi Vejita.

A woman’s voice. 

Vu’mamela.

A woman, speaking perfect Sadalan. 

Just like when Cell blew up and everything went dark, now it suddenly became too bright. He winced at the light eating up this darkness, a silver kind of light. Out of instinct, he wanted to bring a hand up to his face to block the light, but he couldn’t move.

In the silver light, the most he could make out was the silhouette of a woman’s muscled figure with her arms crossed, her purple eyes staring right through his soul, and a long Saiyan tail slowly waving back and forth. 

He couldn’t make out the rest of her face. The light was too bright, his body being too weak. There was something behind her, something that seemed comforting, warm, almost familiar somehow, but he couldn’t tell what it was. 

But he could hear her. He could see her mouth moving as she spoke again, in that slightly accented voice he couldn’t pinpoint: “Awufanelekanga.” 

Vegeta tried translating the word in his head and found unable to do so. Whoever she was, this Saiyan, she spoke a much different dialect than he. Much more guttural, lyrical—

He finally put two-and-two together when the world behind her finally revealed itself, the light dying down low enough so he could see. 

Endless green fields. Plentiful supply of water. Beautiful reddish-yellow sky. People in those fields, near that water, some flying in that reddish sky. All smiling. All laughing. 

All with tails. 

He met her purple eyes. 

Still silhouetted from head to toe, but he could make out certain things about her. The way she looked down upon him, so much taller than him, even Raditz and Goku. Her tail flicked behind her, snapping against the invisible ground, and he found himself recoiling a little at the unspoken ire there, right in those purple eyes. 

“Zibonakalise,” she hissed, tilting her chin up, her purple eyes narrowing. “Bubuxoki Saiyan.” 

She lifted her hand, snapping her fingers. 

Like before, he found himself in instant darkness. This time, though, it didn’t last as long. Black gave way to pink, then yellow clouds. 

His feet touched solid ground. A glance down, and he actually saw his boots this time. His own legs. His hands. 

A glance around, and he saw the pavement that created Snake Way.

One glance up, and there it was. A halo. 

Otherworld. 

“Took you a while!” The sound of King Kai’s voice caught his attention. He turned around and found him, Gregory and Bubbles there, all with halos too. “Thought we’d never see you again. Did King Yemma give you any problems at the Check In Station?” When he shook his head no, King Kai continued, “That’s good! Sometimes he won’t let souls keep their bodies, especially those who have been terrible. Like I’m pretty sure Frieza didn’t keep his body once he crossed over, haha! But your sacrifice must’ve been enough—” 

“I didn’t see him.” 

His mumble stopped King Kai cold. Gone was the man’s jovial smile and atmosphere.  He gaped for a few moments before asking, “You didn’t? No check in station?” He took a step forward. “Did you go there the first time around?” When he shook his head no, King Kai frowned. “Then… how did you get here? Hmm. Unless—” His annenea shot up into the air, his frown turning into a round ‘o.’ “Oh shit.”

“What?”

“We’ll deal with this later.” He closed the gap between them, grabbing one of Vegeta’s wrists to put on his shoulder. “First, you gotta help Gohan.” 

His stomach dropped. “Is he okay?”

“For now.” 

***

It wasn’t working. Gohan knew this was it. Cell’s blast was much more powerful than his own. Doing this attack with one arm, after getting hit by that blast— 

Have I taught you nothing, child?!

Gohan gasped, his grip on the attack almost faltering. “Ja’ta…?”

You should know better! Doubt has no place on the battlefield! Now finish him off!

“I can’t.” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “I’m not you. I’m not dad.”

The sound of Vegeta’s familiar scoff of Feh! made him chuckle. Of course not. His tears flowed once again when he heard Vegeta say, You’re better than us. Hell, you are the best of us. Don’t ever forget that, my son. 

“Ja’ta…”

Aim higher. Do better. Fight. 

He nodded. “I will. I can.” 

Then do it! End this, now! 

Gohan planted his feet better in the ground. He gritted his teeth harder, harnessing more power inside him—the little piece left that he knew he hadn’t dug into yet. He brought it right up to the surface, his body coming alive, almost aflame. As if burning alive from the inside out. But he kept his control, kept his breathing steady, his body steady. He knew what to do. He trained for this. 

His eyes gained a deeper color of teal, his hair glowing a brighter yellow. 

Whatever fear he had left vanished at the sound of Vegeta’s yell echoing throughout his head. 

VU’KUWA!

He roared , channeling his ancestors and his inner Oozaru. His ki blast grew astronomically larger in size, overtaking Cell’s attack easily. It took a minute for Gohan’s blast to dissipate. When it did, nothing was there anymore. Not a single trace of the monster called Cell. 

***

The first thing Goku noticed when he woke up was a bright blue sky. The second thing he noticed was something soft underneath him, akin to a fluffy blanket or a huge body pillow. Then came Piccolo’s face into his view, looking down at him, half concerned, half relieved. Within moments, his view was filled with different faces and voices. Raditz asking how he was doing, how he was feeling. Krillin soothing him, telling him to relax, go back to sleep, everything was okay now. Nappa informing him that Cell was gone, Gohan did it, the Earth was safe now. Gohan popping in, blood and dirt caking his singed gi, exhausted from head to toe but smiling. The pride on his face. That smile he showed from time to time, the one that reminded Goku so much of—

He froze. 

Everything slowed down.

Everyone’s faces turned grim and horrified. An ugly sight. 

Sudden energy from deep inside himself shoved him into an upright seated position. One of his shaky hands pressed to his neck, over the mating mark. They all scrambled around him, encouraging words flying from their lips, begging him to stay calm, to rest, everything was okay, this was temporary, he would be fine, they would be fine. But he could barely hear anything they said, their voices underwater, their touches cold, barely there, even though he knew they were grabbing him hard. It didn’t register like that to him though. 

A quick check inside himself confirmed what he feared. 

Vegeta’s ki, deep within, bound with his own. A minuscule amount, but enough to stop whatever could’ve happened when he woke up. 

Their link. Their bond. 

Still alive, when it shouldn’t be. 

Unconsciously, without a sound, he mouthed Vegeta’s name. 

Stinging wetness blurred his vision. 

Second time. Second death. 

Can’t come back. 

His ki slowly climbed—

“Konele.” Gohan’s voice. “He can come back.” He turned in the direction of Gohan’s soothing voice and found Vegeta’s gaze looking right at him. “The Namekian Dragonballs. They can revive someone more than once. First we’ll get Trunks back, then we can go to New Namek and wish ja’ta back.” A squeeze to his shoulder. A reassuring smile. “Okay?”  

He almost nodded until he realized what Gohan said. He didn’t recognize his own voice as he asked, “What happened to Trunks?”

Gohan didn’t need to reply. All Goku had to do was watch his son’s face turn crestfallen, followed by his gaze turning towards the left. 

Trunks, on his back, nearby him. Dried blood decorating his open blue lips and jaw. Gigantic hole in his chest, over his heart. 

Like Vegeta, on Namek. 

He cleared his wet voice as best he could, asking, “H-How?”

“Cell,” Gohan replied. “I made him pay for what he did. He’s dead and won’t come back.” 

He felt everyone following him as he climbed to his feet, coming right to Trunks’s side. By now, he recognized where he was. The white tile and the blue sky was a dead giveaway, but the sight of Mr. Popo’s garden and water fountain confirmed it. He came to Trunks’s side, brushing his lavender hair back with his fingertips. He kept petting Trunks’s hair, memories of their time in the Chamber coming to mind, along with the way they bonded afterwards, after Cell. His tail came into play, curling around Trunks’s limp lavender tail, giving it a gentle squeeze the same way he did when Trunks needed it.

Beside him, Gohan sat down with him, his own tail wrapping around his wrist. Just like Vegeta would do to reassure him when he felt down, or scared, or unsure. 

On his other side, he heard Raditz say, “Tor is keeping him safe, brother. Tor and our family patron goddess, Soli.” 

Nappa echoed the sentiment. “Same with Vegeta.”

Krillin touched his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Bulma and the others are gathering the Dragonballs as we speak. It won’t be long.” 

He couldn’t talk anymore. All Goku could do was nod once and that was it. He kept his focus on Trunks, looming over him in a protective manner. 

***

When King Yemma was informed by his demons that King Kai came to see him, he prepared to tell him no. Unlike Kami, he owed no debts to King Kai. It didn’t matter to him that the man was higher in the hierarchy than him. Vaguely he heard the blast from down Snake Way and someone informed him that his planet exploded, so he assumed it had to deal with him helping King Kai in getting a new home, or maybe his soul back. No way was he going to do that. He had no obligation to break the rules for him. 

It didn’t surprise him to see King Kai there with a halo. What did surprise him was seeing Vegeta there with him—along with the news they brought. 

“This is your second time?” He hissed, coming to his feet from his desk, “ Second? ” He snapped to the right where a gathering of his demons stood, cowering in fear. Rightfully so. “Why was I not informed of this?! Who screwed up documenting his encounter with another supernatural plane?!” 

Vegeta’s confused question caught his attention. “Another what?” He redirected his focus away from the cowering demons, glaring down at a gobsmacked Vegeta. “Are you saying what I saw was real? Our ancestral planes exist?”

“Of course they do! There are thousands of other supernatural planes of existences in our universe! Even if there’s only one worshiper left, they get their own afterlife different from this one.” Seeing the confused, and still shocked, state of Vegeta below, King Yemma sighed and flopped back onto his seat, rubbing his temples. “Okay. I’m about to give you a lesson in supernatural lore and history so please pay attention because I am not repeating myself.” He removed his hands back to his desk and looked down at Vegeta as he explained. “At the heart of our universe is this world, Otherworld. Above that is a lot of other levels for different supreme beings. The Quadrant Kais, the Grand Kai, the Supreme Kai, et cetera. Then there’s the religious based existences that branch off of ours. When a being on any planet in our universe dies, they will be brought here and given a choice either to be judged by me, or by their respective religion’s deity, or deities. It just depends. A lot of the other deities respect that we’re the default and they branch off of us, but a handful do not play by the rules. It’s usually the deities that have lived the longest, so they existed almost as long as we have, which is when time friggen began. So these idiots over here—” He thumbed over to the still trembling lot of demons. “—are supposed to help me by documenting when one of those Great Old Gods stick their pretentious noses in and take one of their worshipers without informing me. It takes a while tracking down who was taken by what, but we find out eventually. The number of stuck up gods in our universe is pretty low. Your Saiyan gods are in that category.” He frowned. “I’m confused though why she didn’t keep you this time around. Maybe she expects you to get wished back like you did before.” He tapped a finger to his chin, his focus floating to the ceiling. “But you didn’t see the ancestral planes before… she put you in one of those limbo worlds… hmm…” 

Vegeta’s soft voice caught his attention. He looked down and found him looking much more ashen than before. Almost scared. “She said something to me I couldn’t translate. Ancient Sadalan.” 

“Oh?”

“I only know a handful of words thanks to my mother’s training before becoming Queen, but I still can’t translate it.”

“Hm. Do you remember exactly what she said?”

Vegeta nodded. 

“Good.” He snapped his attention back to the group of terrified demons, bellowing, “One of you go to The Library of Dead Languages! Fetch me the Ancient Sadalan dictionary at once!” All of them replied over each other in acknowledgement while bowing. He ignored them to look back at Vegeta and King Kai below. “Hopefully we’ll find out what happened. In the meantime, take a seat. Your family’s working on gathering the Dragonballs to bring you back.” He turned back to his work on his desk, opening up one of his large books full of names from a planet in the Andromeda Galaxy. As he started going through the book, he mumbled aloud to himself a memory that hit him. “You know? This reminds me of the time when your planet blew up. Tor instantly swooped in and took a majority of her Saiyans. Only a small handful ended up at the Check In Station. All of them ended up having their souls cleansed and reincarnated. That’s why there are no Saiyans here in Otherworld. They either got reincarnated as other beings, or they are with the other Saiyans with Tor and the other gods.” He started scribbling in his book, making notes. ‘I had sent an envoy to ask her why she didn’t want these few and she said her sister deemed them ‘not worthy’ and that her three other siblings called them ‘disgraceful.’ Piss off one god, fine. Piss of the entire pantheon? Ha, good luck. Besides, they were right. I remember those few. Those were some bad Saiyans, heh.” He shrugged. “Ah well. Not my problem. Hey, want anything to drink while you wait?” When he didn’t hear a response, King Yemma stopped scribbling and looked down at the base of his table. He frowned at how… terrible Vegeta looked. It was so much worse than before. Not pale. More like green, as if he was going to be sick. “You okay?”

“F-Fine.” 

“Mm, if you say so.” 

***

Back on Earth, the world celebrated the end of Cell. Mr. Satan broadcasted his so-called win across the airwaves, declaring himself the reason the monster was defeated. As that happened, a helicopter containing ChiChi, Bulma, Yamcha, Tien, Chiaotzu, Puar, Oolong and Master Roshi landed on the surface of the Lookout. Bulma, Yamcha and Tien carried a couple of Dragonballs each, walking towards a waving Dende and a smiling Mr. Popo. 

ChiChi ran right towards Raditz, giving him a huge hug and a kiss to his cheek. She did the same with Nappa and Piccolo, sans the kiss. She practically smothered Gohan with a gigantic bone-crushing hug, barely holding back her tears of relief, and of pride. She found Goku next to a prone Trunks, took a step forward to them, but stopped when she saw the hole in Trunks’s chest and the bluish tint to his face and lips. 

Gohan’s tail wrapped around her wrist, giving it a squeeze. The sensation caught her attention. She looked down at him and emotion seized her chest. Below wasn’t her sweet little baby, but a 12, almost 13 year old man in a young boy’s body. He slowly shook his head no, guiding her away from Goku towards the others, and she followed along, whispering a silent prayer to herself that everything would be okay somehow. That Goku would get the happy ending he deserved. 

Goku paid no attention to anyone, his focus solely on Trunks. He methodically petted his hair, his tail holding Trunks’s tail the whole time. 

Inside, the flame of Vegeta’s ki burned, warming the frigid cold inside. 

*** 

Vegeta wanted it to be wrong. Needed it to be. But his gut told him the truth before he ever read the translation in that book. Tor’s purple eyes told him everything. The way she delivered those words told him everything. His usual logical self fed his hope though. He needed evidence. He needed proof. It took a minute to translate the words, as they were more like phrases than words, but he figured it out. 

There it was. In yellow and black. Ancient Sadalan. 

Awufanelekanga .

You are not worthy.

Zibonakalise.

Prove yourself. 

Bubuxoki Saiyan.

False Saiyan.

He slowly shut the book with both of his hands, staring at the worn down, leather brown cover. 

Above him, King Yemma asked, “Well? What did she say?”

It took a long, long time for him to answer. He wasn’t able to clear the emotion out of his voice when he said, “I am them. Those Saiyans.” 

“Eh? Oh. You mean the ones who weren’t allowed in?” He managed to nod in response. King Yemma must’ve seen it, because he scoffed and said, “Well, whatever. Your sacrifice to save the Earth was enough to erase most of your bad deeds under Frieza. Granted, it’s not enough to get you into Fighter’s Heaven, which is exactly where Goku will go once he dies. But hey! Once you get back home, I’m sure you’ll have performed a lot more good deeds. You’ve been doing great since you crash landed on Earth. Keep it up!” 

King Kai strode up next to him, patting his back. “See? Nothing bad—”

Vegeta shrugged off his hand, squeezing the book hard enough to leave dents in the cover. “What about Kakarot? You said he’s destined for Fighter’s Heaven, but what about Tor?” The book shook in his white-knuckled grip. “Will he be taken by her?”

King Yemma’s blaise response confirmed his worst fear. “Of course. If he’s worthy of Fighter’s Heaven, he’s going to be worthy of your ancestral planes. As a matter of fact…” His vision blurred on the edges as King Yemma rummaged through a few papers before stopping on one with a pleased smile. “Yep, there it is. His soul isn’t under Tor’s jurisdiction but Soli’s since his family worshiped her more than her twin sister. According to the Saiyan pantheon rules, if Soli deems someone worthy—and boy is Goku worthy—then Tor by default will guide that soul to the afterlife without question. He won’t ever have to step foot at the Check In. Matter of fact, you reminded me!” King Yemma’s chuckles wounded Vegeta at his core, every pleased sound stabbing him in every weak spot he housed inside. “I should add that to his file. That way I won’t have to worry about any of his paperwork when he dies. Thanks for that!” 

Blackness touched the edges of his vision as he watched King Yemma easily fix Goku’s file with a feathered pen. As if it was nothing but a trivial matter. As if he just didn’t drop a huge bomb on him and change everything he ever thought and believed. 

King Kai’s voice sounded so far away, despite knowing he was right next to him. “Um… King Yemma? Sir? I think Vegeta wanted to end up with Goku when it was their natural time to pass on.” 

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course.” A flourish of a scribble, and King Yemma flicked the feathered pen off to the side on his large mahogany table. He folded his large hands on top of each other, peering down at him with a sad smile. “Unfortunately, that’s not up to me. Since Tor is your patron goddess, she’d take you in, but if she said you were unworthy, it’s probably because her sister is pissed at you.”

“But they’re bonded,” King Kai said. “Soul bonded. Doesn’t that mean they must be together?” 

“Nope. I might not remember much about the Saiyan gods, but I do remember that it’s Soli, not Tor, who handles Saiyan mating. She can create and undo bonds without it affecting the other party. So if Soli’s pissed at Vegeta, then it doesn’t matter. When Goku goes, she’ll break that bond easily. Besides, it might not only be Soli but the other gods too. The ones who were deemed unworthy pissed off all five.” 

“But he came make up for it, right?” King Kai sounded so hopeful, like Vegeta wished he could’ve himself. “When he gets back to Earth? You said he was on the right track!”

“He is, for here. But for them? Those gods with all that pride and honor they hold so dear? Mm…” King Yemma’s shrug provided the final blow to Vegeta’s heart. “I don’t know. I honestly can’t see anything he does on Earth being enough for them.”

Whatever King Kai said next was interrupted by an unfamiliar, old-sounding voice booming inside Vegeta’s head. 

VEGETA THE IV. PRINCE OF ALL SAIYANS. I AM PORUNGA, THE ETERNAL DRAGON OF PLANET NAMEK. YOUR FAMILY HAS ASKED ME TO BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE. DO YOU ACCEPT?

A single wet dot hit the old leather-bound book cover. Then another. 

Slowly, Vegeta closed his eyes.

He parted his lips—

King Yemma’s soft voice cut through the thick silence.

“I have a suggestion though.”

Vegeta snapped his attention up.

King Yemma frowned. “I’ve given this deal to a few others who have been in your situation before and it worked out for them.” A spark of hope bubbled within him as Yemma wagged a finger at him, saying, “Now, I’m not guaranteeing it’ll be enough for those Saiyan gods of yours! Got it?” He pulled his hand back and added with a small smile. “But after all the good deeds you’ve done? Why not. It’s worth a shot.” 

In his head, Porunga bellowed, WELL? DO YOU ACCEPT? I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY.

Vegeta ignored him, telling King Yemma, without hesitation, “I’ll do it.”

“Eh? Don’t you want to know the details?”

“I don’t care.”

King Kai mumbled next to him, “Maybe you should talk to Goku—”

Porunga shouted in his head, TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE DECIDED, MORTAL!

He threw the book to the ground, screaming on top of his lungs, “I’M NOT COMING BACK!” He glared at King Yemma, growling, “If it means I get to be with Kakarot in the end, then that’s all that matters.”

He felt nothing but determination as King Yemma explained what he just agreed to. “Prince Vegeta the IV, as of today, you are hereby part of the Special Forces of the Afterlife. You serve at the pleasure of not just me in protecting Otherworld, but all of the Kais—the Quadrant Kais, the Grand Kai, the Supreme Kais, all the way up to the Lord of all Lords if the need arises. You will help wrangle wayward souls, fight evil supernatural beings and bring to justice those who wish to destroy the Afterlife as we know it. This will be your charge until it is deemed your soul is completely cleansed of all sins and you are worthy of Heaven or Fighter’s Heaven should you choose so in your end of days.” 

Vegeta smirked from ear-to-ear, all his previous worry and pain from before now replaced with purpose and focus. “Understood.” 

Beside him, King Kai sighed, mumbling under his breath, “Great. Just great. This won’t lead to any problems in the future, oh nooo, of course not—”

“Shut up,” Vegeta growled, turning towards him and walking towards his back. He placed a hand against King Kai’s upper back. “Patch me through to everyone down on Earth. I’ll explain to them what’s going on myself.” 

All King Kai said in response was a very short, very sharp, “Fine.” 

***

Back on Earth, on the Lookout, everyone listened to Vegeta’s voice from Otherworld and the reason why he wasn’t coming back yet. When he finished, the first voice that popped up commanded the attention of everyone, silencing them from saying a word. It was the only voice that mattered to begin with. 

Everyone stared right at Goku who looked up at the sky, his tail limp behind him, his shoulders falling forward, his face much more ashen and pale than it was before. They barely heard his voice asking that simple question: “For how long?”

Vegeta’s cold answer visibly struck Goku’s weak form. “However long it takes to cleanse my soul of my sins.”

Goku shook his head no. Slowly at first, then faster, as fast as his voice mumbled, “No, no, nonono—” He hiccuped on his next breath. “I need a number, Vegeta. I need something solid. I can’t—I can’t lose you—“

“You’re not losing me. I gave you my ki, yes?”

”But—”

”And the link is still there. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t care about that!” His ki began to rise, shouting to the heavens above, “I care about you! ” 

“So do I! That’s why I’m doing this!” 

“But there has to be another way—!” 

Goku froze, his rising ki plummeting like his broken heart, all from Vegeta’s scream: “I ALREADY ACCEPTED! IT IS DONE! ” 

Whatever fight Goku harbored inside himself disappeared at that moment. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe, as he stood there, staring up at the endless blue sky, utterly helpless. 

He heard Gohan’s voice say something to Vegeta, something about how he understood and was proud of him. How he’d take care of everyone for him. He registered Piccolo’s voice echoing his sentiments. Same with Krillin. Bulma sounded so sad as she told him how much she’d miss him. ChiChi sounded the same way too. Nappa and Raditz growled at Vegeta in Sadalan, telling him he better hurry up or else. Telling him they would protect the pashika in his absence. Trunks, newly revived, telling Vegeta he would miss him and how he admired him. 

Goku heard it all and couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t move from his spot on the Lookout. His body wasn’t his to control anymore, his mind blank and numb. His very sense of self, completely numb, almost out of touch with reality a bit. As if looking from the outside in. 

Because their link was alive. Vegeta’s ki was there, keeping it alive. It didn’t register to his Saiyan side that Vegeta was dead and gone, because he did that complicated Yardrat ki move Goku couldn’t execute let alone understand, but of course Vegeta did. He always was the smarter one, the more talented one. Of course he learned it. Of course he wouldn’t tell him. Always keeping secrets to himself. Always holding back in some way or another.

That link flared to life as Vegeta whispered over it, somehow, from Otherworld: M’yo Kakarotto. A brush to his mind, as if Vegeta was right there, holding him from behind, hugging him tight, whispering into his ear the way Goku loved and needed when he felt his most vulnerable. M’yo mah’kha.

He involuntarily lifted a hand to his neck, over the mating mark. 

A ghost of a kiss landed on his cheek. 

Vegeta’s ki warmed his chest. 

He choked on his next breath at Vegeta’s final whisper—the same words he told Vegeta the day he left him for Namek, all those years ago. 

Wait for me. I’ll be right behind you.

Then the warmth disappeared.

The link was still alive, still there, as was Vegeta’s ki, but it wasn’t as warm anymore. 

He blinked up at the blue sky, unaware he had shut his eyes at some point. 

His fingers skipped down the side of his neck, over the mating mark. 

“Vegeta…”

No response. Nothing there.

Nothing but a half-alive link, and the small flame of Vegeta’s ki. 

***

Hours later, after reviving everyone on Earth who was killed by Cell, and then wishing Eighteen’s bomb to no longer exist inside her, Goku arrived home to Mount Paozu with Raditz, ChiChi and Gohan. When they landed at ChiChi’s doorstep, ChiChi immediately flung her arms around Goku, burying her face into his neck. He returned the gesture half-heartedly, pressing his nose to the side of her scalp. She tried saying something into his neck, but he shushed her with a kiss to her temple and a gentle shake of his head as he pulled away. 

Raditz offered out his tail, but to that, Goku also shook his head no with a small smile. Instead of protesting, Raditz nodded, coiling his tail back around his waist. 

Gohan nodded to his father, his gaze and demeanor so similar to Vegeta’s that it hurt. He then turned to his mother, placing a hand against her lower back, wordlessly guiding her inside the home. Raditz followed, giving Goku a parting, worried glance. He answered that glance with a small shake of his tail tip—the sign of reassurance to another member of the pashika. A sign that said not to worry, brush it off, it’ll be okay, no need to approach and comfort. Raditz didn’t look any better, but he did follow ChiChi into the house, leaving him alone. 

Once he was certain no one was going to follow him, Goku turned away and headed in the direction of the only place that came to mind. He bypassed his home with Vegeta, the thought of entering that place spiking his anxiety. He didn’t go to his favorite fishing hole, or his father waterfall, or his favorite meadow. There was only place he wanted to be at right now. The place where it all began. 

He hit the edge of the crater like he did all those years ago. Even now, he could see the deep crevice of Vegeta’s old attack ball, the shape of it etched into the dirt forever. The dirt slid down to the center like it did back then, coming down into the crater without hesitation. Full of curiosity and wonder, as well as concern and fear. The unconscious, bloodied, half-alive body with a tight fist over its chest, smiling for some unknown reason. 

His knees hit the ground the way they did then, scraping the skin. But he didn’t care, just like he didn’t then. He had to keep this boy alive. He couldn’t die. He held that body in his arms, feeding it ki, and he could feel it even now. He could feel Vegeta, in his arms. That very Vegeta, the one he met so long ago, was there. Right there. 

The way that body gasped as he touched its arm to see if he had a pulse. The unmistakable tail beneath him, one so similar to his own. How that body felt in his arms as he pulled it onto his lap, pouring ki into it so the boy stayed alive. 

Those eyes, heavy-lidded, exhausted, in pain. Grateful to see him. Relieved to see him. The gaze that captured Goku’s very soul in that moment and from there on out.

The shock on that pale face when he whispered those words to him, reassuring him. Smiling at him. 

You’re safe now , he said then. I promise. 

Vegeta’s beautiful smile—the smile Goku would cherish, the one reserved for him and him alone—before he passed out in his arms. 

The prince that fell from the sky and changed his life forever. 

His Saiyan prince. His mate. 

Gone.

Not here. 

Nobody in his arms. No one there. 

Vegeta wasn’t there. 

Vegeta was gone.

Vegeta wasn’t coming back. 

Vegeta—Vegeta was—wasn’t—

Goku screamed.

***

Six months later…

Bulma landed her ship nearby ChiChi’s home. As she turned the machine off, she found Raditz working in the fields, planting some new crops. She took her time coming off the ship, her baby bump finally showing after five months pregnant. Raditz waved her off towards ChiChi’s home. There, ChiChi shuffled her in, where they discussed a baby shower and how the nursery would look when Trunks arrived. On a mantle nearby the two of them sat a photo of everyone the day the older Trunks left back to the future. Out of everyone, Trunks stuck by Goku’s side, the two of them having become closer, especially after Vegeta’s death.

Miles away, Gohan sparred with Piccolo up on the Lookout, determined to keep his newfound powers up. Dende and Mr. Popo watched on, along with Korin (who showed up with popcorn and beer). Yamcha, Tien and Chiaotzu cheered them on, sharing the popcorn and beer with Korin.

Out in Jingle Village, Eighteen and Krillin showed up to a low key double date with Launch and Suno. They played board games and watch a rom-com that Suno loved. Despite her obvious uncomfortableness at first, Eighteen eventually started opening up, even sharing crude jokes with blonde Launch when she showed up. Krillin kept admiring his girlfriend from afar with a big smile and goo-goo eyes, something Eighteen clearly saw and didn’t mind. 

Meanwhile, in West City, Mr. Satan attended another fan event in his honor. He signed autographs and took pictures with a huge line of fans waiting, all of them paying astronomical numbers to meet and greet the Savior of the Earth and Defeater of Cell. Nappa stayed close by in his usual bodyguard attire, half annoyed by his dumb job, half vigilant in case anyone tried any funny business like skipping the line or trying to bum-rush Mr. Satan. 

Life moved on. Peace reigned. Everything was back to how it was, with some obvious changes in place, but it felt like the time before Nappa and Raditz arrived. Before Frieza. Before Cell. Everything felt okay again.

Goku took a long, deep breath, inhaling the fresh grass, wet soil and pine trees nearby. 

On his exhale, he opened his eyes, finding the crater where Vegeta first landed all those years ago right in front of him. 

He sat quietly on the edge of that crater, listening to the occasional breeze rustling the trees and grass, the squawk and chirp of birds passing by.

The ki inside warmed him from the elements as much as his clothes did. The link thrummed a little, a weak little buzz in the back of his head. Vegeta’s parting gifts. His mementos

He smiled as that ki flickered a little deep inside, getting slightly brighter, his body slightly warmer. Like it sometimes did. 

Slowly, Goku lifted a hand to his neck, brushing the mating mark with his fingertips. 

It must be his mate checking in on him, saying hello.