Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The whole business started when Goku sensed Vegeta’s energy.

It had been so long, but the dangerous pulse of it was as sharp as a blade, and even considering the distances involved, Goku recognized it instantly. Over the years, he had sensed his–

Come to think of it, he wasn’t certain what to call Vegeta. Companion? Best friend? Rival? They’d spent more than one night in each other’s arms, so ‘lover’, maybe? Enemies with benefits?

Nothing seemed to fit properly.

Anyways, he’d sensed Vegeta’s energy flare, flicker, and fade, from time to time over the years. Probably dealing with some threat to Earth or training with Trunks and Bulla. Goku had even been tempted to go to him more than once, but he was doing important things and as the years ticked past, the Prince’s energy had grown more and more infrequent, until one day, it had stopped altogether.

Then, what seemed to be a long time after that, it had come back out of nowhere, and it was as though Goku couldn’t think of anything else.

Vegeta, wherever he was, had powered up and stayed that way. His energy was a glare across Goku’s thoughts, like a beacon.

It couldn’t be anything other than a call.

For help, maybe, and concerned, Goku touched his fingers to his forehead, aligned his energy, and teleported to Vegeta’s side.

A fist connected with his face as soon as the transmission resolved. He hadn’t been remotely ready for the sucker punch, and it knocked him backwards, flat on his ass, red light exploded across his vision. The blow could probably have split a planet in two, but as far as the two of them were concerned, it was basically a love tap. The sky and ground were a blur of color as they spun past over his head, but Goku knew where he was. On Earth, in the valley where they had fought when Vegeta had first come here.

Vegeta’s foot came down on his chest.

“Idiot,” he spat, though the insult was so well-used that there was a certain unmistakable fondness behind it. “Keep your guard up.”

“Hey Vegeta,” Goku coughed the words out. “The heck?”

The corona of light around Vegeta retracted into his body as he stepped back, his auras dissipating into glittering motes of energy, his hair fading from blue back into–

Vegeta looked different. His face was heavily lined, his hair was white-gray, and though he was still muscular, the signs of atrophy were patently obvious. The Prince had always been smaller, but now, he looked shrunken. Thin and narrow. Wasting away. He wasn’t wearing his armor. Some of his veins were black beneath his pale skin.

“Are you alright?” asked Goku, looking him up and down as he hopped to his feet, no worse for wear. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m ninety-six years old, Kakarot.” Vegeta snorted, still haughtily annoyed with him even after all this time. At least that hadn’t changed. “That’s what’s fucking wrong with me. Your wife is sick.”

“Sick?” asked Goku. “Huh. You needed to call me for that? Can’t you guys just get her a senzu bean?”

“She’s ninety,” said Vegeta, bluntly. “A senzu bean won't fix what’s wrong with her. Go to her, right now.”

Vegeta pointed with one hand, in the direction of Goku’s house.

“How long was I–”

“Forty years,” Vegeta snapped. “It wasn’t a request, Kakarot. Don’t make me beat your ass.”

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not with the state the Prince was in. Goku ignored the threat and held one hand out to Vegeta, who scrunched up his face.

“Absolutely not,” Vegeta said. “You know I hate being teleported.”

“But–”

“I’ll catch up with you later, Kakarot. Go and take care of your wife.”

Goku nodded, aligned his energy, and went.

*** *** ***

He had imagined, he guessed, that Earth would be the same as he’d left it. That he’d be able to come back like he always had. That Bulma would be waiting with some new invention. That Chi-Chi would get angry and lecture him but that she would always be there. Loyal and devoted, constantly present. That he would be able to hold her again and tell her about his adventures, eat her cooking, sleep next to her. That there would be a home to come back to.

There are a lot of people he knew and some more that he didn’t at his house.

Bulla and Gohan, born with tails (and Bulla still had hers), were more Saiyan than human, and they both looked young. Like they were still in their twenties. Trunks and Goten were older, halfway to sixty, aging a little more like humans did. Videl was past seventy, and she looked like Gohan’s grandmother, not his wife. Pan was forty, and her husband seemed very confused about all this but was clearly trying to be supportive. Pan had three grown-up children of her own. Goku was a great-grandfather, and he didn’t even look thirty.

Krillin was gone. Heart disease, Piccolo explained it to him. So was Bulma. Cancer. Sixteen years ago, and her death nearly killed Vegeta too. Roshi, Yamcha, Tien, Videl’s and Chi-Chi’s fathers, all gone. Marron was present, but no one knew where 17 and 18 were.

Everyone was staring at him, not entirely happily.

He wanted to say something, that he had been busy, that he had been doing important things, but he sensed that there was no explanation that would make anyone happy.

“Heya dad,” said Gohan.

“Hey Gohan,” he said. Waved a little. They embraced awkwardly.

“Come and see mom,” said Gohan.

“Alright,” said Goku. “Okay.”

Kami, he felt awkward. Like a child in a room full of vaguely disapproving adults, which was silly. He was the oldest person here. At least until Vegeta showed up, he supposed. He let Gohan lead him into–

Well, he got the sense that it was Chi-Chi’s bedroom, not his.

She looked dreadful, worse than Vegeta. Her hair was white, almost transparent, and her scalp showed through it. Her skin looked paper thin, like it was wrapped over her bones with nothing underneath, and it was splotched with age marks. The worst of it, though, was that she seemed listless and weak. He supposed he had hoped she would yell or be angry, show some of the energy she’d had when they were young.

Instead she looked up at him. Smiled a little, reached for his hand. Goku had to remind himself that she was a whole year younger than he was as he took it.

“I was–” he swallowed, felt something in his throat. “–I was doing something important. In that last battle with Frieza, we– Vegeta and I, but mostly me, did a lot of damage to universe, and so I’ve been trying to fix–”

“I know,” she said, and her voice was quiet. No accusation followed it up. “You’ve been doing important things. Sit with me.”

He did, and she told him about everything that had happened since he left. Gohan’s research and Goten’s training. About the new age of technology that Bulma had ushered in before the tragedy stuck. After a while Gohan left and he moved to lay on the bed with her, on his side. He put his arms around her, they talked for what seemed to be a long time.

“You look just like you did when we first got married,” she said. “Are you going to live forever?”

Goku nodded. It looked that way. He had never considered it before. He thought that when he came back everything would be the same, like it always had been in the past.

“Whis, he, uh–” He didn’t even have words to put to it. “Did something to me.”

“Vegeta told me,” said Chi-Chi. “Come and look for me?”

“Look for you?”

“Afterwards.”

After what–? Oh.

Right. After she reincarnated. He nodded to her.

Not long afterwards, she fell asleep and didn’t wake up. Her soul left her body when she took her last breath, just as it had entered her body when she had taken her first. Goku felt her energy fade.

He wasn’t sure what to do, so he just stayed there for a long time.

*** *** ***

Three days later, there was a small funeral. Close friends only. Fewer awkward questions that way. Goku wouldn’t have been able to give a decent speech even if he’d had time to prepare, so it was mostly Gohan and Goten who gave the eulogy. A lot of other people spoke too. Bulla and Pan and Marron. Goku stood back. He felt like a stranger. Piccolo was Gohan’s father by virtually every definition of that word that mattered. Vegeta was Goten’s.

Afterwards, everyone was back at Goku’s house again.

Though he supposed it wasn’t his house. It didn't seem like it belonged to anyone, now. Chi-Chi had probably left everything they owned (which wasn’t much) to Gohan, though someone had explained that Gohan had done very well for himself. He was a famous scholar, he’d published all kinds of research papers that were beyond Goku’s ability to understand. He didn’t do much fighting anymore. For real this time, though.

Vegeta came to see him later, when he was sitting alone.

“Can’t you use the Dragon Balls to wish to be young again?” Goku asked, as Vegeta flew up and sat down next to him.

“Bulma did that,” Vegeta answered. A pause. “It doesn’t extend your lifespan. Your time is up when it’s up, Kakarot.”

They sat on a cliff not far from the house, in the shade from trees that he and Chi-Chi had planted ages ago, their grandchildren would play here, she had told him. They probably had played here, though he knew that Chi-Chi had thought he would be with her. There was a stream nearby, with a low waterfall that fed into a pond. All of the lights in the house were on, voices were drifting up.

“Are you sick?” Goku asked, though he already knew the answer. He could read Vegeta’s energy as clearly as he could feel the wind on his skin or see the sunset, and there was something black in the Prince’s auras, eating him alive.

“I have iphemedra,” said Vegeta, and as though he already knew that Goku wouldn’t understand the word, he went on without waiting for Goku to ask what he meant. “A wasting disease. It’s common among Saiyan men, especially once they reach a certain age.”

So then, Vegeta too.

“How long–?”

“A week or two, maybe,” said Vegeta. “I’m lucky to have lived this long, considering everything I’ve put my body through. Powering up probably didn’t help.”

“I could–”

“No, Kakarot.” There was a certain calm that had come over Vegeta that he had never possessed before. Like with Chi-Chi, all of his energy and fire were just gone. Goku realized that Vegeta had been saving everything he had left for that last powerup.

…and to throw that punch. Classic Vegeta.

“I’m going to live forever,” said Goku, woodenly. It was bleak, suddenly, almost terrifying. To persist, while everything around him turned to dust.

“Discounting what Whis did,” said Vegeta, “a god gave up his life for you. So yes, you are. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Goku blinked.

“Even Frieza managed to figure out that eternal life is a prison you can never escape from,” said Vegeta.

“You wanted to be immortal, once.”

“I was an idiot, once,” said Vegeta, derisive. “Thankfully I grew out of it.”

He was surrounded by people, ostensibly his closest friends, but Goku realized he was paralyzingly lonely. “You said we’d be together forever,” he blurted out.

“I meant the rest of our lives,” said Vegeta. “Which as it turned out, meant the rest of my life.”

“But–”

“You’re the Angel of this universe or something like it, Kakarot, so quit blubbering like a baby.” Vegeta made a noise of annoyance, rolled his eyes.

“Beerus said he would make you–”

“I was there, Kakarot,” said Vegeta. “By your side, at the end. We both saw how things worked out.”

“Then,” Goku glanced over at Vegeta, “will you come with me, at least?”

“I can’t, Kakarot.” Vegeta glanced back at him. “I’m too weak. I want to die here. Do whatever time I owe in Earth’s Hell and hopefully see my wife again when I reincarnate.”

“Too weak!? C’mon, that doesn’t sound like the Vegeta I know at all.”

““You’ve never been old,” Vegeta snarled the words out. “So shut the fuck up, Kakarot.”

Well, that sounded like the old Vegeta, at least.

He was the only person Goku could touch without fear of breaking them. There was no word for what they were, or if there was, Goku didn’t know it. His rival and his lover and his counterpart. Someone with whom his relationship was intimate enough to share a body.

…and Vegeta was suddenly fragile. Small and withered. His hands shook, though he tried to hide it. Dying. In pain. It was terrible to see him like this, and in no time at all, Vegeta would cease to exist. If Goku had been a little further away, or if Vegeta hadn’t managed to stay powered up like he had, they might not even have gotten the chance to say goodbye.

It burned a little, he thought, that Vegeta hadn’t come with him. Hadn’t wanted to stay with him. That he’d wanted to be on Earth with Bulma and his family. It was jealousy, maybe. Goku wasn’t sure. Jealousy was actually more of a Vegeta thing.

“You wouldn’t even be the same people,” Goku pointed out.

“I feel like we’d know each other,” said Vegeta. “Find each other, somehow. You have to deal with this, you know.”

“Deal with what?” asked Goku.

“Losing everything,” said Vegeta. “Everyone you know or care about. You’re going to lose your memories too.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because it happened to me,” said Vegeta, and gestured up and down, to Goku. “Not… all this, obviously, but after Planet Vegeta was destroyed, it only existed in my memories, and eventually those faded too. I couldn’t tell you what my father’s voice sounded like, or what the cities and buildings looked like, or how the seasons worked there. I was just alone, and it broke me. It took me forever to climb out of that hole, and I doubt I could have done it without Bulma, and you, I suppose. Without my children. You’re going to need to deal with that every day, Kakarot, climb out of that hole over and over again, for the rest of eternity. Even at my worst, I wouldn’t have wished that on you.”

Kami, he was going to be sick. He couldn’t handle this. The punch Vegeta had thrown had been simpler to process and far easier to take.

He couldn’t even be sick, he realized. Goku couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything, or slept, for that matter. Forty years ago maybe, and it had been with Vegeta. Just before that last battle. Just before–

They had known Frieza was stronger, but known too, that they had to go anyway. He recalled Vegeta’s hands tangled in his hair, the Prince’s legs around his waist, the heat of his body. The way their auras had flowed together, the perfection of shared energy. The desperate, almost urgent way they had made love, thinking that it was the last time. That something had finally come along to write a check that their powers couldn’t cash.

…and it had, and then Goku–

“Stay with me,” he said.

“For how long?” asked Vegeta, eyeing him.

“Forever?”

“Fine,” said Vegeta, shrugging. “If that’s what you want, but even you have to know that it doesn’t mean the same thing to a mortal.”

That was permission, wasn't it?

It had to be.

Goku decided it was, and he put his hand on Vegeta’s shoulder, touched the fingers of his other hand to his forehead. Aligned his energy.

“Kakarot, don’t you dare–”

He did dare, though, and when the transmission resolved, they were atop the Pillar of Creation, the great expanse of Zeno’s palace filling the sky overhead.

Heaven, if you wanted to call it that.

The whole place was trashed, the jade domes were cracked and broken, the towers had been toppled and smashed, laying haphazardly across the divine landscape like infected scars. The throne of the ruler of All Creation had been smashed to dust. The corpses of gods and Kai and divine attendants lay where they had fallen, the machinery of divinity in utter ruin.

The Godscar loomed over them, dominating the sky, the maw of it hideous and wide, the ruins of Heaven forever consumed and yet never diminishing. The wound that the multiverse was bleeding out from.

None of it was particularly shocking or troubling to Goku. He’d done it, after all.

Vegeta stumbled, Goku caught him by the arm, helped him stand.

“Why the fuck would you bring me back here–!?”

“I just need to get–”

“Take me back to Earth, Kakarot!” Vegeta cuffed him, no power behind it. “Now! We shouldn’t be here.”

“I live here,” said Goku, shrugging.

“You fucking what!?”

“When I’m not trying to repair–” He wasn’t sure what the right word was. There was a lot of that lately. “–all the, uh, damage. Wait here.”

“Do I have a choice?” Vegeta asked. “Godslayer?”

“Not really,” said Goku, and he gathered ki and pushed off. “I just need to get something for you, then we can go wherever you want, I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever you’re doing, Kakarot, stop doing it and–!”

Goku was already gone, he didn’t hear the rest. It wasn’t like Vegeta could keep up anymore.

It was easier than he imagined to find Beerus. Which wasn’t to say that Goku found his body, because there was nothing of that left. It was more like his quintessence. The exaltation of his divinity. The vital spark of the Destroyer God. It didn’t feel or sound or look like anything, because it wasn’t a physical thing. Goku didn’t really know how he could manipulate it and carry it in his hands, and yet, he could and he did. He didn’t know how he knew it was purple either, but he did.

There were a lot of important things here, though almost none of them worked anymore. In the back of his head, it occurred to Goku that Bulma would have liked it here. Would have been able to make sense of it, the way the universe was like a big machine. Creation by assembly. Genesis by industrial process.

Well, actually, it had been like a big machine. It was broken now.

He flew until he came to the room where the thread was kept. It probably had some kind of fancy name, but Goku didn’t know it, and he’d found the place while exploring the ruins. To him, it was just the ‘thread room’, and he went inside.

The space was bigger on the inside, it would have had to be. There was a thread for every person who had lived, was living, and would live someday. Machinery below the floor and in the walls and threaded through the ceiling churned them out, unceasing, still functional, despite everything. Goku supposed there had once been deities who had read the threads here and who had planned out how to shape the multiverse with that information. Advised Zeno and the Grand Priest and the Angels, maybe.

Whoever they were, they were all dead now.

Probably by Frieza’s hand, but maybe by his. He wasn’t sure.

It had gotten pretty chaotic at the end.

Goku himself had no idea how to read the threads, but he knew which one was his, and he put his fingers on it and traced them back, to where the silver fibers of his life tangled and snarled and merged together with the wine-dark purple of Vegeta’s. He had made another promise though, and he saw to that one first, pressed his fingers to the red-orange thread of Chi-Chi’s life, felt where it had been severed, looped around, and fed back into the machines. She hadn’t reincarnated yet. That made a certain amount of sense. It hadn’t been long enough.

There was not much left of the thread that was Vegeta's life. Two weeks was optimistic, but that didn’t particularly matter anymore.

Goku reached out, closed his hand around it, and without any real effort of difficulty, merged Beerus’ essence into it.

The effect was immediate, spectacular, better than Goku could have imagined or hoped. The thread unspooled from the machines, just as his own had, and it shot out ahead of him, stretching out further than Goku could see.

There. Done.

Goku was just a little bit pleased with himself, and he realized he should have done it long ago instead of making Vegeta wait. He’d just forgotten about mortality, that was all it was.

He went looking for his old companion, and found him waiting where they had translated in.

Vegeta looked good. Holy shit, Goku had forgotten exactly how good he looked. He was as young as he had been the day he had come to Earth, so just a little older than Goku was. The ravages of age and the disease were washed clean. His hair was jet-black and thick, colored with the barest hint of purple, his body sharply lined with lean muscle. He was wearing his armor, though it too was black-purple instead of the old white and blue, and the breastplate was stylised like the Destroyer’s mantle of office.

Oh, and he had a tail. It swayed behind his knees, lashing in what Goku recognized as anger. That made a certain amount of sense. To Vegeta, ‘being whole’ probably meant having his tail, whereas Goku didn’t care about his either way.

“Vegeta–”

“There’s not a word for the thing you’ve done,” said Vegeta, quietly. He was looking at his hands.

“–you said you would stay with me–”

“The ‘rest of our lives’ is about to be a short fucking time, Kakarot.” Vegeta’s left hand flexed open, and there was a flare of energy in it.

“Vegeta,” said Goku, “you’re forty years out of practice, if you think you can even touch–”

Vegeta wove energy, magic but not quite, caught moonlight in his hands and threw it.

Oh, right, his tail was back.

He exploded out of his body, monstrous and primal, and divine ki surged around the Prince as he started stacking transformations so smoothly that Goku was momentarily shocked by it.

Who could have taught him to–

Oh, right. Broly.

Come to think of it, where was Broly?

Wait, nevermind. That didn’t matter at the moment, and Vegeta’s fist connected with the spot Goku had been in a moment before, cratering the ground. It was very ‘Vegeta’, if Goku was being honest. The Prince hated magic, ‘weird powers’, the science of ki shaping. Better, stronger, faster, more, that was Vegeta’s typical style, and it wasn’t a bad style either. There was something to be said for simple reliability, and something else to be said for repeatable results.

Probably why he hadn’t gone for the hakai right off.

Goku made the mistake of trying to parry instead of dodge and got thrown through a building by the sheer force of it. The ground cracked. Divine marble and tarnished truegold filigree rained down on him.

“Kakarot, you motherfucker!” Vegeta screamed and grabbed one of the fallen towers, heaved it up over his head, and slammed it down on empty air. Goku was already moving, carried along in a weave of skill and ki that was like flowing water.

Gods, he could feel noise in his chest. Vegeta was loud in Great Ape form. That was some Namek-era screaming he was pulling off. There was that energy, that fire, that danger. It felt good to hear it. Hell, it felt good to feel it.

“Vegeta, listen to me–”

“You had no goddamn right!”

“–for just one second!”

Vegeta didn’t listen, and then, they were fighting a pitched battle over the continent-sized city that was– used to be Heaven. It was thrilling, exhilarating, wonderful. Vegeta was really trying to kill him, and those stacked transformations were certainly a trick. They weren’t going to make up for decades worth of atrophy, but they were definitely something.

Oh, maybe he could teleport Vegeta somewhere with no moon. That might calm him down.

It wasn’t hard to get in close, but as soon as he went for it, Vegeta was ready. There was a splintering crack of energy as he disrupted the teleport with fission. The ki curling away from them in a chaotic vent of fractured power. Vegeta’s other favorite trick, shutting down other people’s ‘weird powers’.

…and Vegeta was so durable in Great Ape form that Ultra Ego as going to push him across the finish line sooner or later, and–

Oh.

Wait. Hold on a second, Goku was going to have to take this seriously. Amazing.

It had worked out even better than he’d thought.

All this time and they could still surprise each other.

He was going to have to– have to what? Right. End this very quickly. Couldn’t give Vegeta time to rack up all those boosts. He probably should have ended it already, it was just that he hadn’t been thinking. Vegeta accused Goku of that all the time, of being thoughtless, and it wasn’t true. After all, he was thinking about all this while he dodged blows and ki blasts and thrown chunks of divine architecture. Vegeta was really going off.

Still, stacked transformations or not, nothing was going to close the gap of forty years.

Though it was closer than Goku had expected it would have been.

He ended it with a series of quick blows, any of them could have ruptured the crust of a planet, and the last one broke through the armor and caved in Vegeta’s ribs. The strike was decisive, elegant, perfect. Precise enough that Ultra Ego couldn’t compensate, and the other Saiyan collapsed backwards, flattening whatever was left of the part of the city they’d been fighting in. Vegeta thrashed and clawed at the ground, struggling to breathe.

Goku landed on his chest. Vegeta couldn’t speak, but the Prince flipped him off with one hand. His eyes were wild with hatred.

“Oh, come on,” said Goku. “At least turn the moon off so we can talk normally.”

Vegeta struggled for a moment, choking on blood, then struggled for another moment, just to be contrary. Finally, he reached up and dispelled the false moon with a gesture.

As he shrank down, Goku picked him up and took him to the garden. Vegeta tried to pry him off, but he was too badly injured. Eventually, he gave up and allowed himself to be carried.

The garden was like the thread room. It had probably had a fancy name once, but Goku didn’t know what it was and didn’t care to learn it. To him it was just the garden where the peach trees were, hence, ‘the garden’. Half of it was gone, the fires still burning blue after all this time. He set Vegeta down, picked one of the peaches, and bit a piece off, then took the fragment out of his mouth.

“It will heal you,” he explained, when Vegeta turned his head away. “Like a senzu bean.”

Vegeta begrudgingly let Goku feed it to him, swallowing it painfully. There was a wet, grinding noise as his ribs popped back into place. As soon as they did, Vegeta lunged up, grabbed Goku by the front of his gi, went to punch him across the face. Alright, enough of this. Goku caught his fist, twisted his arm.

“You–!”

“You promised,” he reminded Vegeta.

“I never promised you this!” Vegeta jerked away, he was so mad. Goku didn’t really understand why. “There was no divinity left for your fucking wife!? For Gohan!? For Bulma!?”

“I mean, yeah, there’s a ton of it laying around.” Goku shrugged and gestured to, well, everything. “But that wouldn't have helped them. Beerus trained you, shaped you for it. Made you his heir. It wouldn’t have worked on anyone else, it’s not like I can just hand it out to anyone. Now we can–”

Vegeta’s face twisted in disgust, rejection, horror.

“Whatever you did,” he said, “take it away.”

“I can’t,” said Goku. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it for so long? Is that why you’re so mad?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted it forty years ago, Kakarot!” Vegeta’s fists clenched. “I can never fucking reincarnate now! I’m stuck like this!”

“You said I would lose everything being alone,” Goku protested, “but that won’t happen if we’re together. Even if everything else was gone, I’d still have you, and–”

“Are you–!?” Vegeta was shorter than he was, but he somehow managed to pull off looking down his nose at Goku. “Are you fucking jealous!?”

“...no?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Vegeta said, acidly. “Bad enough that you brought Frieza back to life, nearly destroyed Creation, and now–”

“If I hadn’t done–”

“I don’t care!” Vegeta bared his teeth. “You were the cause of those problems! You don’t get any credit for being the solution! And you are not–!”

“I couldn’t be alone,” said Goku. “I can’t– I would go mad, like Frieza, or Zamasu, or Zeno. I need you to be with me, and I guess… I guess I need you to kill me if it happens.”

Vegeta’s expression softened, just the tiniest fraction. Though he was still coiled up with rage, hard and ugly with fury, like he had used to be, way back.

“We just saw how that went,” Vegeta said, and he pointed to the ruins, the scars on top of scars, the desolation of Heaven.

“You were really trying to kill me?” Goku asked.

“I was.” Vegeta stilled himself. Took a deep breath, held it. Let it out.

“I thought you would be happy.”

“You didn’t think at all, Kakarot.”

“I thought about you,” Goku said.

“Did you ever spare any of that devotion for your wife?” Vegeta asked.

“It’s not the same,” Goku protested, and maybe he was jealous, if that was the word. That Vegeta had chosen Bulma over him. That she was, quite simply, the center of his life in a way that he wasn’t, and in a way that Chi-Chi hadn’t been to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, because he did, he was sure he did, it was just that it was all too complicated to sort out.

“I know,” said Vegeta, and he rubbed his face with his hands. “I could have met her in another life, I could have had a body that Frieza never touched, I could have paid for my sins. Did you think of those things, when you claimed you were thinking of me?”

“Well, I–” Goku saw the way Vegeta was looking at him and cut himself off. “–no.”

“At least I deserve this,” Vegeta said, and he gathered ki, pushing off from the ground. “Gods, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Where are you going?” Goku asked.

“To train,” said Vegeta, rolling his eyes. “So that I can fucking murder you.”

“Can I come?” Goku asked, and he realized that he didn’t want to be alone again.

“Of course you can come,” Vegeta snapped, and he beckoned with one finger. “I’m the God and you’re the attendant, so don’t you dare keep me waiting.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Kakarot?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s exactly how it works.”

Chapter Text

“Huh,” said Kakarot. “There’s only one bed–”

Vegeta glanced back at the door, but it had already closed behind them. Shit.

“–and there were two when I came in here with Gohan. Weird.”

“We’re here to train,” said Vegeta, already annoyed, “not speculate on the fucking linens.”

It was true though, when he’d come in here with Trunks, there had been two beds, and he recalled Bulma telling him that she wasn’t going to hold it against him if anything happened with ‘Goku’ while they were inside. After all, three years was a long time to be alone, wasn’t it?

Urgh. She thought he had a crush on Kakarot, whatever that meant.

He had pointed out that he had actually, literally, crushed Kakarot once, and she had burst out laughing. Kissed him on the mouth, winked at him, told him to have fun.

So anyways, this was all the woman’s fault. She was the one who had put the idea in his head.

That was all it was.

“–anyways, it’s a huge bed, so there’s plenty of space. Oh! I wonder what the bathroom looks like, and do you think the food is different too–?”

Fuck, Kakarot was still talking.

“Kakarot!” Vegeta barked the word out.

“Yeah?” Kakarot grinned.

Vegeta scowled at him. “Training?”

“Right,” said Kakarot. He was practically bouncing with enthusiasm, and although Vegeta often accused him of being a fool, Kakarot expertly started laying out a training schedule as though it was second nature. Sparring, training, exercise, meditation, rest breaks. Torturing your body wasn’t good for you, he reminded Vegeta, though Vegeta understood that by this point. He was as over his shit as he was ever going to get.

They got their task after that, and it was–

Vegeta would honestly have been lying if he said it didn’t feel incredible. They were close enough in power that there were times he couldn’t sense the gap, and as long as there was enough distance between them and the platform, they could go all out in here without worrying about destroying anything important. Nothing but the hot air, the sand, the clash of energy, the rush of divine ki, each other. Nothing to think about other than the next fight. It was exhilarating.

“I’ll sleep on the ground,” Vegeta said, during the first rest period that Kakarot had designated.

“Isn’t that going to be uncomfortable?” Kakarot asked.

“I’ve had worse,” said Vegeta, shrugging.

It was true. In the PTO, he’d spent his share of nights sleeping on the ground, or in the mud, or trying to sleep with broken bones because he’d displeased Frieza and caught a beating, or simply not being allowed to sleep at all. He’d been summoned to the Emperor’s apartments and ordered to undress, wielded down onto Frieza’s bed, and Vegeta would have preferred almost any other torture to to that.

“Vegeta…?”

He blinked and looked up at Kakarot, hoping that nothing showed on his face.

“It’s okay,” said Kakarot. “I’m here.”

With how good he was at reading auras, Kakarot might as well have been a witch, and he’d only gotten better at it after they’d fused. It was impossible to hide anything from him. There had been a time in his life that the look of concern on Kakarot’s face would have sent Vegeta into a fit of rage, but he was past that. It even made him feel strangely good, to know that someone cared for him enough to be concerned for his well-being.

“It’s nothing, Kakarot.” Vegeta rolled his eyes, brushed the other man off. “It’s fine.”

“You’re being silly then,” said Kakarot. “There’s plenty of room and there’s no way I’m going to go easy on you if you’re sore from sleeping on the ground.”

“Don’t think I can’t tell what you’re doing,” Vegeta said, but he sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked off his boots, then pulled off his gloves with his teeth.

“I’m not doing anything,” said Kakarot, and he paused to pull the shirt of his gi off. Pointing with one hand while his arms were still tangled in it. “Is that your side?”

“It’s obviously my side,” Vegeta said, though the truth was that the bed was big enough for four or five ‘sides’. They weren’t going to come close to each other no matter how restlessly they slept. “Stay on your own.”

It was slightly cooler on the platform than it was out in the white glass of the desert, and there was a curtain that could be drawn around the bed that Vegeta already knew would make it seem like it was night and chill the interior space until it was comfortable enough to sleep in.

Vegeta glanced over, caught the profile of Kakarot’s body as he undressed, and–

Shit.

He was hot, wasn’t he?

Of course he was, it wasn’t as though Vegeta had never noticed it before. Kakarot was taller than him, though not as much as he had once been, Vegeta had grown since he’d come to Earth. It was either better living conditions or one of the growth spurts that Saiyans sometimes got later in life. A combination of the two, most likely. As for Kakarot, he hadn’t grown any taller, or at least, not enough to notice, but he’d filled out incredibly, and he’d already looked pretty fucking good in his twenties. He was just bigger, his arms and legs thick and powerful, his chest and shoulders broad.

Stop, Vegeta thought, even as he entertained a brief fantasy of what it would be like to be touched by another Saiyan. You’re fucking married and so is he.

Of course, Bulma had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t care what he did with ‘Goku’. He’d been ‘weird’ after the fusion, according to her, he needed to ‘get it out of his system’. She had used the phrase ‘dicked down’, because humans were vulgar practically all the time. Bulma promised that she wasn’t going to be jealous, or petty, or cruel, and though it would have been accurate to say she was all of those things from time to time, she was never that way with him.

Anyways, he should go and fuck Goku. Vegeta could picture her winking.

He pulled his energy in as tightly as he could, yanked the curtains of the bed closed and curled up to sleep.

*** *** ***

Everything was broken. The entire multiverse.

The last thing it needed was a Destroyer God.

Adamant glass crunched under Vegeta’s boots as he walked through the streets of ostensibly, Heaven. The power was intermittent. Golden causeways flickered on and off. Some of the buildings were flattened or pulverized into dust, others were oddly untouched. Some of them were still on fire, burning with blue ki that couldn’t be put out. It seemed almost absurdist, the battle had been forty years ago, but he supposed time worked differently here.

Zeno’s death had torn Creation asunder, the wheel of reincarnation unable to absorb him, the cosmos split apart at the axle from the strain. The souls of every immortal had been ripped out with his death-shriek, the tragedy surmounted only by the scope of the violence. The gods of a billion worlds were laying where they had fallen, Kakarot hadn’t moved any of them. Maybe he felt like he didn’t have the right.

Orbiting the continent-wide city were the Super Dragon Balls. They looked dead and gray, two of them had cracked completely in half, damaged beyond repair.

“Where’s Frieza’s body?” Vegeta asked.

Kakarot pointed up, at the Godscar.

Of course. Vegeta eyed it warily, now. Of-fucking-course.

“What are you looking for?” Kakarot asked.

“Other than that?”

“Other than that.”

“Planet Sadala,” said Vegeta, “or somewhere I can observe it from. I want to check on it before we go inside the Room of Spirit and Time.”

“We’re going back to Earth–?”

“No,” said Vegeta. “We’ll use the one that Frieza used. Fewer awkward conversations that way.”

“You don’t wanna talk to Trunks?” asked Kakarot.

What was Vegeta even going to say to him? To either of his children? To Goten? Nothing that hadn’t already been said. He had been dying, his affairs already in order. It would have been weeks or maybe even days if Kakarot hadn’t pulled this shit.

Speaking of that, he was still goddamn fucking furious, though that fury was slaked, somewhat, but the enormity of what had happened to the universe. He hadn’t known the extent of it. No one could carry this much and stay sane.

More than likely two people couldn’t carry it and stay sane, but they were going to have to worry about that later.

“How can I be alive?” Vegeta asked, considering something as he inspected some kind of divine machinery. It was, unsurprisingly, broken. The gears were warped, the lenses cracked. Anyone’s guess as to what its purpose had been.

“Huh?” Kakarot was walking at his side now, and he blinked, confused. “I put Beerus’ essence into you. I feel like you have to remember that, it was like twenty minutes ago–”

“Not that!” said Vegeta, scowling. “The God of Destruction’s power is supposed to be kept in check by the Supreme Kai. Their lives are tied together, so how can I even exist like this without a Supreme Kai to tie my life to?”

“I guess, maybe–” Kakarot considered. “–maybe you don’t have that limitation?”

“That’s dangerous,” said Vegeta, and he pushed off, flying over the city, uncertain as to what he was looking for. There must have been somewhere the gods had observed Creation from, though. If he knew anything about them it was that they were meddlesome assholes. Kakarot followed him.

“How many people lived here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Vegeta, glancing back at him. “There are trillions of planets in the universe, but most of them didn’t have life on them. There were supposedly only a handful of Saiyan Gods, but the old Imperial state religion said there was a god for every doorway and every blade of grass and grain of sand. So multiply however many gods there were in our universe by eighteen, I suppose.”

“Eighteen?” Kakarot frowned. “I thought there were only twelve universes?”

“The android boy wished for all of the erased universes to be restored,” said Vegeta, “not just the ones erased in the Tournament.”

“Did I–”

“It was mostly Frieza,” said Vegeta, curtly, before he could finish that thought.

“Were you ever–” Kakarot, frowned. “Religious? I guess?”

“No,” said Vegeta, and he glanced at Kakarot. “I had no use for the Gods and they had no use for me. Were you?”

“Not really,” Kakarot admitted. “I guess there was Korin, and Mister Popo, and King Kai, though. They all helped me out a lot, and Kami and Dende too, though I guess they aren’t Gods.”

“Ah,” said Vegeta. He’d assumed as much. There was a glass dome on one of the hills in the city, and it seemed like as good a place to search as any.

*** *** ***

Three months in, Vegeta had a nightmare.

Bulma knew he had them, knew that he twisted in his sleep, knew that he sometimes woke up panicked and afraid, and when he reached for her, she was always there. Over the years they’d grown steadily more infrequent, until it reached a point where Vegeta assumed he was over it.

As it turned out, he wasn’t.

The subject was always the same, no need to elaborate on it. Vegeta felt Frieza’s hands on him, the Demon of Frost’s tail around his throat, sensed the Emperor’s body poised above his, framed by his legs; and he clawed at the sheets, gasping for air. Heard himself cry out. Reached for–

Well, it didn’t really matter who he reached for, because Kakarot was there.

The other man’s hands were warm, lightly callused, and he took Vegeta’s shoulders and drew him close. Instantly, there was an exchange of energy, offered and accepted, almost without Vegeta needing to think about it. Kakarot touched their foreheads together, and together, they were like an ocean of power with no shore.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

Vegeta caught him by the wrists, dug his fingers in. Actually tried to do what he’d been told instead of attacking Kakarot or lashing out in fury. He could feel Kakarot’s body, his energy, the flow of his aura, their legs brushing against each other. Gods, the bed was gigantic, had he moved that much? Had Kakarot?

“This is humiliating,” Vegeta said, when he could talk. He was drained, exhausted, though he knew he must have been sleeping for a long time. They had been sparring for days, gone on until continuing had been impossible. They had barely had enough energy to bathe before they collapsed into the bed.

“No it isn’t,” said Kakarot. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” Vegeta snarled.

“I’m not,” said Kakarot. “I just… don’t think it’s a big deal. Everyone has nightmares.”

“You don’t understand–”

“Okay,” said Kakarot. “Do I need to? Or should we just stay like this?”

Vegeta closed his eyes and reminded himself that he was on the other side of it all. That there were such things as freedom, safety, peace. That people were going to touch him in kindness, without the threat of violence behind it. That he could have those things, even though he didn’t deserve them, and even after all this time, it was hard to get used to. At some point, Kakarot’s hands slid up, and he stroked Vegeta’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Kakarot was like this, when he wasn’t being thoughtless. Endlessly patient and possessing gentleness that was at odds with how powerful he was. By nearly any reckoning, the other man should have hated Vegeta, and yet it was the opposite. There was no betrayal that Kakarot couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive, no cruelty he would answer in kind, no line that he wouldn’t reach over and drag Vegeta back across.

Vegeta moved to lay against him, admired the dense but oddly pliant feel of Saiyan muscles. He had always been sensitive about his size, but he found that fit perfectly into the negative space that Kakarot’s body made on the bed. Like they were meant for each other, like it was supposed to be that way.

“Oh, uh, okay–” said Kakarot. “Wow. Okay, Vegeta. You sure?”

“Don’t make it weird, Kakarot.”

“Right,” said Kakarot, and he moved his arm around Vegeta’s waist, holding him. Vegeta draped his arm over the other man’s chest. They fell asleep like that.

*** *** ***

There was an observation window, no surprise there.

It was a lens of adamant glass framed with moonsilver, star steel, and truegold, a little wider in diameter than a street would have been, back on Earth. There were more lenses in the room, capturing the light of creation, filtering it though divine machinery to paint a picture of the universe.

Vegeta had no idea how to attune it, or any concept of how it worked, but when he touched it, it showed him Trunks first, almost certainly because despite what he had said, that was what he really wanted to see. It was different with Bulla, he hadn’t wasted all those years.

Trunks was with Goten, his sister, and Gohan. They were all under the impression that Vegeta had quietly killed himself to avoid dying of iphemedra, or perhaps that he had ordered Goku to kill him. That whatever Vegeta had done, probably incinerated himself with ki, there would be no body. They were planning a funeral, the second one in a handful of days. No, Vegeta wasn’t going back. He changed the view.

Cheelai, now. He had promised Broly he would take care of her, though Vegeta was under the impression that legendary Super Saiyan had never quite grasped the fact that she was going to live for another eight-hundred years. The brench-seijin were extraordinarily long lived, and Vegeta wasn’t going to be around either, although maybe he was.

She was in the former Imperial Capital. On the Senate or the Council or something like that. Trying to help put galactic civilization back together in the wake of Frieza’s conquests. Not bad for a homeless girl who had once made a living stealing police cars.

“How are you doing that?” Kakarot asked.

“I have no idea,” Vegeta admitted.

“Who’s that?” Kakarot asked, pointing to the young woman following Cheelai around. “She has a tail, is she a Saiyan?”

“Ellery,” said Vegeta. “Broly’s daughter.”

“Pretty amazing that she’s maintaining Super Saiyan like that, who taught her–”

“She just has blonde hair,” said Vegeta, cutting him off. “That I know of, she’s not a Super Saiyan yet. She’s had a relatively peaceful life.”

“Where’s Broly?”

Vegeta shook his head.

“Oh,” said Kakarot, suddenly subdued. “How?”

“Just old, like I was.”

Vegeta struggled to change the view to Universe Six without doing any more damage to the machine, and the lenses blinked through different scenes. New Namek. Planet Cereal. The ruins of Planet Vegeta. The ruins of Namek. The expanse of dead space at the edge of the universe. Creation was still ongoing, the multiverse unfurling infinitely, divine and autonomous, but without the Kais to fill planets with life, there was nothing in it but empty husks.

“Has it occurred to you that we have no fucking idea what we’re doing?” Vegeta asked, pulling his hands away from the lenses.

“I don’t see how that’s different from any other situation we’ve been in,” Kakarot answered, shrugging. “We’ve always just made it up as we went along.”

Vegeta scowled at him, hating that he was right.

“We need help,” he said. “We can’t just do that this time.”

“From who?” asked Kakarot.

“The deities in the mortal world were far enough away from here that they were partially shielded from Zeno’s death-cry,” said Vegeta. “Some of them perished, but some of them didn’t. We have to find them and… promote them, I suppose. Bulma would probably have been able to tell us how these machines worked, but that door’s closed.”

“Like who?” asked Kakarot.

“Like the attendant from the Lookout,” said Vegeta, “and that fucking cat.”

“Still mad that Yajirobe cut off your tail?” asked Kakarot.

“I’m immortal now,” said Vegeta, eyeing him, “so I’m going to be mad about that literally forever.”

“Hold on,” said Kakarot, and he touched his fingers to his forehead. There was pop, a rush of air, and before Vegeta could protest, he was gone.

*** *** ***

After a while, it just became a given that during their rest breaks they were going to sleep together. Three years was a long time to be alone with only each other for company, Bulma hadn’t been wrong about that. It wasn’t cheating, Vegeta reasoned, it was just companionship.

Not that it would have been cheating even if he did spread his legs. Bulma had already given him her blessing, encouraged him, even. It didn’t matter. Vegeta didn’t think Kakarot felt the same way, he had flirted with the younger man from time to time over the years, and Kakarot had never shown any interest. So maybe whatever attraction he felt towards Vegeta was purely platonic.

It would have been wrong to press. Vegeta respected Kakarot’s wife, if nothing else.

It felt good to wake up next to him, though. With their limbs tangled together as though they’d been sparring, or draped over each other, or with his back flush against Kakarot’s chest.

They would sit back-to-back while they were trying to meditate, neither of them particularly good at it. Kakarot fidgeted too much, eager to be in motion; Vegeta had too much going on in his head. They worked the knots out of each other’s muscles with their hands, helped each other stretch. It was so simple here, there was nothing else to think about.

“What’s going to happen if Champa takes Earth?” asked Goku, as they were preparing to spar one morning. Or maybe it was afternoon, it was hard to keep track of time.

“No point in worrying about that,” said Vegeta, shrugging. “Earth isn’t going anywhere.”

Kakarot grinned. “Do you think he’ll have strong fighters on his team?”

“He’ll probably find someone,” said Vegeta.

“Probably,” said Kakarot, thoughtfully. “Hey, do you remember the day you came to Earth?”

“When I tried to blow it up,” asked Vegeta, eyeing him, “or some other part of that day?”

“Some other part,” said Kakarot. “When you asked me to join you, how you said we’d be invincible together.”

“I remember,” said Vegeta, and he couldn’t help but to smile a little.

“Well we are,” said Kakarot. “Aren’t we?”

“Don’t get cocky,” said Vegeta, scowling at him, which only made Kakarot’s grin wider.

They struck their fists together, and took off in a glare of power, flying until they were a decent distance from the platform. They started in base form, and the strikes and counterstrikes were more like a warm-up, each of them daring the other to admit that he had to be the first to escalate.

Then, Kakarot did something that Vegeta had not expected at all. He threw a clumsy punch, though that wasn’t exactly correct. Vegeta doubted the man had thrown a clumsy punch in his life, and in truth it was decent enough. Clean form, excellent economy of movement, but it was the kind of punch he would have thrown fifteen years ago.

Oh, was that what he was doing?

Instead of blocking it, Vegeta just let it deflect off his armor. Like he still thought training was a made-up fantasy. Like he was still the golden child of Planet Vegeta. Like having a battle of power of eighteen thousand was something to fucking brag about.

Gods, he’d been insufferable, hadn’t he?

“Do you know who I am?” he asked Kakarot, leaping backwards to stand on one of the white stone outcroppings that breached the sand. It was the only way Vegeta could tower over the other man.

“I don’t care who you are,” said Kakarot, tilting his chin up defiantly. Vegeta desperately wanted to bite this throat. “I won’t let you harm the Earth!”

“I’m the Prince of all Saiyans,” said Vegeta, trying not to think about doing that and sneering down at Kakarot, “and one way or another you’re going to serve me, halya.”

Wait, maybe that was too much–

No, Kakarot was looking up at him, eager, excited even. He was– oh, holy shit, he was into it.

Well, there was absolutely no way Vegeta could afford to lose this fight now.

He supposed he hadn’t exactly lost it last time, though.

Then, they were fighting like they had back then, recreating the battle as best they could, though the terrain was different. The sand made a poor floor, so they kept ending up in the air, but the spirit was the same.

“Keep your power level down,” said Kakarot, and Vegeta thought he heard a tinge of annoyance in the other man’s voice. He was riled up, just a little agitated, Vegeta liked that.

“Then don’t kaioken any higher than three you halya runt,” Vegeta snapped. His own blows were viscous, incautious, meant to inflict pain and wound horribly. He hadn’t known about form back then. He’d come so far that it was actually difficult to fight like this, and Whis would probably have been scandalized, to see his students brawling like children.

“I think you mean higher than four,” Kakarot retorted.

“Holy shit,” said Vegeta, and he leaned away as a punch sailed past his head. “Wait, you had to go to four?”

“During the ki struggle, yeah.”

“I knew it.” Vegeta grinned, bared his teeth. “I knew it. I fucking had you.”

“If you think that’s true,” said Kakarot, “prove it.”

“Defiance in the face of an obviously stronger opponent,” said Vegeta, smirking as haughtily as he could, “how very Saiyan-like, Kakarot, though it’s not going to do you any good.”

*** *** ***

“You two are idiots,” said the attendant, looking around at the mess. He had a name, Vegeta recalled. Mister Popo, something like that. The cat was perched on his shoulder, looking pained, and he had a name too. Korin, maybe.

“We weren’t the only ones fighting,” said Kakarot, protesting. “Piccolo and Gohan were here too.”

“And Granolah, and Broly,” said Vegeta. “Kakarot, don’t fucking kidnap people. I shouldn’t have to explain why.”

“I didn’t kidnap them, Vegeta,” said Kakarot. “I mean, you guys used to live here, right?”

“Which one of you destroyed the butterfly conservatory?” asked the attendant, instead of answering the question, and he pointed at a mountain of rubble in the distance.

“Oh, wow.” Kakarot scratched the back of his head. “Huh. Heaven had a butterfly conversatory?”

“It was one of the Invested,” said Vegeta, curtly. He didn’t give a shit about butterflies. “Now that you’re here, can you help us fix this?”

“Which part?” asked the attendant. “...and what’s an Invested?”

“All of it,” said Vegeta, “and Granolah was one. He used a wish to trade his life for strength, and later, Frieza used the Dragon Balls to steal that power from Toronbo. He called it the Investiture of Glory, hence, Invested. He nearly drank the universe dry of life.”

“Oh yeah,” said Kakarot. “He made thousands of them. Like a huge army, to help him steal the Super Dragon Balls, and to attack this place.”

The cat looked around, taking it all in, tilting his head up to look at the Godscar.

“Zeno’s body,” explained Vegeta. “If you want to call it that.”

“Goku, Vegeta.” The cat pulled himself up, more dignified and godly, suddenly, even though he was kneading his paws nervously. ‘Making biscuits’ was what Bulla would have called it. “We’re not Kais. We’re a gardener and a martial arts instructor, what do you two expect us to do?”

“Uh…” Kakarot considered. “I guess I expected that we’d have one more gardener and one more martial arts instructor than we had before?”

*** *** ***

Kakarot hit the ground and Vegeta was on him in a second, he put his boot on the other man’s chest. Pressed hard, slammed him down. Kakarot clawed at the sand, tried to throw him and get free, but couldn’t. No way to do anything about it other than escalate to Super Saiyan, which, as they’d already established, was admitting defeat.

It was actually transcendent, seeing him on his back like that, beaten bloody, and Vegeta bared his fangs, ran his tongue over them. He was hardly in better shape, bruised underneath his armor, his lip bloody, his bodyglove torn, his whole body sore. “Say goodbye to your planet, Kakarot.”

“Wait–”

“As if I would.”

“I would do anything to save Earth.” Kakarot braced one arm against the ground, and he pushed himself up a little. “Prince Vegeta.”

Gods, how good did Kakarot look right now? How good did it feel to hear that, even if they were just playing around. He should stop right now, he knew that. Honestly, he should. They were both married.

“Show me,” said Vegeta, instead.

Kakarot lunged up, gripped the meat of Vegeta’s thighs in both hands, and Vegeta felt the surge of energy a second too late to do anything about it.

“Kakarot, you know I hate–!”

There was the feeling of being pulled, a rush of air, and they popped into the space above the bed and tumbled down onto it. Kakarot could have teleported them onto the surface, but he didn’t, and there was no way for Vegeta to maintain his balance. He landed gracelessly, and Kakarot was ready for it, on top of him in a second.

“–being teleported, you ass–!”

He didn’t get the rest out, Kakarot kissed him crushingly, pinning him to the bed. He was–

Oh, he was hard, grinding their bodies against each other eagerly. Well, so was Vegeta, and he returned the kiss, raking his fingers through Kakarot’s hair, pulling it roughly, hooking their legs together, making out like teenagers.

“You had better have something better to show your Prince than some clumsy grinding,” said Vegeta, when the kiss broke.

“I do,” said Kakarot, and he reached down, gripping Vegeta’s armor in both hands. His arms flexed tightly with the effort, but he tore it, as though it wasn’t any tougher than regular clothing, The cerasteel plates split into fragments and fell away, and Kakarot tossed the ruined armor off the side of the bed.

Oh Gods, oh fuck. As if that wasn’t the hottest thing Vegeta had ever seen. He was going to– He wanted–

“Wait.” Vegeta gasped the word out. Kakarot’s hand was between his legs, feeling him up through the fabric of his bodyglove. “Stop.”

Kakarot pulled his hand away, moved back. Knelt on the bed so that his weight was resting on his heels. “You okay?”

“Your wife,” said Vegeta, not as coherent as he hoped he’d be.

“You want that I should go get her?” asked Kakarot, curiously.

Wait, was that a possibility? Vegeta wondered if he was intrigued that it was, but nevermind that right now.

“No, you idiot,” snapped Vegeta, the spell suddenly broken, and he sat up too, gestured between them. “Does she know about this?”

“Yeah.” Kakarot looked relieved that that was Vegeta’s only issue, and he shrugged. “I asked her if it was okay before we went in.”

Of course he had. As usual, Kakarot was one step ahead of him.

“Have you done this before?” asked Vegeta.

“Vegeta,” said Kakarot, seriously, “I have two kids.”

“I meant with a man,” said Vegeta, annoyed.

“Oh,” said Kakarot. “...no?”

“Take your clothes off,” said Vegeta, looking Kakarot up and down. “We’re going to take it a bit slower than this.”

Kakarot was already doing it, in a hurry to obey. He pulled his gi off like it was going to burn him and discarded his underclothes. Vegeta had seen him in various states of undress before, but never completely naked, though he liked what he saw. He had no body hair, though that wasn’t a surprise, neither did Vegeta. Saiyans only rarely grew hair they hadn’t been born with. He was bloody and bruised from their fight, but so hard he was almost straining with eagerness, either because of that or in spite of it. Vegeta didn’t actually care which it was.

“You look good,” Vegeta said, begrudgingly, and rose from the bed.

“Uh– thanks?” Goku frowned. “Where are you going?”

“I’m looking for something, Kakarot,” said Vegeta as he kicked his boots off and discarded his gloves. “Stay there.”

Vegeta inspected the shelves on the platform. The Room provided whatever they needed, which usually meant food and new clothing, but did it–?

Ah, perfect. It did, and Vegeta found a phial of oil on one of the shelves. It was made of crystal and too fancy for his tastes, but he plucked it off the shelf and carried it back to the bed, setting it down near Kakarot.

“I’m going to demonstrate once,” he said, as he slid out of his bodyglove, “after that I expect you to be able to do this for me.”

“Okay, Vegeta.” Kakarot nodded, watching him intently.

…and the way Kakarot was looking at him, well, it thrilled him, he supposed. His wife had told him he was attractive many times, and he believed her, he supposed, but there was something entirely different about another Saiyan finding him desirable. He got onto the bed.

“Lay on your back,” he ordered.

Again, Kakarot hurried to obey, and Vegeta straddled his thighs.

“That’s nice,” said Kakarot, gazing up at him. He reached out and gripped Vegeta’s own thighs, running his hands over them.

“Don’t get excited,” said Vegeta, scowling. “We haven’t even done anything yet.”

“You feel different,” said Kakarot.

“Different from who?” asked Vegeta.

Kakarot seemed to be thinking. “Uh, my wife? I guess?”

“I should hope so,” said Vegeta. “Saiyans have different body chemistry, denser muscles, and we also—”

“Uh-huh.” Kakarot was only barely paying attention. His hands roamed over Vegeta’s thighs, up to his waist, then to his hips, and he drew circles on them with his thumbs.

“Watch,” Vegeta instructed, and he took the oil, tipping some out onto his fingers. A trickle landed on the sheets, but that hardly mattered, the Room was magical or something, it cleaned itself. Then, he slid his own hand between his legs, pushing his fingers in, working himself open until one of them slid easily, then two. Kakarot watched, curious and eager, enraptured with every motion. Vegeta thought he could get used to being looked at like that.

“Does that feel good?” Kakarot asked.

“Of course it does,” said Vegeta, and he reached out to stroke Kakarot’s cock, coating his length with the oil. “Though there’s something that’ll feel even better.”

“Oh, okay.” The words were half-punctuated by a whine, and Kakarot ground his hips up, against Vegeta’s hand, pushing slickly against the circle of his fingers. “That’s–”

“Try to stay still,” said Vegeta, and he moved up, guiding himself into the right position. Kakarot took him by the hips, digging his fingers in possessively, and Vegeta thought he’d probably be able to get used to that too.

He eased Kakarot in slowly at first, then pushed his hips down more steadily, enveloping Kakarot’s cock with his body. The stretch burned lightly, but it felt exquisite, and Vegeta leaned back slightly, to get a better view of the other man, sliding down until Kakarot was hilted completely inside him.

Kakarot was moaning and fidgeting, tugging at Vegeta’s hips, trying to obey the order to stay still, despite what was clearly a desperate urge to fuck the hell out of Vegeta. For his part, Vegeta debated dragging that desperation out a little, but instead, guided Kakarot through a shallow thrust, moving with him, slowly at first.

Ever the quick learner, Kakarot took to it, and it only took a moment before they were in-sync, attuned to each other like they were fighting. Vegeta rode him hard, leaned over him, pressed his palms to Kakarot's chest, any touch they exchanged would have turned a human to dust, but Kakarot just responded in kind, answering every motion with one of his own.

On some level, it occurred to Vegeta that Kakarot had never been able to touch anyone else like this. Then, there was nothing in his head, the pressure in his body building to a crescendo as he spilled over Kakarot’s chest, clenching around him, his legs shaking. Kakarot lasted barely a moment longer, and his seed was hot as he spilled inside, pulsing against Vegeta’s inner walls.

Vegeta held there a moment, then carefully eased himself off and moved to lay at Kakarot’s side. Kakarot’s hand came up, and he stroked his fingers through Vegeta’s coarse hair, the touch oddly affectionate for a quick sport fuck. Whatever, it didn’t mean anything.

“You're staying, right?” asked Kakarot, after a moment.

“Kakarot,” Vegeta rolled his eyes, wondering if Kakarot meant 'with him', or 'on Earth', or something else entirely. "Where the fuck would I go?"

“Okay,” said Kakarot, and he made a pleased noise, almost a purr. “Alright. Good.”

*** *** ***

“Doesn’t the Guardian of Earth need you?” Vegeta asked the attendant.

“As soon as I decided to stay with the two of you my replacement should have become available,” said Popo, and he offered no further explanation. Either because Vegeta was one of his fellow deities now and should have just understood, or because he didn’t feel he owed either Saiyan one. “Kami Dende will be fine.”

Well, okay. Alright. That was that sorted out, Vegeta supposed.

They had gone to the Room of Spirit and Time that Frieza had used, and the planet that housed it had once been part of the Empire.

It was dead now. Frieza had slaughtered everyone and everything, including the Guardian and his attendant. There was nothing left but a mass grave that spun away in every direction. The ground below and the sky above were both gray. Vegeta saw ruins in the distance, cities, maybe.

It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight to him. He’d left plenty of planets just like this in his wake. Only the door of the Room and the building that housed it were untouched.

Gods, just let Frieza be gone this time.

Though there was probably no point in swearing on the Gods anymore, come to think of it.

“How long are the two of you going in for?” asked Popo.

“Five days at a time,” said Vegeta. “Five in, five out, unless there’s some change to the multiverse that we’re needed for. Forty of each in total.”

Kakarot looked delighted and Vegeta wanted to slap the expression off his face.

“See if you can locate any other divine survivors while we’re in there,” said Vegeta.

The attendant, Popo, nodded to him, and Vegeta opened the door and went through with Kakarot. It closed behind them with an echoing slam.

“Okay,” said Kakarot, and he bounced on his feet. “I can’t wait to–”

“Stop,” said Vegeta. “We’re not mortal anymore, we don’t have the same limitations.”

“What do you mean–”

“I mean we don’t need rest breaks and we’re not going to take them,” said Vegeta, cooly. “No schedules, no sleeping. I don’t want you to touch me unless we’re sparring.”

“Are you serious?” asked Kakarot. “Why are you being like this?”

“You did this to me against my fucking will and you have to ask that question–”

“Beerus was already going to do it, he just never got the chance–”

“I didn’t love Beerus!” Vegeta turned, and shoved Kakarot viciously, rage bled into his auras. The other man’s confused non-reaction was even more infuriating, all he did was stumble back a step, looking confused. “I didn’t trust him! I told you to stop and you fucking did it anyways!”

“Vegeta–!” Kakarot’s face twisted in pain, and Vegeta realized he had never said those words out loud to him before. “What was I supposed to do?! Just stand around and watch you die?!”

“It was what I wanted, so yes!”

“Well it wasn’t what I wanted!”

“You’re more powerful than me so you can do whatever you want!?” Vegeta snarled the words out. “I’m a toy you can play with and discard as it pleases you!?”

“Vegeta, wait, you don’t think that, do you?”

“I think you fucking abandoned me!”

“You wouldn’t come with me!” Kakarot cried out, hotly. “I begged you to and you wanted to stay on Earth! You loved Bulma more!”

“Do not ever say her name to me again, Kakarot. Not even if we do live forever.” Vegeta glowered at the other man, the words dark as they fell from his mouth. “Training, now.”

Kakarot reached out to strike their fists together and Vegeta ignored it, took a swing at his face instead.

Chapter Text

It was great after that, it was really great.

…and it stayed that way for a long time.

Goku especially loved those rare moments when Vegeta would drop his guard and just let Goku see him, or hold him, or touch him. Probably no one else ever got to do that. Bulma maybe. Even after all these years, Vegeta was, well, Goku wasn’t sure. Skittish, maybe, though that didn’t seem right. He clung tightly to everything Frieza had taken away from him. His home, his family, even Earth, for his performative complaining about his adopted planet.

Everyone else had fallen away a long time ago. Piccolo and Gohan had kept pace for a while, but Chi-Chi had cornered him one day and told him that Goten was only going to train if he wanted to, otherwise he got to be a normal kid. Goku’s other friends had gone off to live their lives. Krillin was married and had a kid of his own. Yamcha was playing professional baseball or something like that. Tien and Chiaotzu were meditating on a mountain somewhere. Yajirobe was– actually, Goku had no idea, probably gardening. Only Vegeta had kept pace. He was the only one who cared to.

It had been about Saiyan Pride (and Goku could always hear the capitalization on that word in Vegeta’s voice) or about Saiyan warrior culture, or about some other Saiyan thing that Goku didn’t understand. He had even believed it for a long time, believed that those were things that were real and that they were important to Vegeta in some way that, between the head injury and being raised on Earth, Goku simply couldn’t get.

Then, the fusion.

Holy shit, the fusion.

The trauma went right through Vegeta, an ugly black scar that Goku doubted would ever fully heal. Vegeta was insecure, paranoid, terrified of being helpless, all of it rooted so deeply that it could never be pulled up. He was broken in hideous ways. It was amazing he was functional.

It had been fun before. Like, yeah, okay, Goku could play alien warrior culture with him in pursuit of being stronger. It wouldn’t even be the dumbest thing he’d ever done in that pursuit. For Vegeta, though, power was the only metric by which he’d ever been valued, the lens through which every other person had viewed him. Frieza had kept him for no other reason than Vegeta was too useful to discard. The first time in his life he’d ever been touched non-violently was when Krillin had helped him stand up after some beating he’d taken on Namek.

The fear and the need to be strong were so raw and so ugly. That Bulma would grow bored and discard him. That he didn’t deserve Trunks, that he would hurt him by accident. That Goku would someday turn and snap without warning, put his hands around Vegeta’s throat. That there was no such thing as freedom, that Frieza would come back somehow and take him away, draw the leash tight, kick his legs apart.

Vegeta, it’s alright.

Don’t you dare fucking look at me, Kakarot.

Suddenly, it wasn’t fun anymore. Not knowing how Vegeta saw it. After the fusion, Goku had spent what seemed like ages just trying to get close to Vegeta, only to discover that the Prince portioned out trust in the tiniest fractions. He’d liked Vegeta for a long time, thought a lot about what it would feel like to kiss him or touch him, or what it would be like to have Vegeta underneath him on a bed, even if he wasn’t exactly sure of how that last part would work. Part of the fantasy, he supposed, was that he wouldn’t hurt Vegeta by accident, that he wouldn’t have to be careful every second.

He just had to be careful with Vegeta’s trust, instead. Simple. He could do that. Nothing to it.

After that, the nightmare. Goku was so used to sensing Vegeta’s energy that he could do it in his sleep, and the pain and fear in Vegeta’s auras had yanked him directly out of dreaming and into consciousness. Vegeta had reached for him (which under any other circumstances would have been thrilling), let him touch, share energy, moved to him to be held. After a bit of coaxing, he had slept next to Goku every night for the next three years.

It was perfect. It felt so good. Goku could have stayed in the Room forever, just existed in that loop of training, sleeping together, meditating, sitting in the bath, lounging around doing nothing, waking up with Vegeta curled up against his side, back to training.

Okay, wait. Maybe not forever. He wanted to fight in the tournament. That was why they were training in the first place, after all.

Then, a week before they left the Room, Vegeta sat him down and explained some things.

This had been a fun distraction, but he loved Bulma. He wasn’t going to leave her. He wasn’t going to be Goku’s sidepiece. He wasn’t going to do anything that would embarrass or dishonor Chi-Chi and Gohan. His family and his life on Earth and his marriage were important to him. Did Goku understand?

Goku sensed that the only answer Vegeta was ever going to accept was ‘yes’, so he gave it, nodded in agreement.

“Good,” said Vegeta, always serious, and he nodded curtly.

Vegeta’s energy said it was far more complicated, and his auras were a clash of conflicting emotions, but Goku couldn’t think of the right way to bring that up, so he didn’t.

It wasn’t the last time, not by a long shot, though Vegeta was far more open to falling into bed together when they weren’t on Earth. Lately, that meant at Beerus’ Temple, so Goku was always flush with energy and eagerness when Whis and Beerus showed up. Even if it turned out to be something silly or pointless, it meant squeezing in some really great training and that Vegeta was probably going to sleep with him afterwards.

Like a little vacation.

So of course he got excited when they showed up out of nowhere one day.

“Heya Whis!” he waved as the light cleared. Whis didn’t use Instant Transmission, and Goku wasn’t quite clear on how, exactly, the Angel travelled the universe. “Hey Lord Beerus.”

“Hello Goku. It’s a pleasure to see you.” Whis smiled, just slightly. “Is Vegeta nearby?”

“Uh, are you looking for him specifically?” Goku asked, though he was already scanning the planet for Vegeta’s energy. West City. With Bulma. Yeah, no surprise there.

“Both of you, actually,” said Beerus, dismissive. “Go get him. Now.”

“Right.” Goku practically bounced on his heels, aligned his energy and teleported to Vegeta.

It looked like he was doing something important. Bulma was here with Vegeta on her arm, and they were both dressed up in expensive-looking fancy outfits. The room or whatever was packed with stern looking men in suits and dozens of other people who looked rich and important. Everyone was startled when he appeared out of nowhere, someone started screaming.

“Hey Bulma.” Goku waved. “Gotta grab Vegeta for something. Catch you later!”

“Goku!” Bulma bristled with startled, incoherent fury. “How dare you–!”

“Kakarot what the–”

Goku gripped Vegeta by the arm, aligned his energy and teleported back to Whis and Beerus.

“–fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

“Got him!” Goku announced, brightly. “Let’s go!”

“Get off me!” Vegeta jerked his arm away and pushed Goku back in the same motion. Almost instantly, there was a chime, and his phone rang. He flipped it out of a pocket inside the fancy suit he was wearing - all black with the slightest accents of blue, and holy shit, he looked good - glanced at Whis and Beerus, then went to slide his finger across the screen.

“Excuse me,” said Beerus, “have you forgotten that you’re in the presence of a deity?”

“No,” Vegeta shot back. He held the phone out. “Do you want to explain whatever this is to Bulma?”

“Ah.” Beerus cleared his throat, instantly cowed. “Right. Proceed.”

Vegeta stalked off, the phone held against his ear, speaking rapid-fire to Bulma. Yes. No. Yes. Of course not. Kakarot was just like this. She was one who’d been friends with him since they were children. Oh, come on, none of the shareholders were traumatized. Well, she was making them idiotically rich, so they could get over it. No, Whis and Beerus wouldn’t be here if whatever this was wasn’t important. Okay. He’d be back soon. Love you too.

Goku felt something sharp inside, like a sting. He ignored it.

Vegeta shut the phone off and slid it back inside his jacket. Came back over to them. “She says the universe had better be ending.”

“Hn.” Beerus gestured to Whis.

“Of course,” said Whis, unfazed and just as congenial as always. “Come along Saiyans. Lord Beerus and I will explain after we arrive.”

Goku reached over and put his hand on Whis’ back, Vegeta did the same. Earth spiraled away in a flash of gold-white light. There was nothing to do but wait, so Goku did that. He closed his eyes and read Vegeta’s energy, which was tense and annoyed. Thought about nothing. Thought about what that suit would look like if it was torn up a little. Went back to thinking about nothing until the light cleared and they were standing on Beerus’ strange planet.

As soon as they landed, Beerus stalked away, his tail lashing. He kept going until he was out of sight between the trees, though Goku knew there was an entrance to the temple out there somewhere. He looked up at Whis, so did Vegeta.

“He was invited to the Pillar,” said Whis, as though that clarified things.

“The Pillar?” asked Vegeta.

“Of Creation,” said Whis.

“What’s that?” asked Goku.

“It’s the central hub of the cosmic wheel that comprises the multiverse,” said Whis. “Heaven, if you want to call it that. The Omni-King’s seat of power, and all of the most significant deities keep estates there, of course.”

“Oh,” said Goku. “So it’s in the Other World?”

“Not exactly, but yes,” said Whis, and he offered no further explanation.

“Why doesn’t Lord Beerus live there?” asked Vegeta.

“Lord Beerus values his privacy,” said Whis. “Also, it’s a bit of a nest of vipers up there, I’m afraid.”

“Are we going to fight someone?” asked Goku. “Oh! Is it under attack? Is there a tournament or something?”

“Thankfully, no to all of that,” said Whis, and he smiled, indulgently. “Lord Beerus has been summoned to make a single move in a children’s board game.”

*** *** ***

Five years and Vegeta didn’t land a hit on him.

He stayed mad the whole time too, though maybe the gulf in battle power helped.

Fury boiled through his auras. He wouldn’t let Goku touch him, or get close to him, or even talk to him on any subject other than what they were going to do about ‘this mess’. Despite his insistence on no rest breaks, a few times he had stalked off and sat alone, his tail lashing and his energy in flux. Goku had tried to approach and sit with him, just to be near him, but Vegeta’s only response had been bared fangs.

His trust. That was the only part of Vegeta that had been fragile, and now it was gone.

You promised, Goku thought, almost petulant. You said we would be together.

Though maybe Vegeta had just been saying those things, making promises he thought he wouldn’t have to keep, thinking that they were going to die.

I didn’t love Beerus.

You could have said it to me. Goku wanted to scream it at Vegeta, wanted to grab him and shake him and demand to know why, but he knew that wouldn’t help. Whis would have known all the right things to say and do, would have known how to keep everything from falling apart, how to fix everything that was broken, and not for the first time, Goku wondered why the Angel had trusted him with all this in the first place.

They went out together. Popo was tending to the ruined gardens, Korin was prowling around. Goku hadn’t spoken to Vegeta in any meaningful way for five years, and somehow that was worse than the previous forty they’d spent apart. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from his weird, malfunctioning pantheon of Gods, and he didn’t know if this was the best he could do or if it was just growing pains.

He didn’t think he regretted having Vegeta here, though. Couldn’t come up with an apology because he didn’t really feel bad, couldn't summon up any regret or contriteness because he probably would have done the same thing again. Vegeta had been mad at him before. Hated him before. Tried to kill him before. They had an eternity to climb that mountain. They’d already done it once.

“Did you find anyone?” Vegeta brushed past him, closed off, his energy hard to read.

“In five days?” asked Popo.

“Yes, obviously.”

“No,” said Popo bluntly, “but we found something else.”

“Yeah.” Korin came up, tensed, and jumped onto Goku’s shoulder. “There’s something the two of you should see.”

*** *** ***

“You look good,” said Goku. It was true.

“I look like a billionaire heiress’ trophy husband,” said Vegeta, and he pointed as he undid his jacket and loosened his tie. “Can you see if there’s spare armor in the closet? I think I left some there, the last time we were here.”

“You still look good,” said Goku, sliding the panels aside. “You smell good too.”

“It’s called bathing, Kakarot.” Vegeta smirked. “You should give it a try sometime.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Goku searched through the items in the storage space. Not unlike the Room, Beerus’ temple simply provided anything they needed. Magic, or divine magic, however it worked. There was spare clothing, training gis, extra blankets. Oh, wait, look at that, there was some spare armor. Goku pulled it out. “I don’t even know why you need this, I thought there was some huge threat to the universe, or that we were going to get to fight a million guys or something, but it turns out we’re just going to a dumb party.”

“I need it because it’s dangerous up there,” said Vegeta.

“In Heaven?” Goku blinked. “Why? Whis made it sound like it was an honor to be summoned.”

“Beerus only needs us because there’s a chance he might die,” said Vegeta, “and if that happens, he needs someone close by that he can pass his power on to.”

Goku tossed the armor to him and Vegeta caught it. “You don’t really think–”

“I know that thing is a monster.” Vegeta stripped his clothes off, and– oh, he had the bodysuit on underneath them, of course. He pulled the armor on and deftly fitted it to his body like he had done it a million times, which, come to think of it, he probably had.

“Thing?”

“Zeno.”

“Huh,” said Goku. “How do you know?”

“This might shock you,” said Vegeta, “but I actually have a lot of experience with being in thrall to a psychopath who could have had me obliterated at any moment.”

“Oh, right,” said Goku, “but this isn’t the same.”

“It’s exactly the same, only the scale is different.” Vegeta adjusted his bodysuit, raked his fingers through his hair. “People with limitless power are monsters, you’re practically the only exception.”

“Vegeta–” Goku grinned. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get excited, Kakarot.” Vegeta rolled his eyes, stepped forward, kissed him once on the mouth, and went past him to head back up to the surface. “Remember what I said. Let’s go.”

Goku followed him, their footsteps echoing in the inverted spaces of the obsidian temple. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The food might be good where they were going. Vegeta was here.

Outside, Whis was counselling Beerus about what to do. Something about the board and the pieces and the last time either of them had seen the layout. Apparently the point of whatever Beerus was being called away to do wasn’t to win, but to please and entertain Zeno, which seemed to mean looking like you were putting in effort while losing gracefully.

Goku doubted Beerus could lose anything gracefully. He was too much like Vegeta.

“Hello, Saiyans.” Whis smiled as they approached. “Lord Beerus, as a gentle reminder, if anything should, ah, happen up there, there may not be time to make the choice personally later.”

Huh, so maybe Vegeta had been right about that, and Beerus looked them both over. His gaze seemed to linger on Goku for a long time.

“Vegeta,” said Beerus, at last. “Let’s go.”

“Wait a second,” said Vegeta. “What the Hell–!?”

“Congratulations, Prince Vegeta.” Whis inclined his head, just barely, in Vegeta’s direction. Turned his back. “Come along, please. Stay close while we’re up there, do as little as possible to draw attention to yourselves.”

Vegeta scowled, but put his hand on Whis’ back. Goku put his hand over Vegeta’s, linked their fingers together, squeezed lightly. He wasn’t jealous that Vegeta had been picked, he was worried. Didn’t like the way it made Vegeta feel uncertain and troubled. The Prince’s face may have been frozen in a scowl, but Goku was so attuned to his energy that he might as well have been able to read Vegeta’s mind.

If Whis noticed or cared, either about Vegeta or about their clasped hands, he didn’t say anything. There was a ripple of gold light and they were flying again. As usual, Goku just spaced out, reading energy and thinking about nothing. It was sort of like meditating, which he was supposed to be practicing. He wondered what Vegeta did on these trips. There always seemed to be a lot going on with him.

When the light cleared, they were–

Oh.

Oh, wow.

In front of them was a city, if you wanted to call it that. It was even bigger than West City, which Goku had previously thought of as impossibly huge. This one was the size of a continent or planet, and everything was gold, silver, celestial metal, white marble. The towers of its buildings went up so high that Goku had to crane his neck to get a better look, and everywhere he could see there was more of everything. More streets, more people, more buildings, more energy, more noise. It was overwhelming.

Cut into the middle of each street was some kind of golden causeway or canal, and people kept stepping into it or touching it and getting wooshed away so fast that Goku couldn’t sense where their energy was going. It looked like it was part liquid and part light.

Actually, it looked just like the light Whis used to travel, come to think of it.

…and the people! There were so many of them, all different types. Too many to keep track of.

Some of them looked like the Kais, but others were different. Animal and plant people. People who looked mechanical, or who looked like majins, even people he couldn’t identify at all. However, it occurred to him on some level that he and Vegeta were probably aliens that these people didn’t recognize.

Goku glanced over at Vegeta, but he just looked distant and grim, like he was deep in thought.

“Pretty amazing, right?” he asked.

“It is,” Vegeta admitted. He pointed upwards. “Look.”

Goku tilted his head up, to where the sky was dominated by some kind of castle, bigger than most of the cities on earth. The actual firmament was yellow-gold, interlaced with constellations. He recognized a few of them from Earth, the Mast and Sails and the Gull, but most of them were alien.

“Goodness,” said Whis. “That’s a rare sight. The pilot’s union is probably in a tizzy.”

“Why is it rare?” asked Vegeta.

“What’s a pilot’s union?” asked Goku.

“Typically The Omni-King is in the lead in the Game,” said Whis, and he and Beerus began weaving their way through the street, headed for the causeway of gold light. “Usually the sky here is blue-purple, his colors. Currently someone from House of Journeys is leading.”

Beerus made a dismissive noise.

“On the subject of the pilot’s union,” said Whis, and he gestured to the stream of liquid-light in the center of the road. “As I’m sure you’re aware, very strict divine laws govern the use of Instant Transmission, though certain mortals are exempt. Lucky for you, wouldn’t you say?”

“Huh,” said Goku. “Yeah, I guess it is. So is that light how you get around?”

“It certainly is,” said Whis.

“You mentioned the Games before,” said Vegeta. “Care to explain?”

“Absolutely not,” said Whis, magnanimously. “If I were to explain the entertainment that the Omni-King and his closest peers engage in to you in any real detail it would flay your souls off, and you’re both far too valuable for that. Come along.”

“Watch,” ordered Beerus, though there was nothing to watch. He touched the light in the center of the road and wooshed off. Goku lost track of his energy instantly. Vegeta’s eyes narrowed even further than was typical.

“It can be a little tricky to navigate the first time,” said Whis, and he gestured to his back. “Hold on and I’ll guide the two of you to Lord Beerus’ estate, but don’t worry, I'm sure you’ll be experts in no time at all.”

Goku put his hand on Whis’s back, and so did Vegeta, and as Whis touched the causeway, the light wooshed them away.

*** *** ***

Korin used his staff to flip the monster over so they could get a better look.

In a word, it was hideous. It looked like lots of things and like nothing and all. As though someone had mashed animals and plants and dead bodies together without care or thought for the end result. Its blood was viscous and black, pooling sluggishly on the surface of the alien Lookout. Like oil. It stank in some way that was hard to identify. Spoiled food, rotting afterbirth, diseased soil.

Vegeta was visibly disgusted too. Saiyans had powerful senses, after all.

“It attacked you?” Vegeta asked.

Korin nodded.

“Did you two kill it?” Vegeta asked.

Korin nodded again.

Vegeta nodded in return, looking begrudgingly impressed. He waved Korin away and went over to the thing, put his knee on its chest.

Goku cringed. “Vegeta–”

There was a sickening crunch as Vegeta dug his fingers in and wrenched the thing’s ribs apart. As bad as it had smelled before, it was worse now. Wordlessly, Vegeta thrust his hand into the thing’s chest cavity, feeling around like he knew what he was looking for in there.

“Gross,” said Goku. “That’s disgusting! What are you doing?!”

“I’m doing an ad hoc autopsy, Kakarot,” said Vegeta. “Shut the fuck up and let me work.”

“Where did it come from?” asked Goku. Urgh, he was going to gag. Korin didn’t look any less disgusted. Cats probably had sensitive noses too.

“I don’t know,” said Vegeta. He was grabbing something inside the thing’s body, and there was a squelching sound that Goku didn’t care to speculate on. “It has a mouth but it doesn’t have a stomach. The throat just ends. No reproductive organs.”

“Why does that matter?”

“Because it’s a bomb, Kakarot.” Vegeta was inspecting something from inside the monster’s body that just looked like a hunk of gristle to Goku.

“What?!” Goku blinked. He took a step backwards. “Like Cell?”

“No,” said Vegeta. “Not like fucking Cell, like the point is for it to do as much damage as possible, then die. It’s a disposable soldier, not a viable lifeform. Like a Saibaman, only significantly stronger.”

“I guess you would know,” said Goku.

“I would,” said Vegeta. He stood up, used a trick of ki, magic but not quite, to clean himself off with a glare of light. “Frieza probably left it behind, in case you and I or our allies ever came here. We should search the planet for any others and destroy them.”

Under other circumstances, Goku would have pointed out that if Korin and Popo could kill these things they were so far beneath him and the Prince that there was no point in fighting them, but right now, anything seemed better than going back into the Room with Vegeta. He wasn’t sure if he could take another five years of cold silence and radiating anger. Besides that, Vegeta was speaking to him, sort of.

“Okay,” he said, and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

*** *** ***

Lots of people (or were they Gods?) came and went, meeting with Beerus.

Goku got the impression that the Destroyer God didn’t come here often, despite being one of the most important people in Universe Seven. From what he could figure out, there were people (Gods?) who had been waiting millions of years for an in-person meeting.

Sometimes whoever it was wanted to be introduced to him and Vegeta too. Goku couldn’t keep track of them all. The Goddess of Intoxicants, the Western War God, the Great Navigator who oversaw eighteen constellations. She was the one who had been winning the Game or whatever when they had arrived, but the sky was blue-purple now, like Whis had said it usually was. Dozens and dozens more people filtered through the estate until no one stood out.

It seemed like all they did was gossip about board games.

Oh, and the food was bad.

Honestly, just terrible. There were peaches, somewhere, but you weren’t actually allowed to eat them. Instead, you were supposed to eat these weird pink flakes that tasted like nothing and had the consistency of cardboard.

Yeah, it was no wonder Beerus and Whis loved the food on Earth so much. Goku wouldn’t have wanted to be cut off either, if this was the only alternative.

Oh, and the flakes were served one at a time. What the hell?

Anyways, you weren’t allowed to beat anyone up or go flying and the food was awful. Vegeta got mad at him when Goku asked if he was going to finish his little flake.

Heaven kinda sucked, when you really thought about it.

A few hours in and Goku was bored, fidgeting, annoyed. Not hungry, because the flakes at least filled you up, but not satisfied, either. More people, more talking about nothing, more introductions. Vegeta handled it better, in that he managed to look composed and dignified and like he was paying attention, though Goku supposed he’d been raised in a palace and been forced to attend court at Frieza’s side hundreds of times.

Finally, after what seemed like days (but had probably been hours), Whis let them go. The Angel didn’t bother with the pretense of giving them separate rooms, but Goku had barely cared about keeping up the appearance of propriety back home, he sure as hell didn’t care about it here.

“You look miserable, Kakarot,” Vegeta said, as he slid the door closed.

“It’s boring and the food is bad,” Goku said. There was a bed, and he flopped down on it.

“Rich people are almost never as interesting as they think they are,” said Vegeta, and he came to the edge and looked down as fondly as he was capable of, which was to say that his expression softened just the tiniest bit. “That’s true of powerful people too.”

“Am I the only exception?” Goku asked, smiling a little.

“Practically,” said Vegeta, his lips tugged up, just barely.

“Are you going to live here?” asked Goku.

“Kakarot.” Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Why the fuck would I live here?”

“Like after Beerus dies,” said Goku. “He picked you, remember?”

“Ah,” said Vegeta, and he sat down on the bed. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Saiyans only live for a century at most, and Lord Beerus is hundreds of millions of years old. I’m going to die long before he’ll ever need to pass on his power.”

“What if he screws up the Game or whatever and gets obliterated?” asked Goku. “I mean, that’s why we’re here, right? Just in case?”

It had been the wrong question to ask. Vegeta’s expression darkened, uncertainty and fear cut through his auras like a black knife. He glanced away, looking at nothing. Goku had thought he would have been happy to have been picked over his rival, but it was the opposite. Vegeta was the same person, but so different now. There had been a time, not all that long ago, when Goku knew he would have never heard the end of this.

“Are you okay–?”

“Take your clothes off, Kakarot.”

“You seem upset,” said Goku. “Is it because you might not get to leave?”

“Very observant,” said Vegeta, and his fingers found an invisible seam on his armor, which he used to split it open and discard it. “The Legendary Super Saiyan is a savant at reading auras, in addition to all of his other talents.”

“Vegeta–”

“Of course I’m upset,” said Vegeta, “and I want to think about something other than what Beerus said today, or nothing at all, if you can manage to fuck me that hard.”

Okay. Right. Goku didn’t need any more convincing, probably wouldn’t have even if he wasn’t bored and antsy. He pulled off his gi hurriedly, trying to split his attention between doing that as quickly as possible and watching Vegeta undress.

Gods, he loved the way Vegeta looked. The Prince was smaller than he was by a fair margin, narrow and lean where Goku was broad and heavy. Different body type, didn’t put on muscle the same way. Five inches shorter, or close to it. He knew from experience that Vegeta’s narrow hips would almost disappear into the circle of his hands, and Goku was already itching to grab them.

“Go and find something we can use,” Vegeta ordered, pointing vaguely at some of the storage areas in the room. Chests, shelves, Goku had barely even noticed them before.

“Yeah,” said Goku, watching Vegeta slide his bodysuit down over his hips. “Sure, okay.”

“Hurry it up, Kakarot.”

Goku rolled off the bed and went to look, and not for the first time, he wondered who Vegeta’s previous lovers had been. The Prince wasn’t that much older, only five years, but he seemed so much more worldly and experienced. Vegeta knew all kinds of things that Goku didn’t, about how to use your hands and your mouth and your body, and he’d given Goku some pretty extensive lessons back in the Room.

Vegeta liked having Goku inside of him much more than he liked it the other way around, though they’d tried that a few times too. As for Goku, he didn’t really care either way, whatever made Vegeta happy, and he searched until he found some oil in one of the drawers and carried it back to the bed. Vegeta was already waiting, laying there naked, arms behind his head, his knees just slightly apart, looking up at the ceiling. Staring at nothing. Too much going on in his head.

Goku got back onto the bed with him, drew him close, kissed him. As prickly as he was, Vegeta loved to be touched gently, though Goku knew the Prince would never admit it aloud. Still, Vegeta would drink down gentleness like he was going to die without it, and instantly, Vegeta was kissing him in return, pressing up against him, his cock grinding against Goku’s stomach.

“Hey, Vegeta?”

“Mmmm, what is it?”

Goku leaned forward, bit down on the other man’s ear, playfully. Spoke against it. “Do you really think I’m the Legendary Super Saiyan?”

He leaned back a little, to admire the look of perplexed, annoyed fondness on Vegeta’s face. Like the Prince was trying and failing to figure out exactly how he’d gotten here.

“Tch, no,” Vegeta said, rolling his eyes, “and you had better get on with it.”

Goku nodded, grasped for the phial, which had fallen somewhere onto the sheets and dripped some of the oil onto his fingers. Used his hand to part Vegeta’s thighs, and drew his fingers in a circle around the tight ring of his ass. A light press, another few careful circles, Vegeta made a pleased noise when his fingers slipped inside, rocked his hips down against them. Worked him open until he coaxed a needy noise out of him.

He pulled his hand away, took a little more oil to coat himself, then decided he’d waited long enough, and he sat up and grabbed Vegeta, manhandled him, turned him so the other man was in his lap and the Prince’s back was resting against his chest.

Vegeta fumbled, grabbed awkwardly at Goku’s thighs, there was no good way to brace in this position. Leaned back, let Goku bear his weight, let their auras mix, and that was the whole point of doing this, for Goku, at least. He liked the intimacy, the trust, the skin-to-skin contact, the feel of Vegeta’s breathing, the scent of his skin. Sure, it was fun to come, but Goku probably could have lived without that.

That said, no one was saying it had to be one or the other, and he angled his hips to push into Vegeta. He watched as he did it, because that was the point too. Vegeta’s eyes were closed, his expression serious, his head tilted back, against Goku’s shoulder. The heat of his skin, the sweet, tight pressure of being inside, and Goku kept going until he bottomed out.

He shifted his hands to Vegeta’s hips. They were slimmer than his own, narrow and sharp, like Vegeta himself. They looked good in his hands, but that was true about every part of Vegeta’s body, and he guided the Prince through a long, slow thrust.

“More,” growled Vegeta, instantly. “Harder.”

Alright, if that was what he wanted, and Goku pulled back and thrust into Vegeta roughly, taking him with deep, hard strokes. Vegeta rode him just as hard, his heels digging into the sheets, his fingers gripping at Goku’s thighs, then his arms, tight enough to leave marks. Goku read Vegeta’s energy the whole time, doing two things at once, making sure the Prince was enjoying this as much as he was, letting the flow of it guide his motions. In a minute he was so attuned to it that they were perfectly in sync.

He fucked Vegeta until the smaller man was straining, pressing down hard as Goku struck something deep inside of him, his breathing heavy. Vegeta’s thighs shook, his muscles tensed.

“Vegeta?”

The Prince growled out a barely verbal acknowledgment, drove his hips down again.

“Share energy,” said Goku, against his ear.

Vegeta did it without hesitation, sensations boiling over as their power flowed together, feeling what the other felt. The cascade sent him into climax instantly, and he spilled over the sheets, clenching around Goku’s cock, crying out and then covering his mouth, embarrassed to be so worked up. Goku felt the echo of all it though his own auras, hard and sharp, and it sent him over the edge too, the loop of it reflecting back down into Vegeta as he hilted himself deeply and spilled inside of him. It made Vegeta come again, this time more subdued, the bloom of pleasure deeper inside.

He went limp at the end of it, and Goku eased him carefully down onto the bed and lay next to him. Vegeta felt boneless.

“Good?” he asked.

The Prince made a low noise.

“You said you didn’t want to think about anything,” said Goku.

“Mmmmm.”

Vegeta’s eyes were half-open, his energy as content as it ever got. Goku knew he wasn’t going to stay that way. His thighs were wet with oil and seed, his skin was beaded with sweat, the sheets were soiled, and Vegeta was fussy, particular about being clean.

“Wanna go take a bath?” Goku suggested.

“Yes,” Vegeta mumbled, “but I don’t want to move.”

“Okay,” said Goku, and he used a trick of ki, magic but not quite, to clean them up in a glare of light. The sheets too.

“Teach me how to do that,” said Vegeta, idly.

“Sure,” said Goku, and he turned Vegeta so the other man was laying against his chest. “We can practice whenever. It’s not like there’s anything else to do here.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Vegeta. “They’re not threatening you with an eternity of it.”

“Huh–” Goku frowned. “Why do you say that? If you were the Destroyer God, I’d be your attendant. We’d still be together. We’d train and spar and stuff. We’d still be able to fly around at the Temple.”

“Kakarot, you idiot,” Vegeta said, the insult spilling from his lips even as he was pressing his face into Goku’s neck. “If I was the Destroyer God, Whis would be my attendant.”

“Okay,” said Goku, and he brought one hand up to stroke through the blades of Vegeta’s coarse hair. “So you’d have two attendants, then. I don’t see the problem.”

“You don’t understand,” said Vegeta.

“I don’t,” Goku admitted.

“It’s fine,” Vegeta mumbled, and he was already half-asleep in the circle of Goku’s arms. “It’s not like we’re not ever going to have to deal with it.”

*** *** ***

They flew over the ruined planet together, and Goku cast his senses out, not entirely certain what he was looking for.

As bad as killing all the people had been, killing all the plants and animals had obliterated the environment. The weather patterns were scattered and chaotic. Deserts were encroaching across the major continents. In places it was raining ash and dust. The rivers were clogged with debris, filthy water spilling over the banks. The whole planet was dead. Nothing to sense in any direction other than the awful gray static of death.

“It’s terrible,” said Goku.

“It’s fairly typical of a purge,” said Vegeta, bluntly. He was doing that thing he did, looking straight ahead at nothing.

Oh, yeah. He’d probably seen a lot of them.

“People buy planets like this?” asked Goku.

“They used to,” said Vegeta, shrugging. “They brought people in to terraform them. It was a whole other industry.”

“Did you ever–”

“Yes,” said Vegeta. “Obviously I did. You knew that already.”

“Right,” said Goku, and then they were flying in silence again. Searching fruitlessly. There was nothing moving on the surface.

“Maybe they’re dormant,” Vegeta suggested, as they landed on a cliff overlooking the ruins of some alien city. “That could be why you can’t sense them. Let’s split up, we’ll cover more ground that way.”

“I don’t think–”

“If those attendants can kill these things we’re in no danger.” Vegeta pointed to the south. “Check the other continent. I’ll search here, and come and find you when I’m finished.”

“This continent is way bigger than the other one,” said Goku.

Vegeta glanced at him, pushed off into the air. “I’m good at this kind of thing, Kakarot.”

He was, Goku knew that. Vegeta had explained it before. He had been the Emperor’s favorite. The Demon of Frost’s red right hand. The destroyer of civilizations, the doom of worlds. A monster whose name was invoked as a curse.

The Prince’s auras ignited and he took off in a glare of blue-purple light. He was gone over the horizon in an instant.

Goku wanted to follow him, but couldn't think of anything to say, so instead he turned and flew south, not certain of exactly what he was searching for.

Chapter Text

Bulla should have known he would do something like this.

Should have watched him closer. Should have followed him out to the wasteland.

It didn’t matter, she supposed. Everything was already in order, though she had expected there would be a body. It was a short service. There was no one left to show up for it. Debatable if they would have, even if they’d been alive. Her father’s relationship with most of Earth’s protectors had been fraught. There was a lot of history there.

Gohan gave the eulogy, his second in less than two weeks.

He was sitting in the shrine when she went out to it.

“Are you alright?” he asked, as she came up the hill and sat down opposite him, on one of the stone benches.

“No,” said Bulla, “but I will be. You?”

“Same,” he said. Gohan was like her. More Saiyan than human, she’d heard that he’d even transformed into a Great Ape a few times. He was in his seventies, a grandfather himself, but he hardly looked twenty-five. He might have another good decade or two, depending on genetics.

“Your dad took off,” said Bulla.

“Yeah,” said Gohan. “Yeah, he does that. It’s fine.”

“Is it?” she asked. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“My mother never lost faith in him,” said Gohan. “Not ever. Not even for a second. She loved him so much. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“We should all be so lucky,” said Bulla, and she bent one of her knees up against her chest, rested her chin on it. With one hand, she pointed at the flat stones on the front of the tomb, where their names were carved. “My dad was the same, with my mom. I actually expected this sixteen years ago.”

“He wouldn’t have done that to you,” said Gohan.

“He did, though,” said Bulla.

“It’s different now,” said Gohan. “He got all the time he was going to get.”

“Do you think he asked your father to kill him?” Bulla asked.

“I think Vegeta would have burned down the sky before he would have willingly let my father get the better of him,” said Gohan. “No, whatever happened, it wasn’t that.”

Bulla couldn’t help but to smirk. “How’s Goten?”

“Not great,” said Gohan. “This was both of his parents gone in under a week. He’s staying at my place so I can keep an eye on him. How’s Trunks?”

“He says he’s fine,” said Bulla, “but I don’t know. It was different for him.”

She knew, simply put, that her father hadn’t been emotionally, mentally, or spiritually healthy when Trunks had been born. Vegeta had ignored him, denied him, fucked off to space for nearly a year. Called him a bastard. Nearly gotten him killed, actually gotten him killed. According to Gohan, it was that last thing that had led directly to Vegeta getting off his bullshit.

Still, he’d missed everything. Hadn't heard Trunks’ first words, or seen him stand up for the first time, or watched him take his first steps. Never held him or bonded with him as a baby. So much time wasted, things they’d never get back. Her father had tried hard to be better, but Bulla suspected that some of those wounds were never going to close.

“Do you remember when your father taught you to say ‘Kakarot’?” asked Gohan, and he tilted his head back, resting it against the cool stone.

“Yes!” Bulla snorted with laughter. “He was so fucking proud of that, he told me never to call your father anything else.”

“...and you didn’t!” said Gohan, grinning. “For years!”

“I thought it was his name!” Bulla retorted. “I didn’t know any better!”

“Do you know that I taught him how to read?” asked Gohan. “Vegeta, that is.”

“He couldn’t read?” asked Bulla. “No way. Since when?”

“I mean, he could read and write High Imperial,” said Gohan. “That was the language they used in Frieza’s Empire, and something like eight or nine languages in total, but he always struggled with Earth’s language. I’m pretty sure he had to give himself a crash course in the pod on the way here, and that was only so he could yell at my dad.”

Bulla looked up at Gohan, listening.

“I think he was too embarrassed to ask your mother,” Gohan said. He gestured with one hand. “He wanted to read to you.”

“Did my father ever–” Bulla paused. “–teach you the Saiyan language at all?”

“Why me?” Gohan asked, eyeing her.

“He thought of you as a full-blooded Saiyan,” said Bulla. “Because you could transform, I think.”

Gohan glanced down, to her own tail.

“Oh,” said Bulla, and she shook her head. “Yeah, no. We flew out to the wastelands and tried a bunch, for years and years before he gave it up. It just never happened.”

“Vegeta–” Gohan frowned. There was a long pause. “Didn’t speak the Saiyan language. Not really, he only knew a couple of words.”

Bulla stared at him.

“Back in the PTO,” said Gohan. “Frieza used to beat him bloody for speaking it, for having a Saiyan accent. Punish him whenever he caught one of the other surviving Saiyans speaking their own language. He was seven, Bulla, it didn’t take long to rip it out of him. Some of Vegeta’s bodyguards were older, and they might have remembered more, but they’re all gone.”

“He never told me–”

“I know,” said Gohan. “Vegeta didn’t want you to know, but I was there for some of the bad parts, and I guess he had to tell Trunks about a lot of this stuff. Felt like he owed him an explanation.”

Bulla understood her father’s past only vaguely. Her parents had agreed on no details. She knew he had been one of Frieza’s soldiers a long time ago, and that he’d run away, come to Earth, married her mother. She had no real context for it, though. To her, Vegeta had always lived on Earth, always been her dad, always been a constant presence in her life.

“You asked him to teach you,” Bulla said, in realization.

“Yeah,” said Gohan. “A long time ago. They probably speak it on Planet Sadala, but you know, it would be a completely different dialect.”

“No way to get there either,” said Bulla. “The House of Journeys got completely wiped out.”

Gohan closed his eyes, turned his head away.

“Sorry,” said Bulla. “I didn’t mean it like was your fault–”

“I know,” he said.

“Hey,” she said, changing the subject. “Can I have some of your blood? I want to run some tests on it.”

Gohan blinked, turned back to her.

“To screen you for iphemedra,” she explained. “Out of you, Goten, and Trunks, you’re probably the most at-risk.”

“Right now?” asked Gohan.

*** *** ***

“Can I ask you something?” Gohan boosted himself up onto one of the examination tables in the lab and rolled his sleeve up.

“Go for it, Grandpa Gohan,” Bulla said as she retrieved some of her medical tools.

“Did you… never meet anyone?” he asked. “Or do you just like living alone on your mom’s old estate, doing mad science?”

“Got it in one,” said Bulla.

“Really?”

“No,” she snorted. “Guys who are twenty are fucking morons and guys who are forty are either weird about the tail or weird about the fact that I still look twenty, or they don’t like the fact that I could deadlift a house. I do love mad science, though. Rest your arm there, make a fist.”

He did it, and Bulla tied off his arm and swabbed it, readied the needle while his skin dried. “Is it weird with Videl?”

“Weird how?”

“You know how,” said Bulla.

“It’s not weird with Videl,” he said.

She couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or if he was determined not to be his father, to show his own wife the devotion his mother had given but never received in return. It was admirable that he was loyal, though, and she pressed her thumb to the flesh of his forearm, pulled the skin down.

“Now, it’s going to sting a little, but I’m sure you’re had worse–”

That was all she got out, the floor of the lab came apart. No warning, no surge of energy. As soon as the tiles cracked, Gohan was in Super Saiyan, his auras purple-gold. The tourniquet popped off his bicep like it wasn’t any stronger than an elastic band. Bulla’s reflexes weren’t as good, to her, it seemed like everything was happening at once.

The thing came up through the floor, and it didn’t look like anything. Creation mashed together thoughtlessly, animals and plants and body parts without form, but not without function.

It can't be a viable lifeform, she thought. It was like everything was moving in slow motion.

Gohan put his body between her and it as it surged forward. Limbs flailing, bones and sinews protruding, mouths wide. There was no technique, it was just lashing out, violence, purposeless, angry. A ki blast from Gohan cut away part of its body and it barely seemed to notice. It kept coming out of the space below the floor, more and more of it.

Decentralized. Bulla vaulted backwards. Maybe no nervous system. Can’t feel pain.

“Super Saiyan!” Gohan screamed at her.

Oh, right. Super Saiyan.

She wasn’t good at it. She’d been too young when it had all gone down. She’d never been in a serious fight, though her father had trained her until she’d managed a few shaky transformations. It had been a decade at least, but she got it, and power cascaded over her, sky-blue and gold. It blew out the windows in the lab, toppled everything that wasn’t nailed down, dented and ruined things that were fragile. Her auras were destructive and raw. Unrefined. Different from Gohan’s, which were calmer, more like a Namekian’s than a Saiyan’s.

The thing was pouring into the room, black blood pooling on the floor as they fought it. She couldn’t sense its energy, which made its movements hard to predict. One of its hands closed around her ankle, slammed her into the floor. Bulla severed it with a ki blast, and the thing jerked back, screeching. Then, Gohan was on it, tore it into three pieces with a spiraling energy beam. It collapsed, just as hideous in death, one of the pieces tumbling away into the sinkhole.

“What–” Bulla shrieked the words out, scrambling to her feet. “–the fuck!?”

*** *** ***

Trunks nudged the thing with his boot. Did it again. A third time.

He looked good for a man in his fifties, and he looked far younger than he was, though he wasn’t aging like Bulla and Gohan here, didn’t quite have their not-exactly-eternal youth. Trunks was sharp and proud in his uniform, regal and gracefully handsome. He was a Reclaimer. A type of monster-hunter, explorer, and problem-solver for the union of new governments on the Core Worlds. Trying to put the galactic civilization back together, post-Frieza and the House of Cold.

Goten hadn’t gone with him.

He was paralyzed, Bulla knew. Not literally, of course, but his father and brother had dumped a legacy that was impossible to live up to into his lap. His dad was God or something, his older brother was the most powerful mortal alive and was a famous, brilliant scientist on top of it. It was no wonder he’d given it all up. He lived alone, somewhere isolated. Maybe out on the nature preserve, with Seventeen. No one saw him all that much. The funeral was the first time in what seemed like ages.

Bulla knew her brother and Goten weren’t speaking to each other. Not for years.

You’d think two funerals in two weeks would have reminded them that life was precious, and that time was something you never got back, but apparently not.

She’d barely caught Trunks before he’d left, headed back into space.

“What are you doing?” Trunks asked, eyeing her.

Bulla was elbows deep in one of the pieces of the monster that was still in the lab, digging around. She knew that science was disgusting sometimes, but this was exceptionally so. The thing stank. Like it had been rotting for a long time, like it had been stewing in polluted earth. Gohan was inspecting one of the samples she’d extracted on one of the only tables that hadn’t been destroyed in the skirmish.

“I’m doing an autopsy,” she said. “Shut the fuck up and let me work.”

“Are you going to wash your hands before you eat?” asked Trunks, making a face.

Bulla rolled her eyes. “Trunks?”

“Yeah?”

“Make yourself useful, Battle-Captain.” She pointed down the sinkhole. “See if there are more.”

Trunks flipped her off, but tapped his earpiece, his scouter folding out with the familiar hum of partial transformation, and then stepped off the edge and flew down until he was out of sight in the darkness. His auras were royal blue and black, identical to their father’s, and Bulla wondered if anyone was scandalized that Vegeta’s son was working for the New Galactic Union.

Y’know, considering everything.

She put her own earpiece in and tapped it, the glass screen of the modified scouter folding out over her eye.

“I think this thing was alive,” Gohan said. “It wasn’t animated with magic or and its not an evil super science zombie.”

“It wasn’t that tough, considering how it looked,” said Bulla. “I probably could have taken it if it hadn’t gotten the jump on me.”

“I know. The bigger threat is that we can’t be everywhere at once. It would rip normal humans to shreds.” He held a slide up to the light. “It reminds me of a Saibaman.”

“I thought of that too,” said Bulla. “What’s a Saibaman?”

“A sort of disposable soldier, from Frieza’s Empire,” Gohan said, pushing his glasses up, “but they were entirely plant matter, and this thing’s a hybrid of a lot of stuff. I’d say whoever made it is a genius, but there’s no rhyme or reason to this.”

Bulla glanced at him. “How do you know about them?”

“Your dad, uh, turned some of them loose when he showed up the first time,” said Gohan.

She felt left out, sometimes, and she went back to working in silence, not sure what she was looking for.

A few minutes later, the scouter pinged.

[Bulla, you need to see this. Bring Gohan.]

She tapped the button to transmit. “Are there more?”

[Not exactly. Just get the fuck down here. Now. Track my energy.]

“Gohan,” she said. “Trunks found something.”

“More?”

“I don’t think so.” Bulla stood up and stripped off her lab coat and gloves. She was relatively clean underneath. ‘Relatively’ being the operative word. Some of the thing’s blood was on her from the fight and because the protective gear hadn’t been perfect. Disgusting. She wanted to pressure wash her skin and hair.

Gohan came to stand next to her at the edge of the sinkhole and peered down. His auras lit up as he stepped off the edge, navigating by the light they cast. Bulla caught the air and followed, inspecting the cavern walls. No purpose, no plan, no tool marks, just clawing its way to the surface, desperate to get out. Her lab was trashed, but at least it had attacked her and Gohan and not a preschool or something.

It wasn’t hard to follow Trunks’ energy, and Bulla was tense and worried the whole flight, reminding herself that these things didn’t give off energy they could read. That they probably wouldn’t show up on a mechanical scan either. One of those things might jump them out of nowhere, but they didn’t.

“Were you injured at all?” Bulla asked.

“No,” Gohan glanced back. “You?”

“It cut my leg,” said Bulla, though the wound had already closed. “Still, we were both directly exposed to its blood, I need to run some tests on us.”

“Saiyans can’t be poisoned,” said Gohan. “They don’t get sick.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Bulla. “We only know we can’t get sick from anything we know about, and we have no idea what this thing is.”

“Yeah,” said Gohan, and she heard concern in his voice. “You’re right.”

Trunks was waiting for them down at the bottom of the world, his auras lit up, casting the whole cavern in eerie, blue-black light. There was some kind of portal in front of him, though Bulla didn’t think that was the right word. It looked like a tear or a wound, and it went straight through the walls of reality, some kind of liquid darkness spilling out of it, bleeding freely. She saw the stars falling inside of it, chaotic darkness, heard the echo of deranged laughter. Someone called out.

Hands grabbed her, wielded her backwards. Trunks and Gohan, one on each arm. She had been reaching out to touch it, somehow hadn’t realized.

“Bulla!” Trunks cuffed her. “What the fuck?”

The blow brought her back to reality.

“There was— I heard someone inside,” she said, and turned to look up at him. Trunks, in turn, turned to look at the rift, or the wound, or whatever it was. He didn’t let go of her, though. Together with Gohan, they dragged her back a few more steps.

“Someone inside?” Trunks asked. “Like someone in trouble?”

“There’s no one inside,” said Gohan, quietly.

“How do you know?” asked Bulla.

“Do you–” Trunks looked over at Gohan. “–know what this is?”

*** *** ***

Gohan set one of the less broken whiteboards up against the wall and started scribbling the eight-hundred and eighty-eight divine equations on it.

“You already know I can’t follow any of that,” said Trunks, crossing his arms.

“It’s mostly for Bulla,” said Gohan. “We’ll give you the layman’s explanation.”

“When someone is born,” said Bulla, glancing at her brother, “their soul enters their body when they take their first breath. When they die, their soul leaves their body with their last breath.”

“Medical science,” said Gohan, to Trunks. “Basic stuff.”

“What does it have to do with the–” Trunks paused. “What did you call it? The Godscar?”

“We’re getting to that,” said Gohan.

“After you die,” said Bulla, “your soul gets cleansed in the Other World, washed clean of all your memories and sins, and you eventually reincarnate. Some baby takes its first breath, and in your soul goes. Bam, new life.”

“That’s true of everyone,” said Gohan, and he tapped the whiteboard with the marker. “Even deities, the Kais, angels, though they just turn into energy and get absorbed. The whole universe turns on like, like this axel of impermanence. At least it used to be true.”

“Tone it down a little,” said Trunks.

“Anyone could die,” explained Gohan.

“Okay,” said Trunks. “I guess I get that.”

“More accurately,” said Gohan, “anyone other than Zeno could die.”

“...and what?” asked Trunks. “No one bothered to give your dad the memo?”

“That’s astonishingly close to correct,” said Gohan.

“Wait.” Trunks raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying that all Creation was balanced on the hope that no Saiyan ever got strong enough to punch God straight in the fucking dick?”

“Essentially, yes.” Gohan pushed his glasses up. “When Zeno died, his soul couldn’t be absorbed into the Other Land, but at the same time, it had to be absorbed into the Other Land. The resulting conflict of impossible outcomes obliterated the machinery of divinity and tore the multiverse open at the seams. The Godscar.”

Gohan used the marker to scribble an ugly mess over the equations on the board.

“What was my father doing?” asked Trunks.

“Bleeding out,” said Gohan. “Trunks, there was nothing he could have done.”

“You, then,” said Trunks. “Piccolo, Broly.”

“Trunks!” Bulla glowered at him. “They did everything they could! We would have all been erased if not for Goku and Whis, nothing would exist–!”

“Is this happening in other places?” asked Trunks, unfolding his arms and gesturing the scribble on the board. Bulla glared at him.

“If it’s bleeding through from the Other World, we should assume the worst.” Gohan glanced at Trunks. “There could be Godscar events on other planets. Or in the other universes.”

“...and the other universes don’t even have protectors,” said Bulla. “No more Angels, no more Destroyer Gods. At least we still have Goku, somewhere. Not that we can call him. Earth has Gohan, the Galactic Union has you.”

“Can you close it?” asked Trunks, glancing between them. “With those equations or with a machine or can you seal it up with magic or something? Anything?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Gohan.

“We can try,” said Bulla. “Too bad the Dragon Balls are gone.”

“Is there some way we can contact the other universes?” asked Trunks, pressing. “Or the people in them? Cabba and the others? The Pride Troopers? Is there some way for us to get to them physically?”

“How many miracles do you want us to do?” asked Bulla. “Ballpark it. What’s a normal number of scientific breakthroughs for one day?”

“Mom could have done it,” Trunks said, and shrugged.

Bulla rolled her eyes, and Trunks turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Gohan called out.

“I need to tell the Galactic Union what’s happening,” said Trunks, “get the word out. At least warn the people we can warn.”

“Are you leaving?” Bulla asked.

“If they need me, yeah.” Trunks shrugged. “Why?”

Because our father just died, she thought. Because you’re the only family I have left. Because a monster just attacked me in my home. Because you’re never around. Because you always leave. Because I’m worried you’re not going to come back.

“Nothing,” said Bulla, and she hugged herself with her arms. “Nothing, I–”

“Can you stay and guard the rift?” asked Gohan. “Just for a little while, until we get this under control. If you want miracles, we need to be able to work uninterrupted. You can’t be the only hero the Galactic Union has.”

Gohan put his hand on the center of her back. I’m here, it said, without him speaking, I’ve got you.

“Alright,” said Trunks. “Yeah, fine.”

She felt herself relax, just slightly. The muscles in her shoulders unclenched.

“Let’s salvage everything we can from here,” Bulla said. “We’ll work in the secondary lab.”

“I’ll call Dende and Piccolo,” said Gohan. “They have to know about this, and you should still inform the Union, Trunks. This could be happening everywhere.”

Trunks nodded, the three of them united, in purpose, at least.

*** *** ***

Vegeta lay awake and watched Kakarot sleep.

By all accounts, he should feel good. He was safe and warm, he wasn’t hungry, he was laying in a comfortable bed with his lover’s arms around him. He was stronger than he had ever dared to dream of being, even in his wildest childhood fantasies.

…and yet.

Vegeta kept his energy hidden, pulled it inside as tightly as he could, or his troubled auras would wake Kakarot. If that happened, the other man would pester him about what was wrong and Vegeta wouldn’t have a satisfactory answer to give.

To Kakarot, this was just the next tier of power they’d ascended to. He didn’t even care that Vegeta had apparently been chosen over him. It had happened dozens of times before. One of them would surge out ahead, the other would chase after. If Kakarot was a Super Saiyan, then Vegeta would find something beyond that. If Vegeta had unlocked some new level by training with Whis, Kakarot would find a way to innovate on it.

That was the closed loop of their lives, striving against each other, constantly pushing the other forward. At first, for Vegeta at least, it had been about being strong enough that no one could touch him, about putting that low-caste brat in his place. Now, it was about being better. For Bulma, for Trunks and Bulla. For Kakarot. For himself.

Kakarot mumbled something about food in his sleep, and Vegeta rolled his eyes.

He was in love, he knew that. Maybe for a long time now.

The before of his life was raw, hideous, ugly. He was in the after now. Kakarot had given it to him, before Vegeta had even known Bulma existed. Let him keep his life when it was the only thing the Prince had, when Vegeta would never have done the same for him. Shown Vegeta mercy that he did not deserve and could not have earned. He knew should be happy and content, but he wasn’t.

Quietly, Vegeta eased himself out of Kakarot’s arms. Energy was the only concern. Kakarot was a savant at sensing it, but he slept like the dead otherwise, and he didn’t protest or wake when Vegeta rose from the bed.

The sky outside was still purple-blue, and there was no sun here, just some kind of ambient light. Too bright to be night, too dark to be day, and Vegeta dressed himself, found his discarded armor, put it on. Went looking for Beerus.

It didn’t take long to find him, and the Destroyer was sitting on the railing of one of the balconies of the estate, gazing out over the ostentatious splendor of Heaven, quietly annoyed and disgusted. On the other hand, Beerus' moods tended to lean towards one of those two emotions more often than they didn’t, and Vegeta was getting good at reading them.

“They never explain it,” said Beerus, as Vegeta stepped out onto the balcony.

Vegeta went to the edge of the railing and glanced at Beerus, then stood loosely at attention.

“They have this… room full of threads,” said Beerus, gesturing vaguely to one of the fantastical magitech buildings that populated the horizon. “There are Gods who read the stars. Who study the universe’s energy. Who see the future. They still don’t explain it to you.”

Vegeta looked out, to where Beerus had gestured. He couldn’t make sense of any of the buildings. Had no way of divining their purpose.

“They just tell you to destroy this person, or this family, or this world, or this race.” Beerus crossed his arms, bent one of his legs up and rested his skinny limbs on it. “No rhyme. No reason. No explanation. It’s already been decided, that this is how it’s going to be, and you’re nothing but the blunt instrument.”

“You know all about that, though.” The Destroyer met his eyes. “You know how it sounds when they scream and when they beg. What it feels like to be covered in their blood, to get it in your hair and between your teeth and under your fingernails, to be at the beck and call of a tyrant, to hide yourself so deeply that there’s no getting out. Whis can't teach you that, so just know that if you were like you were in your twenties, and Goku was as powerful as he is now, I would still have picked you.”

“I’m not a young man,” said Vegeta. “I’m going to die before–”

“You aren’t going to die before I do,” said Beerus, uncharacteristically subdued.

“There must be someone else,” said Vegeta, even as he was questioning how the Destroyer could possibly know that.

“There’s Goku,” said Beerus, “and I’ll take him, if you ask me to.”

Vegeta looked away.

“No?” asked Beerus.

“No,” said Vegeta.

“Eternity is quite the fucking gun for someone like you to be looking down the barrel of,” said Beerus.

“Still no,” said Vegeta.

“Then there’s one other possibility,” said Beerus, almost casually.

Vegeta felt his heart leap, and he turned back. “Who–”

“Bulla.”

It took every ounce of self-control he had not to cloak himself in all the power he had and try to put his hands around Beerus’ throat. The only thing that held Vegeta back was that if he did that, the Destroyer would kill him and take her anyways.

“She’s a baby,” Vegeta said, coarsely.

“I know, and come to think of it, I should have just taken you when your father fucked with me, but that ship’s sailed.” Beerus shrugged and glanced over at him. “Whis and I would take care of her. She would never be sad or afraid or sick. Never be cold or hungry. Never have her heart broken by a boy. Never want for anything. Never hesitate or doubt whatever order comes down, like you and I would, because she would never have known anything else–”

“No,” Vegeta snapped. “Eat shit.”

“You and Bulma can always have another baby, and–” Beerus’ eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“No, Lord Beerus,” said Vegeta.

“...and the second part?”

“Eat shit,” said Vegeta, his hands shook, and he tightened them into fists. Adrenaline, no outlet for it. “Lord Beerus.”

Beerus grinned widely and slid off the railing, almost languid. He rolled his shoulders.

“Just for that,” the Destroyer said, “I want you to ask for it.”

Vegeta stared at him.

“I’m serious,” said Beerus. “Ask to be my successor, or I’ll send Whis to take Bulla right now.”

“I–”

“–and get on your fucking knees, Saiyan, you’re in the presence of a God.”

Vegeta wasn’t sure if Beerus had intended this to be some kind of lesson. He didn’t know if it was meant to be humiliating, or humbling, or a blow to his pride. Whatever the intention was, it didn’t work, because it was astonishingly easy to do. For fuck’s sake, he’d knelt at Frieza’s feet a thousand times for things that were infinitely less important. For things that didn’t matter at all.

He got on his knees, touched his forehead to the tiles, closed his eyes. The stones were cool. He thought of Bulla’s tiny hand, wrapped around his finger. Took a breath, held it, let it out.

“It would be an honor to be your successor, Lord Beerus,” he said. “Please.”

“It’s funny,” said Beerus.

Vegeta didn’t see what about it that was funny, but for once in his life, he managed to keep his mouth shut.

“You came out here to ask me to pick someone else, and now you’re doing the exact opposite.”

Beerus came over. Vegeta heard his footsteps, sensed his presence, felt the air move as the Destroyer leaned down. Beerus’s hand closed in his hair, he tilted Vegeta’s head up.

“Get up,” ordered Beerus. “Go back to Goku, be with your children, kiss your wife, enjoy all the time you have, Little Prince, because there isn’t a whole lot left of it–”

*** *** ***

Vegeta forced himself to think about the present, and he supposed that at the very least, no matter what else Kakarot had done, he wasn’t chained to Zeno, to the Supreme Kai, or to Heaven.

…though, looking around, he considered that maybe that would have been better.

Not for him, of course, but for everyone else.

Fucking hell, he didn’t actually know what he was looking for.

Did Frieza even have any scientists who could have churned out monsters like that? Between himself, Kakarot, and Trunks’ assassination of King Cold, so much damage had been done to the Empire and the House of Cold that it was hard to imagine. Frieza had lost almost everyone who remained in the attack on Earth. The Galactic Patrol would have– should have locked up the worst of whoever was left, they weren’t completely incompetent.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself. Just start looking.

He turned his brain off, pretended it was a long time ago, imagined this was a purge and he was looking for survivors. Every town, major buildings, obvious hiding spots. It was a lot easier now that he didn’t have to rely on mechanical readings.

There was no one left, not after forty years. Frieza’s soldiers had been sloppy, but the environmental collapse had done anyone who’d survived the initial purge in. There were a few tiny camps in the mountains, evidence of failed attempts at farming. A handful of lonely looking graves. Black scrawls of angry, accusatory graffiti covered the buildings, cursing Frieza, the planet’s leadership, the Gods.

Vegeta didn’t want to see any of it, though he’d seen it all plenty of times already.

He found the hole in the world after a few more hours of searching, and he landed cautiously, the soil loose and crumbling beneath his boots. The whole planet was dead, but this place was rotting away, and the energy of it was eerie and still. As eager as Vegeta was to blame Frieza for every terrible thing in the universe, this didn’t seem like his style, and he cloaked himself in his auras and flew down, navigating by their light.

Sensing energy was a wash, all he could feel was Kakarot, even half a planet away, and Vegeta didn’t want to think about him at the moment, though he did.

Kakarot didn’t have a cruel bone in his body, and he wasn’t malicious or petty or domineering. Vegeta questioned if Kakarot was even capable of being those things, though if he had been, at least this would all have been a lot easier for Vegeta to understand. After all, he understood cruelty and violence very well, and this was not even the first time that someone vastly more powerful than Vegeta was had seen the Prince, decided they wanted him, and taken him.

At least Kakarot had had the decency to fabricate consent. Extract a promise from Vegeta that hadn’t really meant anything before doing what he’d done.

At least with Frieza there had always been the comforting thought that one day, the Emperor would grow bored with him, beckon him to the foot of his throne and snap his neck. That it wouldn’t go on forever.

Hell, that had already happened, back on Namek.

So really, Kakarot had given him his life back twice. No wonder he thought it belonged to him.

Vegeta paused in flight and scrubbed his face with his hands.

He knew Instant Transmission. He could always run away.

What are you thinking? he chided himself, and continued flying through the caverns of ruined, dead earth. You’re a Saiyan warrior, not a fucking child. How dare you even consider that.

No, he couldn’t leave Kakarot, no matter how angry he was. Even if Vegeta hated him (and he thought he might), he believed Kakarot when the other man said he would go mad on his own out here. It was probably why the Destroyer and attendant were supposed to be a pair, or maybe Vegeta was making that up. It wasn’t as if he knew anything about divinity. Whatever else Beerus had foreseen, it hadn’t been this.

A voice, someone called out, and Vegeta blinked, startled back to reality.

It was–

No, that was idiotic, and yet he was simultaneously certain he’d heard it and unsure of how he recognized it. It wasn’t like they had known each other particularly well.

“Champa?”

No response.

Fantastic, on top of everything else, he was fucking hallucinating. Champa couldn’t possibly have survived, but Vegeta turned and flew in the direction the sound had come from anyways, heading downwards, to the bottom of the world.

There was something in the stone, some kind of afterimages or patterns, chaotic and dark.

…and beyond them was the wound the multiverse was bleeding out from.

The Godscar.

Chapter Text

It took Goku about five minutes to get bored with trying to meditate and he unfolded his legs, took off, and went looking for Whis.

Vegeta was around somewhere, training with Beerus. They’d both gotten a lot more serious about it after they’d come back from their little trip to the Pillar or Heaven or whatever. Something had happened between them, but Vegeta wouldn’t say what it was and Goku knew that Beerus wasn’t going to answer any questions. He had a pretty decent grasp of what subjects he could push the deity on, and he knew when Beerus’ tantrums were real or performative – the Destroyer was a lot like Vegeta, actually – but Goku understood that this topic was closed.

He was pretty sure got the gist of it, though. Vegeta was suited to being a Destroyer and Goku, no matter how powerful he was, wasn’t. The Prince had some quality that Goku lacked and that you couldn’t train for.

Fine, whatever.

Goku wasn’t mad or jealous. There were plenty of ways to get stronger, and Beerus wouldn’t even have been the first one to try to define Goku’s limits only to have the Saiyan ignore them completely and push past whatever barricade had been dropped in front of him.

No, it bothered him because whatever had happened was upsetting Vegeta and because it seemed like the Prince might go away, that they would be separated somehow, or that Vegeta might be taken somewhere that Goku couldn’t follow.

That was the troubling part, a problem he couldn’t punch away.

…but the solution seemed simple, and he found Whis in one of the sprawling flower gardens, surrounded by butterflies.

The Angel was fixing some of the tiles, because–

Oh yeah, because Goku had punched Vegeta through the ground here during one of their sparring matches. The crater had splintered one of the pathways in two, cracks spiraling away from the point of impact. Some of the plants were knocked down too, laying askance in the dirt.

“Heya Whis,” Goku flew up and landed next to the Angel.

“Hello Goku,” said Whis, infinitely patient. He stirred the air with an arcane gesture, repairing the tiles with some kind of autonomous magic. “How did the meditation practice go?”

“I guess you already know,” said Goku, and he shrugged, then continued with no further preamble. “Can I be an Angel?”

“No,” said Whis, plainly.

“But, I–”

“Let me explain,” said Whis. “Angels are part of the cosmic machinery of the multiverse.”

That was–

Okay, that seemed to be the only explanation he was going to get. Goku blinked, he didn’t understand. Whis turned back to fixing the tiles and righting the smushed plants.

“So why can Vegeta become a God of Destruction?” Goku asked.

“You could ask the same question of Lord Beerus,” said Whis. “He wasn’t always the Destroyer.”

“Then–” It seemed like it clicked suddenly. “Oh. You weren’t anything, before?”

“No.” Whis smiled. “There was no ‘before’, for me. I was never mortal. I started existing like this, to carry out the purpose I was created for, which is being the attendant to the Destroyer. I can’t be anything else, and someone created to be something else can’t ever be an Angel. This is about Prince Vegeta?”

Goku nodded.

“Ah,” said Whis. “I had thought you were only attracted to him as your physical equal, but now, I sense your feelings for him are far more serious than simple infatuation, aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Goku admitted, though something else was bothering him now. “Does that mean that you’ve had Ultra Instinct on forever, like since you were a baby?”

“I was never a baby, Goku,” said Whis, “but yes. Forever.”

“You never turn it off?”

“Even if I could,” said Whis. “Why would I?”

Gods, there were a lot of reasons, and they all seemed completely obvious to Goku, though he was terrible at giving speeches and not much better at giving advice that wasn’t related to martial arts training. It was hard to understand that Whis didn’t see the things he saw. The Angel was like a billion years old and he knew everything. It seemed silly that Goku needed to spell it out for him.

“To be with Beerus, I guess,” said Goku. “You know, without your emotions suppressed.”

“I’m simply an attendant, Goku. I can assure you that Lord Beerus doesn’t have feelings for–”

That was dumb, actually. It was so dumb that Goku couldn’t bring himself to point out how dumb it was, lest he shame his teacher. It was all over the Destroyer’s auras, patent and total. Whis’ eyes searched Goku’s face.

“Oh,” said Whis, his expression cultivated and neutral. He turned and glanced in the direction that Vegeta and Beerus were in, though they were probably on the other side of the planet. “I see.”

“If you’re supposed to do this big cosmic job of taking care of the universe,” said Goku, taking that as an invitation to continue, “don’t you want to, I don’t know, live in the universe? Be happy or sad? Feel excitement or fear? Just exist in the moment? How can you help to run the universe properly if you don’t really know what it’s like?”

“No one has ever put that particular question to me before,” said Whis.

“Not in forever?” asked Goku.

“Not in forever,” said Whis, and he gestured, the repair of the gardens forgotten. “You truly are a remarkable mortal, just as Lord Beerus said. Come with me.”

“Okay,” said Goku, shrugging. “For training?”

“I want to elucidate something,” said Whis, though Goku had no idea what that word meant, but he touched Whis’ back, and white-gold light rippled around them.

*** *** ***

Goku had no idea what he was even supposed to be doing.

Searching the planet’s southern continent for monsters, that was what Vegeta had said to do.

It seemed pointless. No one was alive, the planet’s energy was poisoned and corrupt. There was no possibility for new life to ever emerge here. Goku had seen planets snuffed out by wars and chains of cataclysm many times before. After all, he’d started existing at the same time Creation had come into being.

No, wait–

That wasn’t right.

It didn’t matter. He already knew what the solution was and he already had the tool he was supposed to use to enact that solution.

He just didn’t want to order Vegeta to blow the planet up.

…though at least there weren’t any people on it.

Instead, he flew to the southern continent and dallied for a while, ostensibly searching. It was just depressing, everything was flat and gray, the dead laying where they’d fallen. There was supposed to be something that helped him deal with this, that made it not stack up over the years and centuries and millennia and the great expanse of eternity that lay before him. Something that made his mind and body work autonomously without letting him feel anything.

When Whis had–

Come here, charkavartin. Listen closely.

–whatever else Whis had done, he hadn’t torn Goku’s heart out, and now, Goku was something new. A type of being that hadn’t existed before. He wondered, though, if Whis had done it, if he wouldn’t have been lonely and afraid. If he wouldn’t have cared about or needed Vegeta. If he wouldn’t have hurt him.

...or maybe he would have hurt him anyways, and he wouldn't have cared. The Destroyer was just a blunt instrument, after all. A tool to be used. Goku couldn't say if that would have been better or worse. It would have been cleaner, though. More clinical. Maybe Vegeta would have been able understand that better.

There was nothing to find here, honestly. All he was doing was dragging out the time between this moment and the moment where he had to give the order to Vegeta. Really, he should just Instant Transmission over there and get it done. Tear the bandage off. It wasn’t like Vegeta didn’t know what the Destroyer’s job was. It wasn’t as if he had never killed on command before.

Goku sighed, aligned his energy, and–

–and found that he couldn’t sense Vegeta.

The Prince was gone.

*** *** ***

When the gold light cleared, they were on a planet that Goku didn’t recognize.

It was pretty though.

They were surrounded by wilderness, and Goku could sense the energy of the people living on the surface, a little over two billion of them in total, though none of the planet’s indigenous lifeforms were visible at the moment.

He and Whis were in some kind of wetland, surrounded by silvery trees with dark lines of navy-blue leaves that drooped down in long stands. It was nighttime, though it wasn’t dark, because everything on this planet seemed to have some kind of bioluminescence, and there was a soft, everpresent glow that permeated the space. Down in the water, near Goku’s feet, there were all kinds of fish that seemed to glow in every color he could name a few that he couldn’t.

It was all so beautiful, and he wondered if those fish tasted good.

He wondered too, if Vegeta would like this place. After all, now that Goku had been here, he could always Instant Transmission back. They could visit any time.

Probably not, though. To Vegeta planets were just planets. He’d been on thousands of them. Alien plants and animals, no matter how exotic or remarkable, didn’t really impress him. If Goku asked him where he wanted to go, Vegeta would say Earth, and he’d probably want to be with Bulma and his family while he was there.

Something sharp inside of him, like a piece of broken glass. Goku ignored it.

“This is really nice, Whis–”

“I want you to kill everyone on this planet,” said Whis, coolly.

Goku blinked and looked up at him, certain he hadn’t heard the Angel correctly.

“It wasn’t a request,” said Whis, glancing down at him. “You can do it however you like, but blowing it up would be the most efficient way. I’ll shield you from the Void.”

“No–!” Goku frowned. “What!? Why!?”

“If you must know,” said Whis,“because Zeno and the House of Fate have decided that the race of beings who inhabit this world are a danger to the future of Universe Seven.”

“Are they evil or something?” asked Goku.

“That’s inconsequential,” said Whis. “It’s already been decided.”

“Why would Zeno decide that?” Goku demanded, and almost unconsciously, he scanned the planet for energy. There was no one here who could even touch him, the people here, whoever they were, weren’t a threat to anyone. “What’s the House of Fate?”

“They’re some of the people who assist Lord Zeno in his stewardship of All Creation, Goku,” Whis said, patiently. “Like the House of Journeys or the House of the Destroyer.”

“Can they see the future or something?” asked Goku.

“No one can see the future,” said Whis, as though he was speaking to a child, “but their predictions are better than anyone’s.”

“You don’t even know for sure?” Goku scrunched his face up. “Like they’re not even going to do anything evil for a million years or something? Or maybe not ever?”

“Goku–”

“I’ll fight these people when they’re actually doing something bad, or if I have to protect people from them. Not now, and not like this–”

…though that wasn’t the point that Whis was trying to make, Goku realized.

“–but I guess Heaven decides all this stuff and you have to hand down these kinds of orders to Lord Beerus all the time,” said Goku.

“That’s correct,” said Whis. “So if you won’t do it, I’ll go and retrieve him, or Prince Vegeta, perhaps. He knows how to kill on command, and thanks to Frieza, he’s exceptionally talented at it.”

“I don’t think you can do it either,” said Goku.

Whis eyed him. “Excuse me?”

“That’s what you’re trying to tell me, right?” Goku gestured around. “I asked why you never turned your version of Ultra Instinct off and it’s because this would all be too horrible for you to deal with otherwise. You have to have your feelings suppressed or you’d break apart. You don’t really get what’s happening because you’re totally checked out emotionally.”

Whis pressed his lips together, frowned lightly.

“So doesn’t that mean you shouldn’t do it?” Goku went on, tilting his chin up to look Whis in the eye. “I think you’re trying to tell me it’s necessary, but if you can’t even live with the universe you’re working so hard at stewarding or creating or whatever, then why should things be the way they are?”

“You don’t understand–”

“I only let Vegeta call me an idiot because I love him,” said Goku. “So go ahead and explain whatever it is that I’m supposed to understand.”

There was a long pause, but then, Whis did.

*** *** ***

Goku didn’t even waste time searching. He teleported back to the Lookout (though it occurred to him that the people of this planet might not have called it that), and Korin and Popo didn’t seem all that surprised to see him.

“Back already–?”

“Did Vegeta go into the Room?” Goku asked, cutting Korin off.

He hoped it was that. That Vegeta was mad enough at him to use the Room on his own, even knowing that going in alone wasn’t nearly as valuable as having a partner. Hoped that maybe five years of solitude would dull the hot edge of the Prince's anger.

He hoped that Vegeta hadn’t just hidden his energy, used Instant Transmission, and gone somewhere that Goku would never find him. Vegeta was older, after all, much more well-traveled, he knew thousands of places that Goku didn’t.

Korin was shaking his head though. Vegeta wasn’t in the Room.

Still, it wasn’t like the Prince to run away, no matter how angry, or wounded, or afraid he was. Vegeta was actually far more likely to do something that would get himself hurt or killed than he was to back down from a fight. If that’s what he and Goku were in right now, a fight.

Goku didn’t waste any more time questioning Korin. He was already aligning his energy, and he teleported to the cliff they had stood on. Some of the places they had flown over. Up to the peach garden to survey the ruins from there, then back, though he grabbed one of the peaches on his way out, just in case.

No Vegeta.

He was just gone.

Goku had no idea where to find him. He thought he might flip out, he–

No, he thought. Don’t do that. Calm down. Keep your mind still. Think about everything you know.

He forced himself to do it, and he folded his legs and sat down, resting his hands on his knees. Vegeta hadn’t run away, he simply wouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t in his nature. He hadn’t been surprised or killed by a monster, because Vegeta was the strongest being in Universe Seven, other than Goku himself.

Goku took a deep breath, centered himself. Traced where Vegeta’s energy had been, because even when he wasn’t actively looking, the Prince was always there, held somewhere deep inside. Something that lingered after so many fusions. Part of his subconscious.

There was a hole in the world. He’d gone down below the earth somewhere, then gone.

Goku released the breath slowly. Teleported.

Vegeta was absent, but the Godscar was there.

*** *** ***

Vegeta made an annoyed noise, reached over, and it was almost violent as he pulled Goku around to face him. Goku hadn’t really been asleep, just drifting in a half-unconscious miasma, and he twisted on the bed as Vegeta grabbed him.

“Your energy is bothering me, Kakarot,” the Prince snapped the words out, but he reached up and cupped Goku’s cheeks, then touched their foreheads together. His hands were rougher than Goku’s own, the calluses heavier, and they were covered in notches and old scars from beatings and punishments. Three of his fingers had been broken so many times that they didn’t rest evenly.

Vegeta stroked Goku’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

“You know, you’re kinda bad at this,” said Goku, even as he let their auras mix. Hot reds and cool blues. Day and night. Dawn and dusk.

“Am I?” Vegeta asked, and he yawned.

“Yeah,” said Goku.

“Okay,” said Vegeta, and he arranged them so Goku’s head was resting on his shoulder. One of the Prince’s hands came up and he stroked his fingers through Goku’s hair, idly. “That’s fine. What’s on your mind?”

Gods, he didn’t even know where to begin.

He ran his fingers over Vegeta’s chest, feeling the scars that laced across it. The other man had more of them, from claws and fangs and energy burns. From being stabbed and shot and beaten. There was a near-perfect circle through the Prince’s sternum, and Goku put his hand over it.

“Feeling sentimental?” asked Vegeta, and he rested his chin on top of Goku’s head.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” said Goku.

“Kakarot?”

“Hm?”

“There are no love stories with happy endings.”

“But we’re strong enough that we could–”

Vegeta took a deep breath, held it, let it out. “Listen to me,” he said.

“Okay,” said Goku.

“I would never let what was done to me be done to you,” said Vegeta, “or to someone else. I would burn down the universe, I would tear the stars out of the sky. Do you understand?”

“Why is it okay for it to happen to you, then?” asked Goku. He hadn’t known there was a third possibility, and he wondered if Beerus had named someone else.

“It just is,” said Vegeta.

“Are Beerus and Whis evil?” asked Goku.

“No,” said Vegeta. “Of course they aren’t. They’re part of Creation and this is how the ruler of Creation has decided it runs. If they didn’t do their jobs, Zeno would just erase them and replace them with someone who would, maybe with someone worse or more cruel, or maybe just erase our whole universe, if the people here annoyed him enough.”

“Vegeta?”

“Hm?”

“Was Frieza like that?”

Goku felt Vegeta’s fingers tighten in his hair, the way his body went rigid, how he forced himself to relax.

“Not dissimilar,” said Vegeta, at last. “Less powerful, but so was I, so the scale was different.” A pause. “You know, there are people who believe that time is a circle. That no matter where you go or what you do, you’ll eventually end up right back in the place you started from.”

“Do you believe that?” asked Goku. He pressed his face against Vegeta’s neck.

“Apparently I should have,” said Vegeta. His arm tightened, a quick flex, a release. A hug, or at least, that was a hug by Vegeta’s standards. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t, and Goku couldn’t figure out why no one, including him, would do anything about it. For so long now, he’d had Vegeta to back him up, to stand with him, to simply be there with him, no matter what happened. Now there was this, a problem he couldn’t simply fight his way out of, and Goku fidgeted, worried and upset.

“If you can’t sleep,” said Vegeta, idly. “I know something that will help.”

That absolutely wasn’t going to fix anything, but it wasn’t like Goku was going to say no. He tilted his chin up and Vegeta kissed him, almost languid at first, like he was sleepy, but then with increasing urgency. Goku went to take the Prince in his arms, but instead, Vegeta caught him by the shoulders and guided him so he was laying on his back. Vegeta’s hand came up between Goku’s thighs, carefully nudging them apart.

Oh? Alright.

Vegeta usually wanted it the other way around, but that was fine. Nice, even.

Goku rested one hand behind his head, shifting his hips so Vegeta could undress him. They weren’t wearing much. The Temple had outfits for sleeping in, but Goku had never bothered with the whole thing and he only wore the pants part. It was dark, but that didn’t really matter. He could see well enough by sensing Vegeta’s energy, and he knew what the Prince looked like, so he reclined and let Vegeta touch him, trying to just be in the moment and not let his thoughts rest on anything troubling.

Vegeta’s hands were on Goku’s chest, his thighs, his stomach. He kissed Goku’s throat, then grazed it with his fangs, threatening to bite, and maybe it was some Saiyan thing, because the threat combined with the sensation was almost insanely erotic. Goku was achingly hard in an instant, whining to be touched.

“You aren’t a teenager, Kakarot,” Vegeta chided him, even as his hand slid down Goku’s body, gripped him by the base, and stroked him firmly. The pressure was perfect, tight, but not too hard. They knew each other’s bodies pretty well by this point. “Have a little self-control.”

“You’re one to talk about self-control,” Goku said, grinding hard against Vegeta’s hand, gripping the sheets in his own. “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course I did,” said Vegeta. Goku could practically hear him grinning.

The pressure was gone suddenly, Goku’s hips thrusting up against nothing. He whined again, and Vegeta chuckled as he rose from the bed. His voice was low and a little rough, Goku loved the sound of it when it was like that.

“Don’t you dare touch yourself, Kakarot,” Vegeta ordered, and Goku heard him moving things in the dark. There was some oil in one of the drawers near the bed, but it wasn’t like a phial of it had energy you could sense. “Wait for me.”

“Yes, Prince Vegeta,” said Goku, and even though he’d meant it playfully, it came out a little more breathy and obedient-sounding than he’d intended. He heard something break as Vegeta fumbled and dropped it. Not the oil, hopefully.

“Shit.” Vegeta hissed the word out, but came back to the bed. Whatever had fallen was a problem for tomorrow, Goku supposed.

Vegeta was on him then, wielding Goku’s legs apart, his fingers slick as he pushed them in. He was careful, but he wasn’t slow, the touch had a certain easy confidence born from experience. Goku pressed his hips down against it eagerly, and not for the first time, he wondered who else Vegeta had done this for and found that he was jealous of a man he couldn’t even name.

Had Vegeta touched some other guy like this? Goku knew that he must have, considering how good Vegeta was at it. All the little tricks and different positions he knew, the casual confidence about the act that he radiated. Had Vegeta reached for that other guy in his sleep? Curled up in his arms? Had the Prince let his guard down and allowed whoever it was to put their hands on his throat, his back, his tail?

Those last bits rankled way worse than the simple thought that Goku hadn’t been the first man Vegeta had slept with, even though that was true the other way around.

“Are you alright, Kakarot?” Goku could practically see Vegeta’s dark eyes, piercing into him. “Something wrong?”

That was funny, Vegeta didn’t usually bother to read auras and he was kind of shit at it when he did.

“Fine,” said Goku, squirming a little. “Just thinking. I’m ready.”

“Not quite yet,” said Vegeta, curling his fingers inside, making Goku squirm even more. He was already painfully hard and now he was painfully empty. He wanted Vegeta inside.

Thankfully, it was only another moment and Vegeta was satisfied, his fingers slid free and he was on top, framed by Goku’s legs. Goku’s cock rubbed up against the flat, hard muscles of Vegeta’s stomach and he savored the feeling of Sayian body heat as the Prince pushed in. There was a brief moment where the stretch burned lightly, and then they were moving together. One of Vegeta’s hands cupped Goku’s cheek and he turned to kiss the palm. The Prince made a pleased noise.

Compared to Goku, Vegeta was smaller, pretty much all over. There was nothing wrong with that, but he was, and he couldn’t take Goku quite as deeply as Goku could take him. After a moment, Vegeta made a noise of frustration, then shifted his weight. With one hand, the Prince grabbed Goku by the back of the knee and hooked that leg over his shoulder to get a better angle, his fingers digging sharply into Goku’s thigh as he moved him into the correct angle and held him in place. The first thrust after the adjustment struck deeply enough that it dragged a moan out from between Goku’s lips.

There was a barely-audible tch of satisfaction from Vegeta, who leaned down over him, fucking him hard. Goku braced himself against the bed, raising his hips to meet each thrust, the two of them totally in sync. Pressure mounted in the base of his cock, and Goku didn’t ever want this to stop, even as body came to the edge of it.

Above him, Vegeta groaned, half out of breath, and braced against Goku’s chest with his free hand. Goku felt him throb inside. He was close too, holding back maybe.

“Prince Vegeta.” Goku couldn’t help to think of how Vegeta had broken something earlier, and he leaned up a little, intending it to be teasing. “Does this please you?”

It was like those words set something off. Goku saw Vegeta’s lips part, heard him inhale sharply, and he caught the glint of the Prince’s fangs in the nearly non-existent light. Then, without warning, Vegeta lunged and bit him where his shoulder met his neck.

It hurt. Not nearly the worst he’d ever had (and in truth, not even the worst he’d had from Vegeta), but Goku screamed anyway, probably more from the shock and the contrast of pain and arousal than anything. He thrashed, dug his heels into the mattress, and then came, though he couldn’t figure out why. It was hard and messy, spurting against Vegeta’s stomach, clenching down on the cock inside him, raking his fingers over Vegeta’s back, his nails too short to leave marks. He was vaguely aware that Vegeta was coming too, hilted inside him, spilling hotly against his inner walls.

Vegeta let go of Goku’s leg, let it slip back down into the proper position. He seemed to abruptly notice what he’d done, and Goku felt Vegeta’s auras churn with uncertainty.

“Kakarot, I–” Vegeta was bunching up the sheets. He pressed them against Goku’s shoulder. “I can’t believe I did that. Are you alright?”

Goku couldn’t help but to laugh a little.

“Kakarot! This isn’t funny! You don’t understand–”

“Vegeta, you’ve tried to murder me like a dozen times at least.” Goku sat up and ran his hands over Vegeta’s arms, eased him back, felt the Prince’s cock slide free. “So that was nothing, and it’s kind of funny.”

He really didn’t see what the big deal was. Saiyan healing, like Saiyan metabolism, was incredible, after all. The wound was already closing, barely even bleeding. Vegeta was trying to lick the blood off his teeth and saying something else, that maybe Whis could heal it, or do something to get rid of the mark.

“It’s fine,” Goku said, and he used a trick of ki to clean them, and the sheets, up. “I like that I got you that excited.”

“It’s not fine,” Vegeta snapped.

“So then, uh, just don’t bite me again?” Goku shrugged. He couldn’t really make out Vegeta’s face, but he got the impression that it was flushed red. “I’m not mad.”

He reached over and pulled Vegeta into his arms, arranging their bodies so that Vegeta was laying across his chest. Oh yeah, Vegeta’s face was definitely hot, and his aura churned through different, conflicting emotions. Goku grinned a little, thrilled to have gotten such an extreme reaction to something so simple. He already knew he was going to do it again.

“I want to show you something,” he said.

“Right now?” Vegeta mumbled. “We both know that Beerus and Whis aren’t going to go easy on us if we don’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” said Goku, and he vaguely wondered why Whis kept training him if Vegeta had already been picked. Oh well, it probably didn’t matter. “Right now.”

“Fine,” Vegeta muttered. “Alright.”

Goku reached up and touched his forehead, it was a long way, and so he aligned his energy as carefully as he could.

“Wait,” said Vegeta, as he realized what was happening. “Don’t you dare fucking teleport–”

*** *** ***

Vegeta had gone inside it, Goku realized.

…and so, without any hesitation, he followed.

Chapter Text

“–teleport us anywhere you bastard!”

They landed on the grass somewhere, still naked.

Some kind of wetland. Silver trees, dark blue leaves. The ground beneath them was spongy, and Vegeta could already tell by observing how the sky moved that this planet experienced near-perpetual night.

“Do you like this pla–?”

“What the hell, Kakarot?” He shoved the other man away and sat up. “Why would I like being covered in mud!? Go and get our goddamn clothes!”

Kakarot’s expression fell, and he flinched back. He had been hoping for some other reaction, Vegeta realized. The younger man glanced away and touched his fingers to his forehead. Vegeta sighed.

“Just go and get our clothes and then we’ll do whatever it is you wanted to come here for,” said Vegeta, as softly as he could, which was not very softly, considering how annoyed he was.

“Okay.”

There was the now-familiar rush of energy and pop of air. Kakarot was gone.

Vegeta ran his hands over his face. There was no getting around it. He had cheated on his wife, and not just once. At some point this had ceased to be a strictly physical thing, or perhaps it had never been that. It wasn’t as though he didn’t love Bulma. In truth, he couldn’t imagine living without her, it was just that, when he thought about that now, about living for a long time, about having a future, about growing old, about seeing his grandchildren, he imagined Kakarot being part of it too.

Shame about the Saiyan homeworld being blown up. He wouldn’t even have been the first King Vegeta to have had two spouses. No one would have been able to tell him he couldn’t–

What’s wrong with you? Vegeta demanded of himself, and he rested his arms across his knees, and his chin on his arms.

The pop of air.

“Back!” Kakarot called out. He’d dressed himself, at least.

He’d brought Vegeta’s bodysuit and boots, but not his gloves or armor, and he handed them over. Vegeta scowled at him, suddenly annoyed all over again.

“Where’s my armor?” he demanded, even as he started pulling the bodysuit on. “My gloves?”

“Probably on the floor of our bedroom?” Kakarot shrugged, answering a question with a question.

Vegeta liked the way ‘our bedroom’ sounded and felt guilty that he did. He snapped the fabric of the suit to adjust it and make it adhere. “Go get them.”

“I’m not making three trips,” said Kakarot.

“Kakarot?”

“Hm?”

Vegeta rolled his eyes, shoving his feet into his boots. “You’ve already made three trips.”

“Oh, right.” Kakarot grinned. “You’ll be fine. There’s nothing dangerous here.”

A quick scan of the planet’s energy told Vegeta that that was correct, and he turned to look up at Kakarot. “Get on with it then, what do you want to show me?”

Kakarot glanced down at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“You could have asked me something in bed,” said Vegeta, even as he gestured for Kakarot to continue.

“Who was your boyfriend?” asked Kakarot urgently, as though he’d been building up to asking it. “Before, I mean.”

Vegeta stared at him.

“Boyfriends?” asked Kakarot, as though that was the problem.

“No one,” said Vegeta, crisply. “I didn’t have any ‘boyfriends’, or girlfriends, for that matter. You were the first man who ever touched me, and that’s a completely immature word for you to use to describe what happens between us, Kakarot. So don’t use it.”

“I don’t believe you–”

Vegeta felt a surge of emotions. It was hard to pick any of them out. Anger, guilt, shame, fear. Phantom pains lanced through him as his tail tried to uncoil from around his waist and lash. He felt cold. He dug his nails into his palms.

It must have shown in Vegeta’s expression, because Kakarot started babbling. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just that you’re so good at all this stuff and–”

“You already know it was Frieza,” said Vegeta, bluntly.

Kararot’s expression was–

It was repulsive, honestly. There was nothing more disgusting than pity, and even though Earthings were ridiculously vulgar on certain subjects, they would turn around and get up in arms over things that didn’t matter at all. Bulma had been the same way when he’d told her this, and Vegeta swore that if he lived to be a thousand, he still wouldn’t understand it.

“I didn’t think–” Kakarot began.

“You never think. He was the Emperor, and I was his property, a toy that he could play with or discard whenever he pleased.” Vegeta scowled. “I don’t want to talk about this. Show me whatever it is you brought me here to show me and then I want to sleep somewhere that isn’t a mud-covered wetland. Next to you, if you can manage to stop putting your foot in your mouth for even one minute.”

“Come on,” said Kakarot, and he pushed off into the air, soaring away towards the horizon.

Vegeta ignited his auras and followed. Kakarot flew across the expanse of the continent, seemingly with no particular destination in mind and thankfully, silent. It was dark everywhere, perpetual night, and the creatures of this world navigated by some kind of bioluminescence. They used it to communicate and signal to each other, and glowing plants lit their primitive dwellings, tiny seabugs washed up on the shores of the oceans in the uncountable millions, glittering like an expanse of stars. There was no light pollution, and you could practically see forever if you looked up into the sky.

Kakarot slowed down and stopped, Vegeta flew to his side.

“Do you think it’s pretty?” Kakarot asked.

“It’s just a planet,” said Vegeta, shrugging. “Is this supposed to be a date? Showing me a pretty rock you found?”

“So you do think it’s pretty?”

“Get to the fucking point,” Vegeta said, snarling the words out.

“Beerus is going to destroy this planet,” said Kakarot, “or make you do it.”

Vegeta bristled. “You brought us to a planet that Beerus is going to blow up!?”

“Don’t get mad,” said Kakarot. “Hear me out–”

“I’m already mad!” Vegeta cuffed him, wondering how, less than an hour ago, he was contemplating growing old with this man. Though maybe he didn’t need to worry about growing old, if he kept getting dragged into whatever idiotic mess Kakarot had started. “We can’t breathe in space, Kakarot! As powerful as we are, the Void will kill us in an instant! How do you know he’s not somewhere out there right now!?”

“Oh!” Kakarot considered. “... I don’t?”

“KAKAROT!”

“Calm down,” said Kakarot, being entirely too flippant. “I’m not going to let him do it.”

Vegeta took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.

“Do you remember the day I came to Earth?” he asked.

“When you tried to blow it up?” asked Kakarot. “Or some other part of the day?”

“Some other part,” said Vegeta. “When you told Krillin not to cut my head off.”

“I remember,” said Kakarot.

“In that moment,” said Vegeta, “it wouldn’t have mattered to me if he had, the only thing I could have lost was my life. Things are more complicated now. If you’re planning to fight Beerus, I can’t fight him with you. Because if something happens to me, he’s going to take Bulla away, or you. Besides that, we wouldn’t be strong enough, even if we fused–”

“Is that why you don’t care what happens to you?” Kakarot asked.

“I’d call it the opposite of not caring,” said Vegeta, “but yes.”

“I’m not going to fight Beerus,” said Kakarot, quietly. "I wouldn't do that to you."

“Good,” said Vegeta. “At least you have a little sense–”

“I’m going to teleport the planet.”

“You–” Vegeta sputtered. “–you’re going to fucking what!?”

*** *** ***

The Godscar was alive.

Vegeta wondered how he had ever believed otherwise.

It needed to eat, after all.

As powerful as he was, and there was only one person who could claim to be stronger, it pulled him in. Held him in its mouth, crunched him with its teeth, caressed his body with its tongues.

It was unshaped. That was the only word that came to mind. Form without function. Zeno hadn’t been able to die, but he’d been dead all the same, and so he’d become something else. Constantly changing and fundamentally without change. This thing that was killing the multiverse that it was no longer allowed to rule.

There was so much of it, limbs, mouths, teeth, claws, bones, sinews. The thing that the two attendants had killed was as comparable to the Godscar as one of Vegeta’s fingernails would have been comparable to Vegeta himself.

He heard the Gods crying out, and Champa seemed especially loud.

Did that make sense? Did he even care about Champa?

Either he did or Beerus did, though Vegeta supposed that wasn’t an important distinction to make at the moment.

He was badly wounded, he realized. The thing’s teeth had pierced through his chest, his thigh, his abdomen. Ultra Ego surged up to compensate, shrouding him in a halo purple-blue light. Then, he was reacting, his body protecting him without his mind having quite caught up yet.

It was everywhere. There was no safe place, nowhere to put his back, and even as he cut continent-wide sections of it away with surges of ki, Vegeta realized he was standing on it, flying through it, breathing it in. The power expenditure sent his auras into flux, the wine-dark purple that was only for royalty, the afterimage of a Great Ape reflected in the light. A totema.

There was no–

He couldn’t find where he had come in. He had walked through a rift on the planet with the Room, the one that Frieza had used–

In his mind’s eye, he saw Kakarot point upwards, toward the Godscar.

The memory made him seize, and the Godscar sensed his hesitation and struck. Fangs, claws, limbs, Vegeta couldn’t tell. He felt bones break, and his counterswing could have turned a planet to ash. It withdrew, shrieking, and then lunged again.

It was–

You aren’t as strong as Kakarot is now, he told himself, even as the admission stung, and he burned the thing back with the glare of hakai. Your only advantage is that it’s mindless. Fucking think.

Vegeta’s mind raced.

If it was made of the Gods, and the Gods became energy when they died, then he could–

*** *** ***

“Kakarot!” Vegeta flew after the younger man. “Stop! Come back here!”

To Vegeta’s immense surprise, Kakarot did stop. He landed on a cliff somewhere, though Vegeta had lost track of where they were. It was too dark, no landmarks, and this was an unfamiliar planet. He landed next to Kakarot, and turned to look up at him.

“Take us back to the Destroyer’s temple,” said Vegeta, urgently.

“You can live with all these people being killed?” asked Kakarot.

“I can live with having no choice,” said Vegeta.

Kakarot glanced down at him.

“You get used to it,” Vegeta said, bluntly. “Are you trying to start a war with Heaven?”

“...no?” Kakarot shrugged. “I’m just going to move the planet.”

“You have to know that even if you somehow managed not to kill yourself,” said Vegeta, scowling, “Whis is just going to find the planet again, regardless of what you do.”

“Right,” said Kakarot, “but he got told to have Beerus destroy this specific planet in this specific place. If we move it, and then maybe fly around and tell everyone here to call the planet something else–”

Gods, he was– Vegeta blinked. He was serious.

“–and I’m not going to kill myself. A planet can’t weigh that much.”

“I need to know what the fuck you’re basing that on,” said Vegeta.

“I figure I could deadlift King Kai’s planet pretty easily,” said Goku, as though it was obvious. “I can teleport other people, and a planet is alive, just like a person is. I mean, I can teleport you, and your ki is way stronger and more complex than a planet’s is.”

“Do you have any concept of the physics involved, or of how fast this planet is moving relative to–”

“Vegeta,” said Kakarot, cutting him off. “You already know that I don’t.”

“...then,” said Vegeta, “are you trying to save me? This is some kind of misguided attempt to show me that the God of Destruction doesn’t have to kill people?”

“No,” said Kakarot. “Yes?”

Vegeta seized him by the wrist and hauled him into the trees that lined the cliff. Kakarot allowed it, apparently in no hurry, despite the impending doom that hung over their heads. Together, they walked until Vegeta found somewhere to sit, a place where one of the trees had fallen across another. He shoved Kakarot down onto it and glowered at him.

“Explain yourself, idiot.” Vegeta glanced skyward momentarily. “Before we’re annihilated in a chain of cataclysms when Beerus blows the planet up.”

“We could try,” said Kakarot, plainly. “To save these people. To change their fate.”

“...and if that doesn’t work?” Vegeta demanded. “You think you know better than the House of Fate? Better than Heaven? What if the next Frieza is from here, and a thousand years after you and I are dust, he burns down the universe?”

“I don’t think we get to make that decision,” said Kakarot.

“Lucky for us then,” Vegeta said, crisply. “We didn’t make it.”

“I still think we have to try.”

“You’re going to fight Heaven for people you don’t even know?” Vegeta asked. “For people who will never even know you did this for them?”

“If I have to.”

“The Legendary Super Saiyan,” Vegeta mused.

“You really think so?”

“I do,” Vegeta admitted. “Don’t get a big head.”

“You’re one to talk,” said Kakarot. He stood up. “Ready?”

“I suppose I am,” said Vegeta, stepping back. Being next to Kakarot sometimes made Vegeta feel as though he was standing in the shadow of a mountain, that he was caught up in something greater than himself. That feeling had come over him less and less as time passed, especially since they were about even in strength now, but this was one of those times. “Show me.”

Kakarot went out to the cliff, Vegeta followed. He kicked off his shoes, leaving them to one side as they came to the edge. He squeezed the grass with his toes.

“I need to be touching whatever I’m going to teleport,” he explained.

“Robustly scientific, Kakarot,” said Vegeta.

“Alright,” said Kakarot, and his energy went still as he centered himself. He closed his eyes, breathing out, and he drew his hands through the air in a smooth gesture, as though he was going to adopt a fighting stance.

Nothing happened.

Nothing continued to happen for a minute or so. Vegeta crossed his arms, annoyed.

“Kakarot–?”

“It’s, uh, it’s harder than it looks,” Kakarot admitted, eyes still closed.

“Giving up?” asked Vegeta.

“Have I ever?”

Kakarot’s auras surged to life, red-silver, the sun cresting the horizon, the light of dawn. They reached up into the sky in a corona of power, then down over the cliffs, streaking through the wetlands, encompassing the ocean, folding the world up inside them. There was an afterimage in the light, a totema, as the rulers of the universe were said to have, a dragon. Like Shenron, but the coils of it were somehow grander.

Or perhaps there wasn’t, as soon as Vegeta thought he saw it, it was gone.

There was a moment when it seemed like it was going to work. He felt Kakarot’s energy surge, an ocean of power with no shore. Then, the planet reacted.

It was true that a planet was alive, and also true that it wasn’t as strong as they were.

…but it was bigger, and the reserves of energy in its leylines were close enough to infinite that there was no need to make the distinction. It recognized them as foreign invaders, didn’t realize they were trying to help (if, in fact, that’s what they were trying to do) and it surged up in response, trying to root Kakarot out. It pushed back against him, cracks formed in his energy, Kakarot’s face twisted in pain.

“Stop,” said Vegeta, harshly. “Kakarot! It’s not going to work!”

“I can’t!” Kakarot gasped the words out. “Vegeta–!”

His father had tried to teach him this lesson a long time ago, when he’d shown Vegeta how to shape moonlight with his hands. He’d heard it in more detail, listening to Frieza’s sorcery instructors, back when he’d been chained to the foot of the Emperor’s throne. It was actually absurdly simple. There were only two outcomes with this kind of power. Once you started shaping it, you had to finish it or you had to die in the attempt.

Kakarot probably wouldn’t have called what he was doing magic, but it went far beyond simple ki control. He was intruding on things that belonged to the rulers of the universe.

…and it was going to kill him. It was definitely going to kill him.

“Kakarot,” said Vegeta, his thoughts racing. “Let me help.”

The other man was caught in the grip of it, a storm of energy surrounded them, and the eye of it was rapidly closing on them. For a second, Vegeta thought he hadn’t heard, but Kakarot managed to nod, just barely.

Fission - the disruption of energy - was more complicated than its opposite. One of the few exceptions to the rule that it was more difficult to create than destroy. On top of that, Vegeta had no idea if he could hold back the energy of an entire world. Or for how long.

He took a breath. Held it. Let it out.

Vegeta raised his hands, and the planet’s energy was smooth, cool, dark. Like deep water, and when he went to part it, to push it aside, it was like trying to deadlift the ocean. The pain was pure, intense, brilliant. He felt Ultra Ego flare though his auras to try and compensate, to keep his heart from exploding, he assumed.

The barrier between them and the planet’s energy had to be perfect. Any seam would let the planet seize it, wedge his power apart and root them out. Like a circle, thought Vegeta, though he couldn’t remember how he knew that, like the moon.

How long it went on, Vegeta couldn’t say. If someone had been there to put the question to him, he might have said days, though in the back of his mind he knew it had to be less than a minute.

Kakarot reached up, his arm shaking as he touched his fingers to his forehead.

The rush of energy–

And then–

*** *** ***

Fission made the Godscar scream in horror. It was pure energy, and the barrier that Vegeta surrounded himself hedged it out. It drew back and stuck. It caught the sphere of dead energy that Vegeta surrounded himself with and tried to crush it in its coils. Squeezed until the agony was too much, then drew back and struck again.

He was bleeding. His tail hung limply where muscles in his abdomen had been punctured. There was a hole punched through his thigh. Not that it mattered at the moment, but if there had been any ground here, he wouldn’t have been able to walk. Ultra Ego processed the pain reflexively, on some other level of consciousness. All that filtered through was the fact that he was grievously injured.

There were no landmarks. He couldn’t tell which way he’d come from or where to go, and trying to concentrate on anything other than keeping the barrier up was distracting. A blow battered against it, and it retracted. Another, cracks formed. He couldn’t line up the Instant Transmission and hold back the tide of energy.

Though he already knew that from experience, he supposed.

Vegeta’s thoughts frayed apart.

Bulla was graduating from medical school. Trunks was telling him that he wanted to be a Reclaimer. Bulma was taking his hand, explaining to him that she just wanted to be with him and that she wasn't going to see another doctor. He’s in bed with Kakarot, right before the end. Bulma is showing him Bulla, she’s making him new armor, she’s asking if he wants to hold Trunks, even just for a minute. He’s on Namek, in pain, laying in the grass. Krillin offers his hand, Vegeta takes it. He tells Nappa that he doesn’t care about Raditz, then goes to Earth to avenge him anyways. He’s a soldier in the Frieza Force, the Emperor’s favorite pet. Nappa is telling him about the meteor impact, and he doesn’t believe it, even at seven years old. His father is explaining to him how to shape light. Vegeta feels the man holding him by the wrists to demonstrate, but he can’t recall his face.

Like a circle, like the moon.

Frieza puts his hands on Whis, and the Angel accepts it with the same placid tranquility that he accepts everything with. It drives Vegeta (though he thinks his name is Beerus) mad, he attacks Frieza. Heaven is falling apart. Nothing afterwards. He’s in love with his attendant in a simple, uncomplicated way. He’s the pharaoh of Haluket. His advisors are saying something to him, that the war is going well, though he’s barely paying attention. He’s walking through the halls of the Solar temple, with Champa. One of his concubines had a child, and they present it to him. He’s with Champa again, and they’re children, playing in the river. The waters are the center of their world, holy and divine, but he can’t recall their name. No one knows it, now that Beerus is gone.

Someone is speaking. Whis is telling him that the entire cosmos is going to be erased, and replaced with another, nothing more than a toy that failed to amuse. He’s a soldier again, from the High City, this time. He’s the one to suggest the distraction. They play the game in the place where he comes from, invented to keep the God Emperor’s attention away from important things. Whis comes up with calling them the games of divinity. The Angels are building the dome to house them in.

He’s the prince of Azurant. He’s a killer of worlds, from the Black Empire, and he defects to join a rebellion started by a man in the lowest possible caste. The faces of people he doesn’t know drift past. Lovers and husbands and wives and children. The memories become less and less clear the further back he goes. It’s a lot of life, flashing before his eyes. He wonders how many times the Destroyer’s essence has changed hands. How many times Creation has been washed clean and rebuilt. It seems like a thousand, at least.

…and not that it matters, but apparently his divinity has a type.

So maybe Kakarot and Beerus are right. It couldn’t have been anyone.

Maybe–

*** *** ***

Beerus hooked his foot under Vegeta’s prone body and used it to turn him over, onto his back. The Destroyer was far less gentle with Kakarot, and the kick that turned him over and onto his side broke ribs. Kakarot barely cried out. They were too fucked up. Vegeta couldn’t recall the last time he’d ruined his body or his energy like this. Probably when Frieza had beaten him to death. He felt like he was about a step away from that.

Looking up at the sky, Vegeta thought they might have fallen from the cliff they’d been standing on. It was still night, but the firmament was a different color, a lighter shade of blue, threatening dawn.

“Oh,” said Kakarot, weakly. “Heya Lord Beerus.”

“Get up,” said Beerus.

The Destroyer loomed over them, and although he wasn’t impressive by most physical standards, there was death in every motion of his body. Doom spilled out into his auras, the energy of them imperious and darkly glorious. Whis was somewhere in the background, taking readings with his staff, inspecting the environs, commenting idly to himself.

Kakarot tried to obey and failed immediately. Vegeta didn’t bother.

“Can’t,” said Kakarot. “Are you gonna kill us?”

“I’m thinking about it,” said Beerus, crossing his arms.

“Okay,” said Kakarot, and he reached over and took Vegeta’s hand, linked their fingers together. “Let me know when you decide.”

“Did it work?” asked Vegeta, and he realized that if Beerus was threatening to kill them, they must still be alive.

“The planet’s in a different place,” said Whis, as he came over, to stand at the Destroyer's side. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

“You two are lucky I didn’t annihilate you from orbit,” said Beerus. “We saw everything, you fucking idiots.”

Kakarot grinned. “Did you hear that, Vegeta?”

Vegeta rolled his eyes. Kakarot squeezed his hand. It had been impossible and they had gone ahead and done it anyway. Maybe they really were invincible together. Maybe there was no upper limit.

“On the subject of annihilating things from orbit,” said Whis, glancing at Beerus.

Beerus stroked his chin, considering.

“No,” said Beerus at last. “No, I don’t think so. It’s like Goku said. The planet I was supposed to destroy was in a different place. The House of Fate is very exacting in their descriptions.”

Kakarot laughed triumphantly, almost giddy, if not for the grinding wheeze from his broken ribs. There was blood on his lips. His energy was almost totally gone. Vegeta doubted he looked any better. He couldn’t turn his auras on. He could feel the feedback from maintaining the fission in his bones. He felt brittle.

Hell of a zenkai boost, Vegeta supposed. Not that those mattered much anymore.

“Ah,” said Whis. “Tell me, Lord, do you think He the Most High and the House of Fate will accept that explanation?”

Beerus shrugged.

“If they don’t, I suppose I’ll be erased.” The Destroyer raised his foot, and before Kakarot could move out of the way, the Destroyer brought it down on their joined hands, grinding until bones broke. Vegeta cried out, the pain ricocheting up into his shoulder. Kakarot coughed up blood. “Whis?”

Whis was watching dispassionately. He was graceful, distant, poised, his expression neutral. It was the same way the Angel watched and did everything, actually.

The Angel tilted his head, just slightly. “Lord Beerus?”

“If that should happen, I want you to make sure that Goku never sees Vegeta again.” The pressure from Beerus’ foot vanished, Vegeta jerked his broken hand away, held it against his chest. The Destroyer leaned down over them. “An order, Whis.”

“You can’t–” Kakarot protested.

Vegeta felt his heart seize. It was a worse threat than just being killed. “Lord Beerus–”

“Of course, Lord.” Whis inclined his head. “Saiyans, I would suggest considering my Lord’s words before the two of you decide to try something like this again.”

“Adjust the planet’s orbit, Whis.” Beerus turned away and stalked off, waving one hand. “Let’s not let these morons cause a mass extinction or start an ice age after all the trouble they went to.”

Wordlessly, Whis released his staff, which floated along autonomously. He gestured with both hands, the stars turning, the sky darkening until it was the same shade it had been before. He could have moved the planet himself, Vegeta realized, with almost no effort, but that wasn’t the way divinity worked. The arc of the universe was bent towards pleasing Zeno, not saving people.

“I trust the two of you can make your own way back,” said Whis.

…and he left them there, laying the dirt.

*** *** ***

It wasn't Kakarot who found him, but a silver-blue copy, formed from his auras. Body and spirit, operating independently, autonomous of each other. Some ascended level of Ultra Instinct that Vegeta hadn’t seen before, and wouldn’t have previously been able to conceptualize. Kakarot never failed to impress.

There was more than one copy, actually. One of them caught Vegeta in his arms as the fission failed, cradling him against its chest. Another one turned back the Godscar. A third put its hand on Vegeta’s arm and touched its fingers to its forehead.

He was only vaguely aware of the Instant Transmission.

The real Kakarot was here, panicked, desperate, and he caught Vegeta as the aura copy faded. Set him down on the ground. Vegeta felt warm hands on his face. Kakarot was doing something, and then he tilted Vegeta’s chin up, gripped him by the jaw, kissed him. Held him in place so he couldn’t flinch away. There was something in his mouth, peach juice, chewed up fruit.

Urgh. Disgusting, but at least he’d figured out how it worked, and Vegeta tried to swallow.

There was so much blood–

It was–

He woke up in bed.

He was on Beerus’ estate, in the Destroyer’s room, instead of the room they’d used when they’d been brought here the first time. The bed was huge, grand, ostentatious. Kakarot was in it with him, his chest pressed against Vegeta’s back, the other man’s arms around him. One of Kakarot’s hands rested on his thigh, over the spot where the wound that had punctured through it had been. Vegeta could sense a low, but constant, transfer of energy, like an intravenous drip.

There was another Kakarot laying in front of him, an aura copy. One hand over the abdominal wound, another on Vegeta’s chest, over the spot where one of his lungs had been breached. They were both aura copies, actually, and they glowed faintly, silvery blue.

“Kakarot…?”

“You told me not to touch you,” said one of the copies. Its voice echoed hollowly, as though the actual Kakarot was very far away.

He’d said that, hadn’t he? He nodded to Kakarot, just a little.

“You almost died,” said the copy in front of him. “I had to, with the peach.”

“It’s okay,” said Vegeta.

“Were you…” Kakarot hesitated, uncertain. It didn’t suit him, the most powerful being in Creation. The de facto ruler of the universe. “...trying to kill yourself?”

“No,” said Vegeta, he was too exhausted to be angry with Kakarot. “I said I wouldn’t leave you and I won’t. The Godscar called out to me. It’s alive, or something like it. I heard Champa’s voice, I went to get him.”

“You can hear it?” asked Kakarot.

“When I got close enough,” said Vegeta. It seemed odd that he could and Kakarot couldn’t, but on the other hand, he was a God and Kakarot was… was something else. Vegeta shifted in the arms of the copies. “...and for fuck’s sake, Kakarot, at least come and talk to me in person. Avoidance doesn’t suit you.”

The copies vanished instantly, leaving Vegeta alone in the bed. A moment later, the door opened and Kakarot stepped inside, he must have been pacing just outside the door, and he came to the edge of the bed and sat down on it. Vegeta sat up. He was naked, but that hardly mattered. It wasn’t like there was any part of his body that Kakarot hadn’t seen or touched.

“Champa?” asked Kakarot.

“He’s my twin brother,” said Vegeta, though he realized that that wasn’t right somehow, and he shook his head, trying to clear the memories. “I saw– Whis’ essence was never recycled, was it?”

“No,” said Kakarot. “Not ever.”

“It must be a lot–”

“Beerus was in love with him, but he couldn’t ever have loved Beerus back,” said Kakarot. “I guess, in some way, he’s getting to feel what it’s like now.”

“Kakarot–”

“It’s just painful, mostly.”

Vegeta sighed and looked away. It wasn’t enough of an apology. Nevermind that, it wasn’t even an apology. He was never going to get one, Vegeta knew that already. Kakarot didn’t regret what he’d done. The Prince would be waiting until the stars burned out, if he was, in fact, waiting on that.

They sat together in silence for a long time.

“We can’t leave them there,” said Vegeta, at last. “...but even if you could use spirit channeling to pull one of them to us and even if I could be precise enough with fission to cut the Godscar apart, they’d still be dead. There wouldn’t be anywhere for them to go, they’d get sucked right back in. The spirit world is too badly damaged. Reincarnation can’t work in reverse.”

“Yeah,” said Kakarot. “We don’t know how to fix it, and Vegeta, if you had died–”

“Whis didn’t know?” asked Vegeta, cutting him off. He didn’t want to dwell on the implications.

“Maybe,” said Kakarot. “I’m not sure. It’s not like that. I don’t know everything he knew. What happened was more complicated than him just giving his power to me.”

“We need help,” said Vegeta. “More than we have, but don’t run off and kidnap anyone else.”

“Who, then?”

“I need to think,” said Vegeta. He started to get up, every part of his body hurt. Worse now, without the copies feeding him power, but there was no possible way he was going to ask Kakarot to get into bed with him. Not even a simulacrum of Kakarot. Not ever again, if he could help it.

“You should rest,” said Kakarot. “When I found you, it looked like you’d been chewed to bits.”

“I think it must be mostly you in there,” said Vegeta, even as he collapsed against the sheets. “Whis was much more eloquent.”

“Can I stay?” asked Kakarot.

“Do you even need to sleep?” asked Vegeta.

“Not anymore,” said Kakarot. “Maybe I could if I wanted to. I haven’t tried in a long time.”

“You can guard me,” said Vegeta. “If you want.”

“Yeah,” said Kakarot. “Okay.”

He got up and went to stand on the balcony. Sat on the railing and looked out over the ruins of Heaven. Vegeta turned away, closed his eyes.

Eventually, he drifted off into troubled sleep.

Chapter Text

A few days after Trunks turned twenty-one, some splinter faction of some would-be Empire had attacked the Galactic Union, and shortly after that, some of the people out there had called Vegeta to come and help.

Broly lived in the Central Worlds with his wife or girlfriend or whatever, but just pointing him in the direction of whatever problem they were having and turning him loose was a terrible idea, so Trunks’ father had said he would go out and deal with it. The conflict probably wouldn’t come anywhere close to Earth, but even so, Vegeta told Gohan and Piccolo to stay alert. There were always raiders and pirates looking to take advantage of galactic instability.

He kissed Bulma and Bulla, said he’d be back in eight months. Went to embrace Trunks.

“Can I come?” Trunks asked, he wasn’t sure why he’d said it. Maybe because going on a space adventure had seemed cool at the time. Maybe because Goten was increasingly distant. Trunks couldn’t remember the last time he’d answered a text.

Vegeta blinked, visibly shocked by the question. He glanced at Bulma, for permission.

“Sure,” she said. She loved being a cool mom, though that was probably a lot easier when you had infinite money and your husband was a God. She didn’t even bring up how many classes he was going to miss, but Trunks supposed she could have bribed any university she wanted. “Just be careful, listen to your father.”

Trunks was fucking delighted, it felt like he a kid again. Like he was getting away with something.

“Can I bring Goten?” he asked, deciding to press his advantage.

“If his mother says it’s alright,” said Vegeta. No mention of Goten’s father. Vegeta almost never talked about him.

“I’ll be right back!” Trunks spirited across the lawn and tore off into the sky in a glare of light. He could have cast his senses out to find Goten, but he didn’t need to. He already knew where his friend was, and he crossed the shallow, warm waters of the South Sea and headed straight for Kame House.

There were some girls here, there usually were. Different ones from last time. A few of them were sunbathing shirtless on beach chairs that littered the sand, and they stared at him as he flew down.

“Hi,” he said, awkwardly. Waved with one hand.

“Heya cutie,” said one of them, looking him up and down over the rims of her sunglasses. “You can fly too?”

Yeah, sorry. Thanks, but not interested.

Trunks pointed. “Is Goten inside?”

She nodded, looking disappointed, and Trunks ignored her and went inside. Goten was sitting in the main room, doing what he normally did, which was getting high, looking at Roshi’s weird porn, and screwing college girls. They were basically the same height, but Goten was just unconscionably fucking jacked. It was insane the way the dude could put on muscle. Even if Trunks had devoted every spare minute to working out, he could never have kept up.

There was a naked girl in Goten’s lap, but he glanced around her when Trunks came in.

“Hey man,” Goten said. “Wanna join us–”

“I’m going to space,” said Trunks, cutting him off, because he already knew that whatever words followed those ones were going to be a hard ‘no’. “Want to come?”

“To space?”

“Like, for a space war?”

“I’m good,” said Goten, turning back to the girl. “Have fun.”

Oh, alright. So that was that. Trunks struggled to come up with some protest that wouldn’t seem like he was begging for Goten’s attention, and when he couldn’t, he backed away, went out, and flew home. The flight back was significantly more subdued. Vegeta was already on one of the ships, running the safety checks. He didn’t seem surprised to see Trunks come back alone.

“He’s not coming,” said Trunks.

“Ah,” said Vegeta. He pointed at the co-pilot’s chair. “Sit there. I’ll teach you how to fly her.”

Trunks slid into the co-pilot's chair and tried not to be angry or bitter. He wondered if it would kill Goten to look at him the way he looked at random girls he didn’t know. Like, dude, you could share a body but you couldn’t–

Actually, you know what? Nevermind. Trunks had better things to do with his life.

“Are you sure you want to come?” Vegeta asked, suddenly.

Vegeta wasn’t usually very good at sensing energy, but Trunks realized he must have been stewing especially hard.

“Yeah,” said Trunks. “I’m fine. It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

Vegeta nodded, and he started showing Trunks how to run the safety checks. How to program the engines. Space was incredibly dangerous. It was one of the most unforgiving environments in existence. No matter how powerful they were, they couldn’t survive in the Void. Trunks nodded, listening. It wasn’t a long flight to the Interior, only a day and a half.

“Is Goten’s dad ever coming back?” Trunks asked, about twenty hours in.

Vegeta flinched. Glanced over at him, then glanced back at the holoscreen readouts. “No, he’s not.”

“Did he die?” asked Trunks.

“No,” said Vegeta. A pause. “Yes. I don’t know.”

Trunks frowned. “Does Gohan know?”

“He’s a scientist,” said Vegeta. “If you need a more scholarly answer, you could ask him.”

“Tch.” Trunks crossed his arms. “Goten’s mom thinks he, I don’t know, turned into God or something.”

“Let her think that if it helps her accept what happened,” said Vegeta. “She’s not hurting anyone.”

“I think it messed up Goten real bad,” said Trunks, and he glanced over at Vegeta, who was looking straight ahead. Rigid, jaw set. The man was like that sometimes. “Like everything, not just his mother, though I don’t know if how she talks about it is helping.”

Vegeta glanced over at him.

“Should I have stayed with him?” asked Trunks.

“Was he a danger to himself?” asked Vegeta.

“I don’t think so,” said Trunks. “Mostly he just hangs out at Kame House smoking bluethistle with like, this rotating stable of college girls.”

“Then, no. You shouldn’t have stayed.” Vegeta snorted, derisive. “He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“Okay,” said Trunks. Silence, for a moment. “Did you used to live out here?”

“I didn’t live anywhere until your mother said I could stay at her house,” said Vegeta.

He tapped the console, brought up a star map, and started pointing things out. The Interior, the Central Direction of, well, space. Frieza’s old Empire. It was gone now, but outside of its old borders was the Threshold, divided into north, south, east, and west, and then heavensward and wyldsward, which approximated up and down in the infinite expanse. Earth was in the Galactic North, wyldsward. So were the ruins of Old Namek.

“What about our planet?”

Vegeta glanced at him, but touched his gloved fingertip to an empty expanse of space. The Galactic East, wyldsward.

“Did you… ever think about going to live on Planet Sadala?” asked Trunks.

“I would have liked to see it,” Vegeta admitted, “but no. Not without the three of you, and I suppose I’ve become fond of some of Kakarot’s idiot friends. It doesn’t matter, it’s impossible to get there now.”

“Really?” It was weird for Vegeta to elaborate, but if he was in the mood for it, Trunks wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

“Heaven used to have something called the House of Journeys,” said Vegeta. “It was against divine law to use Instant Transmission or powers like it, and the Yardrats were– still are, confined to their own planet. The House of Journeys were the heavenly attendants who maintained a sort of divine causeway that spanned Creation. It’s what allowed the Angels and Gods to traverse the Void, or go to the other universes.”

“Sort of?” asked Trunks.

“I had no idea how it worked and it’s gone now,” said Vegeta. “Want to fly the ship?”

Trunks nodded eagerly, and managed to break into a grin.

*** *** ***

Sitting against the wall in the cavern, Trunks watched the rift of the Godscar and called Bonyu, Ellery (his other younger sister), and Oatmeel, in that order.

Bonyu was clipped and business-like. Sorry about your loss. She’d scan the Galatic datanets for anything that seemed related to what was happening on Earth. After that, Trunks talked to Ellery for forty minutes. Did he need her to come out there? How was it going? Was he okay? He lied and said everything was fine. Oatmeel chirped into the scouter, his voice mechanical and tinny. He could be there in a few minutes if Trunks needed him, not that Saiyans usually needed aimbots or combat assistants for anything, but he could be moral support. He told Oatmeel to stay with the Senate. He’d be back soon.

Gohan had told Bulla that Vegeta hadn’t killed himself, but Trunks wasn’t so sure. Vegeta had killed himself at least once before, and identified his earlier behavior on Earth and Namek as, if not outright suicidal, deeply self-destructive, though Trunks hadn’t brought that up to his sister.

In Trunks’ mind, it was possible, at least. Even after all his time on Earth, Vegeta was probably too proud to let anyone other than himself choose how he died, and Trunks smirked a little, thinking of it. The other very real possibility was that Goku had taken him. To Heaven, maybe, and Trunks had a few thoughts about why.

He fished his secondary communicator - his phone - out of his uniform jacket.

It was more than two decades old, and the screen was spiderwebbed with cracks, but it begrudgingly powered on. He flicked idly through the screens, watching the Godscar out of the corner of one eye. It was clearly giving off energy, Trunks could see it, but he couldn’t sense it. It had to be divine ki, then. Vegeta had told Trunks that even after becoming Gods themselves, it had taken Kakarot and him time to figure out how to read divine ki.

It was weird, though, because Bulla had sensed it. Or heard it call out or something.

There were a handful of texts from his mother on the phone, the account connected to them long-since deleted, servers rotting in a scrap pile somewhere, so her picture was gone. They were mostly about nothing, but Trunks scrolled through and read them anyways.

They could probably make a God if they wanted to, and whoever it was might be able to see where the Godscar went and how it was getting into their universe. Or fly up to the source of it, to heal it. They just needed six Saiyans, and Trunks counted them out on his fingers. On Earth, there was Gohan and Bulla and Pan. Himself and Ellery out in space. If the ritual worked with Pan’s kids, they hit six easily, if it didn’t…

Trunks usually kept his phone on when he was out in space, plugged into a special deck on his ship, just in case, but Goten, who was right there at the top of Trunks’ list of contacts, had never called. Whatever. He was probably busy or something. Hell, with all the girlfriends Goten had, maybe there were a few dozen quarter-Saiyans running around on Earth, causing trouble.

Trunks pressed his thumb to the call button. The phone hummed, a message came up.

[NUMBER DISCONNECTED]

*** *** ***

Aesea Sigma, the old Imperial Capital, was chaotic.

Saiyans had better-than-human senses, but Trunks felt like the reverberating noise of the city was an assault. Ships landing and taking off, the roar of the lightning towers, the thrum of engines and the shrieks of machinery. The people.

The people were everywhere. There was no end to them. Most of the people looked like brench-seijin, and Trunks vaguely understood that these were their original homeworlds, but there were aliens of every body type and size imaginable (and some that Trunks hadn’t imagined before). It seemed like everyone needed to shout to be heard or something, and languages that Trunks didn’t recognize shot back and forth through the air.

Previously, Trunks had thought of himself as somewhat worldly and cosmopolitan. He’d been on lots of vacations with his mother, he’d seen most of the places on Earth, but this was a whole other beast, and it made him feel small. He glanced over at Vegeta, who wasn’t paying attention to any of it. The older man could have been the only one on the docking platforms, for all the acknowledgement he gave to the chaos.

It was funny, because Vegeta didn’t like parties or social events, and it had always seemed to Trunks that the man got ruffled easily, that Vegeta had difficulty handling even simple things, like parent-teacher meetings or attending school events. Even after twenty-something years, Vegeta frequently seemed stilted and awkward with things on Earth.

Really though, Trunks realized that it was just that Vegeta had a whole different set of social skills, for surviving in a different kind of life.

Vegeta barked something at the, uh, at the spaceship parking attendant and tossed him something. Money was Trunks’ guess, though he couldn’t understand what Vegeta was saying. Oh, wait, he was speaking another language. Wait. Vegeta could speak another language?

That made sense. They probably didn’t speak Earth’s language out in space.

“Come on,” said Vegeta, gesturing to Trunks. “Don’t stare at people.”

“Huh?”

“It’s rude.”

Vegeta’s auras ignited and he flew off in the direction of a grand series of buildings that towered over the landscape. Trunks took one last glance around and followed him.

It turned out that the buildings were called the High Seat, and they were where the government lived. It seemed like the High Seat was barely less chaotic than the city itself. People were sprinting and flying everywhere, carrying messages, giving orders, arguing with each other. Everyone was in a hurry, but some people came out to meet with Vegeta and give him directions.

Cheelai was here, but not Broly. He didn’t like the city, it was too much for him, and yeah, Trunks definitely felt that. The Legendary Super Saiyan lived on one of the planet’s outer moons, someplace private and quiet, but he was available if Vegeta needed him.

Then there was Bonyu and Salza, old commanders who had served the House of Cold. Ex-soldiers, like Vegeta was. Trunks had expected that Vegeta wouldn’t get along with them, but he actually seemed to have a soft spot for former Frieza Force (or Armored Squadron, in Salza’s case) members. Bonyu and Salza were both brench-seijin, and as Trunks understood it, the House of Cold had co-copted their entire society, twisting their culture and religion into a machine to serve the Demons of Frost. A bit like Saiyans, Trunks figured, only without all the slavery and genocide.

The brench-seijin seemed small on average. Salza, who was blue and whip-thin, was considered outrageously tall by their standards, and he wasn’t all that much taller than Vegeta was. Bonyu was red, and she was short and thick, with very long hair. Vegeta embraced her roughly.

“Frieza is dead,” he said, and it had the affectionate tone of someone greeting a very old friend. “Forever, this time.”

That was weird too, to think that Vegeta had old friends.

“I know,” she said, and she was like, almost choked up. She embraced Vegeta in return. He thumped her back.

Okay, so it was apparently a pretty big deal to all of them.

“Is this the son you’re always bragging about?” Salza asked, inspecting Trunks. The man had an incredibly strong accent, Western Imperial, where Cooler had ruled. “He certainly has the look of a Saiyan, but why isn’t his hair black?”

Trunks felt his face heat up. He hadn’t pictured Vegeta talking about him to anyone at all, let alone bragging about him. It seemed, suddenly, that there was so much about the man he didn’t know.

“He is,” said Vegeta, “and he takes after his mother.”

“I suppose that explains why he’s not wretchedly ugly,” said Salza, crisply.

“Eat shit and die,” Vegeta snapped.

“Fuck you,” said Salza in return, and he and Vegeta embraced too. They repeated the assertion that Frieza was dead.

“His name is Trunks,” said Vegeta, “or Vegeta the Fifth, whichever you prefer.”

“Uh–” said Trunks, and he waved a little. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

Salza nodded to him, and then they were being hurried along, escorted into a big hall with lots of people, most of them soldiers and officers, though a few of them were representatives of various planets. An arc of holoscreens filled the back half of the room, casting everything in an eerie blue light. On a few of them, violent, chaotic scenes were playing out. The others displayed force projections, star charts, planetary maps, and fleet positions.

Trunks had expected Vegeta to get annoyed with these people and storm off, like he would have from a party or a crowded place on Earth, or complain about the blue light or all the noise, but instead he pushed off from the floor and flew up to the holoscreens. Some of the officers followed him, and Vegeta started giving directions and pointing things out, occasionally listening to Bonyu or Salza’s input, or holding court with the officers from other places, like he was the one in charge here.

Oh.

Wait, hold on.

Vegeta was the one in charge here, Trunks realized, and he flew up after the man awkwardly, hovering near Vegeta’s right shoulder. Vegeta glanced back, gripped him by the arm, and wielded Trunks up next to him with absolutely no pause in what he was doing, which was organizing fleet deployments. The message was simple: pay attention.

Gods, Trunks tried to. If nothing else, it was a thousand times more interesting than trying to memorize math formulas, or being told to list the names of Earth’s kings. It wasn’t the kind of thing you learned in a day, though, and Trunks knew that Frieza had had Vegeta since he’d been six years old. Even before that, the Saiyans had been slaves since at least the time of Vegeta’s grandfather. That they had been considered fit for labor or the military as soon as they turned five.

“You’re good at this kind of thing,” Trunks said, when the room began to clear out.

“I’ve been doing it a long time,” said Vegeta.

“Can’t you just–” Trunks shrugged. “Go kill all the invaders yourself? You must be the most powerful person alive. Why do you need the people here?”

“I am,” said Vegeta, “and I could, none of them could touch me, but I’m just one person.”

Trunks glanced at him. Vegeta floated closer to the holoscreen, manipulating them deftly, pushing some of them out of the way and bringing others to the fore. Trunks had to remind himself that this was the same man who struggled with programming the microwave.

“The people on these planets can’t wait for me to drive off the invaders one group at a time,” said Vegeta, pointing out splotches of red, places that had already fallen. Most of them were bordered with yellow and orange, planets that were going to fall unless someone intervened soon. Triage on a galactic scale. “They’re suffering now, and besides that, I’m already old. I’m not going to live forever. Neither is Broly. I need to know that the Galactic Union can stand on its own, and if it can’t, I’ll teach them how.”

“How did you, uh, learn all of this?” Trunks asked.

“Frieza taught me,” said Vegeta. “Though not for this reason.”

It was a bit sobering to think that warfare and violence were the only legacy the Saiyan race had. Trunks was far less personally invested in that legacy than Vegeta was, but he thought he felt nostalgic for something he wasn’t even sure if he cared about.

“So then, can you, uh–” Trunks hesitated, because Vegeta was staring at him, the man’s gaze intense. “Teach me?”

*** *** ***

“I know for a fact that my dad did this,” said Gohan, as Trunks flew up, out of the mouth of the tunnel.

Piccolo was there, with the Guardian, Dende, The God of Earth. Trunks would have said there were no more Gods, but that wasn’t exactly true. The mortal and Terrestrial Gods had been partially shielded from the fallout in Heaven, though as Trunks understood it, most of them had died anyways. He knew there were lots of planets with no Gods or attendants, hundreds or thousands of palaces, manses, and floating islands similar to the Lookout that were simply standing empty. Mortals left to live or die according to their own devices.

“Did what?” asked Trunks. Bulla was two-thirds of the way inside some machine that Trunks couldn’t identify, just her legs sticking out. She didn’t acknowledge his arrival.

“There’s a new attendant at the Lookout,” Dende explained. The Guardian stood at the end of the rift in the floor, casting spells, though Trunks couldn’t follow what he was doing. “Mr. Lolo. He’s been indispensable ever since Mr. Popo disappeared.”

“Oh.” Trunks wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond. “Okay?”

“I think my father is kidnapping Terrestrial Gods,” said Gohan. “Korin is missing too.”

“For a reason?” asked Trunks. “Did Goku go completely nuts?”

He probably took my father too, thought Trunks, though he kept that particular thought to himself.

“If he did,” said Piccolo, the clipped sarcasm in his voice ever-present, “there’s no point in worrying about it, since that’s a problem we can’t solve.”

“If there’s a new attendant,” said Trunks, considering, “and if the attendant didn’t exist before, then Heaven can’t be completely non-functional. There must still be gears turning somewhere. Maybe Goku needs Gods to help him run things up there.”

Maybe that’s where Vegeta is.

“Gears turning?” asked Gohan, raising an eyebrow.

“Or something,” said Trunks, shrugging.

“Robustly scientific, Trunks,” Bulla called, from inside the machine.

“You can’t see it,” said Trunks, raising his middle finger, “but I’m flipping you off.”

‘Okay,” she called back, from inside the machine. “You can’t see it, but I’m flipping you off too, only better. With both hands. You’re devastated, mentally and emotionally.”

“You two are definitely Vegeta’s kids,” said Gohan.

“What’s a Terrestrial God?” asked Trunks, changing the subject.

“Mortal Gods who live here instead of in the Other World,” said Piccolo. “Like Popo and Korin, and the Guardians, like Dende and Kami.”

“…and you,” said Gohan.

“Yeah,” said Piccolo. “I guess I technically count too. They were partially shielded from what happened in Heaven, and some of them survived. Unlike the Celestial Gods, deities like Beerus and the Kais, and the Angels, who were completely wiped out.”

“Okay,” said Trunks. “...and what does the machine do? Is it an engine?”

“If it works–” Bulla hauled herself out of the contraption. “–it lets us send a message to Universe Six.”

“Just a message?” asked Trunks. “You can’t put that engine in a ship? We can’t get to Heaven?”

“You can’t send or fly or transport a person to another universe, or to Heaven, without a Celestial God, or without an Angel,” she said, authoritatively. “You’d just get smooshed.”

Trunks raised an eyebrow. “Smooshed?”

“Opposite of whooshed,” said Bulla. “We’re fucked without a Celestial God and we have no way of getting one. Dad was the last one.”

“That’s not entirely true,” said Trunks.

They were all looking at him now.

“I had a thought,” he said.

*** *** ***

The war went really well.

At least, as much as a war could go really well. Though there was actually no such thing as that, according to Vegeta. Wars always went badly, even when you won.

No one could touch Vegeta and Broly. They were like gods - literally in Vegeta’s case - and though they’d never really fought together like this before, Vegeta wasn’t like Trunks had expected. He made at least a token effort to take people alive. He accepted surrenders. He handed prisoners over to the Galactic Patrol. He only turned Broly loose on the worst kinds of slavers and planet-killers, and Trunks supposed that Vegeta knew a thing or two about being the worst kind of planet-killer.

Everything he did, Vegeta explained to Trunks. Why he made each decision, what outcome he expected, what he might have done instead, why he’d made the choice he did. He wasn’t always right, but he was right an absolutely staggering amount of the time, and he was never flustered or confused, the way he was on Earth. When Vegeta was busy, he would have Trunks go with Bonyu and Salza, to guard them.

It took Vegeta and the others about six months to win the war, quicker than his projection of eight months, but they stuck around for a little while to watch over the mopping up efforts, and then a little longer in the Capital so Vegeta could sit around listening to the Senate. They lived with Cheelai and Broly. Cheelai was pregnant, with a girl, she was pretty sure.

Anyways, Trunks loved it out here. Everything was important, interesting, real. There was actual work to be done and change to accomplish. Every single planet had the same problems that Earth did, and none of them had protectors. Hell, most of them didn’t even have Gods to watch over them.

He wanted to ask Vegeta why he didn’t come and live out here, though he recalled what Vegeta had said about Earth, his family, and even if he called them ‘Kakarot’s friends’, they were his friends too. Still, Trunks thought maybe they could stay a little longer. It seemed like there was a lot more to be done.

He went looking for Vegeta one night, saw him sitting out on one of the balconies with Broly.

“–could go to him, you know,” Broly was saying. He made the gesture for Instant Transmission.

“We said everything that needed to be said to each other,” Vegeta answered. “It’s finished. Over.”

Trunks had intended to go right out, but whatever they were talking about seemed personal, and he grimaced, hiding his energy and shrinking back, hoping they hadn’t heard him or sensed him. Compared to humans, Saiyans had incredible senses, and–

“He was in love with you,” said Broly.

“You don’t know that,” Vegeta hissed the words out. “You hardly even knew him, before the end.”

“I saw it in the fusion,” said Broly, and he gestured between himself and Vegeta. “He didn’t… hold anything back. He was afraid that me and you would kill each other, once he was gone.”

“Tch.” Vegeta crossed his arms. He looked small next to Broly, who was even larger and more muscular than Goku had been. “How like Kakarot. That was private. It was only for us, and to top it off, he thinks I can’t defend myself? That I wouldn’t win that fight?”

“You wouldn’t have won that fight–”

Vegeta snarled in response, made like, an actual animal sound in his throat, and snapped his fangs at Broly. Broly bared his own, answering the threat display, towering over Vegeta. Oh, right. Broly was a high-caste too, his father had been a military officer or something. Trunks felt like he was watching a documentary about some newly discovered species of animal.

Either they had enough self control not to burn down Cheelai’s house with their auras or one of them won whatever dick-measuring contest they were having. Something between them clicked, intangible, and they both backed off.

“He tried to give me something that didn’t belong to me,” said Vegeta, after a moment. “He–”

Okay, yeah. No. Absolutely not.

Trunks turned and left, his face burning.

Later, Vegeta came to see him.

“How much of that did you hear?” the older man asked, bluntly.

“Not much,” said Trunks, which was basically true. He wanted to die, and if a Saiyan could die of embarrassment, he probably would have dropped dead on the spot. No such luck, though, and instead, he wished for the floor to swallow him up. “Did, uh– did my mom know?”

“She did,” said Vegeta, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he considered this matter to be closed.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes,” said Vegeta, without hesitation. “Anything else?”

“Okay,” said Trunks, though he supposed there was something else. “Is that kind of thing normal, for Saiyans?”

“Which part?” asked Vegeta. His tone was fraught, as though he found this thousands of times more complex than fleet deployments and planetary-scale warfare.

“You like guys?”

“Half the time,” said Vegeta, and he seemed to get it, suddenly. He eyed Trunks. “It’s normal for humans too. It’s just how people are.”

Oh, okay. Well, then. Everything was sorted out, and this conversation was incredibly terrible and devastatingly awkward and Trunks desperately wished for it to end. Though there was one more thing.

“Can we stay?” Trunks asked.

“Stay?” Vegeta raised an eyebrow. “Stay where?”

“Here,” said Trunks. “The things that are happening out here are way more important than whatever’s going on on Earth.”

“I can’t stay out here,” said Vegeta, and he went on when Trunks started to protest. “I can help them, and these invaders made the poor choice of making themselves the enemies of anyone decent, but I can’t be the Senate’s enforcer. I can’t use my powers to prop up their government.”

“Why not?” asked Trunks. “Seems like you could.”

“I could certainly be the next Frieza if I wanted to,” said Vegeta, “but even if I did want that, I’m not young. If they can’t stand on their own without me, they won’t be able to do it once I’m gone. Frieza made himself the cornerstone of galactic civilization, and it collapsed without him. There was chaos everywhere when he died.”

“But, you–!”

“Do you want to stay out here?” asked Vegeta, pointedly.

“I–” Trunks frowned. “I might? I don’t know? Can I?”

“You could go to school in the Capital,” said Vegeta. “Saiyans weren’t permitted to attend the universities in my time, but the laws have changed. Salza or Bonyu could sponsor you. After that, if you like it, stay and work for the Senate. Help restore civilization. Go on space adventures.”

Trunks blinked. “Really?”

“I have no problem with it,” said Vegeta, “but you’ll have convince your mother.”

“What if it turns out I’m just building it up in my head?” asked Trunks. “Like what if it sucks?”

“Then you’ll come home,” said Vegeta. “Earth will always be there for you. Your mother and sister will always be there for you. So will I, but whatever you decide to do, I already know you’ll be great at it. You’re my son, after all, and you’re royalty.”

“Thanks, uh–” Trunks glanced up at Vegeta. “–dad.”

Vegeta smiled, just a little.

*** *** ***

“Ellery will be here in a day and a half,” said Trunks, tapping his scouter to retract it. “We can just do the ritual as many times as we need.”

Gohan and Bulla were staring at him. Piccolo too.

“As many times as we need?” asked Gohan.

“There’s you, me, and Pan,” said Trunks. “Goten too, I guess, if we need him.”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” said Gohan, holding up one hand. “Pan isn’t signing up for the test flight of an experimental Godtech spaceship.”

“Or whatever other dumbass thing you Saiyans are going to attempt to get into Heaven,” said Piccolo, crossing his arms.

“Heaven is the source of the Godscar–”

“Wait a second,” said Bulla, cutting him off. “I’m not a Super Saiyan? I’m not part of the team? I’m supposed to sit around at home while you guys go on space adventures?”

“You’ve never been in a serious fight,” said Trunks, bluntly. “All that training our father and you can still barely transform.”

“How much is that going to matter if something breaks mid-flight?” Bulla demanded. “If you can build a Godtech engine, go ahead and show me, dingus–”

“Gods, Bulla, you’re like forty years old, don’t call me a dingus–”

“Fine, I’ll call you fuckface, because your face–”

“Trunks,” said Gohan, over them, and there was a sternness in his tone that stopped the fight before it started. “Bulla.”

Trunks glanced back at him.

“Not me either,” said Gohan. “Goten’s not going to want it, even if he helps us. He’s done with– with all of this. Not Ellery, just let her have a normal life.”

Trunks’ shoulder burned, he clenched his left fist. He was perfectly aware of that, thanks. In fact, what was actually keeping him here was Bulla and the fact that there was no solution to be found in Asesa Sigma.

“So then, what?” asked Trunks. “Just me, alone?”

“Why not Bulla?” ask Gohan.

“Yeah,” said Bulla. “Why not me?”

“Because your father fucked up the whole universe and left it for us to fix,” Trunks snapped, at Gohan. “He took Vegeta and he didn’t even let us say goodbye, and if he’s doing something to the Gods, I don’t want him anywhere near my sister–”

“You don’t know that Goku took him–” Gohan began.

“I do know,” said Trunks, acidly, cutting him off. Gohan glanced away, Piccolo did not look even remotely surprised. So they knew too. Yeah, that wasn’t a shock. Gohan had known Goku and Vegeta for basically his entire life. Piccolo was psychic.

“Know what?” Bulla demanded.

*** *** ***

Trunks was bouncing, animated, excited, relaying everything that happened to Goten.

Goten watched him, his dark eyes following Trunks as he paced around the living room at Kame House. He’d been sitting on the couch and rolling bluethistle joints when Trunks had come in, but he’d briefly stopped in order to give his oldest friend a modicum of attention.

“Wild,” Goten said at last. He licked one of them, to seal it. Set it aside.

“I’m going to university,” said Trunks. “Like in Aesea Sigma. In space.”

“Trunks–”

“They have this huge campus and it’s been around for thousands of years, like just this one school is older than anything on Earth. Oh, right, the brench-seijin live for a long time, like for eight or nine centuries, did I mention that–?”

“Yeah, you–”

“–and people come from all over the universe to study in the Capital. It’s the hub of galactic civilization. The food is amazing, and they have these huge spacedocks and orbital platforms. It’s going to blow your mind when you see it and everyone speaks like three languages and there’s so much to do–”

“When I see it?” asked Goten, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” said Trunks, because it seemed obvious. Like, wasn’t it obvious? “I want you to come with me.”

“They’re not going to let me in.” Goten snorted, dismissive. “I’m just some nobody, I’m not space royalty or a billionaire’s tech-wizard’s heir or anything like that.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Trunks. “I can believe you think I care about stuff like that, but I’ll get my father to–”

“Okay,” said Goten, and he set aside what he was doing. “Let’s try this. I’m not going. You shouldn’t either.”

Trunks, blinked. Stared at him.

“As soon as you run into something you can’t handle,” said Goten, pointing vaguely, at nothing, “you’re going to die, and that’s it, forever. Just gone. Like all those people the Invested killed when they invaded Earth. There are no more Dragon Balls, no more safety nets. Everything is gloves off now, and you’re an idiot if you don’t realize it.”

“If we were together–”

“I don’t want to cosplay as our fathers,” said Goten. “You shouldn’t either, it’s pathetic and sad.”

“I’m not trying to cosplay as Vegeta,” Trunks snapped. “I want to do something with my life and I want you with me. People feel that way about their friends, Goten, and it’s not pathetic or sad.”

“Well I want you with me too,” Goten said, his tone hot. “Here. Alive. You want to fly off to space and get yourself killed fighting for aliens who, by the way, probably fucking hate Saiyans.”

“I–!”

“–like, hate us because of your father,” said Goten, “and because of mine, we don’t even know if reincarnation works anymore. So this is all the time we’re ever going to get together, and you’re going to waste it playing pretend space hero!?”

“You used to love playing superheroes–”

“You used to love it, Trunks.”

“At least I want to do something with my life!” Trunks clenched his fists. He could tell his face was burning. “You’re one of the most powerful people alive and all you do is sit around here smoking bluethistle and fucking people you don’t even know! You think you can yell at me about wasting time!? I didn’t come here for a lecture!”

“Then why did you come here!?” Goten stood up.

“To get you!” said Trunks. “To take you with me! To be with you, you fucking moron–!”

Goten reached across the table, grabbed Trunks by the front of his jacket and dragged him forward. Trunks’ knees hit the table, he stumbled over it and grabbed for Goten, who pulled him against his chest, grabbed a fistful of his hair, kissed him.

Oh.

He was being wielded through the house, into another room. The kiss barely broke, and Trunks fumbled blindly, he didn’t know where to put his hands. He had never– there had never been anyone else. He had never been kissed like this and he’d certainly never been touched. He’d hardly even been on any dates, and he felt silly and inexperienced compared to Goten, who’d had dozens of girlfriends.

On the other hand, Goten’s body was Trunks’ body too. He knew it very well. They’d shared it so many times and for so long that the lines between them had blurred. The tethers of energy that connected them were always present, like a sort of background radiation. Their auras melded as though they were water flowing together, no resistance, like their energy belonged to the same person.

They got to wherever they were going Goten shoved him down onto a bed. No, wait. A mattress, on the floor.

Trunks couldn’t recall if this was how he pictured it happening.

…and he had pictured this happening.

Gods, so many times.

Maybe he’d thought it would be a little more romantic, but he found he actually didn’t care, and he reached up and pulled Goten down on top of him. For his part, it seemed like Goten couldn’t choose between pinning Trunks down or pulling his clothes off. Trunks’ shirt came up, over his head, and Goten leaned down and bit his throat, hard enough to make him cry out, and Trunks dug his heels into the mattress (there were no sheets), grinding up against his friend’s body.

What was that? Why did he like that? Was it a Saiyan thing?

Actually, that didn’t matter, and he shifted on the bed so Goten could take off his pants. Goten himself wasn’t wearing much, just a t-shirt and boxers, and he leaned up for a moment, discarding them casually. Like he’d done this a hundred times, which, come to think of it, he probably had. Trunks felt an urgent, ugly flash of jealousy.

Instantly, Goten burst out laughing.

“They don’t mean anything,” he said, and he leaned down and kissed Trunks, bit his lip, hard enough that it was painful. His cock dug into Trunks’ thigh, and Trunks’ own was pressed up against Goten’s stomach, staining and hard. “I don’t care about them and I don’t think they care about me. It’s just harmless fun. You should try it sometime.”

“I only want to do this with you,” said Trunks, blurting the words out - and speaking of things that were pathetic and sad, he hoped that wasn’t too much. “I–”

“Okay, man.” Goten cupped his cheek. Stroked it with his thumb. “I get it. I love you too. Always have.”

Trunks tried to say something in response, but the words caught in his throat. He was only vaguely aware of how the act was supposed to work, but Goten was doing something with something off the side of the mattress, and when his fingers slid between Trunks’ legs, they were slick with some kind of oil. He pushed them inside and Trunks whined and gasped.

“Oh, come on,” said Goten, biting his ear. “You’re so fucking hot, this can’t be the first time.”

“It is,” said Trunks.

“I’ll be careful,” Goten promised. “Don’t worry. It’ll be good.”

He slowed down, just a fraction, his fingers curling inside of Trunks, working him open more gently. Trunks wound his arms around Goten’s neck, grinding against his hand, biting his lip. Whatever Goten was doing felt good but it seemed like it was taking forever, and Trunks tried not to look at anything in the room other than Goten. Everything here was weird and ugly and tacky, but it didn’t really matter. After this they could go anywhere, see everything the universe had to offer. Just be together.

Finally, Goten seemed satisfied, and he wiped his hand on the far side of the mattress, then moved so he was kneeling over Trunks. Gazed down at him, saw right into him, and clearly liked everything he saw. Trunks wondered why he had ever cared about the way Goten looked at girls.

“You look good,” said Goten, and he grinned, baring teeth. He ran his hands over Trunks’ thighs. “You work out? Oh, wait! I bet you’re an outer space prince and you have alien superpowers or something.”

“Oh, shut up,” said Trunks. “You don’t need to seduce me.”

Using his knee, Goten pushed Trunks’ legs apart and moved between them. When he pushed in, it hurt, and Trunks cried out, gasped, dug his fingers into Goten’s back.

“Stop?” asked Goten.

“Don’t,” said Trunks. “It’s okay. It’s fine.”

They were moving together, and the pain of it passed quickly. Trunks had nothing and no one to compare Goten to, but it felt good to have him inside, a sort of stretched fullness that was intense, but pleasant. He tilted his hips up, hooked his legs though Goten’s, grabbed his friend’s hair and pulled it. Goten laughed again, made a pleased noise, fucked him harder in response.

Trunks braced against the bed, held Goten with his free arm. Felt the familiar, tense ache that told him he was close. He wasn’t totally sure he’d expected that. He’d only rarely touched himself, and he’d always assumed that the one pushing in was the one who got enjoyment out of the act. He supposed–

No, fuck. He was being far too academic about this, and he was going to spoil it.

He stopped thinking about anything at all, and rode it out, savoring the feel of Goten on top of him. The weight of his body, the hardness of his muscles, the scent of his skin - saltwater, bluethistle, sweat. The way he struck something deep inside when he thrust all the way in, and Trunks shuddered, crying out.

“Close?” asked Goten.

Trunks tried to say some actual words, but he didn’t manage anything coherent.

“Okay,” said Goten. “Inside?”

He just barely got the word yes out, and then he was coming, spilling over Goten’s flat, hard stomach, writhing and twisting underneath him. Goten kept right on fucking him for a moment, and then, without warning, he grabbed Trunks by the wrists, leveraged his weight, pinned him–

“What are you doing–!?”

Goten’s mouth opened, he lunged down, bit Trunks on the shoulder. He didn’t have fangs, but Saiyan teeth were sharp despite that, and he dug in until he broke the skin. It hurt like hell, blood welled up from the wound, and Trunks screamed involuntarily, not ready for it. On top of him, he felt Goten shudder and throb, the heat as he spilled inside, his teeth still digging into the meat of Trunks’ shoulder.

“The hell!?”

Goten abruptly seemed to realize what he was doing. He pulled out, half spilling on the mattress.

“Shit.” His hand came down, over the wound. “Fuck. Trunks–”

“It’s fine. Trunks gasped the words out. “It’s fine. It’s okay.”

“I don’t know why I did that,” said Goten, almost sheepish. “I was just thinking that I wanted– nevermind. Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Trunks squirmed. Like there was anything he could possibly want that Trunks hadn’t just given him.

“Alright,” said Goten, and he flopped down, on his side. His hands went to Trunk’s waist, and he turned him, so they were facing each other, kissing him idly, his jaw, his shoulder, his throat. The wound was already closing, but blood dripped down over Trunks’ chest, as if this place wasn’t dirty enough already.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. They weren’t going to see it again after today.

“I’ll clean up a little in the morning,” Goten said, idly. Like he could read Trunks’ mind or something.

Wait, what?

“I’m not going to be here in the morning,” said Trunks. “I’m going to space, remember?”

Goten briefly looked hurt, and then it was gone. He was flippant, unbothered, maybe a little bit high.

“I want you to come with me,” said Trunks, hurriedly, “but I’m still going if you don’t.”

“Huh,” said Goten, and he rolled away, onto his back. “Alright. S’fine.”

“That’s it?” demanded Trunks. “What’s fine?”

“This, everything.” Goten shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to it?”

“Being ditched.” Goten glanced over at him.

“I’m not fucking ditching you,” said Trunks, hotly. “I would never do that. I want you to come with me, that’s the only thing I care about.”

“I know,” said Goten, and he looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t just leave my mom, fuck off to space, and come back whenever I want. Or not come back at all. You know why.”

Oh.

Oh, yeah.

Shit. Trunks hadn’t thought about that, at all. He moved to Goten’s side, and after a moment, Goten put an arm around him. He draped his own arm over Goten’s chest. Felt guilty, selfish.

“If it matters at all,” said Goten, “you’re going to goddamn kill it. Be the best space superhero or whatever those aliens have ever fucking seen. Like, I guess, opposite Vegeta.”

“Gods!” Trunks snorted with laughter. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though.”

“Yeah,” said Trunks. “It kind of is.”

“I’m going to be back all the time,” said Trunks, not knowing, in that moment, just how big the universe was, or how many problems it had, or that he was lying. “Like on weekends and holidays and stuff. We’ll see each other.”

“Mmmm. You promise?” asked Goten.

“Yeah,” said Trunks. “Promise.”

*** *** ***

“Heard dad went nuts,” said Goten, as he flew up and landed outside the lab where they were waiting. “We all gonna die?”

Gods, he was like an exact copy of Goku, and Trunks tried to remember if he’d looked that way before. Goten’s hair was just a little too soft, it didn’t quite hold its shape. That was the only way to tell. Otherwise, he could have been Goku’s twin brother, not his son. Whereas Trunks didn’t look like Vegeta at all. Neither did Bulla. The Prince’s blood didn’t show.

“Don’t say that,” said Gohan. “We don’t know for sure what happened, and no, we’re not all going to die.”

“We need–” Trunks began.

“I know you need something,” said Goten, cutting him off, eyeing Trunks. “Why else would you have called?”

Gohan frowned, Trunks flinched.

“Whatever it is,” said Goten, shrugging, “let’s get it over with. You’ve obviously got somewhere else to be, don’t you, Trunks?”

Chapter Text

The only thing worse than being wounded and bedridden was being wounded and bedridden in Heaven with the Godscar looming over him and Kakarot hovering around, unsure of what to do. He was too weak for another round in the Room and even if he hadn’t been, whatever the solution to the Godscar was, he wasn’t going to find it by training his body.

Galling though, how much stronger Kakarot was.

Amazing too, that he had reached that level without someone to propel him forward, and Vegeta wondered if he was jealous, angry, bitter, or all three in combination. To have one’s body and aura operating independently seemed impossible, even at the highest levels of Ultra Instinct. Vegeta had trouble even conceptualizing it, though he supposed that Kakarot had had forty uninterrupted years to figure it out.

Sometimes, when Vegeta woke up, Kakarot was there. In the room or on the balcony or sitting on the bed, watching over him. Sometimes he wasn’t, and Vegeta wasn’t certain whether Kakarot’s presence or absence annoyed him more. His feelings for his ex-lover were difficult to sort out.

For all of his earlier protests, he toyed with the idea of just calling Kakarot to bed and being done with it.

It wasn’t like there was anyone else. He was never going to see his wife again, not even in another life, and everything was broken and awful. It wouldn’t hurt anything if they found a little comfort in each other’s bodies and he fell asleep in Kakarot’s arms. Quite frankly, eternity was going to be very lonely if he didn’t do it.

Then those thoughts made him furious all over again. Mostly at himself.

…but what was he trying to punish Kakarot for? Was there even a point?

After a few days he could walk and fly, and that helped. If nothing else, at least he wasn’t stuck on Beerus’ estate, and he explored Heaven, whatever was left of it.

He hadn’t seen much of it the first time he was here, but now Vegeta inspected it from the air, traversing the continent-sized city on a long, slow flight. The memories of the previous Destroyers, which had been sharp and in-focus while he was dying, had faded, and he wasn’t entirely sure what anything was.

It was on the third day of exploring that he found the libraries.

Like the rest of Heaven, they were grand and vast. The decor was gaudy, primarily gold, and overbearing. Windows of adamant glass that were as high as the skyscrapers in West City allowed light to illuminate shelves that must have contained millions of tomes. Half of the back wall was a single vast plank of ironwood, recessed with hundreds of thousands of slots for scrolls. In all of his life, Vegeta had never seen an ironwood tree larger than he was, and even one that size would have been a treasure that Frieza would have burned worlds for. The tree this plank had been cut from must have been millions of years old.

He felt like he shouldn’t touch it, but he supposed all this belonged to him now.

There were eight more buildings like this one just on this avenue, two of them completely intact, though Vegeta supposed there was a lot of Creation to document and keep track of.

Then he tried reading some of the books and he realized that the Gods had the same problems that virtually all mortals had.

They weren’t actually all that good at writing things down.

Vegeta knew that very well. He’d been here before. Well, not exactly here, but close enough. He’d stood on broken planets thousands of times before. He’d seen the dead laying where they’d fallen more times than he could count. He’d had Frieza demand an explanation of some indigenous technology that had caught his eye and he’d failed to come up with one because he’d already killed everyone who could answer the Emperor’s questions.

A beating was the best outcome. The pause before Frieza told him to take his armor off was the worst one.

Anyways, it was like this. On Earth, everyone knew what you were talking about when you said a recipe needed ‘two large eggs’. That was about as clear you needed to be.

…but imagine you were talking to an alien who had no fucking idea what an egg was, and your planet had a few thousand different types of egg-laying animals. Now what? Oh, and anyone who could have sorted it out for you or given you more information was rotting away in a mass grave.

That was roughly how Vegeta felt as he tried to sift through the ruins of Heaven.

The Gods had been verbose, and if someone were to have asked for Vegeta’s personal opinion, he would likely have said they never shut the fuck up.

…the problem was that they hadn’t said anything of value.

‘Attune essence’, read the tome in front of him, ostensibly instructions for operating the viewing lenses. Vegeta turned the page. There was a diagram that was even more obtuse than the instructions. ‘Adjust ophilem viewpoint’.

Attune whose essence? Adjust which fucking viewpoint?

Vegeta resisted the urge to burn the library down.

As aggravating as being weaker than Kakarot was, Vegeta wasn’t a scholar either, and a growing pile of tomes, scrolls, and documents lay discarded in piles on the tables between the stacks of bookshelves. He was getting nowhere, but Vegeta supposed he had literally nothing but time. If he could learn spirit fission, he supposed he could learn how to do research.

Kakarot was around somewhere, he came and went. He knew even less about scholarly research than Vegeta did. Whis had simply come into existence as he was, and Vegeta suspected he’d only rarely had to learn something he didn’t already know. About Kakarot, there was nothing else to say. He’d been briefly tutored by Roshi and Bulma, but he was totally uneducated beyond that.

“How’s the research going?” asked Kakarot, as he popped in one day.

“Terrible,” said Vegeta. He was sprawled in a chair, half buried in scrolls. He was fairly certain he had a stress headache, and it seemed unfair that Gods could get those. “How are the repairs going?”

“Terrible,” said Kakarot. “I can’t keep the Godscar from spreading. Are you alright?”

“Of course I’m not alright,” Vegeta snapped. “Disregarding what you did to me, I was nearly chewed into pieces by the Godscar.”

“Okay,” said Kakarot. “Hey, do you want something to eat?”

“Yes,” said Vegeta, even though that wasn’t going to help at all. “Is there even any food here?”

“No,” said Kakarot. “Just the peaches. The animals that shed those little pink flakes are all dead.”

“Those flakes were animal dandruff?” Vegeta’s lips curled up in disgust.

“I guess like, divine animal dandruff? That’s less gross, right?”

“Urgh.” Vegeta wanted to gag. “No it’s not, and I’m going to be sick.”

“Naw,” said Kakarot. “You haven’t eaten anything since you got here. There’s nothing to throw up. Oh, but if you do eat, the best part is that you don’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.”

“How do you know–?” Vegeta cut himself off. He didn’t want or need to know. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

“I’ll bring you something,” offered Kakarot.

“Don’t–”

…but Kakarot was already lining up the Instant Transmission and then he was gone. Vegeta sighed, rolled his eyes, and pushed himself up so he could start piling the scrolls on the table in a disorganized heap. He wasn’t getting any more work done today. It would have been very easy to make the argument that he hadn’t gotten any work done at all.

He wondered if he was supposed to sort all this and put it away. Probably not. Previously, the rooms in Heaven had all cleaned themselves, though whatever process or magic that made that happen had ceased to function. He wasn’t sure where the attendant and the cat were, or if he could or should order them to do it. They were probably in the gardens, and those were in dire shape too. Vegeta decided to leave them alone.

The bookshelves were five or six times his height, and when he was finished with the scrolls, Vegeta flew along the length of one, waiting for something to catch his eye. Divine Regalia and You, Antenna Grooming and Eyewear for the Stylish Kai, Gravity: A Counterargument, Galaxy Naming Protocols, Sidereal Astrology, and dozens of other titles besides those. Vegeta scowled. These fucking things weren’t even in any discernible order. Still scowling, he pulled one of the tomes out at random and flipped through it, getting nothing worthwhile from it.

“Vegeta?” Kakarot called up, from where the tables were, at a clearing between the shelves.

Something smelled good, at least, and Vegeta shoved the book back into place and flew down.

It was takeout ramen. The idiot had teleported to Earth for takeout ramen.

Vegeta stared at him.

“These two are yours,” said Kakarot, pushing two of the plastic bowls to him as he floated down. Scrolls tumbled to the floor and rolled away.

“Did you go to Earth dressed like that?” asked Vegeta, and he gestured up and down, to Kakarot’s angelic garments.

“I don’t have any other clothes,” said Kakarot, shrugging. “Why does that matter?”

“No reason,” said Vegeta, deciding not to pick this particular fight. He lifted the top bowl and inspected it. The cover was stamped with a red glyph, and it was still piping hot, the smell rich, salty and savory. Pork broth. His favorite food, and he was shocked that Kakarot knew what it was. “Is this from West City?”

“Yeah,” said Kakarot. “It’s from that place with the red flags. You know, down on the corner.”

“Those are Sweetroot Island flags,” said Vegeta. “How do I know more about Earth’s nations than you?”

Kakarot shrugged again and popped the lid off one of his containers, eating wolfishly, shovelling the contents of the bowl into his mouth with the disposable chopsticks. Chicken, for him. Vegeta recalled that the younger man didn’t eat pork, probably because he was friends with that talking pig. It was foolish, to Vegeta’s perception. Food was food, after all, and when the Prince had been young, Frieza had delighted in withholding it until Vegeta had been sick with hunger, desperate enough to eat the dead, or to beg.

“Thank you,” said Vegeta, before prying the top off his own container.

“No problem,” said Kakarot, talking with his mouth full of noodles. Some of the broth had splashed onto the scrolls on the table.

Vegeta rolled his eyes, snapped his own chopsticks apart and scraped them. It was more a ritual than anything, it wasn’t as though he could get splinters. He ate more slowly and delicately than Kakarot did, trying to think of the way forward. He savored the taste, the slight hints of fat and oil in the broth, the chewy, mild sweetness of the meat, the sharp crunch of the vegetables, the creamy, almost buttery taste of the soft-boiled egg.

It was the first thing he had ever eaten as a free man. Bulma had ordered it for him, all those decades ago, probably picked it out at random. Gods knew she couldn’t cook for herself, and her workspaces were always littered with spent containers and takeout flyers. She’d shoved it into his hands, he’d stalked off and eaten it contrarily, sitting in a corner, the two of them glaring at each other across the spare lab attached to her house.

He didn’t know if it was the best food in the world or if he only thought that.

No way to tell, he supposed.

“How did you know to get this?” he asked.

“I don’t know?” Kakarot blinked and looked up at him. “I guess because whenever someone asks if you want to get food, this is what you always get.”

So he paid attention, there was that, at least, and Vegeta finished the first bowl, drank the broth, and started on the second. He could easily have eaten ten of them, but at the same time, he enjoyed the act of eating without actually being hungry, so eating more seemed oddly pointless. A Godly thing, perhaps. Something to get used to.

Kakarot finished first, watched him eat.

“Do you want to spar?” he asked, when Vegeta was finished.

“No powers,” Vegeta answered, resting the bowls inside each other. Something occurred to him. He pointed at the empty containers. “Did you pay for this?”

“Of course I did,” said Kakarot. “I’m not a thief, Vegeta.”

Vegeta didn’t think that, though he did think Kakarot was absent-minded enough to order something and then walk off without paying for it. “How?”

“How, what?”

“How did you pay?”

“Oh,” said Kakarot. “Right, I didn’t have any money, so I just picked up some of the gold that’s laying around.”

“Like coins?” asked Vegeta, trying to remember if he’d seen anything like that. Heaven seemed to possess infinite wealth, though none of it was currency.

“No,” said Kakarot, he indicated size with his hands, vaguely. “Like part of a balcony railing or something?”

“You teleported to Earth to get takeout ramen and you paid for it with ten pounds of truegold?” Vegeta asked, each word more incredulous than the one that preceded it.

“You got it.” Kakarot nodded, he bounced up. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

*** *** ***

“You can stay here until you develop some common sense,” said Vegeta, bluntly.

“What about Namek–?”

“You can go to New Namek when you develop some common sense,” said Vegeta, cutting Granolah off. He pointed down the hallway. “Shower is that way. The gravity chamber is just across the hall. Order food from wherever you want, just tell them to charge my wife’s accounts for it. Most of the stores in West City will get it.”

“Is Monaito okay–?”

“He’s on New Namek,” said Vegeta. “You can see him when you–”

“I get it,” Granola snapped. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. We’re practically the same age.”

Oatmeel was sitting on his shoulder, in droid form, scanning everything in Vegeta’s old room and beeping quietly. Vegeta hadn’t been in here in years, and he found that it looked oddly bleak and sad, though when the Prince had first arrived on Earth it had seemed almost ostentatious to him. Things like a private room and a private shower, to say nothing of being able to eat as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, were luxuries for nobles and elites, or for the members of Frieza’s personal household.

“You’re a Cerealian child,” said Vegeta, glancing back at Granolah. “If we were to compare relative lifespans, you're hardly any more mature than my son, except that my son would never have done something this fucking stupid.”

Granolah glared at him.

“So whenever you’re ready to wish yourself back like you were–”

“I’m not wishing it away,” said Granolah, defiantly. “I need this power to kill Frieza. You two need my help. What happened back on Planet Cereal proves that.”

“It’s not worth it,” said Vegeta.

“You have no right to decide that for me–”

His droid was beeping, but binary was one of the few Galactic languages Vegeta didn’t speak. It seemed agitated, but not at the Prince, so Vegeta assumed that he and Oatmeel were in agreement here.

“You’re right,” said Vegeta. “I don’t. Which is why I didn’t simply summon Shenron and force the issue.”

Granolah sat down on the bed, crossed his arms over himself.

“Listen to me,” said Vegeta, and he sighed, rubbed a gloved hand over his face. Felt very old, though Saiyans didn’t physically age until they were already dying. “I’ve been in the exact spot you were in. I had nothing but my life, and I threw it away trying to kill Frieza. The only difference is that we can’t bring you back if you die from reaching the end of your lifespan, so just let me reverse what happened and fucking live.”

“I’d rather go with you,” said Granola, glancing away.

Vegeta closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out.

*** *** ***

They flew somewhere where there was nothing left to break and Vegeta allowed it when Goku went to strike their fists together. Five years in the Room had dulled the hard, ugly edge of his anger into something bearable, and what had happened afterwards had convinced him that they needed each other. Vegeta did not want to be left alone to wander into the Godscar again, and he couldn’t abandon Kakarot to carry the enormity of Creation on his shoulders.

If nothing else, he had to try everything he could think of it to fix it for his children’s sake.

He considered it between punches, kicks, counterstrikes. Let his body run on auto-pilot while his mind worked. It was far easier to think like this than it was while he was buried in scrolls, but even with no powers, Kakarot was taller, had better reach, was physically stronger. If the other man hadn’t been distracted by–

Wait, was he looking at–

“Are you looking at my tail?” Vegeta demanded, hotly.

“Okay, I know you’re still mad but–”

“Kakarot, are you serious right now!?”

“–it’s so cute, Vegeta. I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.”

“Cute?!” Vegeta cuffed him. “Cute!? How fucking dare you! I’m the Destroyer!”

“Well the Breaker of Worlds apparently wags his tail when he’s thinking really hard,” said Kakarot, unbothered.

Vegeta hurriedly tucked his tail around his waist, felt his fingers digging into his palms through his gloves. He lunged at Kakarot, the blows aggressive, but focused. None of them landed.

“Watch your stance,” said Kakarot. His technique was incredible, no break in his guard, and he barely gave ground to dodge. There wasn’t even the slightest flicker of ki, though Vegeta recalled Whis praising him for coming to the conclusion that they had to be more circumspect with their power. It seemed so long ago. Something from a different life.

“You’re obviously watching it,” Vegeta snapped. He came up against the wall of Kakarot’s defenses like a wave breaking on the shore. Again, and again, he got nowhere.

Forty years out of practice.

Well, thirty-five.

“I am,” said Kakarot, and mid-fight, he went to correct what he obviously saw as a flaw in Vegeta’s technique. The gap was barely visible, the moment of vulnerability only the width of an eyelash or a spiderweb, but Kakarot had to let his guard down to attack. Of course he did. Vegeta felt foolish for not noticing it earlier. “You’re sloppy.”

Don’t, Vegeta warned himself. Pushing Kakarot harder wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Be patient, stay in control, lure him into attacking.

They circled, careful. Vegeta deliberately left an opening. Kakarot, overconfident for once, fell for it, and Vegeta’s counterattack threw him. He was on Kakarot in an instant, went to bring the blade of his hand against some vulnerable spot, his throat or his heart, and then there were hands on him, wielding him backwards. Who in the fuck–

It was the aura copies, and they pulled the Prince off, twisted his arms behind his back.

“I had you!” Vegeta shrieked and thrashed. Blue-gold light erupted around him, and Super Sayian lit up his auras in a cascade of fury. He still couldn’t break free, but escalating any further was only going to cause more problems. “I fucking had you!”

“No you didn’t,” said Kakarot, coolly. His eyes weren’t right. Too silver.

“I said no powers!” Vegeta snapped, baring his fangs.

That was interesting, though. Kakarot hadn’t been like this before. Never a sore loser, never needing to win no matter the cost, never arrogant. Those were Vegeta’s own (not entirely corrected) flaws. It was the Angel, then. Something inside of him that ran autonomously, forced him to defend himself if it was possible to do so. He probably couldn’t kill himself either, though Vegeta recalled Whis’ blithe acceptance when the Angel realized Frieza had him.

Something to think about, if he ever had to kill Kakarot.

“Let go of me,” said Vegeta, forcing Super Saiyan to end. “Also, you lost.”

They did, and the copies vanished into wisps of essence. Kakarot’s expression flickered, he wasn’t pleased with what he’d just done or said. Vegeta shook himself off, ignored it.

“How do you that?” asked Vegeta.

“I don’t know if I can explain it to you,” said Kakarot. “Ultra Ego is totally different and so are we. Like fission and spirit channelling, they’re opposite disciplines. Our paths separated a long time ago, Vegeta.”

“Then there must be some ascended form of Ultra Ego too,” Vegeta said, considering. “Do you have to control the copies? Isn’t it distracting?”

“They just do the thing I tell them to do,” said Kakarot. “Like when I was searching for you in the Godscar.”

“How many can you make?” asked Vegeta.

Kakarot shrugged. “I have to split my energy between them, but lots. Why?”

Vegeta grabbed him by his vestments and wielded him back in the direction of the library. He’d ponder the mysteries of Ultra Ego later, assuming there was anything to ponder. There was something more useful he could be doing at the moment, and he was annoyed with himself for not thinking of it earlier.

“Make a thousand of them,” he ordered. “No, a hundred-thousand.”

“Er–” Kakarot blinked at him. “Why?”

“Because picking through these tomes one at a time is an exercise in futility,” said Vegeta. “We’re warriors, not scholars, but I want you to look for anything you can find about ancient history, prehistoria, the beginning of Creation.”

“How is that going to help?” asked Kakarot. He pushed off the ground, gathered ki, and flew. Vegeta went with him.

“When I was dying,” said Vegeta. “I saw the Destroyer's previous lives. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Zenos has destroyed Creation before, it was hardly anything more than a sandcastle, and he was the wave. You must know that, Whis was there too.”

They came back to the library, and Vegeta landed on one of the upper balconies, threw the adamant glass doors open and went inside. Kakarot followed him.

“It means that no matter how much damage was done,” said Vegeta, “Creation can be repaired. It's been brought back from nothingness before. As bad as any of the damage you did was, it must be trivial compared to total annihilation. It has to be.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I’m betting quite literally everything on it,” said Vegeta, “so let’s hope I’m right.”

“Vegeta–”

“I’m still furious,” said Vegeta, and he rested one hand on Kakarot’s chest, “but I won’t ever leave you. We’re going to be together forever, whether we hate each other or not.”

Kakarot nodded. “Ready?”

Vegeta nodded in return, and Kakarot touched his fingers together, concentrating briefly. His aura spun out like the coils of a dragon, and split into two, four, eight, sixteen. The Holy Art of Shaping. The copies flew off among the stacks, clearing space on the balcony for more, and Vegeta already heard books hitting the floor.

“I’ll make room for anything you find,” said Vegeta, and he flew down, upending one of the piled tables and spilling its contents onto the floor. There was probably (the corpse of) a scandalized librarian around somewhere. On the other hand, a dead body couldn't be scandalized and Vegeta didn’t worry too much about that as he emptied the other tables in the same way.

They worked like that for days, hardly speaking. Kakarot’s real body sat cross-legged on the balcony, eyes closed, in meditative repose. Vegeta sorted whatever books he brought. In a week or two they’d whittled the entire collection down to a few hundred volumes. A handful of them would still have been more than Vegeta had read in his entire life, and even the smallest of the piles looked daunting.

“Are you really going to read all of those?” Kakarot asked. There was nothing left to search, and his copies began to vanish into wisps of silvery-blue light.

“I’m going to try,” said Vegeta. “Help me take them back to the Destroyer's estate.”

“Okay,” said Kakarot. He gripped the edge of one table in his hand, touched his fingers to his forehead, and then seemed to consider something. “Are we going to live there?”

“If we’re still alive after we fix this, we’re going to live at the Temple,” said Vegeta, taking one of the other tables. It wouldn’t be all that complex to teleport it, even with all the books. “For now, we’re going to stay on the estate, to keep an eye on the Godscar.”

“I’d like that,” said Kakarot, as he vanished.

Vegeta followed. It took two more trips each, but eventually all of the books and tables were crowded awkwardly into the foyer of the Destroyer’s estate.

Well, whatever. It wasn’t like Vegeta was entertaining guests.

He grabbed one of the stacks at random and hauled it up to his bedroom, threw the books onto the bed. Kakarot was following him.

“What should I–”

“Lay down,” Vegeta ordered, pointing.

“Oh.” Kakarot’s expression lit up, and he climbed eagerly onto the bed. “Really, Vegeta? I thought you wanted to study, and all those books are going to get in the way, but that’s fine. Do you–”

“I do want to study, idiot.” Vegeta rolled his eyes. He climbed on, arranged himself so he was using Kakarot’s chest as a pillow, and grabbed the closest book. “I obviously can’t be left alone, so just stay there and watch over me.”

Kakarot shifted a little, and after a moment, one of his hands came up, idly stroking through Vegeta’s hair. Vegeta considered slapping it away, but it was calming, and he settled back against the warmth of Kakarot’s body and opened the book.

*** *** ***

“I cheated on you,” Vegeta said, bluntly.

Bulma eyed him and burst out laughing. It hadn’t been the response he’d been expecting.

“I’m serious, woman.”

“Okay, Vegeta.” Her eyes were shining, fond, amused. “With who?”

“With Kakarot,” he said. A confession. He wished she would take this seriously.

“I told you I didn’t mind,” she said, and her lips curled up into a coy smile. “...and that was years ago. More of them for you, since you two must have had quite a bit of fun in the Room.”

“That’s not–” Vegeta scowled. “Will you please take this seriously? What happens between Kakarot and I is not– it’s not entirely physical. It hasn’t been for some time now.”

“I know,” she said. “Kami, Vegeta, was that your big confession? I was worried for a second, I thought it was something serious.”

“You know?!” Vegeta bristled. She couldn’t know. That was impossible. He hadn’t known until just a little while ago, and–

“Of course I know,” she said, sagely. “Vegeta, you were sleeping outside of his healing pod on Namek. I knew back then, when we were still in our twenties.”

“That wasn’t–” Vegeta sputtered. “Are you implying that I was attracted to Kakarot from the beginning–”

“Implying?” Bulma raised an eyebrow. “Vegeta, I’m not implying anything. I’m stating a fact.”

She came to him, ran her hands over his arms, and Vegeta relaxed a fraction, unfolded them and drew her close. She felt so small and so soft and so breakable. Her hair was silky, her auras were sharp, but glossy and transparent. She couldn’t possibly be more different than Kakarot. He rested his chin on top of her head.

“Who’s the kid?” she asked.

“His name is Granolah,” said Vegeta. “He’s a Cerealian. He’s got nowhere else to go and Beerus isn’t taking in any more strays.”

“...and our house is just open to whatever alien visitor needs to crash here?”

“Isn’t it?” asked Vegeta. “He’s not a war criminal, if that helps.”

“It’s a strike against him, quite frankly.” Bulma poked him in the ribs and winked. “I have a thing for brooding alien war criminals. Especially handsome ones with dark hair. Where’s Goku?”

“I don’t know,” said Vegeta. “With Broly somewhere. It doesn’t matter. We aren’t speaking.”

“Vegeta–”

“He doesn’t matter anymore,” said Vegeta. “I want you to leave. Kakarot’s woman too.”

“Why aren’t you speaking to poor Goku?” she asked, not even addressing what he’d said.

“Because he caused this!” Vegeta said, hotly. “He brought Frieza back to life!”

“You’re probably breaking his heart.”

“I don’t care,” Vegeta snapped. “I have other obligations, and he doesn’t need me to hold his hand.”

“Where would we even go?” Bulma asked, sighing.

“Someplace hidden,” said Vegeta. “Somewhere far away from Earth, to a planet Frieza hasn’t found yet. He knows where Earth is. He knows about you. You aren’t safe here. Take the children with you.”

Don’t tell me where, thought Vegeta. So he can’t torture it out of me.

“I’m not leaving,” she said, and she moved back, slightly. “Earth is perfectly safe, because I already know that my husband is going to kill Frieza and come home to me.”

“Bulma–”

“I made you some new armor,” she said, taking his hand and turning to go in the direction of the lab. “Come and see it.”

“There was a girl,” said Vegeta.

Bulma paused. “A girl?”

“Frieza took her,” said Vegeta. “To be a slave. There was nothing I could do to stop it. When he took me– I– I hated my parents for years, for not doing anything to stop it, for not coming for me, but there was nothing they could have done, other than die.”

“Whatever it was,” said Bulma. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that,” said Vegeta. “He did it to taunt me, to show me I was powerless. She was a teenager, Bulma. If he came here– if he took you or our children–”

“You’ll figure it out,” said Bulma. “You and Goku. You two always do.”

“I told you, we’re not speaking to each other,” Vegeta spat the words out.

“You’ll figure that out too,” she said, cupping his cheeks. Her hands were cool. “I’m not afraid of Frieza and I’m not going to run away and hide. Come and see the new armor. I found a way to make it more durable, but it's still just as light.”

She tugged at his hand again and he acquiesced, following her into the lab.

*** *** ***

He dozed sometimes, using Kakarot as a pillow. Reading was, if nothing else, boring work. Sometimes Kakarot went to get them food, though Vegeta warned him not to go back to West City.

Whatever he brought was usually good, cooking as an art form had been exported from Earth a few years after the war in Heaven. Not all that long after Bulma had invented drift engines, human explorers were making their fortunes teaching aliens that food could taste good. Anyone from Aesea Sigma who had managed to hold onto a decent portion of their fortunes following the collapse of the Galactic economy usually had as many human cooks as they could afford on staff.

There were some kind of skewered eels, bright blue, that were so hot the pop of spice was almost painful. Deep fried bread filled with thick, earthy curry. Pulu fruits, incandescently purple and eaten whole, incredibly rich and wonderfully sweet, pleasing to the palate. They were supposed to be only for the Gods, so Kakarot must have stolen them from a temple garden somewhere, but on the other hand, the two of them were the Gods, so maybe the priests had just handed them over when he’d asked. Meat that had been long-roasted in leaves that were thicker than Vegeta’s fingers. It was gamey, with a faint, odd taste, like cinnamon. His fangs made quick work of it, and Kakarot managed with his blunt teeth and a bit of persistence.

Vegeta didn’t eat in bed, though Kakarot probably would have if Vegeta allowed it. Instead they ate together on the balcony. If there had ever been chairs out here, they’d been annihilated in the fight, and so they sat on the floor. Vegeta flipped through the books idly. He was yet to find anything useful. Any given iteration of Creation seemed like it had been pretty boring until Zeno had given the Kais leave to create mortal life.

“Anything?” asked Kakarot. Vegeta was laying on his back on the balcony, reading, his head on Kakarot’s lap.

“I think the planets at the edge of the multiverse must be swarming with Godscar monsters,” said Vegeta. “Especially without the Kais to seed them with life.”

“Do you think we should go out there and start blowing them up?” asked Kakarot.

“It would take too long,” said Vegeta. “...and it wouldn’t help the people in the other universes. If those things haven’t escaped the planets they spawned on, it means they can’t traverse the Void. Or they just emerge there and wither away, since there’s nothing for them to feed on.”

“Bleak,” said Kakarot.

“We broke the multiverse,” said Vegeta, glancing up at him over the edge of the book. “What did you imagine it would be like?”

“Do you–” Kakarot hesitated. “Remember what you asked me to do?”

“Of course I do,” said Vegeta, coldly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. We’re lucky, in a sense.”

“Yeah,” said Kakarot. “Whis saved us. Saved everything, I guess.”

“No,” said Vegeta, sighing. He set the book aside. “He didn’t. He couldn’t have done anything, he was trapped in the gears of the machine he was part of, and divine suicide was the only way out. You saved us. All of the time I got afterwards, that I got to see my children grow up, I owe to you. I suppose it shouldn't even shock me, at this point.”

“Divine suicide?”

“You’re in a much better position to describe what happened than me, Kakarot.”

“It works, I guess.”

“I never told your wife what you said to me,” said Vegeta, sitting up. “As long as we’re talking about that day.”

“Do you think she would have been mad?” asked Kakarot.

“I think she would have found a way to come up here and murder you,” said Vegeta. “So yes, I think she would have been mad.”

“I loved her,” said Kakarot. “I did.”

“I know,” said Vegeta. “She knew that and she loved you too. Are they gone?”

“What do you mean?” asked Kakarot.

“Does reincarnation still work?” asked Vegeta. “The Other World was devastated, it didn’t fare any better than this place. I mean gone, Kakarot. Ceased to exist.”

Kakarot considered.

“There are a lot fewer people,” he said. “Frieza, he– you saw what he did. Between him and the Invested, there are tons more people who are dead than alive. So there are fewer new lives too. Right now, it takes hundreds and hundreds of years to reincarnate. Thousands, maybe. They aren’t gone, but it will probably feel like forever until we see them again.”

Briefly, Vegeta had the thought that he should have just killed himself sixteen years ago, and then he hated himself for having it. He supposed he hadn’t known that the Godscar would spread. That Creation wouldn’t heal itself. That Kakarot had been alone up here. Kakarot had kept it all to himself. To give him time, or more likely, because he couldn’t tell how quickly time was passing.

Vegeta supposed he’d pictured Kakarot traveling the multiverse, meeting new people and having adventures. Solving pointless problems for equally pointless aliens.

“Thinking of something?” Kakarot asked.

“This might shock you,” said Vegeta, “but you’re on my mind a great deal. For years, actually.”

It went like that, in a cycle.

Study until he couldn’t take it anymore, then spar, eat, back to studying. Vegeta slept sometimes, using Kakarot as a pillow, worried about sleepwalking, and more worried about the Godscar calling out to him again. He never slept for long, though he was aware that he could remain in that state for as long as he wanted.

Maybe when this was over, he could go to the Temple and sleep for a thousand years, wait to meet Bulma when she was born again. He wasn’t certain how he’d approach her. It wasn’t as if he could walk up to her and tell her he was a God. Then again, if she was anything like herself, she wouldn’t give the slightest inkling of a fuck about who he was. Vegeta smiled when he thought about it.

Kakarot came and went. Off to fix what damage he could. To get them food. To clear away the books Vegeta had discarded and bring him new ones. Vegeta wondered if Whis and Beerus had been like this, fundamentally and constantly joined, but going months or weeks without speaking.

He thought of the mark on Kakarot’s shoulder sometimes, and he tried not to.

Kakarot brought him some candy made of sugar and tree sap. It was caramel-sweet and nutty, and it somehow melted in his mouth and stuck to his teeth simultaneously. He loved it. They ate starchy, deep-fried vegetables, crunchy on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside. Vegeta would have previously thought of it as children's food, but he ended up licking the salt off his fingers, wanting more. Grilled octopus (or something similar), wonderfully chewy, with a taste like the ocean. Sweet boiled crab. Shellfish in hot sauce. Drinks that were bubbly and sour-sharp, tasting faintly of red berries. Vegeta felt the effect of them as soon as he downed the first few gulps.

“I don’t like it,” Kakarot announced, and made a face. He handed his drink to Vegeta.

“I’m not surprised,” said Vegeta, already committed to drinking both. No point in wasting food. “It’s alcohol. Didn’t they warn you at– wherever you got this?”

They were out on the balcony, where they normally ate, and overhead, everywhere the Godscar wasn’t, the sky was a glossy, gemstone black. Frieza’s color. He had been winning when everything had come apart. Vegeta hated it.

“They didn’t,” said Kakarot, and he resumed shovelling food into his mouth with hardly any pause.

Saiyans couldn’t usually get drunk, their bodies processed poisons and intoxicants so quickly that most of them were expelled before they could take effect. Vegeta didn’t get drunk either, even as he finished the second drink, though there was a brief, heady rush. He felt young, and despite everything it felt good to be young again. To not be in pain. To not be trapped in a body that was eating him alive, dying slowly from iphemedra. He–

Gods, Vegeta was almost entirely sober, but he did manage to come to the realization that he would really like to get fucked right now.

It had been a long time. He’d been depressed and listless for years after Bulma’s death, and then the illness. After that, this mess. Then five years in the Room. It felt like forever.

Wait a second, it had been forty years. Who had Kakarot been sleeping with, all this time?

That actually doesn’t matter, just keep your mouth shut–

“Kakarot,” said Vegeta, sharply.

Kakarot blinked and looked up at him.

“Who were you sleeping with?” Vegeta demanded.

“Uh…” Kakarot chewed whatever he was eating coarsely and swallowed. “I guess the last time would have been with you. The night before we came here to fight Frieza and his army. You remember, right?”

“You haven’t–” Vegeta blinked. “In forty years?”

Kakarot shrugged.

“You must be astonishingly hard up,” said Vegeta, bluntly.

“Time doesn’t feel the same anymore,” said Kakarot. “I can’t really tell that it’s passing. It’s easier now that you’re here. Things are more broken up.” He glanced at Vegeta. “That seems– I guess you would have called questions like that vulgar, back on Earth.”

They were vulgar, and Vegeta frowned. He sounded like Bulma, or like Kakarot himself. Babbling on without a thought about things that were meant to be private.

Oh well, it wasn’t like anyone else was here to hear it.

“I’m still angry with you,” said Vegeta, and he stood up, brushing himself off. He was reminding himself that he was, at this point.

“I know,” said Kakarot, tilting his chin up, to watch Vegeta. “I can see it in your auras.”

“I haven’t forgotten how talented you are at reading energy,” said Vegeta. He beckoned to Kakarot, who stood up. “Come on. We’ve rested long enough.”

Kakarot went inside and picked out some books for him, then arranged himself on the bed so Vegeta could lie down. Vegeta moved into the customary position, leaning against Kakarot’s body, using him as a cushion. After a moment, Kakarot’s hands came up to stroke through his hair. It felt good, and he let their auras mix, just a little bit.

He read, idly, about the organization of Heaven. Kakarot curled around him.

There were four Houses. Journeys, to allow the Divine to move throughout the cosmos. Fate, to read the future, and advise Zeno and the Angels. The Destroyer - and that was relatively self explanatory - to destroy threats to the Multiverse or to wipe away old things to make way for new life. The House of Creation, comprised entirely of the Kais. The Destroyer’s equals and opposites, and while there was only one Destroyer, there were hundreds of thousands of members of the House of Creation. There were important ones, like the Supreme Kai and the Heavenly Directional Rulers, but below them there had existed an uncountable host of attendants, scribes, research assistants, adjudants, concubines, butlers, clerks, and accountants. Creation was vast and complicated, and they had managed it all.

The Kais were all Core People, and the Core People came from–

Vegeta stopped, read the passage. Read it again. A third time, to be absolutely sure.

He sat up, brushed Kakarot’s hands away.

“What is it?” asked Kakarot.

“The Kais aren’t dead,” he said, but that was wrong. “I mean– they aren’t extinct. They aren’t like Saiyans. They come out of a tree. A kaiju tree, or some nonsense like that, on the Core Planet. There must be something left. A cutting, or a sapling, or a seed, and if we can bring them back, they can rejuvenate the Other World.”

He held the book up, there was a picture, thank, well, thank the Gods. Vegeta pointed at the page and Kakarot peered at it.

"...and if they can rejuvenate the Other World," said Kakarot, "there will be somewhere for the fallen Gods to go. After that, we can just cut the Godscar apart with spirit shaping and fission."

Vegeta nodded urgently, pleased that Kakarot had gotten it so quickly.

“So then…” Kakarot frowned. “How do we find that place?”

*** *** ***

Kakarot’s woman, next.

She was wearing her armor, her hair bound up behind her head, a sword almost as long as her body strapped across her back. There were people here, men from Earth’s army and warriors from nations far and wide, or at least, far and wide as far as a single planet was concerned. Right, she was the Guardian or Queen or some-other-title of the Southern Direction, where the Elemental Pole of Fire was. He often forgot, though Vegeta supposed that Kakarot did have an undeniable knack for stumbling ass-backwards into being a royal consort.

“Where’s my husband?” she asked, as he flew down and landed.

“I don’t know,” Vegeta admitted, and he had the impression she was holding court and he was being granted an audience. “With Broly. At the Temple, maybe, but maybe not.”

“When you see him, tell him–”

“I’m not going to see him,” said Vegeta. “I’m going to Aesea Sigma.”

Kakarot’s woman looked him up and down, critically.

“Why?”

“To collect the Dragon Balls that aren’t on Earth and to assassinate Frieza.”

“Alone?”

“With the Namekian, and one other, unless he develops some common sense before we leave, though that seems unlikely. There’s a targeting droid too.” Vegeta regarded the woman and her assembled warriors frankly. “If Frieza comes here, all you’re going to be able to do is die.”

“Then I’ll die,” she said, unconcerned. “One way or another I’m not going to live in a universe ruled by that creature. Was there something else, Vegeta? I’m busy.”

“You won’t leave?” he asked.

“I won’t,” she said. “My husband will kill Frieza, or maybe he won’t even get the chance.”

That was a vote of confidence, at least.

Vegeta nodded to her and she nodded back. He gathered ki, flew off.

Chapter Text

Frieza was up here, though his ghost had never troubled Goku before. The Emperor wasn’t an obsession, the way he was to Vegeta. The dictator was just another opponent, another mountain to climb. Another enemy in a list so long that Goku didn’t care to reckon with the accounting of it. It would work out. It always had before. He and Vegeta were invincible together.

He had been, well, thoughtless. Like the Prince sometimes accused him of being.

‘Idiot’, when Vegeta said it, was affectionate. It almost always meant, ‘let me help’ or ‘let me explain this’ or simply, ‘I’m here, Kakarot, what mess have you gotten yourself into now’.

‘Thoughtless’ was the needle that stung, the steady, worrying ache that lingered. It meant he had hurt someone. Usually Vegeta himself, but sometimes Chi-Chi, Gohan, Bulma, one of the others.

“I’m grateful, truly.”

Frieza floated down. Elegant, imperious, deadly. He was shorter than Goku, only barely taller than Vegeta was. Glossy black, like polished obsidian, oddly androgynous. He carried Vegeta in his arms, held against his chest in a mockery of tenderness, as though the Prince was a child.

There was so much blood that if not for the fluttering pulse of Vegeta’s energy, Goku wouldn’t have been able to tell the other man was alive. He looked ruined, broken in hideous ways. Goku felt his heart seize.

Whis stood one side, Beerus was gone, and the Angel was doll-like, somehow absent in presence. Goku vaguely remembered him saying something about his function being suspended if the Destroyer should perish.

There was fighting everywhere, Heaven was burning down, and Goku felt reality straining and twisting on its moorings, a hair’s breadth from breaking. Gravity seemed like a suggestion, momentum an afterthought that no one was keeping track of, and the weight of planet-sized bodies pressed close - the Super Dragon Balls, turned to stone by Frieza’s wish. There was a flare of jade light, like the corona of a green sun - Broly and the others were down there, somewhere, still fighting - and one of the orbiting globes split in two. A storm of debris rained down, gods and attendants died and lay where they’d fallen.

Goku had caused this, he knew.

“If I had never met you,” said Frieza. “I would have been content with what I had. I would never have known that I could be stronger, I would never have dared. I’d probably be rotting on a throne in the Center Direction, tormenting my concubines, bored out of my mind.”

The Emperor came up to him, and Goku tensed, already knowing that for all his power, fighting Frieza was pointless, but all the Demon of Frost did was hand Vegeta over. Goku gripped the other Saiyan awkwardly, held Vegeta against his chest.

“I’ll allow you to have him sometimes,” said Frieza, in a way that suggested that he thought that was a kindness. “I’ll give your sons to someone who isn’t particularly brutal.”

Goku stared at Frieza, and first real inkling of actual fear clawed through his auras. The dawning realization that he wasn’t getting out of this. The horror of helplessness gripped him. It was a new emotion, in the same way that gratitude surely was, to Frieza. Vegeta was limp in his arms, boneless, bleeding out, maybe too far gone already.

“Nothing to say, monkey–?”

“Kakarot!”

Vegeta’s voice startled him back to reality, Frieza’s ghost vanished, time resumed its flow. Vegeta’s eyes were narrowed, his energy terse and annoyed. He wore the Destroyer’s divine regalia. He was alive. Goku felt nothing more than profound relief, as though he was a man awakening from a nightmare.

“Of all the times to be daydreaming,” the Prince snapped, rolling his eyes.

They were on the Pinnacle. Beyond was death, the formless void outside Creation.

There was not much to see, just an outcropping of bare rock, and it looked exceptionally plain when cast alongside the limitless grandeur of Heaven. One of the only landmarks was a bloodstain, in the spot Vegeta had bled out, and time had turned the pool of blood into a brown-gray smear on the stone.

Zeno and the Grand Priest had retreated out there, beyond the point of no return, thinking that Frieza couldn’t follow, but the Last Wish had hardened the Demon of Frost to the point that nothing could break him. Innured him even to the killing darkness of non-existence.

Vegeta walked to the very edge, where Whis’ staff lay, and he knelt down and picked it up. Carried it back to Goku, held it out.

“You used to fight with one of these when you were young,” he said. “Didn’t you?”

“I did,” said Goku, and he reached out and took it. The staff felt comfortable in his hand, correct somehow. The weapon was neither too light nor too heavy, perfectly sized and balanced, meant to be wielded only by him. That seemed odd to Goku, because he and Whis hadn’t been the same height or build, and yet it was true all the same.

“It must be easier to use than those fucking lenses,” said Vegeta. “Can you find the Core Planet?”

“I can look, I guess,” said Goku, and he peered into the orb. There was nothing inside but darkness, and he frowned, smacked it against the palm of his hand.

“Are you serious, Kakarot?”

“As if I know where the ‘on’ switch is, Vegeta.” Goku tried tapping it against the ground, and then spinning the little ring that circled the orb. Nothing, and when he glanced up, he saw Frieza’s ghost depart. Following where Zeno had gone. He heard Heaven burning down as background noise. Felt Vegeta struggling to breathe, making an awful, wet noise against his chest.

The sky turned black, dark enough that it seemed to absorb light. The color of victory.

Even if they won the battle, they were going to lose the war.

He heard himself begging Whis to heal Vegeta, saw the Angel’s distracted, idle expression. Though Whis did come over and put his hand on Vegeta’s chest. Wounds sealed up in a flicker of blue light. Enough to keep Vegeta alive, not enough to get him back in the fight. Perhaps that would have been interfering, and the Angel was not supposed to do so without his Lord.

…or maybe it didn’t matter. There was no fight to be had. It was over now. Whis drew back, went to the edge.

“Kakarot…?”

He glanced down at Vegeta.

“Take us back to Earth.”

It was hard for Goku to describe the relief he’d felt in that moment. Vegeta knew what to do, of course he did. Whatever they had to do to beat Frieza, he’d figured it all out. It was one of the purest emotions he’d ever felt, and all of his fear and doubt evaporated, he hugged Vegeta, stretching just a little to press his fingertips to his forehead with his arms around the other man.

“I need you to blow it up,” said Vegeta, weakly. “I don’t have any energy left.”

If he’d felt relief a second before, the way it crashed away nearly made him sick. He hesitated, pulled his hands back, tried to believe that Vegeta had said something else, but Vegeta was just laying there, looking up at him, his black eyes dull.

“I–”

“Either Zeno erases Creation or Frieza usurps him and rules it,” said Vegeta. “No one–”

“You can’t–” Goku balked. “You’re asking me to kill our families!?”

“Only because I can’t do it myself,” said Vegeta. “It’s the end, Kakarot, please.”

Vegeta had told him once that time was a circle, that no matter what you did, you ended up back in the same place. Maybe it was true, because here they were, back on Namek, with Frieza so powerful it was hard to imagine, Vegeta dying in his arms, begging him to–

–but it wasn’t the same. Even the thought of doing as Vegeta asked made him sick.

“Say something,” Vegeta demanded, hoarsely.

“Other than ‘no’?” Goku asked.

“Don’t let Frieza do to our children what he did to me,” Vegeta grabbed him by the shirt, the outer layers of the gi long-since burned away. “You saw it in the fusion, I know you did. Don’t–”

“Come here, chakravartin.”

Goku looked up, Whis beckoned to him with one hand–

Someone else’s hands were on him. A gloved palm struck him across the face, more to get his attention than actual violence. The blow didn’t even sting. Vegeta.

“What’s wrong with you, Kakarot?” the Prince peered at him, concerned.

“Nothing,” said Goku. “Can we go?”

“Go?”

“I don’t like it up here.”

Vegeta glanced around, from the faded bloodstains, to the now unmarked spot that the staff had fallen, to the black sky and the ruin of the Godscar that filled most of it. His expression didn’t soften, but his auras did. Understanding, and whatever passed as sympathy where Vegeta was concerned, filled them, smoothed them down. He nodded.

“Of course we can go,” he said. “In fact, take us home. Let’s stay there.”

“Home?” asked Goku.

“The Temple,” said Vegeta, clarifying. He came closer, reached out, put his hand on the center of Goku’s back. He had never done it before, but paradoxically he’d done it hundreds of thousands of times. The touch was familiar, comforting somehow, and Goku aligned his energy. Took them there.

*** *** ***

Vegeta was sitting in the grass, a few miles away from the Temple, close to the edge of the world. He looked straight ahead, off the side of the temple-planet. Staring at nothing, despite the spectacular view.

Goku didn’t teleport to him, though he did that often, just to rile the Prince up. He liked to mess with Vegeta sometimes, just to see him react. To feel the prickle of his auras flare outwards and then settle back down to mix with his own.

This wasn’t, Goku knew, the time. He knew enough about relationships to know that.

Vegeta was closed off, his energy hidden, his expression cold. He had his knees up against his chest, his crossed arms resting over them.

“I’m leaving,” he said, as Goku approached.

“When will you–”

“I’m not coming back, Kakarot.”

Blunt as ever.

“Okay,” said Goku, frowning, “but I think we really need to talk about what to do about Frieza–”

“When he took me,” said Vegeta, dully. “I was close to the age that Gohan was, back on Namek. My father didn’t do anything to protect me. The last thing he ever said to me was to tell me to obey my new owner. Can you even imagine? Having to say that to your son?”

“Vegeta, I would never let that happen, I know you would never let that happen–”

Vegeta stood up and brushed himself off, even though he was immaculately clean. “I have to go. There are things I need to do.”

“If we were together–”

“We aren’t together, Kakarot.” Vegeta put his hand on Goku’s chest. “I told you that before. In the Room. When we started all– all of this. A mistake, I think.”

Everything was rapidly spiraling out of control. Whis and Beerus were back at the Temple, discussing how quickly Frieza was expanding his new Empire. Worlds that had only barely been liberated suddenly occupied again. The mass drafting of nearly anyone who could hold a weapon into the dictator’s armies. The Galactic Patrol scattered and reeling. Something that Goku could sense but couldn’t identify. The Tyrant was drinking the galaxy dry of life, but he couldn’t explain how or why or for what reason.

He wouldn’t figure that part out until later.

Whatever it was, Heaven wouldn’t send down an order to kill Frieza. It was debatable, in Goku’s opinion, if Beerus could even do it - if such an order ever did come down. Frieza’s conquests amused Zeno, and it wasn’t as though the dictator could ever threaten He the Most High - or even get into Heaven - so this was like some kind of divine bloodsport to the Gods. Watching animals scramble for scraps of power and kill each other over nothing.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” Goku blurted the words out. How could Vegeta not see that, not feel the same things he felt? “I want it to be like it was, right after we defeated Buu. I want to be with you.”

“It can’t be like that,” said Vegeta. “Not after what you did.”

“You’ve betrayed me a thousand times,” Goku protested. “I’ve never held it over your head.”

“Listen to me, Kakarot.”

Goku glanced down, to Vegeta. The Prince withdrew his hand.

“You’re the Legendary Super Saiyan–”

“I thought that Broly was–”

“You and Broly have grander destinies than I do,” said Vegeta, and he was so calm when he said that. Not angry or jealous or bitter at all. Just a flat, almost placid acceptance, like he was too tired to hate any more. “I have a family I need to take care of, other responsibilities. Stay here and train. Cavort around the universe with deities. Do as you please. Act on whatever thought enters your head. Gods know you were going to do that anyways.”

“That isn’t fair,” Goku protested. “You know it isn’t, Vegeta.”

“Goodbye, Kakarot.” Vegeta touched his fingers to his forehead, and though the Prince had claimed he was never going to do it again, Goku felt the other man’s energy flicker and align.

…and then he was gone.

*** *** ***

The Temple itself was immaculate. The magic that kept it running still functioned, though that was no surprise. Frieza had never come here.

The grounds however, looked chaotic and overgrown, but that was probably because Whis hadn’t been here to tend to the gardens. The act of doing so was wholly unnecessary, but the Angel had performed it as a sort of diversion. Something to occupy himself between Beerus’ oscillating periods of slumber and non-stop waking demands.

Goku didn’t have any clue how to turn whatever spell managed the gardens back on, so he guessed he was going to have to fix them himself.

…come to think of it, he didn’t have any idea how to garden either, though it couldn’t be all that different from farming, could it?

He could learn, he supposed.

After all, he was going to be living here with Vegeta, forever.

It was complicated and strange. Vegeta was so angry with him, though the edge of it was already dulling, and the Prince’s presence made things feel broken up. Before, time had been flowing past like water in a river, and now everything felt choppy, divided and not-right. Goku liked it. It made him feel mortal. More like himself. Holding the world at arm’s length was a Whis thing, actually.

They’d had a fight about that, him and Whis, or something like a fight. About not being in the world.

“Feeling any better, Kakarot?” Vegeta moved his hand away, glancing up at him.

Immensely, actually. Goku nodded to him.

“Good,” said Vegeta, and he walked away, towards the Temple. Goku hurried after him. “Let’s find the Core Planet and figure out how to travel to it. Since neither of us has been there before, we can’t use Instant Transmission, and the divine causeway was completely destroyed.”

“You know how to fly a spaceship, right?”

“Of course I do, Kakarot.” Vegeta rolled his eyes and gestured to the staff. “Not that we have a spaceship, but I’m sure the Galactic economy will recover if we have to steal one.”

It was his turn, Goku realized. That was the cycle of their lives. One out ahead, the other chasing after, and despite the vast gulf in power, Vegeta had figured out what to do. Managed to get out ahead. He’d shouldered the effort of studying– of learning how to study at all, of finding the information they needed. Now Goku had to figure out how to use that information.

“I think I need to meditate,” he said. The staff was still inert, though Goku tried tapping it again. He flicked the little ring thingie and made it wobble. Nothing. Vegeta scowled and looked annoyed.

“Pick a spot and get on with it,” said Vegeta, gesturing around. “I’ll guard the Temple.”

That was completely unnecessary, but Goku appreciated the sentiment, at least.

If he really thought about it, the spot he would have picked to get himself calm and centered would have been in bed with Vegeta. Curled around him, listening to him breathe, preferably undressed. Vegeta had fallen asleep while reading a few times, but it wasn’t the same as it had been. Nothing was. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be.

Vegeta flew off and started clearing out some of the worst overgrowth, tossing the debris off the edge of the planet. He probably wasn’t supposed to do that, but it wasn’t like anyone could stop him.

Goku wandered, and the whole place felt familiar in a way he couldn’t place. Nostalgia for something that wasn’t his. He recalled that Beerus had refused to reside in Heaven, as was his right. The Destroyer had loathed it up there. Chafed at being given commands. Thrown tantrums instead of politicking. Hated how everything in existence was twisted towards appeasing Zeno.

More like Vegeta than he wasn’t.

Beerus had had Whis build this place. Isolated. Away from everything. A place to sleep away the centuries. Like a monster of legend, or a leviathan sketched across the empty space on a map. The Eater of Worlds. Here there be dragons.

Goku came to the place he’d stood in when he’d challenged Whis about living in the world. It seemed as good a place as any other, and he sat down on the tiles, crossed his legs, and laid the staff across them. He’s seen Whis use it dozens of times, and he tried to clear his head. To picture the planet and stars he’d seen in Vegeta’s book.

How long he spent trying, he wasn’t sure. Occasionally it seemed like he saw glimmers of light in the orb, but he didn’t have any more luck with it then Vegeta had had with the lenses. If Whis had been here, Goku could just have asked him, but–

Oh, wait. Hold on a second.

Okay, Goku realized that maybe he really was an idiot, because he should have just thought of this from the beginning.

Whis had only been able to go three minutes back in time, but that was only because he was restricted by divine law, curtailed the will of the Grand Priest and Zeno. There was no one to enforce that law now. So Goku realized he could just go back in time and ask Whis how to use the staff.

He sprang to his feet, trying to do the math and frowning.

Forty years, right? Plus a few more so that he could talk to Whis before the whole Frieza thing. Whis might even know where the Core Planet was, or be able to take Goku there so that he could just Instant Transmission out to it.

It seemed simple enough. Vegeta was going to love this.

Oh, right, Vegeta.

Goku realized he could go even further back. Snatch Vegeta up as a teenager and take him to Earth, before Frieza had forced him, wash that scar clean. He could kill Frieza before the dictator blew up Planet Vegeta. Further back than that, and he could strangle the burgeoning Empire in its crib. Wait, was that too much?

Maybe, but he could go and slap some sense into himself on Yardrat, tell himself to go find Vegeta, who was lost in space too - searching for him. Tell himself to confess his feelings right then and there, order himself not to waste all those years. Follow Vegeta instead of staying with Broly when the former had said he was leaving. Go to Planet Vegeta and teach his own father about Super Saiyan.

He could go and rescue Broly from Vampa and take him to Earth too, or redirect his own pod and dump his younger self off with Whis thirty-nine years before Beerus woke up, or–

No, keep it simple.

He took a step back, and then another. Forty years, and then another three before he slowed down. Scenes flashed by as afterimages of red light. Time flickered as it flowed in reverse.

When it was done, he was in the same spot, though the gardens were immaculate. Clusters of wildflowers crowded the marble boxes, roses and flowering vines climbed over the trellises, blooming wisteria hung from the arches, the arrangement of colors and scents soothing to the senses. Pollen was heavy in the air, honeybees and butterflies sailed past idly, fat and happy. It was unbelievably beautiful, but sterile somehow, too perfect.

“This is a private residence,” a voice called out. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

Whis floated down from the sky as Goku turned towards the source of the voice, and although he’d clearly been poised to say something else, the Angel paused when he saw the Saiyan. Something like shock or concern flickered across his pristine features, then vanished.

“Heya Whis–”

The Angel landed and came forward, took Goku’s chin in his hand and turned his head from side to side, inspecting him, pinching his cheeks between delicate blue fingers.

“I was wondering if you could–”

“Dear me,” said Whis, frowning lightly. “I suppose that certain future events must have gotten, well, I suppose the word ‘apocalyptic’ might suffice to describe it.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Goku. “Things definitely got apocalyptic or whatever. I’m going to fix it, though. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“I see,” said the Angel, and he pursed his lips. He was still inspecting Goku, though his hands fell away at last. “I admit, I didn’t think this form of ascension was possible, though now I see exactly how I did it. Of course it had to come from a stable time loop.”

“Loop?”

“A stable time loop,” said Whis, correcting him.

“Is that good or bad?” asked Goku. frowning.

“It’s the only form of time travel that can change the past,” said Whis. “Though I would expect nothing less from you, Goku. You were always an incredibly promising student.”

“Thanks,” said Goku. “You’re not, I guess, mad about being dead?”

“I’m not dead,” said Whis. “I persist as something more complex than gestalt. I’m speaking to myself right now.”

“...uh, okay?” Goku blinked, and he held out the staff. “Can you show me how to use this?”

“I suppose we have time for a short lesson,” said Whis, and he pointed at a glyph on the side of the staff. “The power switch is right there.”

At least Vegeta wasn’t present to hear that. He would have fucking lost it, though in Goku’s defense, Vegeta hadn’t thought of that either. Goku pressed his thumb to the glyph and the staff lit up, surging with energy.

Whis smiled. “May I ask what your destination is?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Goku, and he twirled the staff, delighted with the results. He’d never had a better idea in his life. “Vegeta and I are going to the Core Planet.”

“No,” said Whis. “I already knew you would seek out the Core Planet. I meant your destination in time.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Goku. “I was going to go and get young Vegeta–”

“Walk with me,” said Whis, and he turned, gesturing for Goku to follow.

The Angel was much taller than he was, though he had a slow, almost languid gait. Goku sort of had to hurry to keep up and sort of didn’t. Whis went idly among the garden boxes, inspecting the plants, making tiny adjustments, pruning and watering. Goku watched him, figuring there was probably a point to all this.

“The three-minute rule doesn’t apply to you,” said Whis. An observation, not a question.

“No,” said Goku, “and Vegeta isn’t bound to the Kais either.”

“I see,” said Whis. He straightened. “The choices you, and Vegeta, made resulted in whatever future it is that you both inhabit. You can’t, and indeed you shouldn’t, change that future by erasing them.”

“But, I could–”

“There’s no one to stop you,” said Whis, plainly, “but believe me when I say that the reckless manipulation of time will do even more damage to an already fractured Creation. Vegeta is alive?”

“He is,” said Goku.

“Then your future is what matters,” said Whis. “Not your past. You can’t reconcile if you erase who he is, which would be the only possible result of such meddling. To say nothing of the catastrophe of continuity you would cause if Vegeta’s son ceased to exist.”

Goku supposed he hadn’t thought of it that way. He looked up at Whis.

“With no one available to enforce divine law,” said Whis, “we’re instead going to have to utilize something that I believe ancient humans developed on Earth. As I understand, it’s called the ‘honor system’. No more than three minutes, Goku, no matter how tempted you are.”

“That means I won’t be able to come back and see you again,” said Goku.

“I’m afraid not,” said Whis. “This is the final lesson, truly. For both of us.”

“So, then, goodbye?”

Whis smiled thinly. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that.”

*** *** ***

At some point while he’d been out, Vegeta must have gone back up to Heaven to retrieve Popo and Korin, and the three of them were building something in the courtyard at the edge of the temple.

Well, Vegeta and Popo were, Korin floated near Vegeta, awkwardly gripping a tome in his paws, holding it open so Vegeta could reference whatever was in it. Whatever they were making looked like it was supposed to be a diamond shaped garden box, except that it mostly just looked like a mess.

“You’re doing it wrong–”

“Well, I’m the God of Destruction, not the God of Gardening–”

“I think it needs more support on that side, no, the other side–”

“It’s never going to drain properly if you don’t add gravel–”

“If you know so much, why don’t you come down here and–”

“With these delicate little paws–?”

All three of them stopped as he flew up, and Vegeta’s gaze flicked up to the orb that topped the staff, now swirling with gold light.

“Hey guys,” Goku said. “Watcha doin’?”

“We’re building a habitat for the Tree.” Vegeta gestured to the mess. “Once you and I retrieve whatever is left of it, we’ll need to plant it somewhere. Watch over it, I suppose.”

“Is it supposed to look so, uh, bad?” Goku asked, tilting his head to one side.

“Fuck you, Kakarot–!”

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting Vegeta off. “Alone?”

Whether or not Vegeta was going to say yes, Popo and Korin made themselves scarce. He knew neither of them knew Instant Transmission, it was forbidden to the Gods, but it seemed as though one second they were there and the next, they weren’t. He caught a glimpse of Korin’s sleek, feline body as the cat hopped through one the Temple’s upper windows, and heard a door open and close somewhere as Popo vanished through it.

“I suppose we can,” said Vegeta. He crossed his arms.

“You died,” said Goku.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. “Which time?”

“Um, on Earth,” said Goku. “When Frieza came back. He blew up the Earth, and killed everyone except me. You thought I interfered, that I was trying to steal glory from you, but I actually did that to save your life.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying, Kakarot?”

“I’m saying that it actually didn’t happen,” said Goku, “because Whis took me back in time.”

“Ah,” said Vegeta. “You have that power as well, to travel time? Is that what you’re saying?”

Goku nodded.

“So then did you change something else?” asked Vegeta, tilting his chin up. “To make me more amenable, I assume?”

“No, I–” Goku glanced away. “I thought about doing it, though.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” asked Vegeta, his lips curled up. “That I exist predicated on nothing but your whims? You’re Frieza all over again.”

“It’s not like that–”

“You don’t have any idea what it was like–”

“I love you,” Goku blurted the words out.

Vegeta closed his eyes, took a deep breath, held it, let it out. He went and sat down on the edge of the ugly garden box. “Kakarot–”

“All of you,” said Goku. “Everything. Even the parts that are bad and ugly. There was a minute where I thought I could heal you, and another moment when I wanted to go back and tell you how I felt when we were on Namek, so we didn’t waste all that time, and I just thought–”

Vegeta stared up at him.

“–I only thought about doing it because I wanted you to be happy, to have a better life, you’re so angry and I wanted to fix it, but I–”

“You already changed me into something I wasn’t before,” said Vegeta. “Something that I didn’t want.”

“I didn’t want to keep on living, forever, without you,” said Goku. “I couldn’t, and I’m not sorry. I’ve known I wanted to be with you since the day we met, and if you hate me, fine. At least you’re alive to keep on hating me. At least I can still be near you and hear your voice.”

“Anything else?” asked Vegeta.

“No,” Goku admitted.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” said Vegeta. “Don’t think for a second that’s what this means.”

Goku nodded. “Okay.”

“I meant it,” said Vegeta, after a moment.

“Meant what?” asked Goku.

“When I said you should join me,” said Vegeta. “When I said we should be together. The day we met. I meant it all the way back then. I wanted– and on Namek too.”

“We could be like that again–”

“We can’t, Kakarot.” Vegeta sighed.

“Something different, then,” said Goku. “As long as we’re together.”

“You abandoned me,” said Vegeta, quietly. “Your wife, Gohan. Bulma. Krillin, all of the others. They loved you. So did I.”

“Scream at me, at least,” said Goku. “Be like you were before. Attack me or something. Burn down the sky.”

“I’m too tired, Kakarot.”

“You can’t even get tired anymore,” Goku pointed out.

“I need to finish what I was doing,” Vegeta said, and he pushed himself up. “After that, I’ll find us a ship. If the staff works, keep looking for the Core Planet, but don’t–”

“I didn’t mean to stay away so long,” said Goku. “I didn’t understand how much time was passing, and there was so much to do out there, and I thought–”

Vegeta’s lips slid back, his fangs bared, there was warning in his expression. Something feral and predatory.

“–I thought you would all be better off without me.”

“You’re an idiot.” Vegeta snarled the words out.

“I’m sorry,” said Goku.

“You said a moment ago that you weren’t,” Vegeta snapped.

“Sorry that I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” said Goku. “Sorry that I left, that I didn’t come back. It was just that you chose her, and I thought I could live with it if that was what you wanted–”

“It wasn’t a matter of choosing one over the other, Kakarot–!” Vegeta clenched his fists. “How can you even say that!? My wife loved you too, she was practically your sister! You missed out on half of her life! You think we wanted you gone!?”

The suggestion that Bulma was his sibling had sent Vegeta flying into rages in the past. The very idea that his adopted planet meant far more to him than his Saiyan heritage had infuriated the Prince to no end. It was strange to think how much he had changed, how they were both different people.

“Why didn’t you call me!?” Goku cried, in return. “You could have! I would have come back!”

“She told me not to,” said Vegeta, bitterly. “She didn’t want you to see her like that.”

That hadn’t occurred to him. “It was– was it bad?”

“Awful, at the end.” Vegeta glanced away. “She only wanted you to have good memories of her.”

“Like the time she ran me over with her car, or when she emptied a shotgun into my face?” Goku asked.

“She forced me to take her to space to look for you.” Vegeta laughed. “It was horrendous, just a complete disaster. We were at each other’s throats the entire time and we nearly died a dozen more.”

“She made me swear an oath to kill you,” said Goku. “For murdering her old boyfriend.”

“On Namek,” said Vegeta, “she stabbed me. Over nothing.”

“Over nothing?”

“I may have walked in on her changing, on the ship.” Vegeta snorted dismissively. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Kakarot. I’m not your old martial arts instructor. I was searching for new armor, and I hardly even saw anything because she also sprayed me with some kind of chemical repellant.”

“When we were searching for the Dragon Balls, she made me test if some berries we found were poisonous, but they were hallucinogenic. I was out of my head for days.”

“Considering how you usually are,” said Vegeta, “it must have been an improvement. Remember when you teleported into our bedroom and she tried to kill you?”

“Remember when you ruined her Winter’s Night celebration?”

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. “Which time?”

Goku couldn’t help but laugh, and Vegeta caught his gaze and he did too. It only lasted a few seconds, and then, it seemed as though something twisted up and broke inside the Prince. Tears spilled over the corners of Vegeta’s eyes, and then he was crying. He reached for Goku, who took him in his arms.

Vegeta had cried before, Goku had seen it plenty of times, but had always just been a physical reaction, to pain or to injury or to torture, not like this. Goku wondered if the other man had ever cried, really cried, in his whole life. Vegeta’s shoulders shook, he pressed his face into Goku’s chest. Raw grief bled into his auras, tar-black and heavy. Goku brought his hands up, stroked them through Vegeta’s coarse hair.

It went on for a long time.

Afterwards, there was a lack of physical reaction that was disquieting, though it was godly and divine. The crying jag passed. Goku’s clothes weren’t wet from the tears, Vegeta’s face wasn’t red, the sobs hadn’t made his breath catch or his heart beat any quicker. The Prince wiped his eyes and there was no sign that it had happened.

“No more grand gestures, Kakarot.” Vegeta stepped back.

“What do you mean?” Goku didn’t entirely let him go, he caught Vegeta’s hand. Vegeta didn’t pull it away.

“I mean no more offering to burn down the universe or trying to rewrite time,” said Vegeta. “Small things, so that we can begin again. We’ll find the tree together and we’ll care for it together. Help me build the garden box.”

He did. They weren't as bad at it as Goku had expected, though he guessed it made sense. He’d been decent at farming, Vegeta’s wife had been an artificer and beyond what he'd picked up through osmosis, he’d lived in a technologically advanced society. He knew at least a little about how to build things.

“I’m tired,” Vegeta announced at some point.

It wasn’t true, not exactly. They didn’t get tried, didn’t need to rest, or sleep, or have leisure time unless they wanted it. Forty years had slipped past without Goku noticing, and for all he knew, they had been building the garden box for another forty. There was no day or night here, no way to break up time, and he was starting to realize why.

“I’m going to bed,” said Vegeta. “Come with me.”

Okay. Apparently Vegeta slept with people he was only just starting relationships with, though Goku supposed he’d done that with Bulma too.

They went up to their old room, which had actually been Vegeta’s old room. They had only rarely used Goku’s, Vegeta had always complained about how messy it was. Which was amazing, because the Temple cleaned itself.

Vegeta undressed, and Goku admired the slimmer profile of his body. The wounds from the Godscar were already gone. In fact, the only scars that lingered were the one through his sternum, the kill shot, from Frieza; and the ones on his wrists and hands, from when he’d killed himself. Goku already knew that he had a pair of virtually identical ones. The one on his sternum from Piccolo, and the ones radiating away from his left hand from Cell.

He would have done anything that Vegeta asked, indulged any kink or request just to touch him, but Vegeta only told him to undress and guided him down onto the bed. It was—

Something was wrong.

The person in the bed with him didn’t feel like Vegeta. Didn’t taste or smell like him when Goku kissed his throat, his chest, the crease of his hip. He wanted so badly to press his tongue to some hollow on Vegeta’s body and taste his sweat, but when he tried, there was none of that anymore. It felt about as real as putting his lips on a glass of water. He frowned, and took Vegeta in his mouth, licked and sucked him to completion, and that was wrong too. There was nothing messy or real about it, no dripping saliva, no discomfort. It simply happened, and he swallowed whatever had replaced Vegeta’s seed down without tasting it.

Vegeta’s body was pliant when Goku tested it with his fingers. Already wet somehow. There would have been no need to ready him, but he did it anyway, out of reflex. Moved between Vegeta’s legs, and wondered if he’d just built up sex in his head. Goku knew Vegeta’s body incredibly well, they’d shared it more than once, after all. The ways he trembled and shuddered, all of the places he liked to be touched. There was none of that now, though Vegeta pressed his face into Goku’s shoulder as he rode his cock, the rhythm perfect, if mechanical. He felt Vegeta throb and spill over his stomach, and he spilled inside.

He barely felt the climax. The period at the end of a sentence.

On some level, Goku knew that the normal constraints of biology no longer applied to either of them. There would be a baby if they both wanted it. He held it back, sensed Vegeta doing the same. What a disaster that would be. Things were fragile enough.

They came apart, the sheets weren’t soiled. There was nothing on Goku’s body, nothing dripping between Vegeta’s legs. No evidence it had even happened, like the crying jag, before. It felt unpleasant, oddly sterile.

“Can you, um—” Goku frowned.

“Hm?” Vegeta looked up at him. He didn’t seem nearly as upset about what had just happened.

“Have me?”

“If you like.” Vegeta gestured. “On your knees, Kakarot.”

He did as he was told, arching his back, bracing with his arms. Behind him, Vegeta made a noise of annoyance, and the Prince used his knee to shove Goku’s legs a bit further apart. His fingers at first, just a few quick strokes, and then his cock.

It was the same as before. Vegeta took him with long strokes, rougher than he was, when he took Vegeta. Goku pressed back against him, until his body obliged him with release and he spilled into the sheets. It felt the same as it had the first time. Vegeta shot inside of him, more a feeling of warmth than actual seed, the vague sense that he could bear for Vegeta if he wanted to. Goku ignored it, and he knew on some level that Vegeta did the same. Nothing coated his thighs or his ass, no sweat or fluids. The bed was just as clean as it had been when they’d started.

Vegeta moved away, laid down on his back. Goku knew from experience that Vegeta only slept on his side when the Prince was draped over him. Something about warrior training that he had never really paid attention to.

“Vegeta?”

“Yes?”

“That was bad.”

“What were you expecting, Kakarot?” Vegeta burst out laughing. “Did you think the Gods were inconvenienced by something as simple as biology? That they rolled around in their own sweat and cum? These aren’t even our old bodies. You destroyed both of those.”

Goku frowned. “Do you think we’ll get used to them?”

“Even if we do, it won’t be the same.” Vegeta scowled and rolled his eyes, and the almost-mortal frustration was such a Vegeta thing that it was actually comforting. “Oh, stop looking at me like a lost puppy, for fuck’s sake. I’ve started to forgive you, so lay down with me.”

He did, and Vegeta moved to his side.

Even that wasn’t like it had been before. It had actually been thrilling, all those years ago, in the Room. Vegeta had let Goku see him, turned to him for comfort. Trusted in his protection. Goku still remembered how the other man’s heartbeat had felt, the way Vegeta’s auras had relaxed and mixed with his own for the first time. The way Vegeta would stir in the middle of the night and move closer, wanting more skin-to-skin contact, not even awake, really.

This felt like dolls being posed, but he brought his hand up to stroke through Vegeta’s hair anyways. Different, too perfect.

“It’s alright,” Vegeta murmured. “I’m here, Kakarot.”

That, at least, had the same feeling as when he’d woken Vegeta from the nightmare, all those years ago.

That was something, he thought.