PEACE
A Dragonball Christmas fic by ALF, 2000.
WARNINGS: 100% Clean. ^_^ Happy Holidays...
NOTE: This fic takes place in the Mirai Trunks timeline. Trunks in this fic is very young
and some of the details written here may or may not be accurate or true. This is my first
venture into the Mirai world, you have been warned. ^_^
~~~~~~~~~~
A vast ceiling of glistening metal and rubber bore down on Bulma. Every day was
the same scene; a scene of determination, constant hope, and perhaps even a little
desperation. Bulma was hard at work on the biggest project of her life, her masterpiece.
Her efforts did take its toll on her; she was constantly tired, wearing down. Nothing,
however, was going to stop her from completing what she called her Hope.
Little Trunks scurried about the large lab room, holding an imaginary sword with
both hands as he lashed out at imaginary monsters and demons around him. "Ha!
Gotcha!" he cried in glee, his voice so young and soft. Bulma smiled from underneath her
incomplete machine, knowing that what she was attempting to build would be nothing
without her son.
*Someday soon you'll understand your purpose for my masterpiece* she
thought. Trunks, until then, thought the large hunk of twisted metal was just something
that his mother was always suppose to work on, her purpose when she wasn't doing other
things. He was too young to incorporate a goal in her work.
"I am the mighty Son Goku, here to take you all down!" the child cried, smirking
as he spun in circles with his sword flailing. He loved to put himself into his mother's
stories of powerful, courageous people that she once knew, people whom he dubbed his
heroes. "I'm gonna get all of ya!"
"Trunks, honey, don't get too close," Bulma warned, watching her son's feet from
under the machine out of the corner of her eye. The little pair kept coming closer, despite
her warning. "Trunks, move away from there," she called, watching the feet spin even
closer. "TRUNKS! MOVE! TR--"
There was a loud *bang* as Trunks' foot collided with metal. The ceiling
under Bulma moaned dangerously, ready to fall. All she could do was gasp and shut her
eyes tight, praying that the one ton structure wouldn't come crashing down.
The project groaned and creaked, complaining about its disturbance, and then
quieted. Bulma opened one eye and looked cautiously around. The machine was still a
distance above her, she was still unharmed and alive. Heaving a huge sigh of relief,
Bulma wheeled herself out from under her machine, glaring at a guilty-looking chibi
Trunks standing quietly at a distance. "How many times have I told you not to play in
here while I'm working?!" she roared.
The little kid flinched, staring at the ground as his foot made little incoherent
patterns on the concrete floor.
"You know how dangerous this place can get," Bulma continued. "This is not a
place for children! Someone could have gotten seriously hurt, not to mention that you
could have ruined my work."
Tears stung Trunks's eyes at the harsh tone of his mother's voice. She was
definitely angry at him. She rarely ever got angry with him. "I-I'm sorry, 'Kaasan," he
sniffed. "It was an accident. I--"
"Go play outside or something while I clean this place up," Bulma advised, a
scowl on her face. "I'll deal with you later." The expression on her face indicated how
preoccupied she was at the moment, ten-million things running through her mind at once.
Trunks reluctantly obeyed, sulking as he trudged out of the room.
"Kuso," Bulma muttered, rolling herself back under her machine to where an oil
leak was staining the floor. "I'm never gonna get this done." She sighed in frustration as
she tackled the leak, soiling herself with the slick black substance. "It's almost Christmas
and here I am, getting my cranky self covered in oil." Her mind wandered as she hastily
worked, drifting to happier, brighter Holidays. Holidays when she surrounded herself
with friends and family, her now deceased friends and family. The thought of never being
able to see everyone again brought back frequent flashbacks of everyone's deaths: her
parents blasted away into nothing by a massive ki blast, Krillin and the other warriors
battered and tortured to death by those cursed machines, those androids. Her beloved
Vegeta amongst the others that were killed in such a horrid way. And Goku, fading away
from a heart decease. Bulma had always thought he would go down fighting, but instead
he had to go in such a pathetic way, stuck in a bed and withering away. Nothing at all
like Goku wanted. Trunks was only a baby when Disaster happened, and Gohan was still
young back then.
*Someday we're gonna change all that,* Bulma reminded herself, throwing
extra strength into her work. *Someday we'll all be happy again.*
She wasn't the only one who had the same hopes.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Gohan gazed up at the cloudy sky, a slight breeze rustling his uncombed hair and
causing the grass around him to dance and softly shine with the dim light. He clutched
the bandaged stub that was once his arm, trying his best to think of anything else but the
pain. He cursed himself for being so foolish against that monster, for not watching
himself and getting too close. So much for that lesson in Trunks' training. So much for
his arm. *He still has a long way to go,* Gohan lectured to himself. *He's still so
damn young. But I know he will someday be strong, he HAS to be. I have to train him
hard, like Piccolo-san trained me...* Gohan gritted his teeth stubbornly, turning his
head away from the wind. He hated returning to his past, he refused to go back. *Why
did everyone have to die? Why couldn't I go down with them?*
Trunks trudged up the hill, meeting up with his mentor. His lavender eyes were
cast downward, his hair hiding his face. "Hi, Gohan-san," he muttered in a low voice.
Gohan frowned, knowing that Trunks was troubled. "Don't fret, whatever it is.
There's worst things you can go through, greater horrors."
The kid rolled his eyes and flopped down next to Gohan. He was used to the older
warrior's constant lectures on how worse off things could have been and on how lenient
his training sessions actually were, and so-forth. Trunks couldn't believe that Gohan was
once so....so.....so much of a wimpy-sissy-puss, as he often put it. "I'm sorry about your
arm," he said quietly, staring at the red-stained bandages.
Gohan grunted, the mention of his arm bringing back the almost forgotten pain.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he snapped. "Go bug your mother or
something."
Trunks stared, hurt and confusion on his face. He stood up slowly, looking at
Gohan. "I said I was sorry!" he wailed, before he took off into the breeze.
"Trunks!" Gohan cried out, not expecting such a scene. "Trunks!" But the child
never looked back as he disappeared into the distant forest. Gohan sighed and cursed
himself again. "It's not your fault," he whispered, his words useless without the proper
ears to hear them. "You can't help the way things turned out. I just wish things were the
way they used to be."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Trunks!" Bulma called out into the dead of night. "TRUNKS!" Snow fell from
the sky, collecting delicately on the ground as Bulma walked across the field, looking for
her son. "Trunks!" Her scouter had been scanning for him for hours, always coming up
with nothing. *Where could he have gone?* she thought worriedly. *Oh Kami,
please let him be alright.*
Gohan landed beside her, worry in his eyes and strain in his lips. "Still can't find
him," he reported.
It took all of Bulma's will to push back her rising panic. "I don't understand, the
scouter should have picked him up. You should be able to follow his ki."
Gohan sighed, frustrated. "I know. I can't sense it for some reason."
"TRUNKS!" Bulma called again, her eyes straining through the snow and
darkness for her son. "TRUNKS!"
Gohan grasped Bulma firmly by the shoulder with his one hand, steadying her.
She hadn't realized how hard she was shaking. "He's gonna be OK," Gohan reassured. "I
know how he is, he'll be just fine."
Bulma's gaze held on Gohan's convincing look, doubt and worry creasing her
face. After a long pause she finally let out a long sigh, her breath billowing in the air. "I
guess you're right," she stated quietly.
"Let's go inside," Gohan whispered, leading the weary woman in the house.
Bulma flopped down on the nearest couch, fighting back her tears. "I've been so
distant lately," she muttered. "I haven't been spending much time with Trunks at all. I
pushed him away, I know I did."
"We both did," Gohan admitted. "Christmas time always brings back the
memories, and the feelings. Poor Trunks had to put up with it."
A sob broke out of Bulma as she gazed outside in distress. "He doesn't deserve to
put up with it!"
Gohan wrapped his arm around her, soothing her as Bulma cried in his chest.
*None of us do* he thought. "Trunks is doing OK," he coaxed out loud. "He'll be
back." Gohan stared blankly at the wall in front of him as Bulma continued to cry, his
thoughts wandering. "I miss Otousan," he admitted, imagining Goku standing in front of
the wall with a goofy grin on his face and a Santa hat resting lopsided on his head. "I
miss Okaasan and Krillin and Piccolo." He imagined Chichi emerging from the kitchen
with a large, steaming baked turkey in her hands and a warm smile on her face. He
imagined Krillin laughing and joking alongside Goku, and trying to show off his
Christmas sweater with blinking lights to everyone. He imagined Piccolo leaning back
against the far corner of the room, observing everything with a little smile on his face.
Bulma looked up at Gohan, her eyes shining from her tears. "I miss Mom and
Dad," she added, a little smile forming at the corners of her lips. She could almost see
her mom trying to flirt with all the men in the room while her father messed with the
surround-sound stereo. "I miss Goku too, and Vegeta." She thought of her prince, sitting
on the couch with his arms crossed, Goku teasing him relentlessly. Bulma uttered a little
chuckle in spite of herself. "I even miss Roshi and Oolong, those goofballs."
Gohan chuckled as well as Bulma pulled away, wiping away her tears. "Yeah, I
remember. Those two would never leave you alone."
Bulma smirked, raising her head up defiantly. "But I always showed them!"
The two laughed, almost forgetting where and when they were, and about their
missing Trunks, until they heard faint giggling coming from outside.
Bulma gasped as she gazed out the window. Gohan turned to see what caused her
reaction. In the crisp quiet of the night was Trunks, spinning at the top of the
snow-covered hill. He had something in his outstretched hands, something long and
shiny, glistening in the full moon light peaking from breaking clouds. Without a tail, little
Trunks didn't have to worry about transforming under the lunar power as he laughed,
snowflakes sparkling brightly around him with his spinning movements.
"Trunks," Bulma breathed before she took off outside running, with her long hair
flying, to her son. Gohan followed close behind her, equally surprised.
"What happened to you?!" pressed a relieved mother as she grasped her smiling
son tight. "We looked everywhere."
Trunks snickered and stared up at Bulma with bright, shining eyes. "I fell asleep
in the woods," he informed.
Gohan frowned down on the kid and kept his distance, unlike Bulma who
wouldn't pry herself loose. "You shouldn't have run off like that, kid," he huffed. "I
couldn't even sense your ki."
Not even Gohan's grumpy mood wiped the smile off of Trunks' face. "I know,
and I'm very sorry, Gohan-san," the child replied. "But I'm glad I did. Look what I got!"
He thrusted his new-found object up at Gohan, almost hitting Bulma with it.
"Hey, that almost got my ear!" the woman snapped.
Gohan stared, bewildered. It was a sword! A shining long, sleek, silver sword.
Trunks could barely hold it up with his two hands, despite the strength the child
possessed. "My kami, where'd you get that?" Gohan breathed.
Trunks smirked proudly up at his mentor, the corners of his mouth curving up in a
familiar Vegeta fashion. "I got it in the woods," he announced. "When I woke up, it was
just there, right beside me. It's just what I wanted! Pretty freaky, huh?"
Both Gohan and Bulma nodded. The older demi-saiyan narrowed his eyes at the
distant forest, now a large shadow in the night. "I wonder who it could have belonged
to," he muttered.
Something light rested on his shoulder. Gohan looked to see Bulma shaking her
head at him, her hand resting on him.
"Okaasan," Trunks said, his voice calmer, quiet. She turned to him, noticing how
he shyly moved the snow around with his foot.
"What is it, Trunks?"
He looked up at her then, depth pooled into his lavender eyes. "Can you tell me
about Christmas...before the androids?"
Bulma and Gohan glanced at each other before Bulma nestled in the snow,
Trunks climbing onto her lap. "Well," she started, gazing up at the moon as she searched
for a way to begin. "On nights like these, Goku and Krillin and Yamcha and Vegeta and
Gohan would go out to this very hill and have massive snow-fights."
Trunks' eyes widened. "Where there energy balls and everything?"
Bulma laughed. "No, nothing like that. Just snow."
"And you can smell the turkey cooking all the way from up here," Gohan added.
Bulma smiled up at him, gratefulness reflected in her eyes and surprise on her
face. Even Gohan was getting into the Christmas spirit now. "Of course," she continued,
turning back to her son, "your father always took it too seriously. He didn't understand
the fun that went with snow. He cussed out Goku constantly for throwing snowballs at
him." She laughed lightly at the memory.
Trunks gazed upwards at the moon, his face glowing in its light. "Did anyone turn
oozaru?" he pressed.
Gohan chuckled. "Someone wants some action," he mused. "No, I didn't have my
tail then. No one did, so the moon didn't bother anyone. I don't know who wished it back
after Piccolo-san blew it up."
The three of them fell quiet for a moment, letting the breeze whisper through their
hair. The blanketed land seemed to shine, and the emerging sky and stars seemed to glow
in a silent peace that all the world seemed to be sharing all at once. Finally, Trunks
spoke, turning to his mother.
"Can we have a Christmas like that this year?"
Bulma smiled down at her son with watery eyes. Gohan leaned over and ruffled
his hair, a genuine smile on his face. "Of course we can, kid." He looked back up at the
sky, a soothing peace warming inside of him that he hadn't felt in years. The stars
seemed to wink at the three of them; Bulma and Gohan knew that all their friends and
family were watching from above. "Of course we can," Gohan softly whispered, his
words and his thoughts riding upwards with the breeze.
A Dragonball Christmas fic by ALF, 2000.
WARNINGS: 100% Clean. ^_^ Happy Holidays...
NOTE: This fic takes place in the Mirai Trunks timeline. Trunks in this fic is very young
and some of the details written here may or may not be accurate or true. This is my first
venture into the Mirai world, you have been warned. ^_^
~~~~~~~~~~
A vast ceiling of glistening metal and rubber bore down on Bulma. Every day was
the same scene; a scene of determination, constant hope, and perhaps even a little
desperation. Bulma was hard at work on the biggest project of her life, her masterpiece.
Her efforts did take its toll on her; she was constantly tired, wearing down. Nothing,
however, was going to stop her from completing what she called her Hope.
Little Trunks scurried about the large lab room, holding an imaginary sword with
both hands as he lashed out at imaginary monsters and demons around him. "Ha!
Gotcha!" he cried in glee, his voice so young and soft. Bulma smiled from underneath her
incomplete machine, knowing that what she was attempting to build would be nothing
without her son.
*Someday soon you'll understand your purpose for my masterpiece* she
thought. Trunks, until then, thought the large hunk of twisted metal was just something
that his mother was always suppose to work on, her purpose when she wasn't doing other
things. He was too young to incorporate a goal in her work.
"I am the mighty Son Goku, here to take you all down!" the child cried, smirking
as he spun in circles with his sword flailing. He loved to put himself into his mother's
stories of powerful, courageous people that she once knew, people whom he dubbed his
heroes. "I'm gonna get all of ya!"
"Trunks, honey, don't get too close," Bulma warned, watching her son's feet from
under the machine out of the corner of her eye. The little pair kept coming closer, despite
her warning. "Trunks, move away from there," she called, watching the feet spin even
closer. "TRUNKS! MOVE! TR--"
There was a loud *bang* as Trunks' foot collided with metal. The ceiling
under Bulma moaned dangerously, ready to fall. All she could do was gasp and shut her
eyes tight, praying that the one ton structure wouldn't come crashing down.
The project groaned and creaked, complaining about its disturbance, and then
quieted. Bulma opened one eye and looked cautiously around. The machine was still a
distance above her, she was still unharmed and alive. Heaving a huge sigh of relief,
Bulma wheeled herself out from under her machine, glaring at a guilty-looking chibi
Trunks standing quietly at a distance. "How many times have I told you not to play in
here while I'm working?!" she roared.
The little kid flinched, staring at the ground as his foot made little incoherent
patterns on the concrete floor.
"You know how dangerous this place can get," Bulma continued. "This is not a
place for children! Someone could have gotten seriously hurt, not to mention that you
could have ruined my work."
Tears stung Trunks's eyes at the harsh tone of his mother's voice. She was
definitely angry at him. She rarely ever got angry with him. "I-I'm sorry, 'Kaasan," he
sniffed. "It was an accident. I--"
"Go play outside or something while I clean this place up," Bulma advised, a
scowl on her face. "I'll deal with you later." The expression on her face indicated how
preoccupied she was at the moment, ten-million things running through her mind at once.
Trunks reluctantly obeyed, sulking as he trudged out of the room.
"Kuso," Bulma muttered, rolling herself back under her machine to where an oil
leak was staining the floor. "I'm never gonna get this done." She sighed in frustration as
she tackled the leak, soiling herself with the slick black substance. "It's almost Christmas
and here I am, getting my cranky self covered in oil." Her mind wandered as she hastily
worked, drifting to happier, brighter Holidays. Holidays when she surrounded herself
with friends and family, her now deceased friends and family. The thought of never being
able to see everyone again brought back frequent flashbacks of everyone's deaths: her
parents blasted away into nothing by a massive ki blast, Krillin and the other warriors
battered and tortured to death by those cursed machines, those androids. Her beloved
Vegeta amongst the others that were killed in such a horrid way. And Goku, fading away
from a heart decease. Bulma had always thought he would go down fighting, but instead
he had to go in such a pathetic way, stuck in a bed and withering away. Nothing at all
like Goku wanted. Trunks was only a baby when Disaster happened, and Gohan was still
young back then.
*Someday we're gonna change all that,* Bulma reminded herself, throwing
extra strength into her work. *Someday we'll all be happy again.*
She wasn't the only one who had the same hopes.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Gohan gazed up at the cloudy sky, a slight breeze rustling his uncombed hair and
causing the grass around him to dance and softly shine with the dim light. He clutched
the bandaged stub that was once his arm, trying his best to think of anything else but the
pain. He cursed himself for being so foolish against that monster, for not watching
himself and getting too close. So much for that lesson in Trunks' training. So much for
his arm. *He still has a long way to go,* Gohan lectured to himself. *He's still so
damn young. But I know he will someday be strong, he HAS to be. I have to train him
hard, like Piccolo-san trained me...* Gohan gritted his teeth stubbornly, turning his
head away from the wind. He hated returning to his past, he refused to go back. *Why
did everyone have to die? Why couldn't I go down with them?*
Trunks trudged up the hill, meeting up with his mentor. His lavender eyes were
cast downward, his hair hiding his face. "Hi, Gohan-san," he muttered in a low voice.
Gohan frowned, knowing that Trunks was troubled. "Don't fret, whatever it is.
There's worst things you can go through, greater horrors."
The kid rolled his eyes and flopped down next to Gohan. He was used to the older
warrior's constant lectures on how worse off things could have been and on how lenient
his training sessions actually were, and so-forth. Trunks couldn't believe that Gohan was
once so....so.....so much of a wimpy-sissy-puss, as he often put it. "I'm sorry about your
arm," he said quietly, staring at the red-stained bandages.
Gohan grunted, the mention of his arm bringing back the almost forgotten pain.
"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he snapped. "Go bug your mother or
something."
Trunks stared, hurt and confusion on his face. He stood up slowly, looking at
Gohan. "I said I was sorry!" he wailed, before he took off into the breeze.
"Trunks!" Gohan cried out, not expecting such a scene. "Trunks!" But the child
never looked back as he disappeared into the distant forest. Gohan sighed and cursed
himself again. "It's not your fault," he whispered, his words useless without the proper
ears to hear them. "You can't help the way things turned out. I just wish things were the
way they used to be."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Trunks!" Bulma called out into the dead of night. "TRUNKS!" Snow fell from
the sky, collecting delicately on the ground as Bulma walked across the field, looking for
her son. "Trunks!" Her scouter had been scanning for him for hours, always coming up
with nothing. *Where could he have gone?* she thought worriedly. *Oh Kami,
please let him be alright.*
Gohan landed beside her, worry in his eyes and strain in his lips. "Still can't find
him," he reported.
It took all of Bulma's will to push back her rising panic. "I don't understand, the
scouter should have picked him up. You should be able to follow his ki."
Gohan sighed, frustrated. "I know. I can't sense it for some reason."
"TRUNKS!" Bulma called again, her eyes straining through the snow and
darkness for her son. "TRUNKS!"
Gohan grasped Bulma firmly by the shoulder with his one hand, steadying her.
She hadn't realized how hard she was shaking. "He's gonna be OK," Gohan reassured. "I
know how he is, he'll be just fine."
Bulma's gaze held on Gohan's convincing look, doubt and worry creasing her
face. After a long pause she finally let out a long sigh, her breath billowing in the air. "I
guess you're right," she stated quietly.
"Let's go inside," Gohan whispered, leading the weary woman in the house.
Bulma flopped down on the nearest couch, fighting back her tears. "I've been so
distant lately," she muttered. "I haven't been spending much time with Trunks at all. I
pushed him away, I know I did."
"We both did," Gohan admitted. "Christmas time always brings back the
memories, and the feelings. Poor Trunks had to put up with it."
A sob broke out of Bulma as she gazed outside in distress. "He doesn't deserve to
put up with it!"
Gohan wrapped his arm around her, soothing her as Bulma cried in his chest.
*None of us do* he thought. "Trunks is doing OK," he coaxed out loud. "He'll be
back." Gohan stared blankly at the wall in front of him as Bulma continued to cry, his
thoughts wandering. "I miss Otousan," he admitted, imagining Goku standing in front of
the wall with a goofy grin on his face and a Santa hat resting lopsided on his head. "I
miss Okaasan and Krillin and Piccolo." He imagined Chichi emerging from the kitchen
with a large, steaming baked turkey in her hands and a warm smile on her face. He
imagined Krillin laughing and joking alongside Goku, and trying to show off his
Christmas sweater with blinking lights to everyone. He imagined Piccolo leaning back
against the far corner of the room, observing everything with a little smile on his face.
Bulma looked up at Gohan, her eyes shining from her tears. "I miss Mom and
Dad," she added, a little smile forming at the corners of her lips. She could almost see
her mom trying to flirt with all the men in the room while her father messed with the
surround-sound stereo. "I miss Goku too, and Vegeta." She thought of her prince, sitting
on the couch with his arms crossed, Goku teasing him relentlessly. Bulma uttered a little
chuckle in spite of herself. "I even miss Roshi and Oolong, those goofballs."
Gohan chuckled as well as Bulma pulled away, wiping away her tears. "Yeah, I
remember. Those two would never leave you alone."
Bulma smirked, raising her head up defiantly. "But I always showed them!"
The two laughed, almost forgetting where and when they were, and about their
missing Trunks, until they heard faint giggling coming from outside.
Bulma gasped as she gazed out the window. Gohan turned to see what caused her
reaction. In the crisp quiet of the night was Trunks, spinning at the top of the
snow-covered hill. He had something in his outstretched hands, something long and
shiny, glistening in the full moon light peaking from breaking clouds. Without a tail, little
Trunks didn't have to worry about transforming under the lunar power as he laughed,
snowflakes sparkling brightly around him with his spinning movements.
"Trunks," Bulma breathed before she took off outside running, with her long hair
flying, to her son. Gohan followed close behind her, equally surprised.
"What happened to you?!" pressed a relieved mother as she grasped her smiling
son tight. "We looked everywhere."
Trunks snickered and stared up at Bulma with bright, shining eyes. "I fell asleep
in the woods," he informed.
Gohan frowned down on the kid and kept his distance, unlike Bulma who
wouldn't pry herself loose. "You shouldn't have run off like that, kid," he huffed. "I
couldn't even sense your ki."
Not even Gohan's grumpy mood wiped the smile off of Trunks' face. "I know,
and I'm very sorry, Gohan-san," the child replied. "But I'm glad I did. Look what I got!"
He thrusted his new-found object up at Gohan, almost hitting Bulma with it.
"Hey, that almost got my ear!" the woman snapped.
Gohan stared, bewildered. It was a sword! A shining long, sleek, silver sword.
Trunks could barely hold it up with his two hands, despite the strength the child
possessed. "My kami, where'd you get that?" Gohan breathed.
Trunks smirked proudly up at his mentor, the corners of his mouth curving up in a
familiar Vegeta fashion. "I got it in the woods," he announced. "When I woke up, it was
just there, right beside me. It's just what I wanted! Pretty freaky, huh?"
Both Gohan and Bulma nodded. The older demi-saiyan narrowed his eyes at the
distant forest, now a large shadow in the night. "I wonder who it could have belonged
to," he muttered.
Something light rested on his shoulder. Gohan looked to see Bulma shaking her
head at him, her hand resting on him.
"Okaasan," Trunks said, his voice calmer, quiet. She turned to him, noticing how
he shyly moved the snow around with his foot.
"What is it, Trunks?"
He looked up at her then, depth pooled into his lavender eyes. "Can you tell me
about Christmas...before the androids?"
Bulma and Gohan glanced at each other before Bulma nestled in the snow,
Trunks climbing onto her lap. "Well," she started, gazing up at the moon as she searched
for a way to begin. "On nights like these, Goku and Krillin and Yamcha and Vegeta and
Gohan would go out to this very hill and have massive snow-fights."
Trunks' eyes widened. "Where there energy balls and everything?"
Bulma laughed. "No, nothing like that. Just snow."
"And you can smell the turkey cooking all the way from up here," Gohan added.
Bulma smiled up at him, gratefulness reflected in her eyes and surprise on her
face. Even Gohan was getting into the Christmas spirit now. "Of course," she continued,
turning back to her son, "your father always took it too seriously. He didn't understand
the fun that went with snow. He cussed out Goku constantly for throwing snowballs at
him." She laughed lightly at the memory.
Trunks gazed upwards at the moon, his face glowing in its light. "Did anyone turn
oozaru?" he pressed.
Gohan chuckled. "Someone wants some action," he mused. "No, I didn't have my
tail then. No one did, so the moon didn't bother anyone. I don't know who wished it back
after Piccolo-san blew it up."
The three of them fell quiet for a moment, letting the breeze whisper through their
hair. The blanketed land seemed to shine, and the emerging sky and stars seemed to glow
in a silent peace that all the world seemed to be sharing all at once. Finally, Trunks
spoke, turning to his mother.
"Can we have a Christmas like that this year?"
Bulma smiled down at her son with watery eyes. Gohan leaned over and ruffled
his hair, a genuine smile on his face. "Of course we can, kid." He looked back up at the
sky, a soothing peace warming inside of him that he hadn't felt in years. The stars
seemed to wink at the three of them; Bulma and Gohan knew that all their friends and
family were watching from above. "Of course we can," Gohan softly whispered, his
words and his thoughts riding upwards with the breeze.