Paradox of Choice
The more options we have, the less likely we are to be content with our decision.
I:I
It sits on the window sill, about the size of his small fist and the tint of a tropical sea, foamy bubbles beneath the warped surface and something small and dark floating near the centre. Goten said it was blue, like the colour of his eyes, but Trunks had called it green and spent the next several weeks subtly testing the younger boy for signs of colour blindness. A few years later, he would decide quite abruptly that the rock of melted glass was in fact bezique; a space between blue and green that settled their years-old argument once and for all.
For now it basks in the sun, ripples of colour and white light stretched across the sill like the underside of the ocean's waves, burnt like charcoal at the edges and rough underneath, a basic sort of beauty that Trunks himself never gave much thought to unless someone pointed it out to him first.
Of all the cool things they've found, all the precious minerals clinging to cave walls and river banks in clusters and spires, all the veins of gold and the uncut diamonds that sat raw on the river bed, the teeth and bones fused into rock, of all of the things they've found and left behind again, this is what Goten chose to give to him. A chunk of melted glass, a defect from a bottle-making factory some twenty or thirty years ago, left lodged in the soil of an open field.
It's not a particularly remarkable looking thing. It's not valuable or interesting. It's the bottle that never was, just a lump of failure charred and lustreless in his possession. He must've polished the damn thing a million times to try and make it shine, but no matter how he persisted it would not glitter like all those fancy jewels his mother had lying about here and there.
On the surface it's completely worthless.
No one else is allowed to touch it.
...
Trunks can't help but wonder if Goten is naturally so naive or if his family just never tell him much of anything.
Before Majin Buu, before the Tournament, he found it equal parts frustrating and amusing to be so much more advanced than his young friend. At more than a year older than the other boy it wasn't as though anybody would think twice of him being smarter, stronger, and more mature – they didn't even find it surprising that Goten seemed in constant awe of him. Nobody but his parents knew Trunks liked keeping it that way, too. Whatever small envies Goten's capable of were dwarfed by how proud he was to be Trunks' friend, even without knowing the enormity of the world and their place in it, completely in the dark about Trunks' status as heir of his mother's corporation and, apparently, about their rather unique heritage.
Until entering the Tournament, Goten was completely convinced he was a normal boy, and that Trunks was also a normal boy. Apparently nobody thought it was necessary to explain alien ancestry to a tiny saiyan who thought he was an earthling –who honestly thought that would be a good idea? – and so here they are, a year into worldwide peace and Goten is just now having his revelation.
He's still only eight years old, closer to nine if they count the Hyperbolic Time Chamber Boot Camp. Trunks can't exactly hold it against Goten if he's compartmentalized some things.
Goten's sudden exclamation of "Wait, you're a prince?" was just as flattering as it was disheartening. Our teen years are gonna be a blast, he thinks, unwinding from his fight stance to wait out Goten's distraction from their battle, Just wait until it sinks in we aren't even really human.
"Well, my dad was a prince-"
"Of a planet!"
"-so yeah, I guess I am." Of course I am. "Why?"
Goten seemed to try to say something, shaking himself out of his own fighting stance, favouring his left side so Trunks noticed. He always took note of Goten's injuries now, ever since he realised what real damage can be. He never wanted to hurt his friend the way their enemies did - that would make him evil, too. Finally, Goten worked his mouth around the words, "Am I going to get in trouble?"
"For what?"
"Hitting you."
"I hit you, too. We're...we're sparring, like we always do."
"But I'm not important," Goten mumbled, so quietly, like he truly believed it.
Trunks feels sick. An honest, stomach-shrinking sickness. What the hell, Goten?
"Why'd you say that?" He pretends his voice didn't sound really weird, like someone had a hold of his throat, and instead took a step closer when Goten shrugged, shuffling a foot across the broken grass. "Why'd you say that?"
"I don't know. I'm not though, am I? You're always gonna be faster and stronger and smarter, and now you're a prince." Goten sunk to the ground, legs crossed and leaning back on his hands, staring at the sky instead of at Trunks. Even with the strange words coming out of his mouth, he seemed totally at peace, like he always seemed.
Is he faking it? The suddenness of the idea leaves Trunks unsteady.
"Well...you're the son of Goku..."
"And?"
"Uh..." Goten rips up a handful of grass, flicking it from his fingers back to the ground, tiny broken pieces of plant life forever scarred now by a young boy's thoughtlessness. He rips up another. "And...you're my best friend." Goten's hand freezes in a closed fist around the ripped grass, dark eyes setting on Trunks, an alarming amount of nothingness behind them. Trunks wonders who he's reassuring when he rephrases, "You're my only friend, Goten."
Goten's lips tighten the same time Trunks' chest does.
"Better yet, you're the only Goten in the whole world. That's important, don'cha think?"
Goten sighs, uncrosses his legs and spreads his arms wide, falling back amid the grass with his limbs splayed out, eyes once again on the skyline. He looks so peaceful, but Trunks knows better, because Goten really is his best and only friend and they've know everything about each other since their first successful fusion. Becoming one person did a whole lot more to them than made them a merged warrior.
"You know what? I don't care if I am a prince," he declares, throwing himself into the grass beside his best friend. "I'm just Trunks, okay?"
Goten's voice just is a sleepy whisper, "Okay..."
"And besides, aren't you technically a prince, too? Your grandfather is called the Ox King, right?"
Goten is silent for just long enough that Trunks thinks he might be sleeping, until suddenly he jerks a little, as though only just now hearing what his friend had said. "Oh, yeah!"
.
They napped the afternoon away in the fields of Mount Paozu, until the sky was deep blue and Goku's happy laughter right above their heads woke them up again. Satisfied the issue was behind them, both 'princes' went on with their childhoods barely considering their significance to the world again, because all that would really matter to them would be their significance to each other.
... ... ...
A/N: More (longer) chapters soon!
I've written plenty of fanfics under a different name, but this is my first DBZ story. I thought I'd just leave a note saying 'hello' down here, and that I hope there are still some surviving TruTen fans to please. The actual story takes place when Goten and Trunks are upwards of eighteen and nineteen, but I'm just travelling through the early years first. This is also a Trunks/Goten/Mirai TRIANGLE, not threesome.
I'm fond of all the characters, so I will try to do them justice as often as possible. I'm characterizing them based off the mangas, Funimation's english dub, and the Abridged parody series on youtube (there are actually a lot of differences between the manga and the anime, and I enjoyed what TeamFourStar did with the show so much that it's possible I've let it impress on me a little bit). I'm kind of ignoring Battle Of The Gods in this story for old time's sake, and the statements made by Bulma and Goku that they hadn't seen one another in five years et cetera. I've written ahead, so new chapters shouldn't have too much of a delay.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy where my muse takes me!
M.R.