Hey world!
This is a new story of mine and I have to say that I am more than just a little excited to share it with you. It will be a Trunks x Goten story, so yeah, it's going to be guys falling love. If you do not like such things, it would be best to turn around now :).
My other story White Lines is almost done, so it's possible that the first few updates on this story will be a bit slower, but it should pick up the pace really fast, so don't worry :).
This story is going to be partly Alternate Universe. This is because of two reasons. For one, I can't have the boys knowing each other yet, cause otherwise there would be no plot premise. Secondly I just don't feel like dealing with the whole 'we can blow up planets by sneezing' aspect. Other than that a lot will stay the same, although I will have to mess with some characters. Nothing major, though, so do not fret :)
Lastly I want to send my thanks to Timaelan. She's been a big fan of White Lines and she's supporting me through this, so THANK YOU!
Now, let's get on with the story! Please read, review and enjoy!
Chapter 1.
The ducks were hungry today. They were swarming the edge of the pond, snapping their orange beaks at the flakes of bread drifting in the murky water. Others were busy ruffling their colourful plumage in displays to impress a possible mate. This behaviour heralded the coming of spring, something that made the boy smile.
He sat on a bench a yard or two away from the birds, a bag dangling from his hand which still contained a few slices. He'd be sure to give them the rest as well; he never really saw anyone else feeding them, so he almost felt obligated.
He always sat here, no matter what day. If it was a rainy one he would pull on a warm coat and go nonetheless. Sure, it was always better to visit his feathered friends on the warmer days, when he could walk around in a simple shirt, rather than wrapping himself in like a bulky Christmas present. But he would still come here. It had become a solid part of his routine and he'd miss it if he ever gave it up. It was just a part of his being now, something he did without really considering it.
That, and the ducks would miss their daily slice of bread. Who could be so cruel as to deny them that?
Trunks Briefs reached into the bag once more. Several of the ducks reared their heads at him, knowing the sound as a sign of food to come. It made him chuckle. They were pretty smart creatures, these birds. They could feign injuries to arouse empathy in humans, scheming them into giving another piece of bread. They were sneaky little bastards, but they got the job done.
Ducks almost never quacked. People made them out to do just this, all the freaking time, but that wasn't true. If one did, it was most likely meant as a means of communication towards humans, much like how cats meow. Although they most certainly knew that he was no duck, his friends never took the trouble of trying to talk to him. All but one.
"Heya Beaker," Trunks gave half a smile and turned to the animal in question. It quaked at him with all the usual cheer. Beaker had been living near this pond for at least two years, ever since Trunks began to feed the birds. Where most of his buddies were brown and green, Beaker was a splendid white. An albino, of course, though that did nothing to change his social status. Unlike with other albino animals, Beaker was accepted into the group without question. Truth to be told, the only unfortunate thing that happened him was being named Beaker.
Trunks handed him a full slice, watching as his best friend gobbled it up and ruffled his feathers in bliss. It made Trunks laugh. "Sorry big guy, but I can't give you all of it, or else the rest will get hungry." He began to toss the remaining bread into the pond and watched as the ducks sped towards it, hoping to fill their bellies before the end of the feast.
It was peaceful to watch them go about their business. They seemed so undisturbed by their environment, something that Trunks envied more than he dared to say. He too wished that he could just lay his head under his wing and go to sleep, but in the world of humans there was no such thing as getting a break. Unbeknownst to him, he sighed.
He felt something nudge at his side. Trunks looked down and saw that Beaker had taken it upon himself to hop onto the bench. The duck was pressing his feathered head into Trunks's lap, prompting the boy to pet it. He feared that Beaker might snap at him, but that never happened. It was rather strange, all things considered. A lonely boy sitting by a pond, petting the one friend he felt he truly had. It sounded like the start of a bad coming-of-age film.
It wasn't like he didn't have any friends at all. There were a few people who he could stand to be around, but that was a very short list. Furthermore, he was well aware that he considered them his friends much more than the other way around. Something in his gut told him that they were just using him as a springboard to reach their own desires. Money did crazy stuff to people.
If he wanted to he could give Beaker ten whole breads right out of the oven, or slices with chips of solid gold. But it felt good to just grab whatever the maids had left lying around from their lunch break the day before. It almost made him feel normal.
Beaker rubbed up against him some more, then took a sitting position on Trunks's lap. The duck lifted his tail feathers once to make for a comfortable spot, then nestled in between the thighs that would keep him nice and warm. Trunks found himself talking to the bird before he knew it, a habit that he had picked up as soon as he noticed Beaker's continuous presence.
"At least you don't judge me for how much I'm worth," Trunks sighed, stroking the white plumage in his absence of mind. As if to confirm this, Beaker gave a loud quack. "Yeah, I know. Sometimes I wish I could just be as poor as the next person." And he really did. Of course, having rich parents isn't something to complain about, but it did create a certain distance to his peers. Either they stayed away from him or they would crowd him all day, every day, hoping to ride along the fortune train. It was tiresome to say the least.
Trunks glanced at his watch and gave a groan. Beaker tilted his head, staring at him like a dog might do if curious. "Sorry Beaks, I have to be going now. School and all." It was the usual rough end to his little moment of peace and happiness. He lifted the duck from his lap and reached beside the bench, where he had tossed his bag aside like an old dish rag. He swung it over his shoulder and tossed the fumbled up plastic one in the bin a few steps away.
He turned to Beaker once more, a sad smile forming on his lips. "See ya tomorrow, pal."
It was harder than usual to get to school this morning. Not only was traffic jammed for most of his way there, but his legs were also heavier than on most days. He just wasn't feeling up for it. Normally he could always put on a fake smile -similar to ducks acting hurt- and get through the hours, but he could already tell that now he would have to try his best to refrain from snarling and dropping nasty remarks. Or, well, he had to watch out he didn't say them out loud, cause he whispered them under his breath whenever an opportunity arose.
After taking a right about half a mile away from the pond South City High came into view. The building itself wasn't much to look at, all square and grey and stuff, but no one could deny that the school's gardener was a genius. A giant green field spread out behind the property, all the fences lined with flowers of all varieties and colours. It was a sight to behold. Not to mention a shitload of work to keep up with, but that was none of his concern.
There were trees all around the front of the school as well, with lilies and daffodils growing at their bases, confirming once more that good weather was not far away. Trunks walked among all the green, looking for the perfect spot. He found it on the far right of the yard, a little bit away from the main entrance. He dropped himself down like a bag of potatoes, relishing the tickling sensation on his cheeks as he laid down to stare at the canopy above.
Class wouldn't start for at least another ten minutes. That was just enough time to curse the world in silence. After that he would have to mingle and do it discreetly.
He found the cigarettes in his backpack easily enough. He made certain to look around before lighting one, though, cause the school had a very strict anti-smoking policy. The janitor would flay him if he found Trunks like this. After that the board would definitely call his parents, and what happened after that was all too scary to even consider.
The nicotine in his bloodstream was a blessing from the heavens. His head fell back into the grass, blue eyes observing the wisps of smoke as they left his lips. If only he could be this relaxed all the time.
Someone was looming over him. He opened his eyes and found another set of blue ones, these sparkling in a sense of glee that made Trunks want to sigh. Her blond hair framed a face that was just losing its final childish curves, instead becoming the face of a woman grown. She was pretty alright, but he'd be damned if he would ever tell her. She didn't need another reason to gloat.
"'Sup Marron," Trunks greeted more out of courtesy than anything. Truth to be told, he didn't really feel like talking to the girl. She always stuck by his side as if her hips were made of some super potent adhesive. Being friendless as he was, though, Trunks couldn't get himself to tell her to piss off.
"Hey Trunkie," she addressed him with the nickname that made him cringe every time he heard it. "Better be careful or else Mr. Mite will have your ass for breakfast."
"He'd wish," Trunks scoffed. "I heard the rumours about what goes on in his basement. Well I won't be another one of his young boyish victims."
Marron gave a giggle and pressed a hand to her mouth. "Oh, don't be so serious, Trunkie, I was just kidding. The worst he'll do is have your parents come to school."
Trunks rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure what I find scarier."
"Oh please, like your parents could ever really punish you. You're their perfect little angel, aren't you."
That wasn't entirely untrue. Bulma and Vegeta had always considered him to be the perfect child. Not without reason, because Trunks had been a boring fucking kid for a very long time. He would do well in school, he wouldn't get into trouble. The last time that he had been reprimanded for his behaviour had to be at least six months ago. Even so, he couldn't believe that his parents would allow their child to be a smoker, even if his mother was one too. Do as I say, not do as I do...
Trunks chose not to reply to Marron's comment, opting to just sit in his spot and take another drag from his cigarette. She would find one way or another to keep the conversation going. She always did. Without. Fail.
Marron spread herself out in the grass as well, folding her legs beneath her and making sure that her flowery dress would not get ruffled. She stole Trunks's packet and lit her own cancerous stick, tapping the ashes with slender fingers.
"I was just thinking," she began to say. "isn't it kind of strange how much people want to be around us?"
Trunks bit his lower lip to keep words from spilling over. First of all he wanted to press the irony of the situation, because Marron's presence wasn't always as appreciated as she made it out to be. Secondly, he wanted to point out just why this was so obvious.
Like himself, Marron had been born into a fair amount of money. Marron did not have concerns about not going to college, or not getting that car she wants for her sixteenth birthday. Her father was a pretty well-known martial artist who had competed in several of the World Tournaments, but never getting past the semi-finals. Even so, it had gotten him a few sponsorship deals, as well as his own line of sporting equipment. This had grown out to become an emperium of epic proportions, and before Krillin could even begin to fathom what was going on, he was a multimillionaire. Not long after he had wedded Lazuli, who had taken on a rather strange pseudonym for her modelling jobs, namely Eighteen. The name stuck and these days she went by the number instead of the name. It had even gotten so bad that people were now calling Marron's uncle -Eighteen's manager-, Lapis, Seventeen. And of course her bodyguard became Sixteen.
So instead of pointing out all the obvious wrongs in her question, Trunks just grunted. He hoped that it resembled something along the lines of a 'yes'.
"Do you think it's because they're all filthy golddiggers?" Marron answered her own question.
"I dunno," Trunks said, flicking his cigarette butt away. "Maybe we're just so dashingly handsome that they can't stay away."
Marron laughed. "Well I am for sure. I can't vouch for your ugly mug, though."
Trunks rolled his eyes behind his lids, then shot her a glare of which he knew it would make her laugh even harder. Marron was so simple most of the times. Trunks had long since decided to just cater to her needs, to just help her polish her ego if the situation demanded it. It was a lot better than having to deal with her moping and yammering about her insecurities. If she even got on track with that, there would be no stopping her.
He had once considered the idea that she might be into him, even though she was a little over two years younger than he was. Her presence around him had always been so demanding, so in his face. Wherever he turned, Marron was there. He tried to ignore it at first, but after a while it became hard to not see her bat her lashes at him whenever they made eye contact.
It stopped after a while, though. Trunks still had no idea why. Perhaps it was because he never responded to her advances, or maybe she had found somebody else to swoon over. In any case, her lingering stares had turned away from him at last, and she had instead chosen to have him be her best friend, whether he consented to it or not. Even though Trunks did have to admit that he'd rather have an annoying girl by his side than no one at all.
The bell rang across the school grounds, signalling the beginning of class and eliciting a groan from Trunks. He really wasn't in the mood for this right now. At all. The first thing that would greet him when he stepped through the double doors to the wardrobe would be a flock of guys and girls asking him if he had any fun over the weekend. If he confirmed this, they would propose a 'chill sesh' for the next one. They were all pining for him to grace them with his presence, his filthy rich presence.
And just that happened. Trunks and Marron were hardly past the coat racks when a few kids in Trunks's year approached them. They were all wearing their brightest smiles and looked all too happy to see the two. Or Trunks, at least. Marron had her own peers to fawn over her.
"Hey, Trunkseroonie! Trunkleton! Whassup!" The over excited voice belonged to a tall and sluggish boy, waving his arms around to make certain that Trunks would spot him from a distance. A gaggle of other students followed in his trail, all of them pointing at the two most 'popular' kids in the school. Trunks had no idea who they were, but he was able to identify the tall one as Chett, who was in his English class.
Chett stopped in front of him, making a display of sticking out his hand for the customary slap and fist bump. Trunks obliged, knowing it to be best to just give in. If not, he'd be pelted with lots of phrases along the lines of "C'mon!" and "Whydya hafta do that!"
"So, Trunkzilla, how's hangin'?" Chett used that annoying and boisterous tone of his, acting as if the two of them were the best of buddies and they painted the town red every Friday night. "Did ya do anything fun this weekend? Anything fresh on the downlow?"
Trunks gave a microscopical sigh and nodded. "Sure, it was alright."
"Ah, Trunks, man, ya crack me up," Chett laughed, clapping Trunks on the back and almost making the boy lose his balance. "Ya really should come and have a chill sesh with me and the homies, man. Really."
"I'll see if I can make it sometimes."
This turned out to be an open invitation for the rest of the group to let him know how badly they wanted to be friends with him.
"Don't forget to swing by me, Trunksie boy!" a short girl with pink hair piped up.
"You have to come by my place first, though." One of Chett's companions proposed.
"Don't forget about me!"
Trunks gritted his teeth and allowed his nails to graze the flesh of his palm. God, these people were getting on his nerves. Today hadn't been all that great to begin with, and now he was being forced to put up with all the sweet talking and overly kind gestures. It made him want to vomit. The worst part was that he didn't feel like sticking up for himself, let them know that he didn't exactly appreciate seeing the zeni signs in their eyes.
The second bell rang, which meant that all students were to be seated in their respective classrooms within five minutes. Trunks used the opportunity to slip away from all the attention. Sure, he would have to deal with it during break time again, but for now he relished the silence.
But apparently fate would not allow him to enjoy himself today. When he looked to his left he saw Marron trotting alongside him. For the so manieth time that day he wanted to groan. Marron was in the same class as he was on Monday morning, second grade physics. She had once told him that as a little girl she liked nothing more than playing with chemistry sets and all the electrical wiring she could find around the house. Marron was aiming for a very different choice in career than her parents, it turned out. So now every Monday morning Trunks would have to sit next to her for two excruciating hours while she droned on and on and on and on...
"So I've been going to this new yoga studio, right, and guess who walks in the minute I start doing my planking exercises..." Trunks had already blocked the sound of her voice out of his mind. He would just have to focus on getting through the day without committing murder. If so, he would reward himself with an extra game of BlasterSmash, his favourite video game in the whole world. Yeah, that sounded like a great idea. Luckily for him he didn't have any heavy subjects today, so he should be able to live through most of the school hours on autopilot.
However, when he took his seat in class, the first thing he got under his nose was a pop quiz he was completely unprepared for. The subject was electricity, something he had found hard to grasp from the get go. He had decided to ignore it for a while, instead focussing on the rest of his school work. Stupid decision.
There was one upside to all of this, though. Even if he were to fail the quiz, at least Marron would be quiet for the first part of the hour. He could use some peace and friggin' quiet.
So he sat there, scratching away and making no sense at all of the answers he was writing down. Once he was done he handed his paper in, not even seeing the disapproving look his teacher sent his way. He took the remaining fifteen minutes and kicked back a little, sighing in content and thinking about nothing in particular.
When all the tests had been collected, the teacher took a position in front of the class and scraped her throat. Mrs. Clearwater had been the physics instructor at South City High for well over twenty-five years, and everything in her posture -big and burly as it was- betrayed this. The way her eyes glared at you over her horn-rimmed glasses was enough. That she was his school mentor did, not at all, make this better.
"Students," she began. "I have been notified this morning that starting next week, Class 3A will be joined by a new face. They have signed up for this course, among others. I hope that you'll be able to make them feel welcome." Clearwater always did this. While she could be strict, everyone knew she had a heart of gold. She wanted nothing more than to have her old students feel safe and her new ones feel welcome.
Trunks wasn't sure how he felt about getting a new classmate. It would be fun to see a new face, yeah, but he dreaded what would happen if this new kid found out who Trunks really was. He would just have another person licking his boots. The thought of it turned his already bad mood sour.
Marron whispered something to his right. "I bet it'll be a cutie, don't you think."
Trunks did not reply. Marron would always respond this way to certain bits of news. As long as she had some guy to drool over, her life was perfect. It was kind of pathetic, really.
Well, how bad could it be? Maybe the new kid would be a suck up, maybe he wouldn't be. All things considered, he couldn't be any worse than Chett. That was simply impossible.
Trunks kicked off his shoes when he entered the house. The maid would have his hide if he didn't. He could recall a time when he had forgotten to take them off and his footprints had been scattered all around the place. Baba, their elderly housekeeper, had been livid. She had screamed at him until her face had gone purple. To this day Trunks was terrified of the mere idea of defying her.
The house was devoid of most people at the moment. The housekeeping staff was having a day off, Trunks knew. His parents would be home, but it was more than a chore to go and look for them. Of course his parents had gone and bought the biggest house the city had to offer. Just the hallway he was standing in now could fit one of the lower income houses with ease. Trunks had long since gotten accustomed to the sight of the grand double staircase with its golden banisters. The new people he took along weren't, though, and gauging their reaction was something that never got old. Being rich had its good sides as well.
"Mom? Dad?" Trunks yelled at the top of his lungs, but no reply came. He grumbled in annoyance. His mother was likely in her study. Where his father was, he had no idea. He made his way up the stairs and walked the long hall, peeking around the corners of opened doors. He finally found Bulma where he expected to find her in the first place.
"Hey Mom," he said. "Dad's not home?" He dropped his backpack by the door and entered the room. Like all the others, this one made a big display of the Briefs' wealth. Bulma's desk was gigantic and made of cedar wood, standing on large claws that had been polished to a gleam. A chandelier was the main source of light, the many crystals it had been decorated with scattering a beautiful shine upon the walls.
"Nah," Bulma looked up from whatever device she had been tinkering with, taking off the welding mask that shielded her face from view. As a true chain smoker would have it, she lit a cigarette and looked at her son. "Your Dad's on a business trip. He won't be home for another day or two, maybe three. Why, is something the matter?"
Trunks shook his head. "Not really." He jumped up and planted his ass on the desk. This was one of the things that his mother had tried correcting him on, but she had soon learned that this wasn't something that she could out of his system. Trunks had always liked climbing, and jumping on her desk was just another way of getting his fix.
Bulma raised her eyebrows at him, her blue eyes drilling holes in his skull. Trunks felt a sigh building up. His mother had always been able to read him, although he couldn't tell if it was because she was Bulma, or because she was his mother. Either way, she always got him to spill the beans.
"Then why the glum look, kiddo?" she asked, biting her lower lip in that cheeky gesture she made when she knew that she was right.
"Nothing much." That wasn't really that much of a lie. It just wasn't a complete truth. "Just the same old crap, I guess."
Bulma exhaled and gave a soft smile. "Of course it is, honey, I know it all too well. I know that you hate all the attention, I really do."
Trunks shrugged it off. "Meh, let it be, it's not that I can change anything about it."
"True, but you can change something about your attitude. Why don't you just tell everybody that you don't want them to suck up to you like that?"
"And have all the ass-kissing turn into glaring? No thanks."
Bulma laughed. "You really are your father's child. So, nothing new under the horizon?"
"Well, actually," Trunks suddenly remembered. "There's supposed to be a new kid joining my class starting next week, so I suppose that's newsworthy."
"Ooooh!" Bulma exclaimed. "I hope it's a girl. It's been too long since you had yourself a girlfriend, young man. You have a duty to keep up our family's reputation of promiscuity, you know that."
Trunks rolled his eyes at her, ignoring the way she poked him in the side with her elbow as a means of teasing him. "Eh, I'm not really in the market at the moment." Which was true. Trunks had no desire to be chasing skirts. It was all too much of a hassle, having a girlfriend. They needed so much attention and gifts and kind words and time. And Trunks would be needing a lot of aspirin. A lot.
His mother shook her head, but smiled nonetheless. "Sure you aren't. You never have been."
Trunks raised his eyebrows at her. "Got anything to share?"
"No, not really. It's just that I'm beginning to suspect that you might not be the ladies man that I made you out to be."
"And is that my problem?"
"It's going to be, if you don't get me a nice set of grandchildren in ten years."
This time it was Trunks's turn to laugh. "Okay, Mom, I'll try. No promises though."
Bulma laughed along with him. She pulled him in close and kissed the top of his head. "I'll take it," she said. "Now how about you go check on your little sister, see if she isn't up to no good. Once you're done you can go and play some BlasterSmash, okay?"
"Sure thing!" Trunks complied. His fingers were itching to blow up some aliens and space lasers. He jumped off the desk and left the room, contemplating to himself. Maybe he would play more than one extra game. Maybe he'd go for two, or three. He would just have to see. All that he knew was that the inhabitants of planet Vegitasei -the similarity with his father's name hadn't gone unnoticed- would be safe for another day. Space Agent Trunks was coming to the rescue.
He really ought to hang the poster on the wall by his bed. That way he could look at it every morning, serving him the reminder that he intended it to be. Goten Son grumbled and looked around, surveying the stacks upon stacks upon stacks of boxes he yet had to unpack. Why he was considering the flimsy piece of paper first was beyond him.
It was a stupid poster too, but it always made him smile when he saw it. It was the kind that everyone had seen once in their lives, whether it be in a school hallway or in the cubicles of their coworkers. A kitty dangling from a branch with the oh so fitting line; "Just hang in there!"
Surely it was dripping in cliché, but that wasn't the important thing. No, that cute little furball always made him smile when he laid his deep brown eyes on it, even if it sported the most overused motto in the history of mankind.
Two pieces of tape were enough to suspend it on the wall and leave it there. Goten nodded, glad to see that he had made the first official step to unpacking. There was a whole lot more of it to do, so at least now there was a start. Better get going on the rest, then.
Most of his belongings he chucked into the closet that had already been placed in the room. His mother would have his hide if she saw how much of a mess he was making, but frankly he didn't care. He despised unpacking with a passion, he had recently found out, so he'd be damned if he did a proper job of it.
Goten had moved to South City only a few days ago. His mother had been keen to leave the small mountain village where they had first taken residence. She wanted for him to go to a proper school instead of studying at home all the time. Something about him making some friends his own age. The mere idea was laughable; Goten didn't feel like he needed that much friendship around him. He was on great terms with his family and that was all that really mattered to him.
He wouldn't tell Chi-Chi that, oh no. Once his mother had gotten it in her head to have him placed in some High School in the big city, there was no going back. Before he even had the time to protest most of his things had been packed and ready to go. He had meant to ask her how she had managed to find them a house so quickly, but that seemed like a stupid question in hindsight.
His brother had taken care of it, obviously. Gohan was the kind of person you approached when you needed something, because Gohan had connections all over the place. It was actually kind of sweet. Goten had once asked him to try and find a cheap video game console after he had destroyed his last one. Turned out Goten was a sore loser when it came to BlasterSmash. Anyway, instead of just getting him the console. Gohan threw in a free television and stereo set, along with a stack of games that almost reached the ceiling of his room. When Goten's jaw had dropped at the sight of it, Gohan had just laughed the whole thing off and told him not to worry.
Sure, Gohan didn't have to worry about it. He was the personal assistant of Bulma Briefs, the world's leading scientist in bioengineering. His monthly paychecks could feed smaller countries if need be. He was quite the perfect child and he always had been. Chi-Chi had once pushed for Goten to follow his brother's footsteps, but she had eventually let this dream slide. Goten wasn't really one for academics. His grades were sufficient, but only good enough to not flunk the year. This had been going on for as long as he could remember.
Not that Goten was stupid, no. His talents were just found elsewhere.
He moved some boxes aside to get to his most prized possession in the world. It had been stored away in a case in the corner of the room, so getting it was somewhat of a struggle, but it made the reward even greater. Goten laid the wooden box on his bed and grinned when he unlocked the latches at the side.
Inside was Banshee, an electric guitar with a slender, straight body, her coating a beautiful swirl of blues of every imaginable hue. She was the prettiest thing Goten had ever seen in his life, and yes, he would even tell his mother that. Her long neck had been decorated with a long, white and green dragon, its mighty body waving over the frets and under the strings. What a looker she was.
Goten lifted her from her velvet encasing, taking a moment to just to register the feel of her in his hands. She was big, but surprisingly light for a guitar. He strapped her over his shoulder and let his fingers glide along the length of her neck. He had been playing her a lot in the weeks before they had moved, and she was showing it. Smudges of fingerprints had made the wood greasy, making Goten scrunch his nose. The first thing he would do when he was finished unpacking was bust out the wood polish and clean her up good.
From one of the boxes he retrieved two hooks, which he screwed into the wall next to the kitty poster. He could hang Banshee up by her neck perfectly. The gleam of her body in the sunlight was so beautiful that Goten had to step back for a moment and enjoy the sight.
He had been inseparable from his guitar for over nine years now. Back when Gohan had begun working for Bulma Briefs at the baffling age of eighteen, once again proving to the world that he was too smart for his own good, he had gone all out with the gift giving. Their parents had received the new furniture that his mother had always been pining for, but couldn't afford. His then-girlfriend-now-wife Videl got proposed to with a diamond so pricey that another man would have to work for it for two years. And Goten had gotten Banshee.
Chi-Chi had despised the present. Which, in hindsight, wasn't all that strange. Goten tried to imagine what it must be like to live with a seven-year-old who did nothing but wail and strum loose chords all day long. Thank goodness that he had learned how to play the guitar properly. And he was actually good at it too, like, really good. Nowadays he could just pick up Banshee and just let the music fly from his fingertips. Puberty had chaved his voice into that of a man, and he could sing like one seventy years his senior. The blues was in his soul.
No argument to be had, never had anyone in the world received a greater gift than Goten. Gohan really was awesome.
Goten sighed and began unpacking the rest of his things. If he hurried up he could still make it before dinnertime. He would be going out to eat at some upscale restaurant with his mother and brother, to celebrate that everything had gone well with moving into the city. Goten wasn't really looking forward to it, but mostly because the idea of eating quinoa salad and slugs revolted him. With a little bit of luck they would serve hamburgers as well, but he very much doubted it.
He looked at the wall, not to find Banshee, but instead the poster next to her. He read the motto and repeated it in his mind to steel him for the meal to come.
"Just hang in there." Will do, kitty, will do...
He had been right. This restaurant did not serve any hamburgers. It was one of those places with gilded curtain rods and hideous embroidered carpets hanging from the walls. The kind of place you go to to talk in a voice like you have something stuck in your throat, and to act like you were as big as your bank account. Of course they would only serve dreg. Of the fancy kind, of course.
So, Goten had politely declined the disgusting quinoa and slug salad that Gohan offered to order for him, and had gone for the steak instead. There wasn't much to be screwed up there, so he reckoned it was his safest bet.
Meanwhile his mother and brother were having a conversation as they waited for their food to arrive. Goten was content to just listen and have little actual input himself.
"So I reckon that Bulma's been keeping you occupied, hasn't she?" Chi-Chi asked, nipping her wine. She had thrown on the prettiest dress that she could find, cause god forbid that she did not abide by the dress code. Not Son Chi-Chi, oh no.
Gohan was impeccable in his suit, as always. "Yeah, I guess you can say that," he laughed, scratching the back of his neck in what had become a family gesture over the years. "We've been working on a patent for a prosthetic arm that could be designed with artificial nerve endings. That way someone who lost an arm can actually feel again once they get the prosthetic." Gohan looked down at the table as if this was not a major scientific breakthrough, like artificial nerve endings were as common as garden gnomes with fishing rods.
"Oh, wow, honey, that's brilliant!" Chi-Chi beamed. She nudged Goten in his ribs with her elbow, so Goten smiled and nodded in agreement. "What would the world do without my bright little man!"
Gohan blushed a furious red and lowered his head even more. "Not that little anymore, Mom."
Goten could not resist the urge. "Sure you are, we're all her little boys, aren't we, Mom?" Watching Gohan try to stay humble as their mother showered him in compliments was one of the funniest things in life. Gohan would start mumbling and grow red in the face, just like right now. It was better than television and almost as good as playing BlasterSmash. Or playing Banshee.
"You're damn right, Goten!" Chi-Chi cheered so loud that Goten almost contemplated buying her pom-poms for her next birthday. "And if anyone tries to tell me otherwise, they'll have to deal with me!" A faint pink hue was spreading over her cheeks. Mom had never really been able to handle her wine.
Gohan was adamant to shift the conversation elsewhere, so he rolled up his sleeves and directed his attention towards his little brother.
"So, Goten, are you feeling excited for school yet?" he asked. The look in his eyes was wary, as if he was expecting a negative reply. But Goten wasn't going to give him one. Sure, he wasn't exactly over the moon, but he wasn't kicking the wall either. And besides, both Gohan and his mother had worked so hard to pull all of this off, so there was no way in hell that he would spoil their appetites by being ungrateful.
"I'm good," Goten told him. "I mean, I think it's going to be hard to fit in at first, because there weren't that many kids my age at Mt Paozu. But I think I'll manage."
"Nonsense," his mother interjected, taking another royal swallow of wine. "They'll love you to bits, just you watch. Like they'll be able to resist a handsome face like yours. All the girls will be swooning."
Goten laughed at that. "Sure Mom, whatever you wish."
"Yeah, I guess it's best not to worry too much," Gohan advised. "I remember when I first went to school, boy was I nervous."
"Uh-huh," Goten agreed. "You told me like a million times, Gohan. You were a nervous wreck when you first went to school, but you made new friends right off the bat. Not only that, but you met your wife there too."
"Right," Gohan said. "So if someone as socially inept as me can pull it off, it shouldn't be a problem for you."
That made Goten smile. Gohan always knew what to say and when to say it; his mother, sweet -and strict- as she may be, lacked a certain amount of tact.
Just then the waiter came around with their meals, so they relished some of their food in silence before continuing their conversation. Goten was now very grateful that he had chosen the steak, since it tasted terrific. It was probably six hundred zeni a piece, but he wasn't paying the check, so he'd be damned if he didn't enjoy it.
Gohan picked up the talk after a small pause filled with the sound of silverware hitting plates.
"So, Mom, have you considered my offer?" he asked as he ladled his appetizer soup down.
Chi-Chi was quick to shake her head. "Oh no, Gohan, you know I couldn't do that."
"What's the big deal? It's not like it's hurting me any, and if I can help you then I'd say it's a win-win situation."
"I said no, Gohan," Chi-Chi wagged her finger at him. "So that's final. I don't want to hear anything more about it, am I clear?"
Goten raised his eyebrows at the exchange. "Excuse me, but what kind of deal are you talking about?"
"Well, I offered Mom to help out with paying some of the bills," Gohan explained. "I know that money is tight, so I figured that since I can spare some I'd help where I can."
"Ah, and Mom is too proud to let you help her."
"No, that's not it," Chi-Chi insisted while tutting her lips. "Gohan has worked hard for his money, so he deserves to keep it. And no, that won't get us into any trouble. I already found a job, so don't worry about it. We'll be fine."
"Oh, wow, that's great!" Gohan exclaimed. "Where are you going to work?"
"At the convenience store down the block. It's great, it's close to home and I can work there full time, so paying off the bills should be no problem."
Goten reached out for his mother's hand and stroked the back. "That's fantastic, Mom. I suppose it would be good for you to get out of the house and do something again. Especially after, you know..."
And they all knew. Goten didn't even have to speak it out loud. They might be all smiles and cheer now, but not too long ago that had not been the case.
Chi-Chi smiled back at him and pulled him into a hug that almost crushed his bones. "Thank you, sweetie," she whispered into his hair. "You really are a good kid."
When she released him, Gohan made sure to lure the conversation away from the sadder subjects. "So I take it that you guys are almost done unpacking?"
Goten nodded between bites of his steak. God this stuff was delicious. Perhaps he could persuade Gohan into buying him another one... "I know I am. I even got the system set up, so I think I'll be shooting aliens all night."
Gohan laughed. "Well at least you got your priorities straight. And what about Banshee?"
"Are you kidding? She was about the first thing I unpacked."
"You better," Gohan fake-threatened. "Cause if I hear that you don't treat her right, I'm calling social services on you."
Now it was Goten's turn to laugh. All the while their mother sighed, knowing that Goten could talk about his guitar and nothing else, for the rest of his life.
When dinner was done, Gohan had another proposition that he had saved until dessert. They were all scooping away at their monstrous sundaes as he spoke.
"So, I was hoping that the two of you might enjoy a little trip to Capsule Corps," he said, talking about his place of work. "I already asked Bulma if it was okay to give you a tour of the place. She said it was fine, but only if she was allowed to be the guide."
"Oh, Gohan, that sounds wonderful," Chi-Chi said. "You always talk about how much you love your job, so now I can see for myself what's so great about it."
Gohan's eyes landed on Goten, awaiting a response.
Goten shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds good to me," he answered. "I don't have school for another week, so I'll take whatever chance I can to kill some time."
"Great!" Gohan said, clapping his hands together. "We can do it this Thursday if you have the time."
"Oh, we'll be there!" Mom answered for the both of them. "I'm just dying to meet Bulma Briefs too. I bet we'll be the best of friends."
"Yeah, no doubt about it, Mom," Gohan chuckled. "Say, did I ever mention..."
Goten had already lost track of the conversation. His chocolate and vanilla sundae was just too heavenly to ignore, let alone be distracted while he ate it. The trip to Capsule Corps sounded fun enough. He didn't really care for science all that much, but it would prove to be interesting. Too bad that he still had to wait three more days before he had something proper to do.
Ah well, that only meant that he could spend more time decimating invaders in the name of Vegitasei. He could've gotten a worse deal.
"Oh you motherf-" Trunks cursed as loud as his vocal cords allowed him. He was staring at the enormous television that took up over half of the wall in his room, a controller in his grasp and his knuckles turning white against it from the pressure.
"Damnit!" He was playing BlasterSmash -what else- and he had been doing a damn good job of it so far. His character, a big and burly man with several weapons strapped to his back, was marching along the dark red plains of planet Vegitasei, looking for the enemy. Trunks always preferred to play with the Saiyan race rather than the Tuffles. The Saiyans were physically strong and could have perks that ranged from a super strong punch to the ability to minimize their energy usage to stay away from Tuffle radars. The opposing race had its vices too, mostly in terms of advanced technology, but Trunks just enjoyed the brute force that could be unleashed when playing with the Saiyans. The Tuffles were pussies and nothing else.
Enfin, he had been on one of the biggest winning streaks in his BlasterSmash career. He had taken out the entirety of the enemy time three times over and he hadn't taken any damage so far. Just imagine his rage when some Tuffle bastard stabbed him in the back during that one second that he wasn't paying attention.
His character toppled over and Trunks cursed once more. He had been doing so great, so goddamn great, and now his record was shot to hell. He had needed only three more kills to set a new one, but now all he could do was fume and hope that a player from his team would help him up before he respawned. If so, he wouldn't have to chalk up his first death of the match just yet.
Someone better help him, or he would start the friendly fire. Nobody messed with screen name Captain Underpants -a play on Briefs, geddit?- and got away with it. As Trunks watched the thin red bar at the bottom of the screen drop closer towards zero, he contemplated tossing the controller against the wall, since it would at least quell his rage on the surface.
But just before Captain Underpants finally croaked, another Saiyan swooped in and helped him to his feet. Trunks let out a large puff of air that he hadn't realized he had been holding in. He wasn't dead yet. He could still break his record.
He only had a moment to do so, but he still checked out the screen name above his saviour. The guy's name was BansheeBlues. Trunks made a mental note to thank him after breaking his record. He'd be damned if he let it slip now.
This particular level was easy enough. The setting was an open plain on Vegitasei, with amber mountains in the background and a moon of the same colour creeping along the horizon. It was not difficult to spot enemies here, so Trunks ran across the wastelands with his blaster held high. He spotted the first Tuffle just over a ridge. He took him out without even pausing to aim.
Captain Underpants barreled down the slope and crouched down there, using the rock against his back for cover. He looked left, right, then left again, where he spotted another one of those tiny bastards. He made sure to put the blast right between the eyes, for extra humiliation. A third one tried to creep around the corner, but Trunks saw the barrel of his blaster before he could point it at the Captain. Just when the enemy had the Captain in his crosshairs, Trunks tossed a grenade at his feet. The Tuffle flew a good three feet before coming down into a pile of dismembered limbs. God, he loved this game.
He was now on par with his record. Trunks could feel his heartbeat accelerating in real life, his hands getting clammy on the controller. If he managed to peg off another Tuffle he would break his high score. Not to mention that he would enter the global top fifty if he took out three. He had been teetering in the sixties for weeks and it was bothering him beyond anything else. He had been an avid player of BlasterSmash for years and he wanted to prove it. And this was his chance.
He turned back to the ridge when he saw no more enemies in front of him. He first tossed a flash grenade over, followed by a real one. Captain Underpants climbed the rocks to see if his assault had managed to do any damage.
There was a huddle of three Tuffles standing not too far away, and just like Trunks had calculated the flash grenade detonated smack in the middle. Whoever was controlling the enemy was now deaf and blind, so any oncoming attack would be lethal. One Tuffle managed to break away from the group just in time, right before the second explosion killed the other two and coated the Vegatan wasteland in a rain of blood and guts. Trunks smirked when he shot the third in the kneecap.
The gaggle of adversaries now dead, Trunks quite literally screamed out in joy. He had done it, he had finally won. Not only had he broken his record by three kills, but he was also officially part of the global top tiers. And he still had three minutes to spare in this match.
By the end of it, he had managed to take down another nine Tuffles, which he considered average. During a good game he could take out about five of them in a minute, so three would also suffice. He sucked in his breath when the bout ended and Captain Underpants filled the screen in all of his glory. A list of scores appeared next to his character and once again Trunks almost jumped out of his skin. He had managed a 64-0 win. If that wasn't impressive, nothing was.
Still in his bliss over having entered the global top fifty, Trunks scoured the list of names. He found BansheeBlues where he least expected him to. Above him. That meant that the guy had done better. Trunks's mouth fell open when he saw the score next to screen name.
77-0... Insane. Just insane.
Trunks flipped up the game menu and edged the joystick towards BansheeBlues's name. He clicked it and a message box appeared, as well as a keyboard. Trunks typed a quick message to whom he still dubbed his saviour.
Hey dude, thnx a lot 4 helping me up. Appreciate it loads.
Two check marks appeared next to his text, which turned green a few seconds later. BansheeBlues had read his message. His screen name was replaced by ellipses, which indicated that he was typing.
No prob, glad to help. See ya did good.
Trunks smiled, feeling flustered over a compliment that he had gotten from some dude with no name on the other end of a screen. Who knew, maybe it wasn't even some kid his age, but some woman on the other end of the world who owned seventeen cats and sang musical tunes all day. Either way, he still felt flattered; BansheeBlues had done a lot better than him as it was.
Maybe, but u killed it man. U helped me break my record and now Im top 50, but still not as good as you.
BansheeBlues was typing again. Trunks found that he was waiting with breath held, not wanting the conversation to end as soon as the next text bubble popped up on the screen.
Years of practice. Same goes for you, no?
Trunks was smiling now. This BansheeBlues guy kept the conversation going, which was pleasant. Maybe, just maybe, he could befriend this unknown player. It would be great to have a regular partner when blasting Tuffles to hell.
Defo. Been murdering Tuffles for 5 yrs ez.
BansheeBlues was working on his reply only a second after Trunks's text appeared in the chat.
Aight. Seven years for me. Still not in top twenty though, fuck.
Trunks laughed out loud. Hell, that would mean that he still had to play this freaking game for another two years before he got to be as good as BansheeBlues, let alone make his way into the top ten of the world. But perhaps his saviour could help him on his way there. Thinking fast he typed an answer.
Shit. Mind if I add u to my ingame friends? Id luv to play on the same team again.
Ding. Another message from the Banshee.
No prob, thought the same. But only if we can play two vs. two. We'll kill 'em all if we do.
Trunks cracked a wide grin. BansheeBlues was an odd sort of guy, he could tell. Who in his right mind would take the time to spell and punctuate a sentence like that in a video game chat? Still, the guy had some serious Tuffle-killing chops, and that could not be ignored. Without further ado he added him to his gaming friends. From now on he could always send him a message and invite him to play.
His new ally was typing again. Trunks groaned when he read the text.
Sorry bud, got to go now. Got shit to do.
Trunks sighed. He couldn't blame him, he supposed. A glance at the clock told him that it was past one in the morning, and he would have to get up himself by seven. Come to think of it, he better get himself some shut-eye as well. He typed one last question back.
School?
The reply came almost instantly.
Nah, not until next week.
Trunks rolled his eyes, feeling a soft pang of jealousy.
Lucky...
Ding.
Eh, not so much. Bored most of the time. Anywho, really have to split. Wanna meet up tomorrow at eight? We could knock the shit out of those Tuffles in the Royal Palace level.
Trunks nodded feverishly, as if BansheeBlues would be able to see the action.
Defo. See ya 2morrow.
And then the guy signed off, leaving Trunks by himself.
Trunks turned off all of his gaming equipment and undressed for bed. It took him some tossing and turning to find a comfortable position, with all the adrenaline from breaking his record still coursing through his veins.
And when he finally did fall asleep, he did so with a smile, thinking that for the first time in his life he had made a friend.