A/N: A warning for this chapter – there is a vivid description of an anxiety attack, so please proceed with caution if this kind of thing is hard for you to read.


He was stronger than me – so much stronger.

I'd walked into the Time Chamber, thinking it would be like before. Like Trunks and me were the same, two sides of a coin like the years of our partnership had made us into. How things had been before I'd died.

I wasn't that we weren't friends the way we'd use to be. We'd greeted each other like normal, me happy to see that Trunks was happy and that he'd put weight back on. (When he was upset, he had a tendency to not eat, which I knew he'd been succumbing to based on how he'd felt hugging me after I was resurrected.) Dad seemed like he always did too, in his natural element with constant training.

Gohan had been off from his usual self. What he'd said to me, just before I'd come in, floated around in the back of my head.

'Be careful.'

I hadn't been sure if he was talking about being careful around Trunks, or being careful trying to increase my own strength, but I'd taken my cautious brother's advice with a pinch of salt. Because it was Gohan, and he always tried to mother me like I was still a little kid. He was overbearingly protective sometimes.

So that was why I entirely ignored his advice and demanded that Trunks show me his new transformation, mere minutes after being in the Time Chamber.

"We're going to be in here a while," he replied. "We don't have to start there."

"I want to see how strong you really are now. Besides, I'd rather not be kept in suspense," I continued.

Trunks pursed his lips. "Alright. But I don't have one hundred percent control over it yet, so..."

"Yeah yeah. I'll remember the safe word, shall I?"

My friend sighed and rub the bridge of his nose. I laughed at him.

It wasn't long after that Dad had seated himself on the sidelines, or rather, the steps of the building that housed our beds and supplies. Trunks and I faced off just far enough away that Dad could see us, but we could decrease the risk of any stray attacks hitting the building.

"Ready?" Trunks said. I nodded, bracing myself but not yet moving into a fighting stance.

My friend set himself as well, placing his feet shoulder-width apart and curling his hands into fists at chest level. Closing his eyes, he began to focus.

Energy thrummed through the air and the ground started to shudder beneath me. Trunks' hair drifted from his shoulders and burst into golden flame, but he wasn't there yet – his power continued to climb from the level of a Super Saiyan, the tremors becoming full-blown quakes.

And then his ki spiked, washing over me like a tidal wave and a pair of steely, teal eyes were locked on me.

His aura wasn't tainted like Broly's had been, but it blazed with the same indomitable presence – though much bigger. Threads of electricity sizzled in the air around Trunks; even the physical tendons of his arms seemed more defined.

It was him, yet it wasn't. A version of himself like sunlight focused into fire through a magnifying glass, or a recast blade still glowing as it was pulled from the forgery. Becoming a Super Saiyan had seemed like a triumph, until now that I saw it was a drop of water in an ocean of our own potential. His potential.

I wasn't afraid. I wasn't. But I couldn't barely wrap my head around the fact that he was so much stronger than me from a single event. He'd broken through the impossible, while I – I'd –

"Let's go!" Trunks declared out of nowhere, shifting into a stance and pulling me from my reverie.

"H – hey, wait a sec -"

I never got to finish before he was suddenly right in front of me, causing me to avoid the blow thrown at my head by a hair's breadth.

Thinking quickly, I activated my transformation like a paltry shadow, swinging a punch that whistled through emptiness and then I was leaping into the air to again avoid a blow that smashed into where I'd just been standing.

The difference between us was brutal. I'd never been the strongest Super Saiyan, but even within seconds of our spar beginning I noticed Trunks trying to slow himself down to make the match worthwhile. His punches and kicks that didn't manage to scrape by me felt like an impossible blow each time, and I wasn't the kind of guy who couldn't take a hit.

I could see my friend struggling with the adrenaline rush, simultaneously trying to goad me to fight harder but also to not get carried away. My adrenaline was pumping too, but I felt uncoordinated – sloppy. Losing ground, rapidly.

When I got lucky a moment later and my knuckles struck him square in the chest, he reacted like he couldn't even feel it, grabbing my arm and twisting it the wrong way while knocking my legs out from under me.

Before I could blink, I was flat on my face with his knee pressing into my spine as he kept my arm strained almost to the point of dislocating it.

There was no way I was going to let myself give in after only a few minutes of fighting, regardless of how obviously outclassed I was. I tried to get out of the hold. It did me no good; any wiggle-room there had ever been while sparring him before was gone. It felt like I was struggling against something that weighed a few thousand tonnes more than someone Trunks' size should have. Someone who felt like they were trying to pull my shoulder right out of its socket.

My ki dropped dramatically as I lost hold of Super Saiyan and I was sure now my arm was about to break. But in that same instant, I heard a whoosh of air and Dad's voice -

"Tag in!" he piped excitedly, and suddenly the weight on me was gone as Dad took my place in the match, him and Trunks moving away so that I had space to recover.

I rolled onto my back, catching a glimpse of the two combatants. Trunks' expression was concentrated, while Dad seemed to be having the time of his life despite his ki clearly being weaker than my best friend's.

I let my head return to resting on the floor, accepting the now present ache in my shoulder socket and elbow tendon.

The three of us continued sparring on and off throughout the hours, pausing only to eat or relieve ourselves. By the time the clock revealed it was nighttime (though the lighting in the Chamber outside was constant) we were spent anyway, taking turns to shower off and fall asleep one by one.

Despite it being bright outdoors, we were able to dim the lights inside the building if we wished. As I was the last to use the shower, the sleeping quarters were already dark by the time I'd crossed them to use the washing area. Thankfully, there was a door both for better privacy and to avoid disturbing anyone with whatever noise I might make.

The hot water felt relieving on my head and shoulders, although it made my new bruises feel a bit tender. I poked one of the ones on my ribs to assess it, winced, and then decided it wasn't too bad and moved on to wash my hair.

Since there was an infinite amount of any water temperature, I could stand under it for as long as I wanted. It was an interesting contrast to the steel barrel my family had for years used as an outdoor bathtub, kept at the side of the house. The water had to be heated separately and poured in, and in wintertime it was never fun running to it without much on (sometimes through the snow). I'd been little at the time so Mom or Dad would usually come out when I was done and bundle me up in towels to whisk me back inside.

By the time I was eight we'd installed a proper shower, but the memory still lingered. On Planet Vegeta, only the elites or very lucky lower classes had access to water for cleaning purposes, so most people just used soaps you put on dry. I'd seen the stuff once or twice and it'd been enough to make me grateful.

I finally turned off the shower, grabbing a towel to tousle it through my hair before moving to dry the rest of me. Upon passing the mirror to grab my fresh change of sleeping clothes, I paused to meet the plain brown eyes reflected in it.

There were bruises going up and down my torso, nothing I'd never seen before. A few on my legs, one a little too low on my stomach for comfort, and – as I turned a bit – several large ones dotting my back.

I supposed I'd had worse. A lot worse. Realistically, my current state wasn't that terrible, but it was just another indication of my shortcomings.

I started dressing, then stopped halfway to sit down on the rim of the bathtub. Everything was quiet. A drop of water or two fell from my bangs.

Could Trunks really have gotten so far ahead of me?

Him, my brother, or Dad were always a step or two beyond my level. That didn't make me a quitter. It's just that it wasn't necessary for me to compete so hard to be better than them.

If there was any danger, they were enough – it was obvious that with what had happened, my presence had made no difference. Maybe if Dad had been there too, things might've been different. But that didn't matter now. Even my brother who almost never trained had done his part and survived, but it was clearly my best friend who'd won the day.

Trunks had refused to fall, despite his broken bones, despite being impaled with his own sword. Even before that when he'd been taking on Broly alone, my friend had been covered in blood and losing and still, still fighting with his every drawn breath.

And before that too – he'd even stood up against his father, someone whose approval he valued more than anything. Trunks was strong, and brave, and I'd daresay he could even be noble sometimes, but I wouldn't say that much praise to his face.

I wasn't like him, though.

It wasn't that I lacked qualities. I was sure if I asked someone, they'd find one in me somewhere. But I knew I wasn't like him. Not smart or thoughtful like Gohan, either. Not brilliant like Bulma, not carefree like Dad, not even indomitable like Vegeta.

Mom had really wanted to get Gohan right, and I supposed she had. But then I'd come along and there hadn't been enough room left between my brother and the top so she'd agreed to let me fight, agreed to let me spend half my life on a desert rock with a boy she barely knew because it was better than nothing.

Yet whatever I had to show for it was lost in the fact that some days, I got called my brother's or my dad's name more than my own.

I rested my elbows on my knees, palms against my temples. The room was starting to feel hot and close, like it was pressing in on me. My breathing felt constricted, chest tight. It hurt.

The night I died had been the one where I was needed. Had to save Trunks, had to protect Bulma. Instead, watched her die, and then watched what I thought was Trunks dying, and then I'd felt my own heart stop beating.

I slid to my knees on the floor. Pins and needles were buzzing in my arms and legs. Each breath felt like not enough, I couldn't take in more than quick gasps and my vision was tunnelling and my chest hurt, I didn't know why my chest hurt and gods, oh gods I'm having a heart attack and I'm sixteen and that doesn't make any sense but I'm dying, I'm going to die.

My hands were braced against the icy shock of the floor, my stomach swam and I didn't know if I was going to throw up or pass out or whether I should call for help. At that last thought, I was quickly struck with a shame so vivid at being seen this way that it robbed me of what little air I had remaining so I curled up on the tiles, trying to get a fix on anything that would make my body stop.


I woke up drenched in sweat.

It took me a moment to place myself, to recognize that the instant chill on my exposed skin was from the negative temperature of the snow outside, seeping through the house.

The hot, shallow prickle from perspiring mixed with the numb cold of winter felt a lot like fear, but I wasn't afraid.

My parents' energies slept quiet a few rooms away. They hadn't noticed me. They hadn't noticed me the last few times, either, and I hadn't brought it to their attention. I wouldn't have known what to tell them, anyway.

This was the third time in a week my body had woken me up, ready to fight or fly, tugging my mind along with it as I'd race to figure out where the enemy was, how close the danger was that my instincts were reacting to but that I couldn't seem to find anywhere.

I sat up and pulled the blanket over my shoulders and around my head so that I wouldn't rapidly start to freeze. The clouds covered the moon outside so no light shone in through my window, only the dim outline of my bedroom furniture visible in the night. It would be hours until dawn, hours that I'd have to wait out staring into nothing because it was damn near impossible to go back to sleep like this.

"What's wrong with me?" I whispered, as if the darkness had an answer.