Chapter 37:
One of the first things Trunks notices about Dad, living in such close quarters with him, is how badly he sleeps.
It doesn't take him long after observing it to realize Dad's suffering from nightmares. Really bad ones, judging by how violently he tosses and turns, or the way he so often cries out in obvious fear and distress.
It's such a strange contrast to how subdued and austere he is during his waking hours, and Trunks finds himself wondering if Dad even knows about his fits at night.
He would probably be mortified to know he'd been seen, knowing how proud he is. Something else Trunks was realizing more and more, living so close to him. His father was proud, to an almost crippling degree. He wouldn't ever ask for help, wouldn't ever admit to any weakness or fear or doubt.
At first, it had put Trunks off. Made him angry even, thinking his Dad to be disgustingly arrogant and condescending. But the more time Trunks spent around him, the more he began to understand a lot of that was just a cover, just a diversion to distract attention away from what was really going on underneath, which was, Trunks thinks, deep insecurity and trauma.
It wasn't that Dad thought he was so much better than everyone around him. It was that he was terrified in truth that he wasn't. That he wasn't even as good.
It was weird, because there was also a real sense of confidence in him about his abilities, which was more than understandable.
Dad was a beautiful fighter. Trunks could only hope to one day be half so good.
It wasn't so much his power, which Dad had plenty of. But Trunks doesn't think he had more than him, or the Gohan from his time. Though maybe that would change, with how brutal a regiment he was putting himself through every day in this strange place. But no, it was more just his talent. Trunks had never seen anyone move so gracefully, so fluidly and lightly on his feet. Never seen anyone with such perfect form.
They'd only sparred a couple times since coming to this place, and getting Dad to agree to even that had been like pulling teeth. But Trunks had been able to tell, just from their few rounds together, that Dad was a far superior fighter to him. He understood offense and defense and footwork so much better, understood distance and range so much better. He had the most perfect timing Trunks had ever seen, understood how to negate and neutralize an opponents strengths almost completely, how to use their weakness' against them, how to dictate the terms of a match, lulling his opponent into fighting the kind of fight he wanted them to. More than a few times Trunks had found himself chasing after Dad, trying to corner him, only for Dad to always slip or dance away, popping him in the face with a stinging jab for his mistake, or clocking him hard to the jaw with a turn heel back kick, putting Trunks on his ass. Never hard enough to really hurt him, but to let him know, if he'd wanted to, he could have.
Dad's biggest disadvantage was his size. He was so small, short and skinny, and while that made him fast, Trunks had found out quickly he wasn't very strong, not without the use of his ki, anyway, and in that case, they were about even. It gave Trunks an advantage inside, because he was physically more powerful and he could manhandle Dad a bit, bully and turn and push him. His best chance against Dad was to simply smother him. Trying to out box or kick him was a mistake. He just couldn't. But he could make it rough inside, shove Dad around, let him know his superior skills as a fighter wouldn't always matter, if Trunks got his hands on him.
Trunks could see Dad's anger every time it happened, his face growing tight with frustration and, even a few times, Trunks thought, with fear.
A couple times, out of his own frustration at his inability to catch Dad with a shot, he'd simply reached out and grabbed him, holding him still, or shoving him to the ground and pinning him there, and Dad had never reacted well to that, twisting and turning like some wild animal to get out of Trunks' grip, spitting and hissing at him with a litany of curse words, telling him to let him go. One time Trunks hadn't let go fast enough, and he'd eaten a ki ball to the face for his failure, one that had sent him flying for hundreds of yards.
Dad hadn't spoken a single word to him for the rest of that day.
It was better, probably, just to avoid sparring together at all, Trunks had thought more than a few times. Dad didn't like it, and Trunks didn't want to strain what little relationship they had anyway.
Another thing he'd quickly found out about Dad. He just didn't talk.
Trunks had never met someone who could stay silent for so long. There were days where he didn't say a single word aloud. Not one. When he did talk, his voice was so low and soft that Trunks often had a difficult time understanding him. Often had to lean in close just to make out of what he was saying. You couldn't ask Dad to repeat himself either. He would only sneer at you if you did and then take off. So if you missed it, that was it.
When he didn't catch Dad training, a hellish routine of grueling exercises which made Trunks nauseous just to watch, usually he found him sitting off somewhere by himself, knees brought up against his chest, chin resting against their tops and arms hugging his legs as he stared out at seemingly nothing.
All of it only served to increase Trunks' impression of Dad's loneliness.
He doesn't think he's ever met anyone more lonely, and he understands finally what Mom had meant, when she'd told him that about Dad all those years ago.
It was like his whole life he had had the weight of the universe on his shoulders, with no way to relieve it, and with no one to help him bear the burden. He seemed completely lost in his own world most of the time, a wandering, distant expression on his face.
A few times, Trunks had caught him talking to himself, the low, soft murmur of his voice drifting faintly in the oppressive, damp air of this place. It was always too quiet for Trunks to hear what he was saying, and he thinks maybe that had been better. Whatever Dad was saying, it wasn't meant for anyone else's ears.
Trunks finds Dad now in the little space where their beds are, sitting on his side in that same position, with his knees to his chest. He doesn't even seem to notice as Trunks comes in and hops up on his own bed, not moving, eyes not even shifting.
They'd both been training hard today, and unusually, Dad had been the first to finally call it quits, quietly retreating to the alcove and disappearing inside. That had been about half an hour ago, Trunks guesses, though it was hard to keep track of the time in a place like this.
For a while, Trunks only sits there, wondering if he should try to start up a conversation. He's so nervous around Dad. He guesses it's because he wants somehow to impress him. It was so hard to know what he was thinking though, whether he just wanted to be left alone, if talking to him only upset him, or made him angry. Not for the first time, Trunks wishes he could have known his father growing up...
And then he wonders suddenly about Dad's own family. About who they were, or if he'd ever known them.
Back in his time line, Mom had never really told him much about Dad's life back on his home planet. He'd figured out, from some of the things she'd said, that it was because she herself just didn't know that much, that Vegeta had never really told her about his family. All she'd really been able to tell him was that he'd been taken from his home when he'd been a very young boy, maybe four or five years old. If that was true for this time lines Vegeta, then Trunks thinks there probably isn't a very good chance he knew his own mother or father well. Only Trunks finds himself overcome with curiosity now, and without really thinking it through, he blurts out...
"Do you remember your parents?"
He realizes an instant later what he's just done, and he feels his mouth go dry, eyes wide as he glances at Dad, seeing him stiffen slightly.
"I... I mean, you don't have to answer, I mean, obviously, if you don't... I mean..." he begins to stammer, his mind screaming at him to shut up already, only his mouth doesn't seem to want to comply, nonsensical rambling continuing to fall off his tongue.
"Stop talking." Dad finally says, and Trunks' mouth clamps shut, certain he's absolutely blown it. Dad was probably going to either leave or turn over and pretend to fall asleep, like he sometimes did, sending the message loud and clear that he didn't want to be bothered.
Trunks can't help the absolute shock he feels then, when Dad starts talking.
"... I remember my father. I hardly remember my mother."
He shifts, turning his head aside, so that Trunks can only see a small part of his face.
"They're both dead."
He shrugs, and falls silent again.
Trunks swallows, feeling his throat close up, his eyes burning.
"What... huh, w-what do you remember about your father?" He dares to ask, knowing he's pushing it. Dad was acting like he didn't care, and maybe he didn't. But the way he wouldn't look at Trunks, the way he was holding himself so still...
For long minutes Dad doesn't say anything, and Trunks is beginning to think he won't when he starts again.
"... He was a great warrior..." Dad says so softly Trunks almost doesn't catch it. "A great man."
Dad shifts again, looking down at the sheets of his bed, beginning to fidget with them absently.
"He was the king of our people. He led our people to prosperity. Without him, the Saiyan race would have continued living as barbarians in caves, eking out a useless existence. He was a great man."
Trunks blinks, his surprise continuing to intensify.
He'd never heard Dad speak about anybody like that before. He hadn't even known if Vegeta was capable of that kind of admiration. He sounded almost in awe of him.
"Wow, he... he sounds like an amazing person. I wish I... I could have known him..." he says, thinking a moment later he must sound like an idiot.
Dad finally glances at him, before looking quickly away, his arms wrapping again round his knees, holding tight to them.
He doesn't say anything else, and Trunks figures he's been lucky so far, Dad talking more to him than he has the whole time they've been in here.
"And you don't... remember you mother very well?"
He braces, waiting for Dad to finally grow sick of all his questions and storm off. Only he's surprised once more when Vegeta stays where he is, eyes staring ahead of him, quiet a long time again before his nearly soundless voice carries over gently.
"She took my younger brother and left Vegetasie when I was maybe two. I never saw either of them again after that." Again he shrugs. "I remember her scent. And an image of her face which is probably wrong. The The last time I saw my father, I was four. I remember him better. I look like him, I think. I..." He stops, turning fully away, and Trunks can see a tremor work through Dad's shoulders, his frame visibly stiffening.
Trunks swallows, overcome suddenly with a deep sadness. Gods, it was so sad.
"It doesn't matter anymore." Dad goes on after a moment, voice oddly steady.
He goes quiet again for a long time, and Trunks is certain the conversation is over then, feeling lucky to have gotten as much as he did. Dad didn't have to tell him any of that, and yet he had. He can't help feeling a little proud, that Dad would trust him enough for that.
"Wh... what about you? Y-your mother is... B-Bulma is still alive in your... your time?"
Trunks stares, unable at first to process that Dad's just asked him a question. And then a moment later his brain catches up, realizing the words. His heart kicks oddly in his chest, his eyes burning again, and he wipes at them, trying to steady his voice, throat suddenly tight.
He misses Mom so much. Worries about her constantly. Being away from her, not knowing if she's safe, not knowing if the androids have somehow found her... It was nearly unbearable. Making it worse still was now understanding that whatever happened in this time line, it would have no effect on his own. Defeating the androids here wouldn't stop them in his future. He was here now only to help everyone as best he could, and in the hopes that he might grow strong enough in so doing to defeat the androids back home.
Hearing Dad ask about Mom though, it was the last thing Trunks had ever expected out of him. Against all the times he'd heard Mom talk about him, talk about how much she missed him, it's surreal, his heart aching at the memories, at how it reminds him of Mom now, and how scared he is for her.
"Y-yeah, she's... she's alive. She's back home... waiting for me."
He trails off, overcome with emotion finally, and he looks away, his eyes burning.
Long seconds pass by in silence, and Trunks again thinks the conversation must be finished. Only Dad's voice drifts over to him once more, again so quiet he almost doesn't hear.
"... You do right by her." He says, and Trunks looks at him, startled. He sees Dad nod, as if to himself. "She is a good and a strong woman. She deserves to be cared for." He nods one more time, as if in affirmation of his own words, and doesn't look at Trunks, falling silent again.
For a long moment, Trunks doesn't know what to say, still trying to process what he's just heard.
Dad had sounded so... almost tender just now, and sad, and Trunks realizes, suddenly, for the first time since he's come here, all the anger and pain he'd felt towards his father, all the disappointment... it's gone. In it's place a quiet feeling of sadness for him, and an odd, abrupt affection. He wants suddenly to hug Dad tight. To tell him it's okay. To tell him thank you.
Looking at him sitting over there, curled in on himself, he looks so small, and so alone, so apart and alienated from everything, and Trunks wonders for the first time about how strange it must be for him, to have come from the kind of life he'd had, to have come from so different a place, and to end up here, in a world so totally opposite, so foreign to him.
It strikes him suddenly then. Mom had maybe been the first person here on Earth to show Dad any kindness, or acceptance. Maybe the first person in his life to really show him that at all. It was no wonder then, that he'd bonded with her. Maybe even fallen in love with her, though he doesn't know if Dad would ever admit to that, or even understand it if he had.
Trunks can hardly imagine what it must have meant to him though, to be shown that kindness Mom was capable of, after a lifetime of hell and degradation. What that must have felt like to Dad...
He can feel his eyes sting with abrupt tears at the thought of it, and he turns away, wiping at them.
No, he couldn't be angry at Dad anymore. Couldn't feel any animosity towards him now. Now when he was beginning to understand what Mom had meant. To understand why she had fallen in love with him.
His father is a good man, deep down. Trunks is sure of it. Even if Dad doesn't know it himself.
"Th-thanks." He finally blurts. "Thanks for... for saying that."
"It isn't a compliment." Dad says sharply, keeping his eyes fixed ahead. "I'm only stating the truth."
Trunks can't help smiling at him then, just a little.
"I know." He says, smile growing as Dad glances at him.
Dad looks quickly away, a frustrated huff escaping him.
"Turn the lights off when you're ready to sleep." He says flatly, and without another word he lies down, turning his back and saying nothing more.
/
"Step left, jab, step left, jab. Step left, right cross. Turn your hip over. That's right, good. Put your weight into it. Good, good little man. Again. Right cross, uppercut. Good! Alright, time for a break."
"I can keep going."
Nappa gives him that look he gives sometimes. Mix of being impressed and worried. Turns away, agitated, crosses his arms. Wishes Nappa would stop worrying. Could keep up with him easy. Just cause he got a little dizzy the other day while training...
"Lets takes a break Vegeta. We'll jump back in soon. I know you're strong."
Frowns, agitated, a little embarrassed. Wishes Nappa would stop doing that too. Stop trying to get on his good side by paying him compliments.
Feels a little weak, and hates that too. Hates the relief he felt when Nappa called for a break.
"Here ya go." Nappa's hand in front of him, holding a flask of water.
Doesn't hesitate to take it. Realizes suddenly how thirsty he is, throat aching as he turns the flask over, pouring the water down, gulping desperately.
"Let's go sit." Nappa tells him, and doesn't even have the strength to argue as he follows after Big man, flopping down beside him against the rooms far wall. Keeps drinking, lost in the relief of it.
"You're doin' real good little man. Your defense is kickin' ass." Nappa says after a while, and can't help the swell of pride he feels at it. Tries to stamp it down. Can't get too confident. Had to keep getting better, or... or they would never... never get out of here, never...
"Listen, I know you hate it, but we gotta work on grappling next."
Stomach drops, feels himself stiffen.
Hated grappling. Hated feeling trapped. Hated how everyone seemed stronger than him, 'cause he was too small, too fucking small, too...
"You can use your ki, but I want you to try breaking free of some of the holds without it too, alright? You gotta learn to rely on your body alone, cause sometimes your ki's gonna fail you, and you gotta know the techniques to get out of someone's grip. Alright?"
"... Fine." He answers. Hates how small his voice is. Hates how he feels scared. Nappa wasn't gonna hurt him. Knew that. Hated the feel of it though. Hated how strong Nappa was. Hated how his throat closed up when he couldn't break free of Nappa's hold. Felt like everything was closing in, vision going black. Hated the panic in his chest then, way his heart beat too hard.
"I know it's hard for you Vegeta..."
"It's fine." Snaps, angry. Tries not to say how he thinks grappling is stupid. To ask why he can't just use his ki to blast fuckers off of him when they grabbed hold. Knows why. Knows sometimes opponents might have more powerful ki than him. Knows sometimes his ki would deplete, and he wouldn't have the luxury of using it. Would have to rely on skill alone then. Would have to...
Liked boxing and kickboxing more, liked making opponents miss, liked using his speed. Didn't like hands on him. Didn't want anyone touching him ever...
"Your technique's the best I ever seen little man." Nappa tells him after a while. "Your form is fuckin' beautiful."
Looks down, hand squeezing over the flask, threatening to crush it.
Lot of good his form did him, when he wasn't strong enough. Didn't have enough power. Wasn't big enough, wasn't strong, wasn't...
"You're gifted Vegeta. You know that? I ain't never seen talent like yours."
"Stop kissing my ass Nappa." Says, irritated. "If I'm so good, how come I still gotta take lessons from you?"
Nappa's big arm comes round his shoulders, giving him a squeeze. Big man laughs.
"Well just cause you got talent doesn't mean you ain't got nothin' to learn kiddo. Remember that. You never stop learnin'. There's lots you don't know."
"Yeah? Like what?" Gives Nappa a shove. Hates the way it doesn't even move him.
"Like your murder face." Big man says, grinning. "You gotta work on makin' yourself look scarier."
Looks up at Nappa, frowns.
"Why? If they know I could kill 'em anyway, why do I have to look scary?"
Nappa points to his head, tapping his temple with one of his thick fingers.
"It's psychological warfare Vegeta. If ya look scary, you've already won half the battle. Here, lemme see your murder face."
Can feel his face grow hot. Looks away. Doesn't know who Nappa thought he was kidding. Thinks, for a minute, Big man's even making fun of him.
"I'm not even four feet tall. Who the fuck am I gonna scare with my face?" Mutters, cheeks growing warmer. Doesn't even notice as he wraps his arms round himself, shrinking down.
"Come on! Let's just see it. Lets see those canines kiddo!"
"I ain't scary Nappa! I'm almost twelve years old and I still look like I'm fucking five!" Snaps. Can't take it. Can't take any of it. Wasn't ever gonna get any bigger, probably. Everyone on base thought he was a joke anyway. Could hear them all laughing and snickering to themselves every time he walked by.
Big man falls quiet, and Vegeta turns his face away. Stupid. Whole thing was stupid.
"Well hell, doesn't that give you an advantage though?" Nappa finally starts again. "I mean, it'll make the bastards underestimate you every time, thinking cause you're little that must mean you're weak. And we both know that sure as shit ain't true. You kick Raditz and my ass daily. Remember?"
"... So what?" Mumbles, keeps his face turned away.
"Hey little man, you can kick the living shit out of about 99% of the fuckers on this base. You know that, right? Think how they feel, knowing a little kid like you could beat them to death if you wanted."
"I'm not a little kid Nappa!" Spits, finally pulls away, scooting down the wall.
"Alright, alright. Don't get mad. I'm just sayin', being small isn't always as much of a disadvantage as you may think. You can use it against your opponents too."
Eyes close. Feels them sting and shakes his head.
"... I'm not ever gonna get any bigger." Says, more to himself than anyone. Knew that now. Might grow a little, but he wasn't ever gonna be tall like his father, or even like Raditz. Wasn't ever gonna be like that.
Big man doesn't try to say anything else after that, and can't help but feel grateful. Can't stand it, when Nappa tries to tell him he's special anymore.
"How 'bout we work on that grappling now Vegeta?" He finally says, and he resigns himself to it, answering alright.
Tries not to panic as Nappa instructs him, telling him to get on his hands and knees while Big man takes his back. Can feel Nappa's massive bulk hovering above him, and tries not to panic, breath coming shallow and uneven. Tries not to panic as he feels Big man lock his arms round his neck, broad chest lying against the blades of his shoulders. Sounds far away, Big man sounds far away as he tells him to try and twist free. Tries not to panic, but muscles won't work right now. Can feel them seizing up, vision going black. Doesn't like this. Doesn't... doesn't like it...
Thinks he's gonna be sick, and can't break free... can't break... can't...
"I'm not doing that anymore Nappa."
Big man stares at him, disappointed look, and Vegeta doesn't look back. Hates this. Hates that he feels this still. Like he needs to impress Big man still. Nappa was dead. Didn't... didn't need to...
"The kid keeps pinnin' you little man. You gotta work on breakin' his holds."
Heart beating loud in his ears, sick taste of adrenaline.
"Go... go away. Don't have to do... don't have to do anything..."
"He's stronger than you little man. You know that. He gets his hands on you and you're in trouble..."
"SHUT UP!"
Hands ripping at his hair, clamps his eyes shut. Wants him to go. Go away. Go away now...
Heavy hand on his shoulder, and he chokes, sharp gasp tearing from his throat, heart kicking vicious and fear, fear, fear...
"Dad, are you alright?!"
Doesn't think. Turn, attack. Being attacked. Have to defend, have to...
First punch misses, second one too. He's fast, whoever he is. Being sloppy, misses another shot, loses his balance, too much put into it, loses his balance and...
"Dad! Stop! It's me!"
Saying something. He's saying something. Laughing at him. Can hear him laughing. Feels anger boil in his chest, choking him, sees red and wants to kill, wants to...
Throws a punch and misses, feels his hand caught in a strong grip.
"Dad!"
Other hand still free, can use that. Can still use...
Flash of blinding white explodes in his eyes, ears deaf with ringing. Familiar sensation of falling, and knows he's going down. Knows he's been caught hard and he's...
Pain brings him back, and sees Trunks leaning over him then, look of concern on his face.
"Dad, I... I'm so sorry, I didn't... Gods, I didn't mean to hit you! It was just reflex. You didn't seem like you were hearing me and I just... Gods, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"
Trunks' hand on his shoulder and doesn't even know what happened. Only the familiar taste of rage and humiliation in his gut now.
"Get the fuck off me!" Snaps, shoves the boy's hand off.
Turns from him, back up to his feet, nearly stumbles, nearly falls back to his knees, and feels humiliation choke him, teeth grinding together. Can't escape this. Can't ever seem to...
"Dad!" Hears the boy cry after him, worry in his voice, and wants to turn, wants to punch his teeth out, punch his fucking perfect face and...
Doesn't. Doesn't say anything. Keep walking, thinks. Keep walking. Hold it in. Had to... had to hold it in or he would...
… Fucking lose it...
No good... no good to anyone... no good then...
/
AN: Again, all my thanks to everyone who's read and/or reviewed! I hope you're continuing to enjoy and as always, if you have a chance, please leave me your thoughts!