Author notes: I've been channelling my inner George R. R. Martin keeping you all waiting this long for an update!
Usual callouts: UK English, and I don't own the characters.
Forgotten what happened before? So did I. Best give it a re-read haha - that's what I did! For those who have stumbled upon this more recently, Future Trunks and Vegeta were training in the time chamber before the Cell Games, and Vegeta has agreed to train with Trunks.
'Keep your left guard up!"
The warning came at the same time as a sharp kick to Trunks' already bruised side. It had him flat on his back in an instant, the frowning younger form of his father looming over him.
"Ow," Trunks wheezed out.
"The enemy will take advantage of any weak spot." Young Papa's lips twisted into a smirk as Trunks struggled to his feet. "Keep your guard up, or go down."
"You seem to forget…" Trunks groaned at the pain in his ribs. If they were only bruised before, they were definitely cracked now. "I'm not actually your enemy, Sir."
"And you seem to forget that when I agreed to let you stay I wasn't going to go easy on you. It's what you wanted if I recall."
It hadn't taken Trunks more than ten minutes of training with this Vegeta to realise that his suspicions had been correct - his father had been holding back when training with him. He'd wanted to be pushed further, and he'd certainly got his wish.
Trunks waved the hand not clutching his ribs. "I know, I know. But can we have a break? You can get back to trying to kill me later."
Young Papa rolled his eyes, but nodded his assent and began to set off in the direction of the chamber's living quarters, leaving Trunks to limp after him.
They had been training together for a couple of months now, and Trunks could feel how much stronger he'd grown. The power surged through his veins, his blasts were almost as powerful as Young Papa's, and his attacks even swifter.
"How are you still beating me every time?" he grumbled as he staggered through the white mist of the chamber.
Young Papa let out a low chuckle. "It's simple. I'm the better warrior."
Trunks scoffed at that. "Barely! I'm not far off your strength."
"And yet, even when I hold back half my strength, I can still defeat you."
Trunks struggled to catch up with Young Papa so he wasn't talking to the man's back. "That shouldn't be possible," he said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice, much to his annoyance. He had firsthand experience from his own father that Vegeta did not take kindly to moaning.
But this Young Papa just chuckled smugly. "And yet it is."
"Come on, wise teacher." Trunks finally caught up and used his best puppy dog eyes on the man. "Tell me how you do it. The whole point of me being here is so I can improve."
Young Papa let out an aggravated sigh. "I have a couple of decades worth of experience on you. The majority of which includes fighting creatures who were bigger and stronger than me."
"But you survived, so you must have defeated them all."
Young Papa snorted. "Just because you don't die doesn't mean you won."
Trunks flinched at the bitterness in the man's tone. He knew both versions of his father well enough to recognise the warning signs. If he kept pushing this line of questioning he'd end up booted out of the chamber.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Trunks let himself enjoy the lighter air as they approached their living quarters. He'd got used to the outskirts of the chamber now, and with Young Papa close by it didn't feel as daunting, but it was always a relief to be back in normal gravity and without the weird weather.
The pair headed straight for the kitchen, silently making piles of sandwiches, passing condiments and fillings to each other in silence. They had a routine, much like Trunks and his father had had back in his own time.
It wasn't until Young Papa had finished all but one of his sandwiches that the man spoke again.
"The trick," he said, as if there hadn't been a thirty-minute pause in their conversation, "is to predict your opponent's moves."
Trunks frowned as he finished his own lunch. "What if you've never fought them before?"
Young Papa bared his teeth into a vicious grin. "Then you stay alive until you learn their technique."
Trunks pondered this. It made sense. Young Papa always had a counterattack ready for Trunks, as if he knew exactly what move he was going to make before Trunks made it. But could it really be that simple?
"You are so worried about your own actions," Young Papa pointed at Trunks with his half-eaten sandwich, "you forget to look at mine."
"Did you ever fight someone so strong you didn't have room to think of anything but staying alive?"
Young Papa's gaze narrowed on him, and too late Trunks remembered that Frieza had literally killed his father. Both versions of his father. Blasted a hole right through him, in fact.
Without a word, Young Papa stood up, dumped his plate in the sink, then headed back into the misty depths of the chamber.
Trunks took that to mean break time was over.
"You're overthinking," Young Papa said, blocking a punch with ease.
Trunks grit his teeth and fought back his growing fury. "You're the one who told me to predict your moves."
"And now I'm telling you to stop thinking so much."
Trunks aimed a round kick at Young Papa's head in retaliation, but the Saiyan snatched his ankle then flung him across the chamber. Barely managing to stop his skid across the white floor, Trunks managed to right himself and fly straight back for another attack.
"How do you know what I'm thinking?" Trunks grumbled as he went in for a gut punch that missed by mere millimetres. Damn, the man was fast.
Young Papa shrugged. "I do it too, brat. It is the one drawback of being highly intelligent."
Trunks snorted out a laugh at that. This Vegeta was so dissimilar to his father, but sometimes he said things that almost made him forget they were two different men.
To his surprise, Young Papa stopped their spar and ripped the sleeve off his training suit.
"Come here," he instructed, holding it out.
Trunks recoiled. "Ew, gross. I'm not going anywhere near your sweaty clothes.
Young Papa rolled his eyes. "Fine, use your own."
Frowning in confusion, but not wanting to disobey a man who would banish him from the training area, Trunks did as he was told and ripped off one of the sleeves on his own training suit.
Young Papa held out his hand for it, so Trunks passed it over. Carefully, the man tied it over Trunks eyes.
"Uh… Sir, I can't see."
"That's the point," Young Papa said from a spot somewhere in front of him.
"How am I supposed to train if I can't see?" Trunks clenched his fists, worried that Young Papa was going to send him off to meditate for hours.
"Blocking one sense hones the others. In moments of high stress, you get tunnel vision and thinking strategically is difficult. Learn to understand your opponent on ki alone, and when you need to you can ignore your other senses during battle and prevent your mind from thinking about too many things at once."
Trunks wriggled his nose, the cloth over his eyes sitting uncomfortably on the bridge of it. "I guess that makes sense," he said doubtfully.
"No blasts. No flying. Hand to hand combat only."
Trunks opened his mouth to agree, but then, wham! A punch to the gut sent Trunks skidding across the chamber. He bent over, clutching his stomach with a gasp. "Wait," he wheezed. "I can't-"
This time he nearly blocked the next blow, putting his arm up a second too late and barely avoiding a direct hit to his face. The punch grazed his ear and Trunks hissed at both the pain and the indignity of it.
The next attack, a swift kick to his feet, Trunks was ready for, and he jumped in the air, avoiding it, but not the hit that followed, an undercut that had him reeling once again.
"Is this how you were trained?" Trunks bared his teeth at the man he sensed in front of him. "Did Freeza torture you like this?"
A low laugh came from his right. How did that man move so fast?
"Boy, you have no understanding of what torture is."
Finally sensing the attack, a lift in power so slight Trunks would have assumed Young Papa was nearly reaching for a television remote to change channels, Trunks blocked the next punch and retaliated with one of his own.
He missed but felt Young Papa's arm graze his fist. It wasn't much, but Trunks finally felt like he was getting the hang of it.
"Useless." Young Papa snorted his derision. "No wonder the androids destroyed your world. Your grandmother could do better."
Trunks scowled, the man's words cutting deeper than a blow ever could.
"I bet you can't land one hit on me," Young Papa continued. "You may as well stay at Capsule Corp for the Cell Games. You won't be any use."
Trunks' temper flared and with a wild scream, he launched himself at the younger version of his father. To his dismay, not one punch, kick, or even the tip of a finger landed.
"Focus," Young Papa said, clapping him around the back of his head. "I didn't know how to read ki at your age and I still would have done better."
"I'll take your bet," Trunks snarled. "I will get a hit in. If I don't I'll… I'll."
"Leave the chamber?" Young Papa suggested, with a smug ring to his voice.
"Alright... But if I land one, you…" Trunks thought fast. "You need to take Young Mama on a date."
Trunks felt Young Papa's ki lift in surprise, something the boy hadn't known he could sense. Oh, he knew when his father was experiencing great anger, that kind of change in ki was hard to ignore, but the subtleties had always remained unnoticed. Until now.
"That's what you want?" Young Papa asked.
"Yes."
There was a moment's silence.
"Fine. You won't get a hit in anyway." Trunks could hear the smirk in his not-father's voice.
This time, when the attack came, he did as Young Papa had been telling him. He focussed on the man's ki. Not just the location of it, or the power level, but the slight variations in vibrating through the air as his muscles coiled, ready to strike, ready to misdirect, ready to release their power.
Trunks began to block the blows more effectively, at first sensing them too late to react fast enough to think about anything other than avoiding the hit. Eventually though, he learnt that the rough vibration meant a swift punch from the right and that slight leap meant a jump kick to his head. Trunks began to move from defence to attempting a counter-attack, and then a full offensive.
Sweating, with his eyebrows itching, and body aching from the number of hits he'd taken, Trunks knew he was flagging. But so was Young Papa. He took his opening as soon as he found it - because he knew if he didn't he was unlikely to get another.
Young Papa jumped in the air, hands raised, ready to smash down on top of Trunks' head. A slight twist was all it took and Trunks shifted, taking the blow to his shoulder, but getting in a brutal uppercut with all the force of his rage and frustration. It landed on Young Papa's chin and sent the man thudding to the chamber floor.
"I did it!" Trunks ripped off the cloth around his eyes in glee. "Ha! I told you I-" He stopped when he noticed Young Papa clambering to his feet and taking off the cloth around his own eyes. "No! You were blindfolded the whole time too?"
Young Papa raised an imperious eyebrow.
Trunks pouted in disappointment. "I thought you had a real advantage over me."
Vegeta barked a laugh and began walking back to the living quarters. "I do. It's called experience."
"You mean old age," Trunks retorted, trailing after him. "And you owe Young Mama a date."
Young Papa shrugged nonchalantly. "First of July, she can have it."
Trunks blinked in confusion. "First of… what?"
"You wanted me to give her a date. A day of the calendar year," Young Papa said airily. "She already has her birthday, I don't know why she'd need another day to call hers, but she is welcome to that one."
"But… but…" Trunks sputtered. "That's not a date! That's not what I meant. A date is where you go out to dinner and bring her flowers and kiss and…" He caught the grin creeping over Young Papa's face. "And you're teasing me."
"I am aware of the human ritual of dating, brat."
"I can't believe it," Trunks replied with a snigger. "My father actually has a sense of humour. Who knew?"
"Clearly you got your good humour from your paternal side," Young Papa replied dryly.
"So... you'll do it?"
"She won't want to. I could kidnap her I suppose."
"Of course she'll want to!"
Young Papa raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"She will. If you ask nicely."
"I will make a request. After Cell. And if you reveal that I have agreed to this because of a bet, to her or anyone else, I will strangle you with your own entrails, cut up your remains into tiny pieces, then feed you morsel by morsel to your grandfather's cat." He fixed a glared on Trunks. "Got it?"
Trunks gulped. "Got it."
I have the next chapter mostly finished, it needs a little editing. It shouldn't take me more than a year to get it up this time... thanks for all your comments and for not letting me give up on this story! I probably would have abandoned it if you hadn't all kept asking me for an update.