Disclaimer: I do not own Dragonball Z. Period, dot, end of statement.

Goten

I glance at the clock and stare at it in surprise. Man, it's already 2 in the morning! Surprising, since Videl normally comes in to pull me out by my ear if she thinks I'm working too late. Pan must have worn her out today. If our daughter can wear a Saiyan out, it's no surprise that she can do it to her fully-human mother as well. I still don't know how Mom did it and she raised two of us. You could even go so far as to say three, counting Dad.

I yawn, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes tiredly. I'm exhausted. That's the problem with being a professor. If you don't care, then you'll get all the sleep you need and then some. I care about my students. That means staying up all hours of the night, trying to find something that will keep them entertained and learning at the same time. Easier said than done, I'm afraid, especially since I teach at a university. I get up, stretching. Might as well head down to the kitchen for a little snack. Coffee, too.

As I walk down the hall and into the living room, I find Goten sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep, papers scattered around him. I can't help but smile at the familiar picture; this happens at least once a week, if not more. Picking up the papers, I realize that it's his homework. Mom'll kill me if it's not done, but as I decipher the chicken scratch that Goten passes off as writing, I see that he finished it. Stacking the papers neatly on the coffee table, I turn around and pick my brother up easily. I could just wake him up and send him off to bed, but I've put him to bed ever since this tradition began. No need to change the routine unnecessarily. He shifts slightly and I run a hand through his hair a bit awkwardly, considering that I'm holding him bridal style. "Shh, Goten, I have you," I whisper. He quiets instantly, face buried against my chest just like when he was a baby and I was looking after him because Mom was exhausted.

It suddenly hits me that he's fourteen now. He's growing up. He's gotten so big; I remember when he was small enough to fit in one arm. Now it takes both my arms and a bit more strength just to lift him, let alone keep holding him. Not that he's heavy, but still, I miss those days when he was just a baby. He'd lift his chubby little arms up to my face, demanding to be picked up, and when I did he would always manage to grab a fistful of hair and pull with all of his considerable might. It was his favorite game and I, the doting older brother that I was, played along until he grew out of it. I think that I was perpetually half bald for a good six months before he finally grew out of it.

As he and I both grew older, our relationship evolved into something more complicated. It wasn't just an older brother-younger brother bond that we had. It was something more. My feelings were becoming more paternal than fraternal, and for good reason. As he neared the age where discipline was going to have to be applied regularly, I found myself having to be the judge and jury more and more often. I didn't want to bother Mom with incidents that she wasn't around for, mostly because regardless of my age it would sound like I was tattling on him. ("Mom, Goten broke the table!" Yeah, that definitely doesn't sound like tattling at all.) I hated punishing Goten; he had Dad's puppy dog eyes down to a tee and it was always really hard to keep my resolve. More often than not it was the fear of Mom's "Almighty Frying Pan of Doom" that made me stick to my guns rather than the fact that what Goten did was wrong. And of course, you can't just spank a kid that's half-Saiyan. He spends half his day being pounded into the ground somehow; he won't feel a slap to the backside. Mostly the threat of skipping a meal or actually having to skip one was enough to convince him, but if it was really bad or he kept doing the same thing over again I would tell him that he couldn't come with me while I trained, and helping me train was his "number one favoritest thing to do in the whole world!" His words, not mine.

Helping me train might have been his favorite pastime, but he would only be able to do it for so long before his attention span – or lack thereof – kicked in and he started wandering around the forest where we were at. He was young, after all, not to mention that he was almost exactly like Dad; he attracted trouble like honey attracted bees. That's probably a very over-used cliché, but I don't know how else to describe it – he almost always got into trouble when he left my sight. I've lost count of the number of times I've had to save him from falling off a cliff or being eaten by an angry dinosaur or something else life-threatening. I wouldn't be surprised if he did it on purpose, just so I could come and save him. That was his favorite part, I think, me coming to the rescue. I would scold him for running off, he would tearfully apologize, all would be forgiven, and the cycle would repeat itself the next time I let him come with me to help me train.

One of my favorite things about when he was young was when he had a nightmare and crawled into bed with me. I didn't love it because he had a nightmare, of course, but because of how it made me feel. As we lay there, his small body shaking with fear, face pressed into my chest, silent tears soaking my shirt, I felt needed. He almost never went to Mom, even though she had made it clear that he could come to her for anything he might have needed. He always came to me. I was the one who made his scrapes heal with a single kiss (and a big bandage to keep him from messing with them), who gave him a hug when he was sad (often descending into a tickle fight that he always eventually "won"), and who kept him safe from the monsters in the closet (often just a shirt). I could be wrong – after all, we lived in the middle of nowhere and I didn't know anyone who had siblings – but I don't think that a brother, even a big brother who was eleven years older, would do all those things and not begin to feel some sort of paternal instinct.

I've always been Gohan or big brother and he's always been Goten or squirt, but we both understood what place we had in the other's life, even if it was only on the subconscious level for Goten at first. Dad picked up on it fairly quickly as well. We Son men may be dense when it comes to our own romantic relationships, but as for familial ones, I'd like to think we aren't quite so dumb. It's a good thing our friends have never truly observed the interactions between the three of us or else they would have seen how strange the dynamics of our relationship truly are.

I open the door to Goten's room as silently as possible, trying not to disturb him. I've always had a room in my house for Goten so he can get away from our mother's nagging. This is a weekly ritual, although he may not realize it; he tends to fall asleep on the couch almost every time he comes over, so I take him to his room, change him into his spare pajamas (even if he is fourteen), and tuck him in.

As I lay him down, I decide not to change him tonight. I realize that he woke up somewhat during the short journey to his bed. It won't hurt him to sleep in his day clothes for a night. After tucking him in, I sit down on the edge of the bed and start running my hand through his hair, something that I know he loves. Normally I leave him alone after I've tucked him in, but tonight I want to be close to him for some reason.

If anyone actually observed about how Dad, Goten, and I interact, they'd probably be confused. Goten and I both call Dad "Dad." I'm "Gohan" or "big brother." Goten is "Goten" or "squirt." (Yes, I do still call him that ridiculous name, even if he is fourteen and nearly as tall as I am.) Dad calls us both "son." That's how it is biologically and it's how we present ourselves to the outside world, even to our closest friends.

But the names don't mean anything. In reality, it's not nearly as clear-cut. I'm still "son" to my father, but Goten is practically a grandson. Dad certainly spoiled him enough after the whole Majin Buu fiasco, enough that I actually had to tell him to stop it. He'd just grinned at me. "You're the dad in his mind," he told me. I blinked in shock; I hadn't thought that Dad had understood the bond between Goten and me. "That makes me the grandpa and grandparents always spoil their grandchildren. It's revenge for what their children did while they were growing up," he added. Then he turned serious.

"I wish I could have been there while he was growing up," he'd said, "but I wasn't. You were. I gave you a bad example of what a father should be. I was always running off fighting battles and training and forcing you into things you weren't ready for. But regardless of the example I gave, you've been a great father to Goten. I won't interfere with that. I can't interfere. I have no right." He had a sad smile on his lips as he looked at me before drawing me into a gentle hug. "You've made me proud, Gohan."

I sigh sadly, recalling that conversation as I slowly raise myself up off the bed and make my way towards the door. Normally, Dad is too happy and carefree to have any kind of deep discussion; that was one of a very few truly intimate conversations I've had with him. I can count the number of serious discussions we've had on one hand. I've reached the door when I hear Goten suddenly speak.

"Night, Dad," he whispers sleepily.

I turn to look at him, thinking of how big a place he occupies in my life. If it weren't for him, I probably would still be beating myself up because of my battle with Cell, even fourteen years later. I knew that Dad was proud of me and all, but I still felt that it was my fault that he died. But when Goten came along, I didn't have the time to worry about the "what ifs" anymore. I made my peace with those demons the week of Goten's birth, instead focusing on helping my mother raise the baby who so resembled my father.

I smile at him as he loses his battle with his quickly-closing eyes. "Goodnight son," I reply, and gently close the door.

Goku might be his father, but I am his dad.

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~tp