EDITED - 05/01/2014
…
So, as I explained earlier, this is the continuation of the previous chapter. I divided the original chapter in two due to the massive size of the full thing, and that's why this one is considerably smaller.
Next chapter will be updated as scheduled. :D And guys... it's a big one (important, I mean :D) ::suspense::
Enjoy!
The venue was still familiar yet not the expected one for their mandatory Saturday lunch, the chirping birds outside having been replaced by the humming traffic in the distance, and the natural smell of pine needles trying to be mimicked by the artificial scent of the electric air freshener on the wall. It wasn't bad, just not the same.
This was the first weekend Mom had gone to visit Grandpa back at Mt. Frypan, and it kind of seemed weird without her. Thankfully, Mrs. Briefs had been the substitute cook today instead of Bulma, since it assured the food was as delicious as Mom's and not just barely edible. They'd finished up that battalion-worth of a meal about half an hour ago, and Gohan and the boys took directly to the Gravity Room, trying to make the most out of the two hours he could spare to come meet them before having to return to campus.
Today was definitely going to be special for the kids: The first lunch without Mom - though that wasn't exactly a good aspect of the day - the first of many official weekend sleepovers at Bulma's, and then what he had in store for them.
"That's enough, guys," he told the little Saiyans, making them stop their movement and relax their stances. "Tomorrow we'll switch, and Goten will do the upper-body attacks while Trunks will evade, okay?"
"Okay!" They both happily shouted with big satisfied grins swelling up their flushed cheeks. Goten's expression changed immediately after, however, into a mix of concern and those pleading wide eyes that could melt the coldest of hearts. He'd gotten too good at those over the years… "Do ya have to go already, Big Brother?"
A quick glance at the digital clock on the GR's console, and he answered, "No, we still have another hour, more or less." His teacher wasn't too strict with schedules, anyway, so it wouldn't be a problem if he were to arrive ten or fifteen minutes late. Which meant absolutely nothing because he knew himself too well to attempt any sort of purposeful delay from the deadline of two o'clock - minus the twenty-two and a half minute bus ride. His hands would start to sweat at the thought alone.
Mom had always instilled in him many things throughout the years, in what he and Bulma referred to as "gentleman lessons". Eating calmly when in public, opening doors for other people. Every woman in the world was to be treated like a lady, however unlady-like they'd turn out to be - no exceptions. A good boy was always polite, always helpful, and of course, always on time.
It became so natural for him to abide by those rules that they were eventually absorbed into his own personality, and in a way, he was grateful that Mom had tried so hard to make him a better boy and the better man he was today, but when it came to being on time… Goodness... Never had the notion of being late to something affected him with such anxiety before, such undisputable certainty that the world were to end if he'd miscarry his conduct even the slightest, if he wasn't where he needed to be at exactly the hour he needed to be there, or a few minutes earlier if possible, just in case.
The concept of time had changed after what'd happened at the Games. Time was important. Time was to be cherished. Time was not to be wasted.
If only he hadn't wasted his…
"So what are we going to do until then, huh? Push-ups? Sit-ups?" Trunks asked, spotlighting his dark thoughts with that energy he seemed to always store in heaps somewhere inside him. He scowled then, cleaning the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Don't tell me it's meditating. I hate meditating."
"Aww, not meditating, Big Brother," Goten added. "That's so boring!"
Gohan smiled at that. Truth be told, he'd hated it with a passion when he was a kid too, but the only time he'd ended up whining about it to Piccolo had granted him a particularly painful shiner and a cracked rib or four. "Mistakes are to be learned from," Dad had always said, so it'd at least served in teaching him the importance of choosing one's battles, and that one would be forever going into the "don't even try it" pile. Meditation was crucial, the actual "art" in martial arts; he saw that now.
Anyone could throw a punch, but only someone who knew what they're doing, who'd trained to make it flawless, who'd struggled to place it perfectly, only they could make it a worthy one. Maybe in a friendly spar could you afford to waste energy, to make a kick not break a shin or a ki blast not scorch a limb, but not in a real fight where the stake was life itself, the Earth, the Universe.
Dad knew that. Piccolo knew that, and now, so did he. That skill would come from the mind, not from the body alone, hence why meditation was vital. What was a state-of-the-art hardware without its software? A pile of useless potential, that's what.
"Well, today is a special day," he told them, "so you're doing something special." The two boys widened their eager eyes in anticipation, nodding their heads, clenching their fists. "You're going all out."
Goten blinked a couple of times. "What do you mean, Big Brother? Out of the GR? In the backyard?"
"'Going all out', Goten, not 'going out'," Trunks told him patiently - as a true big brother, even if not by blood - since it was truly the only way to deal with his Buddy's non-existent attention span.
"No, we're staying right here," he told the boy. "But... you're not going to just attack or just defend like you've been doing, and we're gonna turn off the extra gravity."
Both boys gasped, but Trunks was the one to ask, "Really? Why?" the new experience making his eyes sparkle incredibly brighter under the fluorescent white lights above them.
"I wanna see where you guys are," Gohan explained. "No difficulties, no restrictions. Well, one restriction: You can't use any Ki attacks, okay? No point in blowing up the entire room."
They chuckled and shouted, "Okay!"
Gohan reached for the center console and turned off the gravity multiplier, overriding the automatic shutdown that would result from it in favor of keeping the internal shields activated. The kids could throw each other at every tree in the forest back home, since that only meant more timber for the fireplace or lumber for some random project they'd need around the house, but when - not if - they decided to use each other as wrecking balls against these particular walls, the wrath to incur would be a price too high to pay if president Briefs ever found a dent on her precious Gravity Room. "Okay, ready?" he asked, and they responded with their preferred stances. "Begin."
The kids moved really fast as expected, and had they been a little less in the zone, a little less desperate to overpower the other, then they'd surely be cheering and giggling from the new experience. Truth be told, he probably should allow them to do this more often - or ever, really - but they'd turn little whiny devils for all the other boring stuff he'd have them do, demanding to go all out instead. Couldn't hurt to make it a monthly thing, he guessed, considering their new schedule allowed them more time and opportunities to visit the GR anyway.
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays he'd go get them from school, as discussed with Mom and Bulma, and Gohan had decided to allot twenty minutes for each kid to choose what to do in the course of the hour they had together. Mia would always prefer to walk around town most of the times, or visit the park and go for an ice-cream, saving her training regimen for when they "played" back home, or for when she was alone in her room, since practicing Ki shields didn't exactly require wide open areas or heavier gravity. But not the boys, of course. Every day, they'd bunch together their times for a forty minute non-stop session, and not even the prospect of a fast-food meal downtown, for example, would be able to deter them from beating each other up.
Apparently, fighting toppled eating in the Saiyan podium of things, though he'd bet only by a nose.
Not removing his eyes from them, hovering above his head in lightning-fast blurs of color, Gohan stepped backwards against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting down on the floor, yoga-style. He had to say, he was pretty proud of them. They were doing extremely well for their age, and he could see the fruits of their hard work with every punch and every kick.
For a moment, they changed, and he saw both their fathers spar in front of him. He saw Vegeta's tactical brilliance shine through his son when Trunks instinctively pretended to have missed a punch only to open the way for a full-force knee to the gut. And he saw Dad's innate ingenuity when Goten didn't fall for it a second time and used it to his advantage, rolling around his opponent and elbowing his back with a hefty blow. Their fighting styles were different, though, a blend of Namekian and Turtle school with a pinch of his own concoction for seasoning. He should come up with a name for it.
It became clear as water that it was in their blood to do this. He didn't teach them those specific abilities, they were all them. It made him smile.
Another forty-five minutes passed without a single break, and Gohan could see how it was taking a toll on the little guys. They were getting sloppy, and it was going to be addressed on their next session through intense meditative training, bitch as they might when he were to tell them. No use in improving a body if its mind couldn't keep up, and one hour was like... the bare minimum of a full-out fight. If they couldn't even make it that long with impeccable mental acuity, then his job in teaching them was definitely not over yet.
This was the perfect opportunity, however, to pinpoint their weak spots, and so he started on a mental list for each of them, zeroing in on their forms one by one. Goten was pretty much an open book, so he easily made out his need to practice blocking with his left arm and overall close-combat dodging. Trunks was trickier, though, since he was a natural at concealing his flaws and mishaps. He focused on him, trying to make a note of every speck of a blemish on his stance and techniques, but the little guy was basically a pro by now, even though a tired one. Maybe the position of his fingers when retracting his hand after a punch, but it'd be petty nitpick-
Suddenly, Gohan's eyes widened. He jumped up to his feet. "Stop!"
The shout startled the two boys, making Goten miss his balance and drop to the ground, thankfully landing on his feet in a fluid cat-like motion. Trunks came down as well, joining in on his best-friend's hard panting while their sensei stomped their way. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Gohan knelt down in front of the older boy, completely slack-jawed, and gripped tightly at his shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat danced above his lavender eyebrows when they arched into a soft frown. "G-Gohan?"
What could he tell him? Had it even been real? Maybe… Maybe the lights… Yeah, the lights could've shimmered against his hair, a coincidental sharp reflection. Except… the lights were white, and that color was not the one he'd seen. No… his lavender hair… it'd flickered gold.
But… but how?
"Big Brother?" he barely managed to hear Goten say. "Is everything okay?"
Seven years old... Only seven years old, how was that even possible? He kept staring into Trunks' eyes as if looking for a brush stroke of green forgotten amongst the blue, but of course it wouldn't be there. The only thing he saw was confusion, innocence, and of course, uneasiness, but he was just too out of himself to think of any words, let alone reassuring ones.
The little guys would probably never even realize how big of an accomplishment it was. Their fathers were adults when it happened to them, and only after extremely intense work towards that goal and a game-changer event. And himself, at a much younger age, no doubt, but still not without spending close to half a year in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, training to the brink of exhaustion before even beginning to flicker. It wasn't supposed to be this simple, a snap of the fingers, one-two-three and poof came a Super Saiyan.
What the fuck…!
"Gohan, please say something," Trunks pleaded.
"You flickered," he found himself saying, though no louder than a whisper.
"Huh?"
"Your hair," Gohan explained, letting his hands slide down the kid's arms to rest around his own bent knee. "It flickered gold."
"What does that mean, Big Brother?" Goten asked.
Gohan smiled at his buddy and then back at Trunks. "It means Trunks was about to turn Super-Saiyan."
"Super-Saiyan?" they repeated in unison.
He nodded. "Your hair turns a golden color, and your eyes, a greenish blue. But more importantly than that, your power is exponentially boosted with the transformation."
"Like you and Daddy in those pictures?"
Gohan nodded to his little brother; the pictures they'd snapped just before the Games. Mom had banned most photos from their once-filled home, since the majority of them included Dad and their memories of him, but she did allow both Goten and Mia to keep one each on their bedside tables so they'd know how their father looked like. The rest of them - minus some more recent ones from a few years ago - had all been thrown into a big drawer back at her room, out of sight and out of boundaries as decreed by their mother.
But even though both kids had chosen a picture of their father in his regular black-haired form, he knew Goten had seen those pre-Cell Games pictures at least once in his young life - he couldn't tell if Bulma had added to that number by going rogue as well and showing the kids her own stash of pictures - considering he'd been caught red-handed by his older brother while ransacking the forbidden drawer. He hadn't scolded the little guy, though. Encouraging Goten's curiosity had always been way more important in his book than the enforcement of the stupid one-picture-only rule.
Had he managed to care more about stuff in the past, he'd probably rebel against the whole principle and tidy them all up in a photo album. You couldn't buy a better storybook for the kids, that's for sure. Maybe one day.
"Then why did you told us to stop?" Trunks almost screeched. "I would've transformed!"
"Because you wouldn't know how to control it and you could easily turn the whole GR into scrap metal," Gohan calmly responded. "I'm sure your mom wouldn't like that very much."
Trunks' thin lips puckered slightly to the side in a reluctant surrender, but just for a moment, his whole body re-energized and jumping up and down like a lunatic in the very next one. "Then teach me! Please! Right now!"
"Yeah! I wanna learn too!" Goten shouted alongside his friend. "Please! Pleeeease!"
The older Saiyan looked back at the clock. "I… can't. I have to go in a few minutes." His words saddened them both instantly, making them slouch their shoulders and pout miserably, and he damned this out-of-the-blue moment of pride for blind-sighting him into falling victim of those big shiny eyes once again. And here he thought he'd been inoculated long ago against them and their begging... Apparently not. "Let me just talk to Bulma real quick. You guys go watch some TV and I'll come meet you in a minute, okay?"
With that statement and a final elated, "Okay!" the three half-Saiyans left the Gravity Room, parting ways a few steps ahead, the little guys going for the living room where Mia would be, and Gohan towards Bulma's office. He knocked at the partially open door and nudged it in.
"Bulma?" he called softly. "I need to talk to you."
The blue-haired genius was living up to her title, safety goggles and soldering iron in hand. The fumes of the melting solder metal reached his sensitive nostrils in a second, and he grimaced instantly, automatically covering his nose with his sleeve. How in the world did she manage to lean in so close to those damn vapors, inhaling that shit like there was nothing to it? She sure wouldn't if she had an ounce of Saiyan in her blood, that's for sure.
"Give... me... just... a... second…" she said, completely immersed into some kind of small metal construct he didn't recognize. Oh, God, just stop with the soldering already! "There!" She removed her goggles and rolled her chair from the messy workstation to her messy desk. Gohan collected what was left of his composure and sat down next to her, while she remained apparently none-the-wiser about his near-death experience. Good… That's good. "What's up, Kiddo?"
His proud smile returned full force then, erasing earlier traumas like they'd meant nothing or happened altogether. "You're not going to believe it. Trunks' hair flickered gold."
"What?" Her question was more like a loud shriek that had him cringing a little back into his chair, her eyes basically exploding out of their sockets.
"Yeah. He was about to turn Super."
Bulma just blinked in disbelief, her lips parted, first silently and then emitting incredulous words. "B-But he's so young! How... can it be?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but I saw it with my own two eyes." It'd been so long since he'd actually seen that particular tone of blond repaint someone's hair, not to mention never seeing lavender as the base color instead of black - or very dark brown, in Vegeta's case - but it was unmistakable. It couldn't have been an illusion, optical or otherwise. It just couldn't. All he could do was shake his head in amazement. "I… can't even wrap my head around it."
She kept silent for a moment, but an army of tears started to gather in her eyes, as expected. "Vegeta would be so proud…" It was but a whisper, a shiny little drop drawing a curvy path down her cheek.
Gohan placed a caring hand on her knee; one of hers covered it, while the other rubbed her face clean of the liquid. This was never his objective for the boys. Maybe his dream, although it'd never crossed his mind that it would come this effortlessly, and certainly never with such a relaxed training schedule. But it was a reality now, and as much as it was a cause for celebration, it was still pretty much a dangerous threat as well.
Vegeta wouldn't know about this, but Gohan and his father sure did. An adult could certainly manage to control the sudden surge of power - both full-blooded Saiyans had when their times had come - but a child? The large crater on the tiled white floor of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber begged to differ, though Mr. Popo had probably patched it up by now. "I need to go now," he told her gently, "but I have to teach him how to control it as soon as we can. If he goes on experimenting with it by himself, it could get really dangerous."
Bulma nodded. "Yeah, it's been a long time since I had a destroyed GR to deal with, and I'm not looking forward to start again."
Gohan chuckled, not wanting to worry her with the added insight regarding the legendary transformation. Dangerous to the GR, yes, but he meant also to Trunks himself. "I want to make the most of this weekend since my mom's not around, so I'm gonna come back tonight, okay? Around seven?"
"Sure, Honey. I'll have dinner ready sooner, then."
"That'll be great. But just to give you a head's up…" He paused, knowing she wouldn't be liking this next part. "I'm gonna take them away to somewhere inhabited."
"At night?" Her blue eyes shot open and twitched with anxiety.
"I know, but it's not safe to do it here," Gohan explained. "And we'll only have a few more hours tomorrow. I want him to at least be able to fully transform by then, because I want Goten to be the one to fire him up. If Trunks can do it so young..."
"Maybe Goten can too. I get it."
He nodded and deepened his smile to reassure her. "I'll make sure they're safe. You know that."
She mimicked his expression. "I do. My 'inside-mother' is just freaking out about them being out in the dark so late."
"I guess you haven't told her they're half-Saiyans yet, huh?" he joked.
It won him a sweet grin to flourish on her face. "Yeah, probably. They'll always be babies in her eyes."
Preaching to the choir, Sister. Preaching to the choir.
The wastelands to the North-East of Satan City, completely barren of vegetation apart from a few tufts of trees here and there, had always been a favourite of his and Dad's. Not too far away from home, but most importantly, the handful of animals that inhabited this place were usually very easily frightened, which meant they would stay away from their sparring grounds instead of curiously coming closer to check what's up. There were a few places like that back at their mountain home, but sometimes a different backdrop was a welcome change.
This time, though, they weren't here for the view.
The same position on a completely different venue, Gohan was sitting down on the dirt, legs and arms crossed while looking up at the two inhumanely fast figures that flew above him, his stare fierce and serious as the moment demanded. The big fire by his side, put up to bring some light to their surroundings, was warm and comforting but barely non-existent in his realm of consciousness. As in a sentient meditative state of sorts, all the world had faded around him, only faint whispers of thoughts being allowed to hover in the back of his mind so as not to have it shutting down completely like it normally would. The focus was outside himself this time, on the two small figures fighting in the darkness.
A little over two hours had passed, and they were reaching the same aspects of the earlier training - tired moves, sloppy techniques - which was the plan. Suddenly, Trunks hair flickered once again, but it didn't break the older Saiyan's trance, only acknowledging the fact with an undetectable twitch of his lower eyelids, readily followed by a more noticeable curl of his lip when Goten's black hair differentiated itself from the dark sky with a flicker of his own.
Trunks' hair changed once more after a minute, and this time the golden hue held on for a little while longer. He was getting really close. Gohan's proficient mind changed gears and reawoke his muscles so they could be ready to act on reflex, preparing for any kind of unexpected emergency. This was incredibly important, but keeping the boys safe was the only true priority.
They'd cross that threshold, he was sure, even if not today, for some reason. If this first stage of reaching the transformation had come so easily for them, so naturally, then they'd be ready for the next level just as naturally, even if "naturally" and "reaching Super Saiyan for the first time" still seemed a little too eerie, admittedly. But after a whole afternoon theorizing, he guessed it made sense it would happen this way. Even though their bodies were built to reach Super Saiyan just like his own, he couldn't expect them to attain the status in the same way as himself if their life conditions weren't the same as his to begin with.
They had peace.
It's all they'd ever known. There was never the urge for them to reach the next level in their strength, so this transformation couldn't be something they wanted - even more so considering they'd never even heard about Super-Saiyans before today. After a long fight, they were simply getting tired, and their Saiyan bodies were forcing them on, to continue, to win at all costs. "The power comes in response to a need, not a desire," his father's words echoed in his head. The kids didn't desire this. Their wishes weren't in the way, clouding their minds. They simply needed it. To complete the mission. To overcome their opponent. A need. Not a desire.
In a way, their transformation was exactly like Dad's, minus the unbeatable space tyrant as an adversary, achieved out of a need that didn't have to be created by the mind. That was the trickiest part, in his experience.
Suddenly, the older Saiyan felt something he hadn't felt in years. A specific kind of weight in the air, a pressure, one that envigorated his every muscle, hitched his breath, and that would make him let out a pathetic little gasp if it wasn't for his first-class hard-earned discipline.
The distinctive spike of energy of an imminent Super-Saiyan. It was happening.
Trunks' halted his attack for a fraction of a second and flickered an intense golden aura that now surrounded his whole body. A loud guttural growl left his lungs with a dazzling flash of light that momentarily brought the day back from its slumber, exploding in a sphere of glittering energy that pushed his friendly opponent far away. Goten managed to stop just before he hit the closest mountain and looked back at his best friend in a silent awe.
Gohan smiled deeply at the sight. Welcome to the Super-Saiyan club, Kid.
All he could do was stare at the little Prince, some kind of overwhelming sense of pride boiling his blood and revving up his heart. In a moment of selfishness - courtesy of his raw Saiyan side, he was sure - all he saw was an opponent. Probably not a worthy one for many years, but at least a thread of a chance for an actual decent match when the boy were to grow up.
A fight with another Saiyan. Another Super-Saiyan. Was this really happening?
But then, all those genuine yet crude thoughts vanished like they meant nothing. How could there be anything else in the world but the way Trunks' hands were shaking? The way he was staring at this palms like their lines were written with tales of horror, making him whimper, his breaths to be hard and pitchy.
Gohan's concentration was almost shot down by the devastating concern for the boy, but he managed to collect himself to a state of assertive control, swallowing dry, harmonizing his breathing. His mind purposely switched off his earlier trance and he got up, calmly addressing Trunks in a commanding shout. "You've got to calm down. Try to focus your energy." His father's words again.
The little guy did hear him amidst all the confusion, faintly repeating, "Calm down… Focus your…" but that was about it. With an exhale, Trunks' head fell to his shoulder and rolled down, his lavender hair returning as quickly as it had vanished and his limp body now only controlled by the Earth's gravity. He was falling.
"Trunks!" Goten yelled from far away.
In a heartbeat, Gohan was right by his side, grabbing the boy in mid-air and absorbing the shock of a sudden stop by accompanying his movement. His foot touched the ground and he returned to his cross-legged seating position, Trunks now laying on his lap, cradled safely within his arms, while a cloud of dirt enveloped them for a couple of seconds, rising from the inertial skid marks of Goten's knees. "Trunks! Trunks!"
"He's fine, Goten. Everything's fine."
It didn't relax his little brother one bit, his big eyes twitching nervously, tears flooding them, ready to topple at any minute. "Are you sure? He can't die! I don't want him to die!"
"He's not gonna die. He just needs a minute, okay?"
Goten scooted closer to them, knees rustling against the dirt, but regained his calm, thankfully. His features became hardened but appeased, and so much like Dad's it actually made his gut burn.
Dad's untroubled demeanor was only so on the outside, as he came to realize over the years, and Gohan was mostly sure the little guy was a carbon-copy of their father in that aspect also. Not that they'd make it up, of course, since this brain-mouth-heart disconnection was as pure as it was annoying sometimes, but it made all those around both Dad and Goten think that all they had inside their heads was whatever they'd show skin-deep.
And that was so not true. At least not for his father.
Not many people were able to see through that impenetrable shell of his - the one he swore he didn't have - since Dad had always been so incredibly proficient in keeping it up, hiding his true thoughts inside himself whenever they'd get too deep or too serious. He'd hide whatever would break the illusion of who Goku Son was supposed to be: happy, strong, carefree, fearless. All of the above, sure, but so much more too.
Gohan had always seen right through his dad, but never in a way to pinpoint exact thoughts, or worries, or doubts, just an overall sense, a hunch that he'd normally be right about - hence why people would call it a gift of his. There was only one person in the world who got a real glimpse of his real father, though Gohan had no idea how Mom was able to do it. It was never something he'd been told about, of course, that talent of hers, but he was sure she possessed it, enabling her to see past the cloak and discern what was the truth and the fabricated to conceal that truth.
It'd happen when she looked into his eyes.
Two hands wouldn't be enough to number the times he'd seen it happening. Dad would say something fishy - not a lie per se, because he'd never purposefully tell one - and Mom would stop everything, stomp his way, and clasp his jaw like she intended to tear it from his skull. She'd force his eyes to look right down to hers as if they'd be intimidated to spill the beans of whatever he'd been hiding. And then one of two things could happen: if Dad tried to avert his gaze from hers, look somewhere else nervously, then whatever she'd see in there would probably make her mad; but if he looked straight ahead with conviction - even if awkwardly or uncomfortably - then Mom would most likely just give him a sweet smile and straighten his gi at his chest caringly.
It was so extraordinary to watch, really. Like they actually had the ability to communicate at a deeper level, wordlessly, but most importantly, it gave him the needed proof to substantiate his beliefs: Dad wasn't just skin-deep. Dad was profound, richer on the inside.
And Goten probably was too.
Gohan gave his little brother a quick tug at the shoulder, half from melancholy, half from trying to reassure him further that all was well, but then diverted his full attention back down to Trunks. He pushed back a couple of strands of lavender hair that were glued to his sweaty forehead, and the little prince opened his droopy blue eyes. "It's okay, Trunks," he told him through the boy's loud pants. "Just breathe." His voice was calm and soothing, almost like a whisper.
He remembered vividly how overwhelming it'd been for him, feeling like he had something inside of him that wanted to break free and escape. How he unknowingly started scratching his face so hard at the tingling sensation that he drew blood, only stopping because his father had grabbed hold of his wrists. The most accurate word to describe it was "panic", but it still seemed too simple a word.
"Gohan..." Trunks managed to say, trembling from his body's reaction to the outburst of energy.
"Shh... Catch your breath first, okay, little man? Relax."
Trunks closed his eyes and let his forehead drop against Gohan's bicep, his overworked thorax pumping on and on, gust after gust of desperately needed oxygen racing through his open mouth. The older Saiyan patiently dabbed the spent little prince's face with his red wristband in soft, comforting motions, trying to recall his father's actions and how they'd helped him back then.
When the time had finally come, when something had cracked on the inside and he'd finally achieved Super-Sayian, the panic had been quick to turn him into the very same mess as Trunks on this night, and just like Trunks, his first outburst hadn't lasted for very long, though the "side-effects" sure did. The laborious breaths, the muscle spasms, the obvious pain in his clenched eyes… A few years back they'd all been his.
Dad had sat on the ground in front of him and pulled him closer, from his knees into a sitting position between his legs. The serenity his father had portrayed had been crucial for him to calm down, focusing on the harmonious movement of his chest and on his fast but steady heartbeat, and he only now realized the true extent of his father's camouflage abilities when it came to his true feelings. Dad must have felt just as panicked as himself that day, because Gohan was feeling it just as much as Trunks right now, but he'd made it come across as the complete opposite, reassuring his son and making him understand how that was exactly the way it was supposed to happen.
Dad couldn't have known that to be true, of course; how many Super-Saiyans had the man seen transforming for the first time? He felt stupid right now, considering how those words had made so much sense back then, but it'd been the way he'd said them more than anything.
Back then he would've taken his father's every word as gospel, anyway. No questions asked.
"It's okay, Trunks," he continued to whisper. "You'll be okay." His calming strokes at the boy's cheeks were working both ways, calming both sensei and student, though the entirety of his soul was basically palpable and shaking violently with anxiety. After a long while, both his inner trembling and Trunks' real one subsided. Lazy blue irises looked up at him, and Gohan smiled proudly. "You did it."
Trunks smiled back, and after a few more minutes, breaths back to normal and sweat-free, he managed to sit up with a little help from the older Saiyan. Goten chuckled excitedly, scooting even closer and jumping for a bear-hug around his best friend. Trunks returned the gesture, and Gohan rubbed both their backs. Hopefully he'd be able to keep his cool again once his brother's turn to transform should arrive. No later than tomorrow, he'd bet.
"You did great, Trunks," he told him, and then turned to Goten. "And you, little Buddy. You flickered too, you know?"
Both boys let their jaws drop, though Goten was the one to gasp. "I did?"
"Yeah. You two will be sparring in Super-Saiyan form in no time, you'll see."
Considering how tired they must've been, he was actually surprised when they both jumped to their feet and celebrated their achievement, leaping around, hugging, cheering. Gohan just leant back onto his extended arms and took them in, wondering what each of their fathers would say to them on such an important occasion. Nice job, Goten! I'm so proud of you, would be Dad's choice, surely, simple and sweet as was his style, though the energy behind those words would be the ultimate measure of how delighted he'd be. Vegeta was trickier, though… The man had probably never even spoke to a child before meeting "Kakarot's brat" when he first came to Earth with Nappa. How in the world would he react when faced with his own son?
"Gohan…?" he heard Trunks ask amidst his musings. The celebrations had ended, apparently, and the boys were both sitting down in front of him. "Could my dad transform too?"
Gohan smiled again. "He sure could. You can't even begin to imagine how proud he'd be of you right now." There was not much Vegeta allowed to be shown about himself, but if there was one thing he'd gladly share with anyone that would listen, was how incredibly proud he was of his Saiyan blood and heritage. The bragging had never reached the point of him wanting to tear his ears out so as not to hear one more "We Saiyans" boast coming from the Prince, but it'd gotten pretty close a couple of times. The guy had been mostly drunk in both occasions, though, so that might've explained it.
The Saiyans were a proud race, and their prince, the perfect specimen, so to see his son ascend to the legendary status at the mere age of seven...? He probably would never explicitly show it, to be honest, apart from standing a little taller and wearing a deeper smirk than he normally would, but Gohan truly believed that Vegeta would be feeling just as triumphant as he did when he reached Super-Saiyan. Or at least that's what he wanted to believe, but either way, truth or not, he'd go out of his way to make Trunks believe it too. Vegeta deserved as much.
"You really mean that?" Trunks asked, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.
"Of course, Silly. I wouldn't lie to you about that."
Trunks looked down to his hands, fingers and thumbs teasing each other atop his lap. "How was he like?"
It didn't really caught the older Saiyan by surprise. Trunks never asked too much about Vegeta, but Gohan knew he'd ask Bulma this very same question from time to time. Her orders were to be truthful and upfront if Trunks would ever ask anything about his father, but to try and avoid Vegeta's "previous life" until he was at least a little older. Gohan would have to agree. "Your dad was a great man, Trunks."
The little prince just rolled his eyes at the response, but as droopy as they were, as lazy as the movement had come out, it was actually funny to see instead of disrespectful. "I know he was great, but how was he like?" He paused, looking down again. "Was he really an egocentric homicidal maniac?"
Gohan was shocked by the choice of words, scowling immediately when the surprise slipped away. "What? Who the hell told you that?"
"I heard Yamcha say it once," he whispered.
Gohan sighed. Dammit, Yamcha. What a fucking blabbermouth! "You can't believe any word that comes out of Yamcha's mouth regarding your father, Trunks."
"Why not?"
"Because he was your mom's boyfriend before your father came to this planet."
"Ewww! He was?"
"Yes, and even though they broke up before your dad and your mom ever got together, he still saw it as Vegeta stealing her from him." And he had proof to substantiate that claim, unfortunately. "That monkey bastard, all high and mighty," Yamcha had said once, watching Vegeta and Bulma in the distance during one of their get-togethers. "I saw her first! I fucked her first! His royal pain-in-the-ass better like my sloppy seconds! Serves him right!"
He couldn't recall how he came to know that slang expression at such a young age - probably from Master Roshi, who else? - but even if he hadn't known it, it was obviously not a good one, considering how Dad had to fight himself not to punch his friend in the face at that remark, judging by how deep his scowl had become, how white his knuckles. Krillin did scold Yamcha quite severely and smacked him in the chest, and admittedly the guy did have some sort of right to hold a grudge against Vegeta, having died by his subordinate's hand and all, but it'd still been too little of a punishment for having sunk so low, in Gohan's opinion. Too low; Bulma didn't deserve those words.
Trunks seemed to be in thought at what he'd said, so he decided to continue. "Look, your dad was a proud Saiyan warrior. He was a little difficult to handle, now and then, but you could always count on him when the time came. He was an intelligent man and a tactical genius. He was... kind of brilliant."
"Really?"
"Really. That doesn't mean he wasn't egocentric, but many great men are, so don't listen to Yamcha, okay?" He could only imagine what other kind of garbage had come from the guy's lips regarding Vegeta…
"Okay," Trunks finally said, but a daring smirk was quick enough to sprung on his face afterwards. "So... no homicidal maniac?"
It made him chuckle. "He had a rough childhood, and he was forced to do things that he didn't want to do, but he was definitely not an homicidal maniac." Not a true one, at least, even if Gohan himself would've described the Prince in such a way when he'd initially came to fight them. Maybe Vegeta did verge on insane sometimes, and maybe he was "loose on the trigger" when it came to killing, but he'd changed immensely too since they first met him. His insanity would most probably have a reason, nowadays, and he'd think twice about endangering innocent lives; what homicidal maniac would do that?
Dad was sure Vegeta only killed because he'd had too, his personality having changed over the decades around that fact so he could cope with it. Saiyans lived to fight, not to kill, and much less to be ordered to kill, forcefully denied of their prides by doing so. If Vegeta told himself it was his own decision to wipe a planet of life, it would surely make the pain easier to bare. It only made sense, and Gohan would believe it wholeheartedly, no matter what anyone said.
No homicidal maniac. Period.
All in all, "a rough childhood" was probably the best way to describe the "previous life" thing without going into too much detail, he reckoned. He wasn't really sure when or how Trunks would be informed about Vegeta's past, but he'd decided long ago that he'd be the one to tell him. Bulma had that right as his mother, but she was a crier - and a damn experienced one - and the last thing Trunks would need when he finally learned the truth about his father, was worrying about his mom. Maybe they would go on a hike, just the two of them. Hopefully he'd have the right words to tell him when the time were to come.
Trunks seemed satisfied with the explanation, a soft smile anchored on his lips. Goten was smiling too, he noticed, but most of all, they both looked extremely exhausted. "Let's go home, okay?" he told them. "You two must be super tired." From the deep pocket of his purple gi, Gohan fished out his cellphone - which he'd brought along for that purpose alone; not much coverage in the middle of nowhere - pressing the side button to light up the screen for the time. His eyes widened a bit. "And your mom's gonna to kill me for letting you be up at this hour."
"Don't worry, I'll do my thing," Trunks stated with a dismissive shrug as he and Goten got up to safely put out the big fire with some dirt, just like he'd taught them long ago.
"Your thing?" the older Saiyan repeated, getting up himself. "What thing?"
"My patented puppy-dog eyes." If the little one wasn't so serious, he'd cackle at "patented". Funny little brat. "I'll just put them on, be super excited that I've finally transformed, and she'll forget all about it being late."
It took him a minute for the whole message to sink in, for him to get over the cunningness, the self-assurance, but when he did, Gohan couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. He was sure living up to his legacy, huh? A true Prince of all Saiyans.
No doubt, little man. Your dad would be proud.
A little Gohan/Trunks fluff to complement the previous Gohan/Goten. :D
What do you think? I look forward to your opinions!