Rain poured against the window, the drops landing on the glass with gentle, rhythmic patting and rolling their way down. The sky was dark for midafternoon, as it had been for several days. It did tend to be wet that time of year, but the blackness of the clouds and the incessant, unending moisture was making the air feel heavy and oppressive. It was easy to get claustrophobic without sight of the sun, and without the feeling of wind in one's hair and the freedom the sky provided.
The sound of the torrent outside was the only noise in the otherwise silent house. If it weren't for a couple of kitchen lights, the yellow dome of Capsule would look entirely lifeless. He might as well end the day and go to bed. Dinner certainly didn't seem like a welcome idea, and there was nothing to do except watch TV or read, neither of which was appealing. He sighed, resting his head against the wall and wishing for a break in the weather. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a subtle flash crossed the sky. No going out in lightning. Regardless of whether he was desperate enough to brave the cold rain, flying in lightning was against the rules.
A groan escaped his throat. This was the one day he needed to be outside, the one day a year he wanted to burn his energy in nature, but nature wasn't cooperating, and was sending him a cruel rejection letter in the form of miserable weather.
Fine, the boy thought. I was going to be depressed today no matter what. Might as well go all-in.
He gave up waiting on the rain to clear for the moment, ambling nearly aimlessly to the source of the light in the other room. He wanted to be with the man in the kitchen and simultaneously wanted to be far away from him. The frustration of the dissonance within made his stomach feel upset. He peeked in around the doorway, watching him sitting at the table with a mountain of paperwork, reading it over and over again and mumbling to himself as he pushed a pair of glasses up his nose. Some of that paperwork was old, and even though he wasn't supposed to know what it was, he did.
That damn red book, he thought, scowling at the object as though it caused him physical pain. What is he even doing with it again? The binder had made a regular appearance in his life years ago, but had disappeared when certain events transpired, much to his relief. He hated seeing it again; it – seemed to set off something inside of him he didn't like.
His father finally noticed him, looking up from his stack of papers, notebooks, and binders to welcome him into the room. He pulled his glasses off, granting him a soft, sad smile. The older, mirror image of his own face smiling at him sympathetically only made the malaise worse. His own permanent scowl, shared by the other living men in his bloodline deepened, but despite his feelings, he plopped hard into one of the chairs across from him.
"What are you up to?" Trunks asked his son, trying his best to put on a cheery tone.
"Nothing," he answered, crossing his arms in front of him and slouching deeply. "You shouldn't have pulled me out of school today. I'm bored."
Trunks sighed heavily and absentmindedly played with the glasses in his hand. "You didn't do well at school last year," he reminded him. "Remember? I didn't want to repeat that phone call with the principal."
The boy scoffed and turned his head. "You still don't believe that I'm not the one who started…"
"It doesn't matter, Trunks," his elder started gently, but sharply. "You can't go around putting normal kids in choke holds. You could've snapped his neck, or crushed his windpipe. We only got off easy because he just passed out."
Trunks Jr. looked up at him as though he was about to argue, but that particular fight had reached an expiration date a while ago. He decided against it, but his scowl deepened even further.
He's giving his grandfather a run for his money, Trunks mused. He's getting to that age though. I guess I should get used to it. His own expression faltered as he looked towards his son. He hadn't seen him smile in weeks leading up to that day. Things had gotten dark for the both of them this specific anniversary last year, but he'd hoped the distance of one more year from the event would make things slightly better. It hadn't.
Trunks Jr. wanted to start wearing his hair longer. Trunks didn't like it, but he was a bigger proponent of letting his son express himself in harmless ways than he was of short hair. The boy spent a large amount of time brushing the awkwardly-long strands that couldn't reach his ponytail behind his ears so they'd stay out of his eyes. Right now, however, he was letting them fall carelessly, hiding the sadness in his blue orbs behind a curtain of purple, so his father couldn't see him. Trunks wasn't a fan of that. He'd rather be able to know what he was feeling so he could help him through it. But, the boy was approaching his "tween" years. He'd have to get used to a little emotional distance because it was likely only going to get worse in the coming years before it got better.
Of course, it didn't help that he'd been through something no young kid should have to go through. Although it had been two years to the day, Trunks was very aware of how fresh it still felt, and how much worse it likely felt for his son.
"Do you want to go do something?" Trunks asked trying to sound casual.
"You're busy," the boy answered.
"This?" he said, gesturing at the paperwork in front of him. "This is just… This can wait."
"There's nothing to do," the younger Trunks argued. "The weather sucks."
"We could – go see a movie. Go shopping for something…" he suggested, running a hand through his own purple locks. "I know I took the day off, but we can visit R&D – see what new stuff they're working on. Maybe just go eat?"
He seemed to consider it for a moment, but it didn't last. "I'm not hungry."
"Okay – well, we could – go in the gravity room and…"
"I don't feel like sparring," he interrupted.
Now Trunks knew that was a lie. His son always wanted to beat something up. It wasn't that he was overly aggressive most of the time, just that he seemed to have a well of excessive energy that liked to come out through fighting. It wasn't entirely unlike how he had been at that age, but – it seemed worse. Maybe that was just his perception changing since he was the parent now.
He tapped his pen against the table in thought, running out of ideas. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know!" he suddenly yelled. Trunks wouldn't admonish the outburst; not today. "I just want to go outside!"
"Not when the lightning is…"
"I know! But you asked what I wanted to do and that...!" he trailed off, noticing the way the papers on the table were beginning to be affected by what appeared to be a breeze. He took a deep breath, controlling his ki so that it would calm down.
Trunks nodded in appreciation of his self-control, putting the stacks back in order.
"Why are you working on that anyway?" the young boy asked, his voice squeaking with emotion against his will.
Trunks studied his face for a moment, debating internally whether or not to lie to him or tell him the truth. "What do you think I'm working on?"
Trunks' lips shook and he cleared his throat. "You have the book out. Mom's book."
The older Trunks took a deep, long breath, considering his reply carefully. Ultimately, he decided honesty was the best way to go. His son was bright, and old enough to know when he was being pandered to. If they were going to have a relationship, they needed to be able to talk, and sometimes the adult had to lead the way in that initiative.
"The funeral planner," he gently confirmed. "There's a lot of paperwork that has to be filed when someone dies, especially with Capsule involved. Since I didn't want a lawyer digging into your mother's life, I had to straighten it all out myself and I figured I'd remind myself of the process."
"For Grandma?"
Trunks sighed. "Yes, for Grandma."
"She isn't dead yet," Trunks Jr. said plainly, his tone almost venomous with accusation.
"No, she isn't," Trunks argued, "but her life is a lot more complicated to sort out and I'm trying to wrap my head around all of her assets and holdings and…" His son was now glaring at him. He'd said something wrong. He shook his head and chuckled dryly before leaning back in his chair. "Trunks, I'm having a hard time today, too. I just – I knew it was going to be a shit day anyway, so I thought I'd work on this while I was already sad and go all-in on it."
His son's face lightened a little when he unknowingly expressed a similar thought he'd had earlier. "You're not giving up on her?"
"Of course not!" Trunks argued. "And your aunt's doing everything she can to try and make her better. I just want to be prepared. It – it wasn't easy when your mom died – getting everything ready and making some big decisions. I didn't - um… I wasn't sure if I did everything right. I just don't want to have to make those choices again while I'm also trying to grieve. I'd rather have them ready to go. Maybe get someone else's opinion on them first."
Trunks rubbed his eyes, willing away the moisture that had gathered there. When he looked back up at his son, the boy's expression had changed to one of sadness instead of anger. "It isn't fair," he said, "that Grandma got sick so soon after Mom did."
"No – no it isn't," Trunks agreed quietly.
Bulma was living in the Capsule medical facility. Her room was so large and nice, one could hardly tell it was a hospital. Bra had insisted on moving her there so she could have the doctors monitor her and so that she would be exceptionally close by whenever they chose to run tests. Her disease was in her lungs, most likely caused by her own habits, and the thought made Trunks feel both anger and guilt for feeling that anger. He'd been asking her to quit smoking since he was his son's age, but she'd never had long periods of success.
She was not outside of hope's range yet. The disease had a mysterious nature and hadn't responded to traditional treatments, but it had been discovered early and while it was still progressing, some proprietary treatments Bra had developed managed to slow it down. There were some days when she would be in bed on oxygen – when she had difficulty breathing and would cough a lot when trying to do normal activities, but she also had moments when you wouldn't think she was sick at all. It wasn't quite normal and even the Capsule specialists were a little baffled.
Although Bra remained cautiously optimistic about her prognosis as she worked on finding a treatment or cure, Trunks lamented over his tasks, resenting his order in secret. That he would have to start planning her end-of-life strategy so soon after burying his wife… His son was right, it wasn't fair. Bulma had entrusted him with the duty knowing he would do everything asked of him, just in case the worst happened, but he hated every moment of it.
"Dad," Trunks Jr. started, snapping his father out of his thoughts. "Why does it hurt so bad still?"
Trunks smiled sadly. The question was simple, but so hard to answer coming from a child who still had a lot to learn about life. The last thing he wanted to do was patronize him, so he chose the route of honesty again. "Because grief is a circle. Some days you might feel fine. Some days you'll be angry. Some days you'll be sad. You'll always come back to it though. The circle might grow wider, shrink, and change shape, but it never disappears. Maybe you'll get to a point when you think you feel better, and then one random day years later, you'll think about her and get angry all over again."
"Are you still angry?" Trunks asked his father.
The older man's eyes narrowed to near slits and his frown sank. Part of him wished his son would take him up on the offer to go into the gravity room. "Very much," he answered truthfully.
"Me too."
The pair sat in silence for a few minutes when the sky began to lighten slightly from the oppressive darkness of the clouds that had been overhead all day. The rain tapered off, and after several moments of observation, Trunks Jr. noted that the lightning seem to be gone too. "I'm going to go outside for a while."
"Do you want company?"
"Not really," he answered honestly.
Trunks nodded in understanding, choosing to allow his son his space, especially after their productive talk. "Don't go too far," he warned, "and come back immediately if the lightning picks up again."
Trunks Jr. nodded and threw his jacket and shoes on with record-breaking speed. Trunks' own expression relaxed, even touching a light smile as he watched his son dress for a cold evening of solitary training. He was relieved to see even the small taste of his son's energy return, and he knew his Saiyan blood was aching to process his feelings through physical action.
Once he was gone, Trunks rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned back to his work, combing through page after page of executive directives for the Briefs estate, trying to make linear sense of a very muddled set of documents. Some of them mentioned Trunks and Bra by name, some of them assumed ownership of Capsule would be passing on to other individuals. It was as though Bulma had written it during a time when she wasn't quite sure Trunks would be taking over the business. He supposed that made sense. She had always pressured him in her own way, but had been careful not to force the idea on him when he was younger. She wanted him to enjoy it, which he did, in a very strange way that he sometimes refused to acknowledge.
Despite the confusing nature of the documents, the only real surprise was the old Capsule HQ dome itself. Ownership was to be retained by Trunks and Bra equally, regardless of what happened to the company - and it was to be permanently held for the benefit of their father, so he would always have a home to come back to, even if he never did.
Trunks put the page down, emotion finally spilling out that he'd been fighting against all day for the sake of his son. Why that last bit had been the part to finally trigger it, he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe because he recognized the truth in it. He hadn't seen his father since the day after Bulma was diagnosed. They'd had some kind of private conversation about it and things had been heated. Vegeta had blasted a hole in the roof just to get away, leaving Bulma behind.
To Trunks' knowledge, he hadn't gone to visit her once, and he certainly hadn't seen him around. He couldn't even sense him, so it wasn't like he was just off blowing shit up. Wherever he was, he didn't want to be found. It was like he was losing both parents at the same time.
A little over two years ago, this house had been full of the noise and energy of the entire Briefs clan, save his sister, who had her own apartment. But even then, she visited often enough for it to feel like she was still there all the time. The table was crowded, and even though the hallways were long and winding, moving room to room without seeing someone he loved was uncommon. Soon enough, it would be just him and his son, and that one precious remaining member of his family was growing further away every day. The loneliness was already crushing.
A knock on the door interrupted him before he could spiral down too far. He quickly wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath and pushing it all back down as he approached to answer it. It took a moment for him to get a read on the energy on the other side, but when he did, a genuine smile finally interrupted the frown he'd been wearing all day.
He opened the door to see the happy and bright face of his best friend, holding a bag of his favorite snack and a 12-pack of his favorite soda. Alcohol never worked on him, but sugar and salt were still ideal comfort foods.
"Hey!" Goten greeted. His consistently sunny disposition always contrasted to Trunks' resting perma-scowl and it couldn't have clashed more with the aesthetic of the day as a whole. It was a welcomed sight. "I thought you might be up for a visit."
Trunks laughed despite the feelings weighing him down. That was an understatement. He had perfect timing in his surprise. "Yeah, for sure."
Goten walked into the old familiar house and took off his shoes, helping himself to the kitchen. "What's all this?" he asked, looking at the paperwork scattered along the table.
"Just a little self-torture," Trunks answered dryly, "to make the day even better."
Goten smiled sympathetically. Busy work tended to be a crutch for his friend. It didn't help him process negative emotions like exercise did, but it did help him avoid thinking about it. Probably the opposite of helpful, Goten surmised correctly.
For a moment, the kitchen was filled only with the noise of opening soda cans and bags of junk food. Trunks sat back down with a large bag of chips, shoving them recklessly into his mouth as crumbs tumbled down his sweater. Goten chuckled at the sight, happy to see a glimpse of the boy he'd grown up with again even though he knew just how bad this day was for him.
"Thanks," Trunks said with a full mouth. "I needed to get out of my own head for a while."
Goten nodded in understanding. "No big deal. I haven't been over lately and - I needed a break from the house anyway."
Trunks laughed. "I bet. Three kids under five years-old. What were you thinking?"
Goten sighed. "We weren't. At all. But we're done now - I hope. Little Ine was an accident, so I guess there's always a chance…" A look of sudden concern crossed his features as though this was the first time he'd thought of the possibility of another surprise pregnancy blessing his small, increasingly crowded home.
"They're going to eat you right out of your house," Trunks warned with a smile, "and that's not the first time the Capsule shot failed. You guys might want to be careful before you end up with a whole clan."
Goten shrugged. "Luckily, the grandparents spoil them rotten with everything except food, so we get off cheaply otherwise."
"I hope so," he said. "You know, my offer still stands to…"
"I know," Goten said, interrupting him. "It just never seems like the right time to make a major change like that – and for a while, I'd lose time to spend with the kids. It's not like Anzu wouldn't like the extra money, but I think what she needs right now is help."
"Okay," Trunks conceded. It wasn't the first time this particular offer had been shot down. "Consider it permanently open though if you change your mind. It seems like your kind of thing."
"Yeah, no - it totally is. It's just a lot to chew on with the kids so young," he said. "In any case, that's not what I'm here for."
Trunks bit down on another chip, kind of wishing that was what he was there for. It was better than the inevitable topic that he was sure his friend was going to bring up any moment now.
"How are you doing?" he asked.
There it was. Trunks loved his friend, but his good intentions didn't always result in the best executions. Things were better during the few minutes when the carbohydrates and his friend's story were working together to keep his thoughts free of it.
"I'm dealing with it. Trunks is - a handful this time of year," he said quietly.
"Is it any better than last year?"
Trunks shrugged. "He hasn't come close to accidentally killing anyone at school lately, so that's a plus," he said sardonically. "But now we have my mom…"
"Right," Goten said, scratching the side of his head. "About that…"
Trunks looked up at him questioningly, but Goten was stalling, obviously fighting with what he wanted to say. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. "Brother wanted me to make sure you knew you could use them - if you wanted to. We'd support it, I mean."
Trunks shifted uncomfortably in his chair, holding down the mixed emotions he suddenly felt towards that particular statement. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, reminding himself that it was meant as a kindness. "There are a few problems with that," he started, "not the least of which is that my dad already told her to and she refused; she won't even consider it."
"At all?"
Trunks shook his head. "Not after last time."
Goten crossed his arms and leaned back, an uncharacteristically argumentative expression crossing his features. It was a sore topic for everyone. "I still feel like that was just a bad miscommunication," he said. "If Bulma and Brother were to talk…"
Trunks shook his head emphatically, effectively interrupting Goten. "I think everything that needed to be said was said. I know Gohan's still mad at my mom, and I'm pretty sure my mom is pissed at Gohan. They have to be, right? They haven't spoken in years. I don't think talking about it is going to change that. At least – not if I'm remembering correctly."
Trunks didn't know what to make of it, especially through an exhaustion-ridden haze. He'd woken up at his wife's bedside, having watched her sleep restlessly for hours and lamenting how quickly the color was leaving her gaunt face. Suddenly, the sun was shining and when he opened his swollen, tired eyes, she was looking down at him, a bright smile and laughter gracing her pink cheeks. Her natural tones had returned, the dark circles faded from under her eyes. She looked - normal. When he asked, she'd replied that she'd woken from the best dream she'd ever had feeling better than any day in the last few months. It was either an exceptionally good day, or – something big had changed.
He frantically called for a nurse, who took one look at her reenergized face and called for the doctor. The doctor was optimistic, but given the miraculous turn around, didn't want to definitively say anything one way or another without a copious number of tests. Still, Trunks knew instinctively that something had pulled her from the brink of death; she was back.
The tests were going to take a while, and after pacing across the room a dozen times, she finally sent him off to update the family and to tell their four-year-old son some good news for once. He obliged happily, soaring out the window without consideration for the shocked nurse who had been in the room to take more blood and check her vitals for the umpteenth time.
I don't have to tell Trunks his mother is dying! She's coming home! These were the only thoughts that were able to process correctly in the cloud of manic elation filling his fatigued brain.
The medical facility was very close to the business park, so it took him no time to get to the yellow dome, where he knew his family was waiting. His mind was so abuzz with information and theories and joy that he'd almost accidentally crashed into the ground, as though he'd forgotten how to land. He also completely missed registering the energies of the other people in the dome with his family. The moment he opened the front door and ran in, he was stopped in his tracks by the sight of the surprisingly large group in the dining room.
Gohan and Goten were standing behind the chairs around the large dining room table, staring down at Bulma who sat turned away with her arms crossed and her eyes closed. His sister and Videl stood neutrally at either end, both focused carefully on what was being said, but staying quiet themselves. Vegeta, who normally stood in the background of these discussions, if he participated at all, was uncharacteristically hovering over his mother's shoulder as though he was being protective. When Trunks looked up at Gohan, he realized why.
The eldest Son was using a perfectly calm voice, but his eyes told a different story. His ki was spiked and his posture was so tense, he looked like a statue. This wasn't a friendly visit. Bulma continued speaking, ignorant to the amount of power that was being held back and how much self-control it was taking Gohan to do so. Vegeta, however, wasn't so ignorant, and was doing his best to silently let Gohan know he wasn't going to tolerate any slip of energy that didn't come in words. Trunks wondered why he was letting him speak at all, given how much ki was radiating off of him. There were only two men in the universe that could pull that off without his father sending them into the ground, and one of them was already in the afterlife.
Trunks walked up to the group reluctantly and carefully, inferring that whatever was going on was probably something he needed to know about, whether he liked it or not. He doubted Gohan and Vegeta had looked at each other that way since before he was even born, and while his curiosity was piqued, he was reluctant to jump into the middle of it.
Bulma opened her eyes, suddenly smiling up at Trunks brightly the moment she noticed he was there too. "Is she feeling better?"
Trunks looked down in confusion at her. "Uh – yes, actually. I was just coming to tell you…"
The wide smile on her face grew even larger as she looked back at the Son men, but their expressions hadn't softened. "See? No harm done and now it's all fine."
Goten's eyes met Trunks' and the look on his face almost startled the older Saiyan. At the moment, he was not the happy-go-lucky, easy-going man he'd always been. His expression was one he hadn't seen in a while.
Is he angry? Trunks wondered.
Gohan glanced in Trunks' general direction, but his sight never met his directly. The last time Trunks had seen him was at the wedding, and much like then, he seemed to be avoiding eye contact or even acknowledgement of his presence. The older man's expression changed slightly, a look of something akin to sadness, maybe even regret, cutting through the anger that had been locked in his eyes a moment before.
"I'm glad for that, Bulma. I am," Gohan said calmly, although his ki maintained its flare. "But we agreed we would make these decisions together because of the risk involved. You didn't even ask. What would've happened if…?"
"There wasn't time…" she said.
"There was time enough for a phone call," Goten argued back. Goten had never taken that tone with Bulma before.
"We've been over this; they're not yours to use at your whim," Gohan said. "Everything needs to be weighed against the consequences. Especially without my dad here."
Vegeta's natural frown deepened with the statement, but he didn't argue with the implication at the end of it.
Bulma twisted her lips and crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair. "I know I've used them recklessly in the past," she started, "this was not a cosmetic issue or a wish for longevity for myself. My daughter-in-law was dying - fast. Nothing in our world could've saved her. If I hadn't…"
She interrupted her own sentence with a frustrated sigh, but it was enough for Trunks to do the math and figure out what was going on. While he'd been sleeping, he'd sensed something off, but he'd barely gotten any real rest in the past few months and had momentarily written off the strange sensation as a side-effect of a severely sleep-deprived mind. Now, he was sure it had been a reality. The spirit of Shenlong being summoned had made itself obvious in his subconscious, but he thought it had been a dream. He'd been sleeping when the sky grew black, and hadn't felt the shaking of the ground or heard the deep voice rumbling across the land. But now that he knew it had happened, he realized had been aware of it on some level.
The Son family must've sensed it as soon as it happened too, and rushed over here to investigate, only to find that the dragonballs had been gathered and used for the sake of one life. They'd agreed as a group to use them only as a last resort and only in cases where the consequences of not using them would be worse than them cracking again. They'd also agreed to confer as a group regarding whether to do it, a step his mother had obviously skipped over in haste. The joy Trunks had been feeling regarding his wife's miraculous recovery hadn't diminished, but now the heaviness in the air around him was giving it a strange weight.
"This doesn't mean we would've said 'no'," Videl added sympathetically, looking between the two parties while trying her best to mediate. "We know someone's life was at stake. But we could've prepared a little if…"
"You had them here all along, didn't you? At Capsule Corp?" Gohan asked, uncharacteristically interrupting his wife. "Just like before - you hoarded them in case you wanted to use them."
She couldn't deny that accusation. That's what she'd done with them in the past, using them year-to-year to retain her youthful looks, or lording them over her friends as prizes in party games. At the time, no one realized they had a limited number of uses; even Dende hadn't known. She'd taken advantage of them a great number of times, falsely believing they would last forever - and the sheer number of wishes she'd made was likely the biggest reason for why they'd cracked.
"They're safer here than out in the world," she said as though that was a statement of fact.
"Apparently not," Goten said, supporting Gohan's indictment.
The words themselves were bad enough coming from the younger Son, even as calm as they were, but when Bulma looked up at him, her complexion paled. The anger coming from Gohan was difficult for her to handle, but Goten's affected her even more profoundly. Not only did the normally gentle man rarely confront anyone, let alone Bulma, but he happened to share a face with someone who mattered more to her than almost anyone else in her life. Seeing those eyes and those features staring back at her like they were was enough for her heart to nearly shatter.
Her lips twisted as her eyes grew glassy, but she sighed again in anger and stood up, leaving the room. She was back before they could wonder where she'd gone and threw a white object at Gohan. He caught it, looking down to find her Dragon Radar. It's not like she couldn't make another one in her sleep, but it was symbolic.
"Fine," she said, "they're yours now."
"This isn't what I'm asking you for," Gohan said, a smile of frustration forming on his lips. It was as though she hadn't been listening to a word he'd said.
"No - I've gotten on your bad side enough for one lifetime," she said, contradicting his beliefs. Though her eyes were fierce and fiery, her tone indicated it was sincere and meant as a near apology. She glanced at her bewildered son and back at Gohan, and while Trunks didn't know what that subtle look meant, Gohan knew all too well. This wasn't just about the dragonballs. They both knew that. Gohan's intensity didn't make much sense, otherwise. "For the sake of our friendship – they're yours. If we need something, we'll ask."
"They don't belong to one family, Bulma," Gohan argued, although his eyes had softened considerably. Trunks could see some of the tension in his father's form relax. "That's what I've been trying to say."
"But if there's any one family that should protect them, it's the Sons," she said, "since it appears I've lost that trust."
Goten looked at Gohan, silently conveying his acceptance of those terms, at least for the foreseeable future. Gohan nodded, although it was a reluctant agreement. He looked as though he wasn't ready to end the argument and as though there was more to settle, but although the look of regret he'd flashed earlier retuned, heavily pronounced in his brown eyes, he didn't speak another word. Neither Goten nor Trunks knew there was another issue driving a wedge between the Sons and the Briefs, but that was a conversation for another day.
Trunks had initially wanted the Sons to know he hadn't been a part of that decision - that Bulma had done it without his knowledge, or feedback. However, the relief he now felt made him realize that nothing would've changed, even if she had spoken with him. He was able to tell his son that his mother was coming home soon and they would have more time together. Nothing in the world would make him regret that. He remained silent as the Sons left. He could tell the issue wasn't over, but he would share that burden with his mother. It was a small price to pay.
After that day, it was a while before he heard from any of the Sons, even Goten. For a while, this really concerned him, but it turned out to be a pointless fear. The few months following that event were filled with extra celebrations for the small Briefs family, physical therapy, and many, many family outings meant to appreciate the extra time they'd been granted.
Sometime afterwards, Trunks learned Goten hadn't been purposefully avoiding him at all. It was just with Trunks' busy schedule and his new focus on his family, he'd neglected to realize that Goten was expecting his own first child and was extremely busy working extra hours to provide more money for that eventuality. On the night of Goten's birthday that year, he'd finally taken some time off and invited Trunks to get a drink with him. It was there that Trunks learned how badly he'd underestimated his friend. Goten didn't hold grudges, and he doubted anything could ever be serious enough to come between their lifelong friendship. Trunks had feared for months that Goten resented him because Bulma wished his wife back to health. The whole time, Goten had been clueless of this misunderstanding. He was just busy – and tired.
Gohan seemed to be a different story, but Trunks understood, or so he believed. Between Pan and her father, Trunks had managed to alienate that entire family. He wondered if Pan had ever said anything to him about their short time together, but since he was still alive, he figured that was either unlikely, or that he had Videl to thank for holding him back. Either way, while he was happy to have Goten back in his life, he still missed the rest of the Sons.
"Is Bulma really still angry?" Goten asked.
Trunks raised an eyebrow. "I don't know actually. I just know that a few years ago, keeping her relationship with Gohan intact was one of her biggest priorities," he said, remembering the night she'd desperately argued with him to stop seeing Pan for the sake of that important relationship. Even though that was a lifetime ago, he recognized the irony in the fact that the friendship had ended up damaged a short time later after all. "And now – it's like she actively avoids him, even bringing him up in conversation."
Goten nodded. "I'm not sure why Brother's still mad about it either. I get the feeling there's something else he's not telling me, but…"
"It doesn't matter anyway," Trunks said. "Even if I could talk Mom into trying – they can't permanently cure some things. We know that. I might've gotten a few extra years with my wife – but in the end, the same growth came back and we lost her anyway. I don't think Mom wants to spend a wish just for a little more time. Not when there's so much risk involved in using them now."
Goten stayed quiet for a moment, regretting bringing it up, but still thinking of what he could say next. "But Bulma's not the same. Bulma hasn't had her entire body reset…"
Trunks met his eyes, silently begging him to stop. He obeyed. It's not like Trunks and Bra hadn't thought through all the possibilities themselves, and they were both geniuses in their own fields. If the Briefs couldn't think up a solution, there wasn't one – at least, not yet.
"Okay," Goten conceded softly, "but we still wanted you and Vegeta to know we'd help gather them if you changed your mind and wanted to try. The four-star's already sitting on my mantle."
"I'll keep that in mind," he said with a light smile. "There's no telling Vegeta anything though. I haven't seen him in months."
Goten chuffed dryly. "Seems about right," he said. Trunks looked up at him curiously, not taking immediate offense to the statement, but still wanting elaboration. "My dad and yours – I think Saiyans in general – do some things differently than humans. Humans congregate, rely on family and community, but - I think there's a reason why my dad went off to the afterlife after my mom died, and I choose to believe it wasn't just because he was bored down here. I think he was mourning harder than Brother and I realized, so he left."
"What goddamn sense does that make?" Trunks asked dubiously, a spiteful chuckle escaping his throat. "We need my dad here. My mom is still alive, and he just left…"
Goten shrugged. "I don't think Saiyans who grew up on Vegeta got much of chance to see loved ones die of things like disease and old age. They probably all assumed they'd go down in battle. He probably doesn't know how to handle something so slow."
Trunks opened his mouth to argue, but found that he couldn't. Goten was actually right. Vegeta was probably as angry and as confused as he'd been when he'd realized the woman he loved was going to die after all. He was just reacting the opposite way that most normal people would. Trunks had leaned on his family and friends for help in his darkest hour, but that was a very human thing to do; it might not have been fair to expect the same of someone who wasn't human at all.
"There are a lot of strange aspects of my Saiyan side I've come to appreciate and understand, but this isn't one of them," Trunks said, "There's no benefit that I can see to mourning alone when you still have a family who loves and needs you with them."
"I know," he said. "I don't get it either. But maybe that's because we're only half-blood."
Trunks sighed, putting away his chips and leaning back in his chair, tilting his head so he was staring at the ceiling. It was still a shit day, but he was feeling oddly better about a small section of it. He'd thought all these years of living with his father would've given him more understanding of how the man's brain operated, but he was still learning.
"Well, thank you for being there for me," Trunks said. "I'm grateful for the company."
"Yeah – you know. That's what friends do," Goten responded as though it were no big deal.
"We all kind of know that we're going to outlive our partners," he said. Goten nodded, frowning grimly. He'd figured that out too at some point, but it wasn't something he liked to talk about. "I thought I was prepared for that. But – losing her this early – if I wouldn't have had you, my mom, Trunks… I don't know. Maybe I would've been reclusive too."
"I wouldn't have let you," Goten said.
Trunks smiled. No, he wouldn't have – and that was one of his best qualities.
"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat and his mind of the dark thoughts that had been flowing through it. "Do you want to do something? I doubt Trunks will be back until late."
Goten twisted his lips in thought. "Well, the gravity room…"
"Not on a stomach full of chips and soda," Trunks said with a chuckle. "Maybe when I was 15, but not at my age."
Goten nodded in relief, hoping he would not favor training. He would've been willing for Trunks' sake, but his kids gave him all the exercise he needed at the moment. "How about the next best thing?"
"Karate Masters IV?" Trunks asked with a smile. "Classic or remastered?"
"Classic – always."
"I'll go warm up the old console. You grab the snacks."
. . .
Despite his father's wishes to stay close, Trunks Jr. flew out as far as he wanted to until he found a spot that called to him. He ambled around the circumference of the planet a few times before finding it, an area with long and lush green grass and several tall, skinny hills. It seemed devoid of any human population, which was ideal, but still had plenty of rocks and large things to destroy. There were also areas that already looked damage, including some hills that were in rubble and a lot of burn marks and craters marring the green expanse. He doubted anyone would notice a few more scars.
It had stormed there just as it had in Metro West, but the system had weakened by the time it got there and hadn't lasted as long. While everything was damp, it wasn't completely soaked, having had a little more time in the afternoon to dry in the breeze and sunshine. There was a shimmer on the grass from the moisture still present, making him aware that he would probably end up muddy and uncomfortably wet at some point that evening, but it didn't bother him. The reflections of the water droplets on the grass in the evening sun made the field appear even brighter than normal, and after such a dark and dreary day, he welcomed it.
He took a deep breath through his nose, savoring the lightly sweet scent that sky outside the city carried with it. His lungs welcomed the cleaner air, filling him with a strange contentment despite the turmoil the day brought with it. He'd been hungry for this moment, now he just needed to focus his mind and start warming his body. He took off his jacket, throwing it carelessly behind him. The moment it hit the ground, a strong breeze came rolling through the field, carrying with it a chill from the front that had ridden in on the back of the storm. He shivered, being down to a tank top, but stubbornly just raised his energy in defiance of the cold.
Trunks had always told his son to start any good training regimen with a moment of meditation to help clear his thoughts. He ignored that, knowing the moment he closed his eyes, memories from the day two years ago would interrupt his concentration. He didn't want to think, he just wanted to do, and being barely 10 years-old, the idea of meditation had always sounded boring to him anyway. He just wanted to get to the fighting.
He started by pulling his arms back to his sides, taking a step back with his right foot. After one more deep breath, he brought his right foot forward, punching the air as hard as possible in conjunction of the movement of his legs. His fist whistled satisfactorily in the air, but he knew it wasn't as good as it could've been. He began repeating the same movement over and over again, trying to remember the training he'd gotten a while back about form and where to send the energy and weight through the body for the best impact.
Time had gotten away from him. As he repeated his simple movements and exercises, the sky had grown dark. A billion stars were visible from where he stood in contrast to the well-lit city, but he barely noticed them. The more time he spent out by himself, the more the thoughts he'd been so desperate to run from trickled in. He couldn't get away from them, and the more frustrated he became with that fact, the more they bombarded him.
He couldn't get the image of her face out of his brain, one minute smiling proudly smiling at him as he finished building his first computer at the kitchen table, the next moment contorted in pain in a hospital bed. There was a time when he was afraid he'd forget what she looked like, but if forgetting her face in happy times meant he would also forget her face during those last few days, maybe it wasn't such a bad deal.
His limbs soared through the air even faster, energy building up inside of him as his anger grew. Why did it happen so fast? Why did his father tell him the sickness was gone the first time if it could just come back so quickly? Why hadn't they told him so he could've said goodbye – instead of treating him like a dumb kid who couldn't figure it out himself?
One moment he'd been sitting on the hospital bed with her, staring down at her peacefully sleeping face. Her eyes flittered open weakly, the dark circles washing out the life those dark orbs normally held. She recognized him, and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. For the briefest second, he had a smile, thinking maybe she was feeling better – and then it all went away.
Her face suddenly relaxed, her eyes partially shutting as her breathing became irregular and came in gasps. Chaos erupted in the room in a split second, various alarms blaring as a bunch of doctors and nurses ran in with special equipment. They were all yelling at each other, shouting lots of acronyms and other things he didn't understand. No one would look at him; no one would tell him what was going on. Before he could get anyone's attention, he was being pulled away by a nurse, who deposited him in the hallway and instructed him to wait there.
He did what he was told, expecting someone at any moment would come out and explain to him what had happened, but they never did. Several minutes passed and the hallway had grown quiet again. Eventually, the alarms went silent and members of the medical team began exiting the room, looks of disappointment and fatigue on their faces. No one stopped for him; they didn't even look at him.
He wanted to scream at them, to fly at them, to knock them down and hold them there until they were forced to tell him the truth, but by then it was pointless. He was angry because he already knew what had happened. His mother had always had a gentle and subtle ki compared to the rest of his family, but he knew it well. From a few meters away, he could usually still feel some warmth from it smoldering lightly from her room, even since she'd gotten sick again – but not anymore. Her energy was simply gone.
He sat down numbly in the black leather chair in the hallway, unsure of what to do. He should be crying, but he couldn't yet. It felt as though half of his brain was unwilling to accept what the other half knew and was keeping him from feeling sad yet. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when his father finally came out of the room himself.
Trunks paced in front of him, his breathing quick and panicked as he combed his hands repeatedly through his hair. He kept looking down at his son and opening his mouth, but no words would come. His face was streaked with tears and his eyes were red, and every time it seemed like he was about to say something, more water would fall from his eyes.
"She died," Trunks Jr. said quietly, saving his father the trouble of saying the words himself.
Trunks collapsed onto his knees in front of the chair where his son was sitting, staring at his young child as though he wished he hadn't known that yet. "Yeah," he answered roughly, clearing his throat from some of the hoarseness. "I'm – I'm sorry, I…"
His father trailed off, again looking as though he wasn't sure what to say. That was okay. He didn't know what to say either – he just felt sick and empty. He looked into his father's eyes, his own finally filling with tears, which felt almost like a relief. Without a further word, he wrapped his arms around his father's neck for a hug. Trunks wrapped his around him as well, pulling him in for a tight embrace, holding him so hard it actually hurt. Despite the pain in his ribs and the pressure against his lungs, they stayed that way for what felt like forever.
Trunks' face remained buried his son's shirt as he spoke in more broken statements. "We should've used them again," he said, his voice muddled and quiet although he could still be understood. "I could still use them, but – she said she was tired and was done with the pain. Oh God, I should've used them anyway."
He didn't know what his father's words meant at that moment and still didn't to that day, but it didn't matter anyway. Although what he'd said had lingered and stuck in his mind years later, asking him would only bring back the memories again, and if there were something in the universe that could've saved his mother's life, his father would've used it.
Fury exploded in him. His kata went forgotten; his regimen: abandoned. Instead, he fell to his knees on the wet ground, pounding the grass and the dirt beneath him, desperate for the anger and the sadness to melt away, but it didn't. A crater formed underneath him, growing steadily with every strike of his fist, driving him deeper in to the ground.
His knuckles stung and began to open and bleed. Although he didn't care, the feeling of pain did cause him to open his eyes and refocus on reality. He could feel an energy pulsating within him, growing like waves in the distance. When he finally looked down at his arms, he saw a faint, golden light, ebbing and flowing as his emotions and energy did across his body.
Is that…? Am I…?
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, his focused died, and so did the energy that had been gathering in his core. He immediately felt fatigued, and his ki dropped back to normal. Anger and sadness were replaced by deep disappointment as he continued to look at his normal hands under the dark, starry sky. The transformation was right there. It was within his reach. If he'd made it, at least this night would've brought something of benefit, but right as he was on the cusp of it, it fled from him.
"So close!" a voice suddenly sounded from the top of the small crater.
Trunks jumped up, instinctively taking a defensive stance. The owner of the voice had a significantly quashed energy level, but he could tell that was because he was hiding it – meaning he was probably actually pretty strong. The figure jumped from the opening of the crater down to where Trunks was standing, forming a small and harmless ball of energy in his hands so they could both see clearly in the dark.
The voice belonged to a boy. He had blue eyes similar to his, but his hair was jet black and mostly spiked straight up except for two strands that fell stubbornly in front of his eyes. He was taller and maybe marginally older, but looked to be around the same age. One thing Trunks was certain of – he was at least partly Saiyan.
"I really thought you had it," the boy said, his voice chipper and friendly. "It would've been cool to see someone else reach it for the first time."
Trunks still had his fists up in reflex to being startled by the other boy's sudden appearance. He hadn't sensed him coming at all and he'd thought he was completely alone. "Where – did you come from?"
He chuckled nervously and smiled kindly. "Sorry. I guess I sort of snuck up on you. I didn't want to distract you, but I was out training and felt your energy bloom. I just wanted to see what was going on."
Trunks slowly relaxed his posture, feeling unthreatened by his sudden companion. "Are you one of Goten's kids?" he asked curiously.
The boy laughed. "My name is Son Bo. Goten is my granduncle."
Trunks thought for a moment before his mouth fell open slightly in surprise. He knew that name. He'd heard it from Goten. His "uncle" had mentioned introducing the boys to each other before, pushing even harder on the suggestion after his mother had passed away, but life and everything that had happened seemed to get in the way. It didn't help that while his father seemed agreeable, he also seemed hesitant for reasons he didn't understand.
Trunks Jr. incorrectly thought his father's reluctance might be due to the trouble he'd gotten in at school, but for some reason, it also created the misunderstanding in his mind that his father was nervous about them meeting because he was afraid Bo would get hurt, as though he was weaker and younger than the reality standing in front of him. For a while, Trunks Jr. had given up on the idea of making any real friends anyway, so he never followed through with the suggestion either.
"I - didn't know you were my age. I always thought you were little, like Uncle Goten's kids."
Bo smiled. "You call him 'Uncle' too?" he said, "So in a way, we're like – unofficial cousins."
The other boy seemed happy with the idea, so Trunks smiled uneasily. Bo's cheerfulness reminded him of Goten, and after a gloomy day, it was a nice change.
"I'm Trunks Bri…"
"I know who you are," Bo said with another laugh. "Uncle's talked about you a few times, plus - your dad is famous and you look just like him."
Trunks twisted his lips. He heard that all the time. It wasn't a lie. But the older he got, the more he disliked their distinct resemblance – and the fact that they shared a name. He was a carbon copy of his father at this age, and there were already big expectations for him as a result.
"You said 'someone else' a second ago," Trunks pointed out, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Bo in hopes his theory was true. "Does that mean you've already gone Super Saiyan?"
A smirk spread across Bo's lips in contrast to his knit eyebrows. Trunks had seen a similar boastful expression on his own face in the mirror, and between the look in his eyes and the energy Trunks felt building up around him, he knew what was about to happen. In a flash, Bo had turned gold, filling the small crater with a blinding light as his energy swirled around him. He crossed his arms, his teeth flashing as he chuckled. He had every right to feel prideful. Trunks looked on at awe, feeling excited about seeing another boy his age in the form of his ancestors. Bo let the energy die down after a moment, returning to his normal appearance, although the grin remained.
"That's awesome," Trunks said genuinely, gaping in wonder and good-natured jealousy at Bo. "How? I know my dad and Uncle Goten did it when they were kids, but I've never even been close until now."
Bo had noticed that Trunks was crossing his arms and rubbing them a bit, and the moment he powered down, he also felt the chill of the dark sky. "Do you want to build a fire?" he asked. "I can tell you all about how I did it. Maybe it would help you."
Trunks eagerly agreed, but before he could think about where to find dry wood after a major storm, Bo had taken a capsule out of his pocket and threw it on the ground. The items that emerged from the steam were all camping related: a folded tent and stakes, a rolled-up sleeping bag, a pile of non-perishable snacks, and fire-building supplies including some wood and a starter. Since the crater provided shelter from the breeze and a dry, fire-safe surface, they just built one where they were, and Bo had a flame going in no time.
Bo tossed him a couple of snacks after hearing his stomach rumble a few times. Trunks looked down at the small packages of nut bars. He hadn't been in the mood for food all day, but it seemed like his appetite had returned. He took a big bite out of one, and nodded gratefully.
"You know, Capsule's new camping kit comes with a lot of better stuff. It has a nicer tent too," Trunks said.
"Nah. We don't actually go camping that much," he said. "It must be really exciting to get to see all the new Capsule tech as soon as it comes out though. My mom doesn't buy Capsule stuff unless we have to, so I only get to see new releases when the kids in my class have it."
Trunks shrugged. "I get to see a lot of the new products in development, but I don't get to use it a lot. I get some as presents on my birthday and when I do really good in school, but my dad doesn't like the idea of me getting everything for free."
"I'd kill to be able to see the production process, and see some of the new prototypes. I've heard they keep everything super-secret though – no tours."
"Are - you into tech?"
"Yeah," Bo said excitedly. "I mean – as much as I can be. My mom doesn't seem to like when I spend too much time on it, but I've always been good with computers and phones. I want to try building my own someday."
The corner of Trunks' lips pulled up when he said that. Suddenly, his earlier discomfort about being his father's clone wasn't as bothersome as it had been. "I could show you production at Capsule. Our Research and Development department, too."
Bo looked up a Trunks dubiously, raising an eyebrow. "They would let me in?"
"Sure!" he said, "They let me in all the time. You just can't take your phone or anything. Help me go Super Saiyan and I'll take you!"
Bo's eyes lit up with that bargain. Easiest deal he'd ever made. "That would be amazing!"
Trunks smiled widely. The sensation of it almost felt unfamiliar to him; it had been a while since he'd done it. Most of the kids at his school were also rich, but the majority of them made it their entire personalities and were difficult to get along with as a result. The popular game there was comparing the net worths of their families against one another, a competition everyone knew a Briefs child would always win anyway. When he tried to talk about Capsule technology, they always assumed he was just playing the game and boasting of his wealth. Really, he was just trying to share an interest, but that's never how it was interpreted.
Meeting a kid his age who was interested in his connections to Capsule for its technology and not the money behind it was a rarity. The fact that he was a Saiyan as well, almost seemed too good to be true.
"So – how do you think it works?" Trunks asked, hoping his new friend wouldn't mind getting back to business. Bo was right, he'd been extremely close to the transformation, and even though the day had a lot of frustrations in it, his near miss seemed to be the chief one on his mind that moment.
Bo didn't mind at all. "Well," he started, crossing his legs in front of him and looking intently into the fire as a thoughtful expression filled his eyes, "it's not just about strength. Uncle Goten changed when he was younger than us and he wasn't nearly as strong as Goku and Vegeta were when they did it."
"Right," Trunks said, confident he knew where Bo was going. "You have to get angry, too."
"Not - really," Bo corrected hesitantly. "At least, I don't think so, based on what Uncle Goten's said – and what it felt like for me. You do need a strong emotion, something driving your energy, something that pushes your power up beyond its ceiling. If I remember the stories, Goku and Vegeta both snapped and so did my mom and grandpa, but I didn't – not like that, and even though he doesn't remember it very well, I don't think Uncle Goten did either. I think it's about releasing whatever that emotion is and focusing your energy through it as it climbs."
Trunks looked confused by what he said. "I don't understand. My grandfather said he was in a blind rage the moment it happened for him. It didn't sound like he was focusing anything."
"Right," he argued. "I'm not saying that didn't work for him that way, but it doesn't need to be that way. I even wonder if happiness could do it too, if other conditions were just right."
Trunks looked even more dubious at that response, but Bo continued, hoping he could make it clearer. "Here's how I think it works: imagine a power line. You can't get power to travel from one point to another predictably without guiding it through cables. If you have more cables lined up, you can get the power to run farther. Our power works the same way, but for the transformation, your emotion is like the cable that guides the power…"
"So, you can use it to push it higher?" Trunks said, scratching his head in an attempt to understand the messy metaphor.
"Yeah," he answered. "So, a stronger emotion means more cables, it can go further, and… Okay, It's not the best example." He chuckled nervously. He'd never put it into words for someone else before. It wasn't the easiest thing to do. "Strength is a huge part of it. But without emotion as a guide, power kind of does what it wants instead of being focused towards breaking that limit. The emotion focuses it all on that ceiling until it breaks."
"But I was almost there…" he argued.
"Think back to the moment of failure. What happened?"
Trunks scratched his chin. "I noticed it. I felt and saw my aura change. Then as soon as I realized what was happening, it went away."
Bo shook his head. "Whether you knew it or not, you'd been focusing that energy. Whatever had been going through your head earlier was causing your power to reach its limit and push against that ceiling. Then when you got distracted, the feelings you were experiencing weakened, and that emotional guide went away, so the transformation stopped."
Trunks looked uneasily at the ground. "Can I do it without going through those same feelings again? I was close because of a bad memory. I – don't want to relive it."
"I think so," Bo said, "but it'll take some mental discipline and more work, if I'm right. It'd be easier if you could recall what thoughts got you so close to begin with. We can use those as a jumping point…"
"No," Trunks interrupted him, feeling guilty for cutting him off. "I – don't want to. Not that way," he reiterated insistently.
Bo's smile fell as he looked back at him sympathetically from over the fire. He thought about asking further questions, but he decided against it. He didn't want to lose this new friend so quickly. "Maybe - we can find another way? It might take some time."
Trunks nodded, smiling softly again.
"So – first we need to train more. We could train together, if you wanted. My basic form is probably close to your strength and it should be enough of a challenge to help you get stronger faster," Bo said.
He didn't realize it, but that simple statement made Trunks incredibly happy. He hadn't had someone to train seriously with in a long time. Goten was too busy and even his oldest child was too young to make a good partner, his grandfather was missing, and in the rare times his father had time for it, he always pulled his punches.
"Do you have any weighted clothes? That can help it go faster," Bo suggested.
Trunks shook his head. Bo twisted his lips, looking disappointed and as though he was already working on this new piece of the puzzle.
"We usually just use the gravity room when we need more resistance," Trunks added.
His eyes popped up. "Gravity…?"
"Yeah – it's exactly what it sounds like. We can set the gravity to higher so it feels harder to move. I can handle 100Gs," he said proudly, enjoying the fact that he could brag about that to someone who wouldn't automatically call him a liar.
Bo's face filled with elation. "That's so much easier than sewing weights into clothes! Can I see it?"
Trunks' grin grew wider. "Yeah! But – it's in my house in Metro West, so we'll have to fly a little."
Something caused Bo to hesitate for just a moment, but after a brief second of thought, his excitement got the better of his judgement. "Okay!" He eagerly agreed, despite knowing he was probably going to get in some trouble for it later. He wished his new friend lived in any other city. That was going to make things even worse for him.
Trunks kicked dirt over the fire as Bo re-encapsulated the camping kit he'd taken out. In just a minute, they were off towards the western side of the world. Trunks silently started a bit of a race, which Bo seemed to agree to, and they wound and jetted their way through the sky to the home of the Capsule Corporation dome in a blur. By the time the kids landed, they were out of breath, both laughing at the unspoken game they'd played getting there.
"You're fast!" Trunks said with a chuckle.
"Wait 'til you transform!" Bo answered. "This will feel like nothing."
The older Trunks had been sleeping on the couch when they walked in making a ruckus. The lights were all off, but Trunks Jr. was able to see his shadow in the light of the window and stopped talking quickly.
"Trunks?" his father asked groggily, sitting up from the spot where he'd been sleeping. He turned on the light on the end table, squinting against the sudden illumination.
"Hi Dad!" Trunks Jr. said, unexpectedly cheerily.
His son's change of tone and expression since earlier that day was such a surprise, Trunks almost didn't notice the other figure in the room. "Uh – you missed your Uncle Goten." He checked his watch. It was only just after eleven. He was actually surprised he'd come back so early.
"Sorry," he answered quickly, "we're going to go use the gravity chamber, okay?"
"Yeah – okay," he answered, still unsure if his sleepy brain was playing tricks on him by hallucinating a happy version of the moody kid who'd left the house just a few hours earlier. He rubbed his eyes, pulling the blanket off of him and yawning deeply. The boys were already down the hall by the time his brain woke up from his abruptly interrupted nap and he processed the words his son had spoken.
"Trunks!" he called, chasing after them quickly. By the time he caught up, Trunks Jr. was about to seal the door. "Trunks!" he called again, thanking the universe he'd gotten there before that door completely closed and the gravity engaged.
Trunks Jr. stuck his head out, looking annoyed at his father's delay and unaware of the panic in his tone. "Yeah?" he asked. There was definitely a sardonic complaint to his voice, but there was a much bigger issue to be concerned about.
"Other people can't use the gravity room. You know that, right?" Trunks said, doubting his child was that dumb, although the evidence to the contrary was doing warmup katas behind him. He'd already almost accidentally murdered one kid, and now he was about to seriously maim another.
"Oh," Trunks Jr. said, obviously confused. "I didn't think… But Uncle Goten uses it with you," he argued.
Trunks leaned down to his level and lowered his voice. "But Uncle Goten is like us. We don't want someone to get hurt and normal people can't take…"
His son's face suddenly changed to one of realization and he interrupted the oblivious lecturer. "Oh! No Dad, he's part Saiyan too!"
It was Trunks' turn to be confused. He stepped inside the room to investigate, walking up towards the other boy to get a closer look. Bo stopped his routine and stood up, bowing in respect to Trunks with a blush on his face. Trunks bowed back out of habit, although he was still trying to place him. It took his tired brain more than a moment to catch up to what his eyes saw. The black hair and the blue eyes seemed familiar, but the last time he'd seen him, he was a baby. It was difficult to acknowledge that much time had passed.
"You're Bo," he said with a relieved smile, the information finally clicking together. "Goten talks about you all the time, but – I haven't seen you since – well, I guess before Trunks was born."
Bo smiled and nodded. "Thank you for letting us use the room, Sir."
"Just Trunks is fine," he said with a chuckle, trying to shake off the "old man" feeling that exchange had just given him. "You uh – you think you can handle the gravity room? It gets a little intense after a while."
"Bo can go Super Saiyan," his son reported excitedly. "He's going to help me become one too."
"He's really close!" Bo said happily. "We just need some more training and I thought I could help him with his focus."
Trunks looked back and forth between both kids. Bo's shy but eager expression mirrored his son's excited eyes; two sets of blue were staring into him as though he held the power to completely destroy their plans. He couldn't really tell them "no", but the idea of having Pan's kid get hurt on Capsule property was a nightmare. As if she needed another reason to hate him.
"Okay. I'll leave you to it," he conceded, "but go up in small intervals since Bo is new at this, and make sure you drink lots of water." Trunks Jr. nodded, and began trying to urge him back out the door. He laughed and shook his head. "Oh - Bo, does – does your mother know you're here?"
Bo twisted his lips sheepishly. "Uh – no," he answered truthfully.
Pan had told him to stay out of the major cities unless an adult was with him. He was pretty sure that instruction was meant for when he younger and more reckless, but she hadn't waivered on it despite his age. She wasn't going to be happy. She also avoided going to Metro West at all costs, choosing any other city whenever she had the option, and regularly mentioned her distaste for the area. The only reason she ever stepped foot in city limits was on dojo business, and Bo had never come with her. The boy wasn't sure why she didn't like this specific area, but she'd brushed him off before providing him with a legitimate reason for it whenever he'd asked.
The fact that he was in this particular major city would be enough to make her extra displeased with him; he could only hope she was in a really good mood when she found out where he'd been.
"Why don't you give her call?" he said. His son groaned impatiently and threw his head back dramatically. Today's the only day you get away with that attitude, he thought.
Bo also seemed reluctant, scratching the back of his head innocently and flashing a sheepish smile as he tried to think of a way to avoid that task.
Trunks smiled at the boy's expression. The Son genes ran thick. "Okay – well, I can call her," he conceded. "Better give me your phone though." She probably wouldn't answer a call from my number.
Bo did what he was told and grabbed his phone from his discarded jacket on the outside of the room, pulling up her number on the screen so Trunks could dial it. He quickly dived back into the room and Trunks Jr. immediately shut the door after the exchange was done. The loud clang of the heavy door echoed throughout the building, but it was the sudden silence afterward that felt heavy. Trunks looked down at the phone in his hand and the number on the screen, realizing the weight of what he'd just volunteered for.
Just one parent calling another, he told himself, taking a deep breath before hitting "dial" before he lost his nerves.
The line rang a few times before she picked up, his anxiety increasing with the sound of each one. How much luck did he have stored up and was it enough for his call to go to voicemail?
"Spark? Is something wrong?"
Not lucky enough, he thought dryly, immediately curious about the mention of the name "Spark".
"Uh – it's Trunks, actually," he said, grimacing at the way his words sounded nervous even to his own ears.
There was the subtle sound of glass breaking on the other end of the line, and her cursing quietly. So far, so good, he thought sarcastically.
There was dead silence on the other end for nearly a minute. It stretched on for so long, he checked Bo's phone to make sure it hadn't lost a connection. "Pan?"
"What are you doing with my son's phone?" she asked calmly.
Valid question. "Everything's fine," he started reassuringly, "but I guess Bo ran into my son Trunks a little earlier and – I-I think they really hit it off. They're currently monopolizing the gravity room for some training."
She sighed. "I was wondering what was going on. It was getting late."
"Yeah," he said. "Is that okay? They were really excited to use it together, but I can send him home…" He made the offer, but really hoped she wouldn't make him break them up. His son's face was completely the opposite from where it had been all day. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he'd admit this was the happiest he'd seen his son in over two years.
She sighed again. She's going to start hyperventilating at this rate, he thought.
"I told him I didn't want him going… No, it's fine," she said, cutting off her original thought. Trunks wondered what she was going to say, but didn't push. He was simply relieved he didn't have to walk in the room and tell them they had to stop.
"They just got in, so – I think they're probably going to go pretty late," he started carefully. "Is it alright if Bo stays over? I'll feed him before I send him back."
Another sigh. This wasn't easy for her, he knew; it wasn't easy for him either. "Sure," she said reluctantly.
"Thanks," he said. "They'll be happy about that."
"Yeah, well – make sure he showers too. I don't need to smell him walking in."
"Will do," he said. There was more silence on the other end. "Pan?"
All he heard in response was a dial tone. Who hangs up from a phone conversation without saying "goodbye"? he wondered before answering the question himself. Someone still rightfully pissed off about the past, that's who.
He stared at the phone for a moment, grateful to be done with that task, and placed it back down in the other things Bo had left outside of the room. He could hear the muffled noises of explosions from the heavily reinforced room. They hadn't wasted any time. He smiled at the sounds, hoping they didn't do too much damage to the chamber or each other, and headed to his bedroom for more sleep.
. . .
The hum of the machine in the center of the room was distracting, but for the most part, Bo was having the time of his life in the gravity chamber. He'd broken a sweat in the first 15 minutes of their spar; it normally took so much longer. Every muscle in his body was fighting for each movement he made. He already knew he was going to be sore and tired the next day, and it was worth it.
Trunks Jr.'s fighting style was much different than his. It was similar to Goten's: an amalgamation of different techniques and forms that had been passed down from the original Saiyans through their blood lines. But it lacked the finesse of formal training Goten had benefitted from through his skilled mother. Most of it was very effective, but it lacked the structure that a lot of formal styles enjoyed. This method promoted creativity, but not strategy, and relied a lot on surprise and brute strength instead of using known disabling techniques and grappling. It also was working under the assumption that you were trying to kill or seriously injure your opponent.
There were pros and cons to both. Bo's style was to try and restrain or weaken your opponent first. It was more humane, but against a real opponent like his grandfather and uncle faced, that would only waste time. Additionally, none of his dojo classes covered fighting with ki-based attacks, so his mother had to train him on the topic separately. It'd taken a long time for him to get used to integrating ki with his formal training.
Trunks might've been sloppier, less formal, and more reactive in his fight, but his work with ki was much smoother and more naturally ingrained in his movements. Bo had formal training around several styles and was an exceptional strategist because of it, but he was much slower to get off a proper ki attack, which meant Trunks was more likely to be able to block them. In the short time they'd been sparring that night, they were already teaching each other a lot. Bo was being forced to stay on his toes to keep from being legitimately hurt by his opponent's aggressive style, which added to the excitement of fighting with someone outside of his family; Trunks was getting exposure to techniques he'd never heard of before.
Bo swept the legs out from under Trunks and he cursed. He should've seen that coming. Luckily, he was able to arrest his fall with a small ki blast aimed at the ground, which sent him back into the air. Bo's eyes grew wide at the sudden recovery, and quickly prepared to defend.
Trunks moved in for a punch, but Bo easily redirected it with his arm. Since he didn't block the strike, Trunks' momentum remained true, carrying him forward and closer to Bo. Bo used the opportunity to strike the side of his face with the palm of his other hand, sending Trunks into the wall of the room. The boy took a moment to stand after the impact, and at first, Bo was concerned he'd hit him too hard. After a moment though, he stood up and smiled, giving him a "thumbs-up" in congratulations for landing the solid hit.
After that exchange, the boys took a short water break, sitting on the ground while Trunks nursed his slightly swollen cheek. They'd been going for a while at that point anyway.
"That was a good hit," Trunks said, seeming a little too happy about his swollen cheek.
Bo smiled. "Sorry – it shouldn't have been so hard."
"No!" Trunks objected. "I'm too used to people taking it easy when training me. I'm glad to fight someone who's actually trying. Uncle Goten and my dad act like I'm going to break sometimes."
"Hmm… well, then I'll just keep trying," Bo said. "You've gotten a lot of good ones in on me too. I think my rib is bruised."
"Really?" Trunks asked with wide eyes. He was proud of that fact, but that didn't strike Bo as rude or odd at all. He smiled and nodded. They both seemed to have a similar mind for training and the bruises that came with it, considering them badges of honor and little reminders of a good time. Again, Trunks felt appreciation for his new friend. This wasn't a quality present in any peer he'd ever met before.
"Does your dad always let you stay up this late? My mom lets me go out and train, but I have to set an alarm. Eight o'clock on weekdays, midnight on weekends. She comes and finds me if I don't call or come home – and she's always exactly on time," he said, laughing wryly.
Trunks tapped his fingers on the water bottle he was holding, debating on how much to say. "Just today," he said. "He usually lets me do whatever I want today."
"Is it your birthday?" Bo asked cluelessly, drawing the wrong conclusion.
"Uh – no," he answered, looking down at the floor. "My mom died – two years ago today."
Bo's face grew red as his expression remained stunned. He looked down at his hands, embarrassed to have asked the question. "I-I'm sorry."
Trunks smiled, despite his sad tone. "It's okay," he insisted. "It's kind of nice to be around someone other than just my dad for it this year."
Bo took a big swig of water from his gravity-resistant bottle. "So – your grandfather is Vegeta, right?" he asked, trying to change the subject quickly. He was starting to understand why Trunks had been out in the valley near Satan City by himself, and what motivation had gotten him so close to his goal. He was also clear on why exactly Trunks hadn't wanted to try the same method again. He couldn't blame him.
"Yes."
"What's that like? Uncle Goten said he can be really tough. Does he ever train with you?"
Trunks Jr. frowned disappointedly. "No, not really. He did a couple of times, but he thought I was too weak to keep up with him. He kept reminding me that my dad transformed when he was only eight and telling me I was behind. He hasn't been around lately though. Not since my grandma got sick."
Bo scratched his neck in embarrassment. Another misstep. "I…"
"It's okay," Trunks repeated with a chuckle. "You didn't know that either."
"Your grandfather is Gohan, right? Uncle Goten's brother?" Trunks asked curiously. "Dad said he used to be the strongest fighter on the planet!"
Bo smiled proudly. "He never thought he was; my mom is pretty sure that he was for a while, but – he's not a big fighter now. He trains enough to stay strong, but he doesn't like to go all-out with me. He's afraid I'll get hurt."
"Like my dad," Trunks said. Bo nodded. "And your mom is Saiyan?"
"Yeah, one-quarter."
"Like me," Trunks said.
Bo started laughing lightly and Trunks looked at him questioningly. "She's going to be so mad when she learns there's someone else who has less than half the blood and is about to transform younger than she did. She was already upset when I did it – I guess because I'm more diluted than her."
Trunks scratched his head. "Well," he started thoughtfully. "Even though the dilution rate of the blood can be important, genetics isn't always as simple as the math would make it seem. That's what my aunt Bra would say, anyway. She works with Capsule's medical division, so she knows a lot about that. Is your mom a fighter?"
"She's probably the biggest fighter in my family," he answered. "She even runs a dojo, so she's constantly exercising and learning new techniques. Even then, she didn't change until she was in her twenties."
"A Saiyan running a dojo?" Trunks asked in genuine surprise. "My dad won't let me join a dojo, even though I've always wanted to. He says I'd hurt someone. I'd want to go to the Satan schools anyway, and they always have a long waitlist. I probably couldn't get in, even if I was allowed to try. Maybe if he knew a Saiyan was running one, he'd…"
Trunks was going to go on, but Bo's face interrupted him. He was grinning ear-to-ear. Again, Trunks looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to volunteer the reason for the sudden brightness in his expression.
"Do you think you could get him to change his mind? If he does, I can get you in," Bo said proudly.
Trunks looked at him dubiously. "How? I heard they were up to a two-year wait in Metro West."
"My mom – she runs them."
Trunks chuckled and shook his head. "Nice one."
"No, really!" Bo argued insistently. "Hercule Satan was my great-grandfather! My mom inherited the chain."
Trunks' mouth fell open slightly in surprise. "Wait, your mom is Pan Satan?!"
Bo laughed heartily. "They only call her that in the press so people remember she's related. She still goes by Son Pan."
Trunks slapped his forehead. "Why did I not know this? Uncle Goten's mentioned 'Pan' before, I just thought…"
"It was another person named after a very specific food?" Bo asked sarcastically.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet excitedly. "I'm a huge fan of Mr. Satan! I have all of his fights downloaded and I watch them all the time!"
Bo blushed. He wasn't quite sure what to do with the other boy's enthusiasm. Mr. Satan had left behind a legacy, for sure, but he had been made aware early on that much of it had been built on somewhat of a lie, and that his family had allowed him to carry on with it for the sake of keeping themselves out of the limelight. Was Trunks unaware of that truth?
"If I get you that tour of Capsule I promised earlier, can you get me a tour of the original dojo in Satan City?" Trunks pleaded with him.
"Sure!" Bo said happily, "and maybe you can come for class there so we can take them together!"
Trunks deflated a little, his shoulders sinking. "Like I said, my dad won't let me. I don't know if I can get him to change his mind either."
Bo nodded as though he completely understood. "My mom took precautions when I started learning. I sit in the class for the instruction and practice. When it comes time to spar, I always partner with her. The kids always say it's because I'm her son and the teacher's pet, but if you joined up, we could be sparring partners and then she wouldn't have to worry and neither would your dad!"
Trunks' smile returned as he thought about the logic in what he'd said. "You think she would do that for me?"
"Yeah, why not?" The grin on Trunks' face grew, but there was a sadness in his eyes that confused Bo. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he answered quickly. "But – everyone's been too busy for me lately. It's just – it's just different – to have someone who wants to train with me."
"I know what you mean," Bo said. "Uncle Goten and my grandpa don't want to take me seriously, my Uncle Goku's busy with school… I'm glad I have my mom, but sometimes I think she just wants to come home after work and be lazy. I feel bad about always asking her."
"So – even if I can't talk my dad into letting me join the dojo, can we get together and hang out sometimes?"
"I would like that!" Bo said happily.
The boys were quiet for a moment, finishing their water bottles as they cooled off a little. Trunks looked at the watch on his wrist, noting it was getting into the early morning hours. "Do we – go to sleep, or keep training?" he asked.
Bo smiled, and put his water bottle aside. "I'm good if you are," he said, taking a defensive stance.
Trunks smirked, mirroring him. Without another moment of hesitation, they were off again, moving around the room in a purple and black blur.
