The Horse with No Name

Chapter Twenty-One

Haunted Dreamers

The sheets are coarser than he's used to, more firm, much like the base that he's currently lying on. Goku shifts. He rotates until the crick in his back pops cathartically. Ugh. Why is his bed suddenly so uncomfortable? Did he fall asleep on the floor again? Last time he did that was in winter and he woke up all snotty and congested, he'd been spluttering for a week straight. But Goku doesn't have time for a cold, what with the tournament—

Comprehension floods him.

His eyes blow open.

What faces him isn't his humble abode deep within the forests of 439 Mountain District, but instead a sanitized ceiling. Ornate markings cover all, reaching equally bleached walls and framing the sparse decorations of the room. This is the Lookout, Goku realises upon recognizing the decor. And beyond, sits an untarnished blue sky on the other side of the window; another indicator.

He stares out of it, tired –exhausted really-, contemplating the events that brought him here.

Had he and Piccolo been training?

Perhaps he'd journeyed for senzu beans and decided to drop by.

Was Earth attacked?

Maybe—

Then, it hits him.

The Zealites. Beerus. Gohan. Gohan.

The covers betray him, devouring his legs as he dives forward and out of bed, ankles catching one another mid-fall and worsening his own entanglement. Somehow, he manages to be rid of the tricky blanket, fumbling out of the bedroom and down a hallway, darting around like a headless chicken until he reaches a large-framed door.

"Goku!" he hears Dende.

Had it been real? Was it a dream?

He slams it open and charges into the communal living area with Dende tailing behind.

The guardian patters in his step. "Please take it slowly. We don't know the after—"

"Where?"

"Goku—"

"Where is he?"

"You're barely keeping up right. Perhaps you should rest a little longer?"

"I-I need to see him. Where's my son?"

"Just slow d-"

He doesn't mean to shout, immediately regretting it when he slams his fist against the wall. The entire construct shakes, mounted dust rains down. "Dende, tell me; where's Gohan?"

"I…I—"

Suddenly, a door barrages open to their left, revealing a particularly displeased Piccolo on the other side, cape wafting. His green skin is drawn into a tight knot above the eyes. They narrow even more the moment they focus on Goku. "What are you doing stampeding around like an elephant?" he reprimands, "This is a sacred place!"

"Piccolo, Where is—"

"Not only that, you look about ready to drop. Return to your bed before you cause any more-"

"Piccolo," Goku interrupts, measured, sterner this time, "Where is he?"

The namekian goes to return an answer, something likely snappy, but must have changed his mind upon interpreting Goku's tight expression. Following a short silent spell, his friend snorts out a rush of air, and for a second, Goku really does believe it all to have been a dream, a fabrication, a wish for something likely impossible. He studies Piccolo's firm face in the desperation to be wrong. Long held breath releases when the latter finally jerks a head his way.

"This way."

Recovering himself, Goku drags his feet-turned-cement as he follows Piccolo into a room he's never ventured into. It's pearly white and in matching with every other room on the Lookout, all except for a large double-sized bed that lays low centre of the room. The curtains attached could be drawn to surround the bed, but they're not. They border the futon, billowing when the breeze blows in from the open window. When they settle, Goku is able to spot a swelling under the covers.

"He succumbed to his own exhaustion the moment you were taken to bed," Piccolo tells Goku as they advance, "The Supreme Kai left only a short while ago, but before he'd left he suggested we bring him to one of the more private rooms for observation. He'd been… fitting. Convulsing apparently can be a normal reaction after—Ugh, Goku—"

But Goku can't take it any longer, rushing forward to gain a better viewpoint, to make sure that all this has indeed been real. It has to be confirmed. Goku needs to see his boy.

The covers are peeled away and Goku can breathe once more.

Gohan.

A slow rhythm of rising and falling of the chest greets him. It's the first thing he notices; the thrum of life. Mounted anxiety floods free, and Goku nearly buckles under the weight of it. Gohan is here and he's breathing, he's alive, sleeping like he hasn't a worry in the world. Jerking, his hand reaches out instinctively, daring to brush splayed hair back. Goku's just so scared he'll disappear at any sudden movement.

In his sleep, Gohan groans and flinches at the contact. He rolls over and flops onto his stomach, face swallowed by the pillow. Goku breathes a laugh at that, stroking his hair further. At some point he must have sunk to his knees because he's now half-sprawled. His fingertips continue to trail along until Gohan yanks the cover over his head.

"That's me told, I guess," Goku whispers, charmed.

"Go back to bed, Goku. You are still clearly fatigued yourself."

"I don't wanna'," he says, "Look, Piccolo, look at him. He's home. I told you we'd get him home."

Piccolo hums.

"He's home and safe and…" Goku yawns, beat, "He's alive. Beerus and Whis weren't all that bad after all. They brought Gohan back."

Piccolo doesn't respond at first, instead choosing to settle on the other side of Gohan's bed, back pressed against marble. He considers both Goku and his former student, unreadable. "I'm… surprised Lord Beerus did not bring the matter up again. Does it not strike you as irresponsible for them to just bring someone back to life and allow them to stay?" Goku whips his head up, horrified. Just what is Piccolo insinuating here? "Surely, there will be consequences. I think we should prepare ourselves just in case."

Goku tightens his hold on the bed. "You don't think he should be here?"

"I think that it's simply too good to be true."

"You're just being negative."

"Realistic," he counters, "Gohan had been equally surprised when Lord Beerus and Whis had left after you'd collapsed; even he'd expected repercussion for interrupting your fight." There's a click of the tongue and Piccolo's guard slips enough for Goku to recognize the burning truth of the man's real feelings. "Such… such a foolish boy. What an idiot. He'd been back five minutes and was already spitting in death's face, virtually begging Lord Beerus to kill him in the guise of being a hero..."

Goku's fear melts away. "He's still the same."

"And that had nearly marked the shortest time one of us had been brought back from the dead before returning to it," he spits, "He has zero regard for his own well-being. I would tell him over and over to think things through and he would never listen, and even in death, he still hasn't let it sink in, I see."

"He's selfless like that."

"Selfless?" Piccolo chokes, "I haven't forgotten what he did to himself, and I won't. His actions were anything but selfless."

"He didn't do anything," Goku presses back hotly. "You'll see!"

Piccolo scoffs, kicking free from the wall and making his way towards the exit. "Yes, we will." His long fingers hold the frame as he lingers. "I'm… just telling you that you shouldn't get your hopes up that this will mark your happily-ever-after. Gohan may be home for now, but what will happen if Lord Beerus were to change his mind? He's unstable and hot-headed and we shouldn't overlook that."

"Gohan is home," Goku chores out, eyes focused on the silhouette under the sheets, "And I won't let that change. No-one will take him away again."

"Not even himself?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Believe your fantasies, Son. I believe in truths, and for that, I have no interest in hanging around to watch history repeat itself."

Cold dread burns equally as hot as rage, and Goku doesn't even attempt to stop the word bile from vomiting up. "Just because you're a coward, Piccolo, it doesn't mean the rest of us have to be!"

The frame audibly crumbles under Piccolo's hold but he says nothing. He loiters there momentarily; likely burning holes into Goku's back, before taking off down the corridor in a waspish swoop.

As the tapping of shoes grows fainter, Goku's heart aches knowing how hurt Gohan is going to be by this. Gohan has always worshipped Piccolo, he's loved him like family –and this is how he is rewarded in the end? The very thought has his stomach churn with acid. How dare Piccolo do this now? After everything, how can Piccolo tumble at the last hurdle? All he has to do is be there for him.

The guy is a scaredy-cat, a quitter. Piccolo has quit before the going has got tough, and he's clearly quit the prospect of reconnecting with the person who cares about him the most out of everyone.

And he dares imply Gohan selfish?

Goku could just… it makes him so angry—!

But… it's fine. It'll be fine. Gohan is home and Goku is here. Maybe… Piccolo will come around, eventually. Perhaps he needs time. It's been a long day. A yawn escapes, and languidly, he reaches out and gently pats his son's arm.

"My-raaaahh," Gohan nonsensically grumbles, pulling away, grumpy and clearly still tired.

Goku chuckles and withdraws his hand once more. He can't wait, he reflects sleepily. When Gohan rouses, they have so much to catch up on. The thought of it has him smiling, a smile that remains long after he falls asleep.

Goku wakes long after the sun settles to slumber.

At first, he isn't sure if his eyes are open or not; it's so dark, and once again, he must scramble to remember what he might have forgotten. When the events of the day return to him and Gohan is hurriedly recalled, Goku reaches out to feel the lump under the blanket, there's nothing, however. No person can be found.

"Gohan?" he croaks, rising.

Silence.

"Gohan. Gohan?"

His body is far more cooperative than earlier and by the time his eyes have adjusted, he's realised that he's alone in the room. Panic never settles, though, because when Goku extends his reach for Gohan's ki, he finds it only less than a few hundred feet away outside.

It's oddly chilled for August. Of course, they're high up so it's come to be expected. The altitude doesn't bother Goku at all but the sharpness of the wind can. He rubs the heat back into his arms as he continues along his route, barely able to make out the dark outline of the building. There's little way to know where the world starts and where it ends.

He only realises that he has reached the end when the shape of a human shadow becomes decipherable. The dark gives little else away and so Goku flicks his wrist, calling forth the light of his own energy, bringing it to sit in the base of his palm, illuminating the immediate area in a soft, warm yellow.

"Gohan," he says.

His son's back faces him as he stares down upon the Earth. The fabric of his clothes batters against the wind; orange against blue, the same orange of the gi Gohan had once worn in his fight against Majin Buu. Had Piccolo given it to him? Goku hadn't even noticed. But he notices it now, if only because he's seen this very same scene in his mind, night after night, dream after dream. Only this time, it's real.

"Gohan," he repeats, louder when the wind whistles between them.

His hand secures a shoulder, and Gohan spins. He slips from the shock, tumbling backwards against the black of night, barely steadying when Goku catches him by the forearm. He dangles without any fight.

"It's a long way down," Goku jests.

"Y-Yeah."

Steadily, Goku pulls Gohan back up to the ledge but is unable to release his arm. It burns hotly in comparison to the air around, scalding in his grasp; almost too hot to hold, but he doesn't let go and neither does Gohan.

There's another gust of wind and the glow of Goku's ki flickers a quick death, they're both plunged into the shadows once again.

Everything Goku has wanted to say leaves him and for the first time in forty-something years, he's speechless. His arm shakes, unable to hold the weight, unable to comprehend what it's attached to, yet it turns out he doesn't need to say anything. Gohan moves fast. He squashes himself into Goku's rickety arms, giving no room for thought. The air in Goku's lungs explodes free, arms encircle his midsection, and a head is forced under his chin, tempting something within him to break.

Instead of contemplating what to say, Goku accepts the hug greedily. He snaps his arms around his son and surrenders to it, melting. Gohan's far too big –too tall— for this. It's awkward and full of angles, and to compensate, Gohan has to sink lower, pressing into Goku's chest much like he used to when he was a boy.

"Dad," he manages, "Dad." The voice sounds wet, tarry. "I just can't believe—" Is he crying? A spluttered cough confirms it. "I-I'm sorry."

Goku can't believe it either.

"Don't apologize," he tries to laugh off, swallowing his own emotion. "You're home. You're back on Earth."

The hand claws into his back and Gohan buries his face back into Goku's decayed gi. Strong shoulders shake, just a little, so Goku runs his hand along them, drunk on nostalgia, recalling familiar situations where he'd do just this, remembering his son as he was, as he is. Gohan's here.

Good God, Gohan is here.

Goku has to pull back just to look at him. The ki glimmers back to life and he's greeted with the blotchy face of his eldest, a ghost in living form.

"Too weird," Gohan breathes, eyes shining. His lips are upturned. "This is all so surreal."

"Yeah."

"Yeah…"

Goku scratches at the back of his head. "I can't believe you're back. If someone had told me today that it'd be a possibility to see you, I don't think I would'a believed them. The others, well, I think they –erm- they can… they got annoyed sometimes when, I would…" He chuckles, nervous. Why is he nervous? "I… I just…"

He trails off and the nerves seem to have grown contagious. Gohan mimics him; hand reaching his neck, eyes focusing above. How can Gohan reply to that, really? Stupid Goku. Ugh, what an idiot.

Goku really does have a lot to say yet it remains lodged in his throat. He's not the most sociably switched on guy but he's never felt the social anxiety Goten has mentioned before, well, not until now, he supposes.

Just what does he say to Gohan after everything? He'd always known that he'd one day come face to face with him, no doubt about that, but…

What next?

He'd had lists of things he'd love to talk with his son about compiled in his mind. Such lists have failed him now. He'd prepared himself for this inevitable moment, had learned what to say, but now he's forgotten his lines and the stage has proven to be nerve-wracking. Every topic broached with Gohan's gravestone doesn't seem conversation-worthy either. They actually seem… embarrassing. Now that he's faced with the real thing, he realises that figment he'd been speaking to, the one that doesn't speak back, was just that.

This live, real person is everything Goku'd wanted but not expected. His eyes close and he says the one thing that he knew to be inevitable.

"I never stopped looking for you." It slips out with curious ease. "Ever since you died, Gohan, I tried my best to find you."

Gohan stares. He holds the gaze, cloudy in the dim, yellow glow.

So Goku continues. "I'm sorry it's taken so long."

"Dad—"

"I should have brought you home sooner," he interrupts, "I would have if I just knew where you were –I… I wasn't able to stop whatever happened, I wasn't able to bring you back –not right away— and I wasn't strong enough to even protect you from Beerus earlier. When you interrupted the fight, I was terrified I was going to lose you again moments after getting you back. I wouldn't know where to look. I hadn't even spoken to you properly. I— h-huh, are you laughing?"

"I'm sorry," Gohan titters, "Nerves. I… I just haven't seen you like this before. It's making me… y'know."

Goku breathes out, long and hard. He laughs, too. "This is harder than I'd thought."

"But, um," A hand covers Goku's own. "Please don't apologize to me, Dad. I was dead. I think it's understandable that you couldn't find me. You can't be the superhero in everything, y'know? It's a bit more complicated than saving the day; um, bringing someone back from the dead. You haven't failed me. I've been, well… you know where I've been…"

"I don't." It doesn't mean to come out but it does. "None of us do. Gohan, what do you remember?"

"The night I died?"

"After that."

Gohan's head tilts. "I can't explain my experience, really. It's like I knew I was dead but I wasn't in the Otherworld. The Supreme Kai had called it the Void of Passing; some place spirits can get stuck before ascending or… er, descending. I don't know much about this place but I guess it fits the bill, huh?"

The Void of Passing…

Horror swills in his stomach. "That's awful!

"Ah, ah, no!" Hands wave. "It wasn't, honestly. It's like I was half-asleep. Really, I was shocked to learn six whole years had passed! It'd just been a weird existence. Time was real strange. Only thing, though, is that I'm still kinda' fuzzy on things here. I don't have a lot of my short term memory, the Supreme Kai said that that's apparently normal but I dunno'."

That's… less bad, but only marginally.

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place," Goku asserts, "You should have been home… with us. You should have been home on Earth, not in some void. Would you have been there forever? What would have happened if Whis hadn't had found you? This isn't right. How didn't we know? Gohan, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Dad—"

"You must have been pretty scared, huh?"

"N-No!"

"I gotta' know, son." He steels himself. "What do you remember before you died? Do you remember who hurt you?"

Gohan blanches. "What? H-Hurt me?"

"Well, you died. You were killed—"

"Killed? I died in my sleep." His head shakes, incredulous, "I died in my sleep, right?"

Goku swallows, and against his own character, he finds it so easy to lie. "Yeah, sorry, I just… yeah." It mollifies Gohan somewhat, but he still looks shaken by the accusation. He mustn't remember, not yet at least. "Sorry, it was sudden –at the time- and so…"

Gohan nods, unsure.

I'll tell him in the morning. Tonight, I just want to tell him…

"I've missed you, kiddo'."

Now, that gets a reaction. Gohan nearly slips back again. "Kiddo?" he parrots, greatly amused, "I'm not ten."

Goku raises a finger. "You're twenty-three. See, I remember."

Gohan snorts into his palm. "You finally hit your forties then, heh. Yet, you don't look like you've aged a day. I bet Mum's mad."

"Heh, heh. Yeah…"

That, amongst other things…

Goku adds this to the list of topics he'll go over with Gohan at a later time. But just to sling more difficult subjects onto the pile, Gohan turns his attention to a friend lost.

"I'd tried seeing if Piccolo was still about, too," he says, sounding a little put out. "But he must have gone somewhere. Does he still reside here? I remember that he also liked the forest near the house, the one with the waterfall."

"He, um, he does. Mostly."

"Oh. I guess he'll be back, then…"

The ki ball expires once more and by the time Goku's manifested a new one, Gohan's moved on. His face brims with delight. "Goten," he begins, with great emphasis, "I can't believe how much he's grown. He's so tall now. Oh, he still looks like you, Dad, but I can totally see him coming into his own. He must be fourteen now, right? Is he in school? Does Mum have him study all day like she did me?" He giggles at the thought, snapping his fingers. "I bet he has a lot of admirers. Swatting girls away, right?"

Goku… doesn't know.

"He's in school."

"Heh, that's great. I'm really happy." His eyes soften with compassion. "I'm glad… And how about Mum? Is she okay? I can't wait to see her."

"She's… um… as healthy as ever!"

Gohan grins. "I think the shock of seeing me might change that."

"Yeah. Your grandpa will have to whip out the smelling salts, for sure!"

There's another chuckle, one Goku had forgotten to time. He admires the sound, watching as his son grins and wipes away remaining tear residue. Eventually; "And you, Dad, how are you? You were pretty beat up after Lord Beerus had his way with you… "

Goku groans. "I suppose I was. Even with the power of a super saiyan god, I was no match for him. His power is unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Man, Gohan, it was so wild. I wish I could explain it –the power, I mean- as it's just a whole different branch of energy. It's as if life itself is there right inside of you… It's… It's…"

"Godly?" his son offers, face still cracked with a grin.

"Yeah. Godly. But I'll be honest, I kind'a feel dirty about how I came to get it –not that I regret it 'cause it's why you're here, it's just… it feels unearned."

Gohan sighs. "That's so like you."

"Ehh? Whad'ya mean?" Goku laughs, hand to heart, "What you trying to say, kiddo?"

His son makes an incomprehensible sort of scoffing noise, clearly amused before skirting back over to the edge of the Lookout. When Goku approaches, the smile has waned somewhat, but those eyes sparkle with pleasure, with the buried joy of something Goku cannot see.

"Before you came out, I checked on Goten and Trunks. They're asleep in the room next to ours—"

Are they? Goku hadn't even noticed.

"And with no-one to talk to, I thought I'd come out and enjoy the peace and quiet, and the view, of course. The Earth is beautiful."

Goku looks down, and through the odd gap between clouds, he sees artificial lights winking back up at him, hinting at the beauty the dawn will draw open.

"Yes, it is," Goku agrees.

"I'm really excited about what the morning has to bring. I want to go home, fly through the forests, visit Piccolo, see the ocean, eat Mum's cooking, talk with Goten… I… I just, heh." Gohan flops down onto his backside, legs dangling free over the tiles of the Lookout's edge. "I just want to be greedy."

And you think this is a person who killed himself, huh, Piccolo?

"I've missed you all," Gohan says ultimately. "I love you, Dad."

Goku crouches low and settles down next to his son; his brilliant, kind and loving son, throwing an arm around his shoulder and pulling him tight.

"I love you so much, Gohan," he says in turn. "I really do. I really, really do, and I'm so happy I can tell you this in person again."

The bristles of spiky hair nod as he relaxes against Goku. Neither move for a long while, enjoying the shared warmth on this oddly chilled August night. As the dark evolves into light, they remain awake, conversing –sometimes joking— about a range of topics. Laughter carries as an echo across the entire Lookout.

And when dawn breaks, they're both still alert with energy, still smiling and alive with the prospect of the day.

"It still doesn't feel real," Goku admits, watching the sun peak from beyond the horizon. It colours the sky orange and peach, catching them both in its warmth. "I feel like I'm about to wake up, y'know."

"Uwah, it's amazing. I'm so happy I stayed up for this."

"Definitely a dream…"

Gohan hums, transfixed with the horizon, but he still has choice words to off. "Happiness is not in another place, Dad, but this place, right now. It's not for another day, but today," He gives him a look," So, even if it is a dream, you should try and enjoy it for what it is, y'know?"

"Gohan…"

A finger points forward and Gohan's excited once more. "Oh, you can see the ocean!"

Goku looks over and spots blue against orange, feeling as if he's seeing the true splendour of it for the first time if only because he's experiencing it in this breath.

It's not a dream, he tells himself, but… if it were, it'd be a perfect one.

Goten blinks the daylight away, tugging at rough bed sheets in a bid of burying himself under them. It works for all of five minutes until Trunks, in his slumber, kicks out a leg and catches Goten in the ribs. The impact is enough to send Goten off the bed and onto the cold of the marble floor. He lies there as ache runs up his backside, hating his bed mate with all the energy the morning allows him to muster.

This is why we shouldn't share beds anymore, we're not kids!

The space-hog always sends him packing. And as to prove his point, Trunks strikes again, flailing like a ragdoll up in the air until the Power Pole scatters to the floor, dancing to its own drumming beat before stilling on the tiles.

Goten watches it happen, lying flat, exhausted and full of morning abhorrence for the world. It's with mounted effort that he brings himself to reach out for the little red stick, clumsily palming at it until he can fully grasp hold, reeling it in and admiring the weapon through the stream of sunlight. This is his proof that everything that had happened yesterday actually happened. Why are all tournaments cursed? All he'd wanted to do was support Videl and maybe have a good time with his best friend. Instead, they got spooky assassin fighters, gods, near destruction and… him.

Gohan is outside.

Goten can feel his energy, and if he listens closely, he can actually hear him. Dad's voice is louder though, it's overpowering and Goten can hear his laugh crystal clear, carrying as the two joke around together like it's any other day, as if everything isn't suddenly different now.

It's all going to change... It's all going to change and Goten doesn't know how to feel about it.

He lies there, thudding the Power Pole in a dull rhythm, listening. Gohan says something faint and Dad is laughing again, making Goten's stomach do little flips, making him want to sink further into the marble.

"What do I say?" Goten whispers for no ears but his own, "I don't know what to say."

Trunks offers an exceedingly useful grunt before kicking the remaining covers off the bed. They provide Goten with his very own depressing shroud.

Credit to Trunks, he'd been there for Goten yesterday. It'd all been so much. Those Zealites were horrid on their own, and then there'd been that Lord Beerus guy and then…

Gohan laughs this time. The action has Goten cocoon himself up like the world's saddest burrito.

What do I say?

He can't just go out there and strike up chit-chat with his undead brother. He's not Dad. Goten had long accepted that he was never likely to see Gohan again, it'd been buried, used as a weapon and another way to resent his dad, had been something Goten had been fighting to get past since the incident happened all those years ago. Gohan had become a memory. Goten had long since come to terms with that and accepted the slow adaption of Gohan's memory into becoming more a figment representing the relationship with his brother rather than his actual brother.

The idea became repurposed to help him grow, help him focus on the good times, help him know why everything went to shit; it's the foundation of all what was good coming to an end.

This idea took years to build up. Goten has long since felt comfortable in it, using his brother's memory as a security blanket. And now…

Now, it's unravelled in the course of a night. No longer is Gohan a memory, no longer does Goten need to grieve. Gohan is here, right here, and he's most likely waiting –right outside—for Goten to wake up as to reconnect with his beloved little brother.

What does Goten say to that?

It's like talking to a celebrity. The person in Goten's head isn't real, it's a construct of all the glittery memories and best parts of Gohan, of this celebrity he's always admired but would be too scared to meet.

Goten'd said he'd hated him for what he did to their family The suicide had torn them apart. Does he tell Gohan that? Is Goten still angry? He doesn't know –he can't feel much of anything right now.

Yesterday, Gohan hadn't even second-guessed reaching out for him, wanting to hold Goten like the stupid little baby he's proving himself to be right now. Would Goten have let him? He'd held Gohan's hand, felt his brother's heartbeat through his warm palm; something that has only ever happened in either his dreams or his sparkly memories. The feeling had made him exhausted almost immediately. Does that make him a bad person?

Am I really that awful that I don't want to see him?

Awful; likely. Coward; definitely.

Goten had been relieved when Gohan collapsed the moment they'd made it to the Lookout yesterday. Piccolo had carried him off to some room as Dende and Mr. Popo gawked, unsure of which invalid saiyan to nurse back to health first. Dad had woken up first and Goten had heard him running around looking for Gohan, shouting and reaching levels of anger so rarely seen; it'd made him hold his breath and pretend to not exist. Goten hadn't wanted to confront anything or anyone, only Trunks had been welcome in his space.

They'd talked; at first about what happened during the day and then about anything else when Goten found himself growing anxious. Mr. Popo –so kind- had brought them some dinner, and Dende had even come knocking to check their wounds. Neither stayed long thankfully, but they both told them how welcome they were to stay.

"Are you waiting for them?" Trunks had asked last night as they lay tucked up in bed.

"I dunno."

"You could just go back to Fire Mountain."

"I hate it there."

"Yeah, it sucks. Think you'll go back to your old house?"

"I said I dunno'."

Trunks had sighed and nestled further under the quilt.

"I just… don't want to be the one to tell Mum," Goten had then admitted. "Is that weird? I don't wanna' get in the way or—"

"Be involved?"

"I guess. I… don't know."

"When you speak to Gohan properly then I think you'll probably feel at least a little better. You're just working yourself up. It's weird, I know, but we've dealt with weirder, haven't we? Remember when we were absorbed by Majin Buu?"

Goten had laughed; a first for the night. "I try not to."

"Yeah, it was gross. Nothin' tops that."

"Fusion was weird."

There'd been a hum. "Fun, though. We should do it again sometime for a laugh. Oh, I tell you what I think was weirder, that time we stayed at your Dad's and he tried cooking us that fish soup in the kettle. Do you remember? I was sick for two days and my mum chewed his ear out."

"Weirder that you ate it. I told you not to." Goten had gasped. "Here's another weird thing we did; remember when we joined the adult division for the World Martial Arts Tournament as two kids stacked, one on top of another."

"Oh my God, why did we do that?"

Trunks had leaned over, grinning under dull moonlight. "Y'know, we still looked cooler than Gohan there, and I'm gonna' make sure I tell him that. I'm gonna' tell him how lame the Great Saiyaman is –and he's gonna' take it."

Somehow, the taboo nature of the name had managed to vanish the moment Gohan had reappeared, and instead of the sickly swirl in his belly, Goten had felt only the heat to defend his brother.

"It was cool!"

"No, it wasn't," Trunks had laughed.

"It… was…"

"Liar. Even you know it was lame, and now you can tell him without feeling shitty about it." There'd been a click of the fingers. "So, let's agree that the weirdest thing to happen to us was being present for the existence of the Great Saiyaman."

They'd fallen asleep not long after, both exhausted. One still exhausted, Goten considers as he looks at his snoozing friend; the jerk doesn't have a care in the world, lying there, catching flies.

Slowly, does Goten redress. There's only so long he can put this off for, that and he's absolutely ravenous for breakfast. A whiff of cooked meat had started to leak into the bedroom acting as the Lookout's siren call so to lull them from their slumber, and so Goten will go first just to spite Trunks, the asshole, and will only leave scraps after being booted from the bed.

…Okay, maybe he'll leave a bit more just because Trunks' had been a good friend yesterday, but Goten's definitely taking the good stuff (if Dad hasn't already).

The door clicks behind at the exact moment Dad lets out a huge groan.

"You can eat more than that!" Goten hears him say.

There's a clatter of plates. "I cannot. I'm done. Thank you, Mr. Popo. It was delicious."

"You're most certainly welcome, Gohan," the genie replies.

"Ehhh, does being dead kill your appetite? Mine was fine."

There's a soft laugh once forgotten; definitely Gohan's. "I think your appetite will likely outlive you."

Goten rounds the corner to the scene of both his dad and Gohan sitting at a kotatsu, one loaded with plates, both full and clean. Gohan isn't filthy and half-dressed anymore; he wears their father's colours, posing lethargically next to the real thing over a stack of emptied plates. Dad's stack must be three times the size but he's still going. His gi is new, too, and somehow mar-free despite him guzzling down soup like it's going out of style. Gohan manages to stay near the edge of the splash-zone, watching their father with a mixture of affection and disgust.

Dad smacks his lips and then his stomach. "You're probably right, I could eat all d—Oh, Goten, you're up!"

Gohan spins, eyes bright, and Goten wilts on the spot.

He feels his very soul leave him as Gohan wastes no time in jumping up. The approach is rapid and before Goten has chance to turn away, strong arms have him in their grip, pulling him up and against a clad of warm orange. It's not like hugging Dad –it never was before, either— it's softer; more measured, and he feels his head go blank as he reminisces the familiar comfort of his brother's embrace.

He stills, prey in the predator's jaws.

It's not like being swallowed up anymore, mostly due to Goten no longer being a short eight-year-old, but Gohan's still pretty tall in comparison and so Goten fits quite snuggly under the chin as he's lurched forward like a ragdoll.

"You're huge," Gohan speaks into his hair.

Goten swallows, nodding dumbly. His original fear lives on. Words aren't coming to him. What does he say? Why won't his brain work?

Unbothered, his brother pulls free to get a better look, a lopsided grin present as he surveys an ever-awkward Goten. "You're all grown up! I can't believe it, man…" The grin grows cheeky. "But I bet you're still a menace, right?" he asks, "Dad tells me that they get calls from your school about your pranks."

Goten-bot nods again. Affirmative.

Gohan's delighted, laughing. "I guess you might not be a little kid no more, but you certainly haven't changed in that department, have you?" When there's no reply, his one bang flops to one side as he tilts his head, studying Goten as if he's a puzzle to be figured out. "Huh? You feelin' shy?"

Dad says something from behind but his mouth is stuffed with food.

"Goku, perhaps you should try to swallow your food before speaking. You don't want to hazard a choking spell, after all." suggests Mr. Popo, clearing plates.

There's an audible gulp. "I said, 'Wow, I'm surprised that you saved the Power Pole, Goten'!"

"H-Huh." There it is, still in hand. "I did, yeah."

Gohan looks impressed. "Wow, and you can use it? I could never do much of anything with it."

Looking into an expression as earnest as that, Goten's tempted to lie, but the truth spills awkwardly as he fumbles with the pole. "N-Not really. I accidentally…"

"He whacked Beerushh," Dad fills in, mouth laden with congee.

"You did?"

"He, um, whacked me back." Goten coughs, scratching at the back of his head. "I didn't mean to –the pole, it… yeah."

Gohan brings a hand to his mouth. "And it managed to hit him?"

Dad hits the table, stuffing more food into his mouth. "Dea' centre."

"It wasn't like that," Goten splutters, "It was an accident. I didn't mean to. At the time, D-Dad, he was in trouble and the pole just did it itself, and I—uh, yeah. The pole." It wags upright and Goten has to avert his gaze, it's all a bit much. "I, um, felt bad."

"You mmff dif' good!"

Goten crosses his arms, reluctant and ever more anxious. "It was all the Power Pole."

"It wasn't, that's not how—"A bowl clatters and Dad hits at his own chest. "Oh man, talk about heartburn."

His brother's warm hand replants itself atop his shoulder.

"A weapon doesn't move on its own," Gohan adds, softer, really soft; soft and unlike either Mum or Dad; it's like being submerged in foggy melancholy. "It might have realised your intentions and acted on your behalf, but definitely not of its own will. You should be proud of yourself," he continues, "It must have been a really scary situation for you, but you were brave enough to come to Dad's aid like that. I have a feeling that you're not giving yourself enough credit. You did great."

Goten's brain powers from zero to a hundred in seconds, his cheeks turn to fire. His shoulder burns but he feels unable to move, powering down slowly, wilting, and likely turning pure crimson. His chest grows tighter and his throat constrains.

"G-Goten?"

No… Don't. I don't wanna—

He sniffs.

I don't wanna' cry again.

There's another sniff.

"Goten…"

He opens his mouth to tell him that he's fine –that he's okay— but the only thing that emerges is a pathetic wail. Mortified, hands rush up to cover it up, to push the horrid noise away, but more follows, and soon, he's hiccoughing madly, crying into the crook of his elbow.

Plump tears bleed into the fabric of his (tattered) shirt as the waterworks flow endlessly. Goten desperately wants to stop, to breathe, but he can't. Why is he crying? Why does his throat hurt so much? He hadn't known what to say –but this is worse, way worse.

Goten thaws when Gohan gathers him once again. His arms finally break away to snap around his brother's chest, and he pulls. He doesn't know why. This is someone he barely knows now –a memory- but the weight in his chest has him a slave to strange emotions, ones he is struggling to understand and deconstruct.

"I've missed you," Gohan mumbles over and over, "I've missed you so much, Squirt."

But the emotions feel petty to question all of a sudden. Goten finds himself uncaring of semantics he's mulled over, night after night, back at Fire Mountain on the darkest of evenings.

Why did you leave me?

Why did you hurt our family?

Why did you kill yourself, Gohan?

Why?

Was it me? Was it because of me? I know it's stupid and everyone tells me I'm an idiot for thinking so, but did you leave because of something I did?

Goten sobs into his brother's chest, filling the gi with tears instead. It's his revenge. It's how he can truly show his frustration with all the crap he's had to endure because of this person, this person who was once the most special figure to him.

"That's it," Gohan hushes, stroking his back. "Get it out."

Goten does. He's there for a long while, spluttering quiet sniffles as smooth circles are rubbed into his back.

He could be eight again. He and Gohan could be in the forest –just the two of them- and they could be training or fishing or just hiking; they did a lot together back in the day, and Goten would reminisce about it, and then try to forget about it when it hurt too much.

It still hurts too much.

"You all good?"

Goten presses his face, muffling the world.

No. I don't want to face you.

I don't want to face this.

Gohan just seems to know. His fingers brush through his hair much like they did when Goten was a kid. His eyes close and he savours the moment, having it be broken only when Mr. Popo, in the background, speaks up.

"Could you help me with these dishes, Goku?"

"Ehh, now?"

"It would be remarkably helpful. I could do with a hand bringing some more out for the boys, after all."

"But—"

"I also baked an apple crumble that needs sampling, if you would be so kind."

There's a clattering of plates and Goten knows that that's done the trick. Dad doesn't dally, Goten hears him scuttling after Mr. Popo encumbered with far too many plates than he's likely able to carry. The smash in the kitchen was enviable.

The shattering startles Goten, and Gohan uses the ample time to draw back, chuckling as he looks over in the direction of culinary chaos.

"I can't say I'm too surprised," he says. "You doing okay now?"

Dark eyes like his own stare back. They could be their father's eyes, or even their mother's. Gohan has the perfect combination of both.

"It's bizarre, huh?" Gohan admits when Goten forgets to reply. "I didn't mean to weird you out, I'm sorry."

"N-No," Goten croaks, "I'm…I…"

"You're shocked," he finishes, "Me too, if it makes you feel better. I don't like that you're so tall. Am I going to have to look up to you soon enough?"

Goten splutters an almost-laugh. "I'm fourteen."

"I know." That smile returns and Goten eases instantly. "Apparently, I'm in my twenties, though I look like should be going to school with you. I hope Mum doesn't get any ideas."

"She still has your school badge," he feels the need to tell him, "Dad has your books."

"Eh, Dad does?"

Goten then realises something. Gohan mustn't know. Dad hasn't told him yet –about him and Mum, about anything. Oh, oh, God. Now Goten really doesn't know what to say. His tongue ties and his body turns to ice. Once again, Gohan starts speaking but it all sounds like white noise. The hum rings in his ears, no lips can be read.

He's still.

"H-Huh?"

Gohan sighs and sound returns. He's scratching the back of neck, expression growing blue. "I'm sorry. I came on too strong, right? Dad did say you might –you know, it's fine, don't worry. We can catch up a little later if you want?"

What? No, no, don't go!

"Have some breakfast," he continues, "You could do with something hearty after yesterday's antics."

Gohan. Don't—

"I'd forgotten about how good the food is here," he says, the grin returning. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Find yourself lucky that I saved some for you."

No!

"Later, let's go for a wal—"

"THE GREAT SAIYAMAN WAS SUPER LAME!" Goten breathes hard, eyes popping, regretting every life decision that led him up to this point.

Gohan blinks, once, twice, and then swivels with resurfaced energy. "The Great Saiyaman was so cool!" he declares, fist high, "He was a champion of justice!"

"The helmet was lame!"

Gohan nearly trips. "You didn't say that before! You said it was cool! You said that you liked it!"

"And the bandana at the World Martial Arts Tournament made you look homeless," Goten adds, vomiting every syllable with urgency, "No-one wears capes anymore!"

"Vintage; he was vintage," Gohan stresses, "Why does no-one get that?"

"He was dorky."

"Uwah…"

"Red… and green… clash," he unenergetically adds upon powering down, "You have no style…"

The voice is weak, defeated. "Goten…"

It's quiet, silent even, and not even the background muffle of Mr. Popo and Dad talking fills the void; something that could be awkward but isn't if only down to the easy charisma of his brother. He gives Goten a fond pat on the head, leaving it there to ruffle his hair, hanging it between them.

"At least Trunks thinks it's cool," he says knowingly, with such confidence that Goten can't contain the bark that leaves him. "Uwahh, him too? Oh, you guys know how to hurt a person, huh?"

Goten marvels. Whilst he knows first impressions don't count for everything, it's difficult to gauge a reason to why this person, his chipper, happy brother he'd loved growing up, would ever want to take his own life in the first place. The eternal mystery of it boggles him much like it had everyone else.

The thought turns the moment bittersweet, and by the time Dad returns, Goten isn't sure what to think. Perhaps they'd been wrong like Dad had insisted; maybe Gohan hadn't killed himself, despite the evidence. It's not adding up.

Dad sits back at the kotatsu, oblivious to Goten's inner turmoil. "Mr. Popo has more food coming, guys," he informs like it's a dirty secret, "I think he secretly likes having a reason to cook. Where's Trunks? He'll miss out."

Goten is still angry at the half-saiyan, half-human, full-alarm clock so he just shrugs.

"I can't eat anything else," Gohan says, "He can have my share if you haven't eaten it already."

"The void consumes all," Goten deadpans, earning a laugh. "I'm surprised Dad hasn't bitten a chunk out of the table, which I'm happy about because, erm…" The stomach knows, it makes itself heard, roaring for some of that pork on the table. "Heh, heh, yeah… sorry."

Gohan drags him to the kotatsu, slotting him down into the seat next to his. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to keep you from breakfast. You must be—"

The door leading to the kitchen opens, not revealing Mr. Popo, but Dende. He's clearly come with news of some kind. "Ah, Goku! There you are! I've just gotten word from the Supreme Kai. He's all the way away on a planet called Geo at some important meeting."

Dad looks less concerned with that than with the contents of his plate.

"What did he say?" Gohan asks, "Is he not coming back? He said yesterday that he'd be returning to talk to my dad about something."

Dende takes the seat opposite Gohan. "I'm afraid he's too busy. Apparently, the Zealites have been particularly active since their display at the tournament. Oh, sorry, you mustn't know who—oh, the Zealites are a group of—"

Gohan holds a hand up. "It's fine. The Supreme Kai filled me in. You guys have had a rough time. No dragon balls, too…"

"Yes… It's concerning. I'm worried if I'm going to be honest. The moment they died, I felt it in my very being. I can't… un-feel it." The guardian takes a moment. "But still, even without them, it goes to show that miracles can happen. I've really missed you, Gohan."

There's a weak attempt at a smile, eyes mournful. "I've missed you too. It's just a shame that I've returned home to this messy situation…"

Dende leans past the mountain of food and pats Gohan's hands with affection. "The Earth will meet the challenge head on. We always win in the end, and now that you're back, we're as strong as ever."

"I dunno' about that."

"Stafp bein' 'umble, G'hawn."

"Dad, please swallow. I don't want to see you choke." Neither does Goten but he understands the ravenous hunger. Even with such a serious topic at hand, he can't help but sneak a bao, picking at its white flesh and nibbling as Gohan questions further. "So, what does the Supreme Kai have to say on all this? Is that why he contacted you? Does he have news on what the Earth must do?"

"It's more about what Goku must do."

There's a cringe-inducing noise when Dad swallows too big of a bite. "Huh, me?"

"Yes, since your fight with Lord Beerus, it's come to the attention of many higher-ups, like, um, really high higher-ups apparently, that you should be acknowledged as Earth's protector."

"Dad has always done that job anyway," Goten points out, trying not to sound wholly bitter. "It won't be anything new."

"But I guess it being acknowledged is something entirely different. From what the Supreme Kai said, it sounds more official - a fully-fledged role."

This just seems to bring about more confusion for Gohan. "But why would the Earth need something like that? What else has happened since I… um…" His eyes drift over to Goten and his bao, "Well, y'know."

"Not much aside from the Zealite stuff now that I think about it," Dad replies, contemplating. "I'm not sure the Earth would need something as fancy-sounding as an official protector."

Dende hums, "It's a little odd, I think."

Gohan puts his two pence in. "Is it? You achieved a divine transformation yesterday, Dad. That won't just be allowed to slip under the rug, I reckon, especially with how Lord Beerus was talking."

"Think I've scared a few important god-people up there, huh?"

There's a chuckle. "Maybe. Though, they seem a kind'a tricky bunch so who's to say?"

"Yes," the guardian agrees, "As strong as you've become, Goku, Lord Beerus holds a stronger power within. I sensed it and the depths were unfathomable. I see no reason for him to be scared of anyone here."

"He also didn't seem to like Earth either," Goten remembers, shuddering, "So why does he want a protector?"

"Whatever the case—"

Shuffling feet against tiles alerts the group to Trunks' awakening. He looks absolutely wiped. "Food," he says, eyes thin. "I smelt it."

Saying nothing, Gohan pushes a bowl of noodles in his direction, followed by a pair of chopsticks. There's a thud as Trunks sits, followed by the snapping of chopsticks, and then a bout of slurping.

The bowl is slammed and lips are smacked.

"You snore," Trunks says simply.

It takes Goten a second to realise that he's talking to him. "I do not! You kick!"

"Gohan, pass me another bowl of noodles. No, the egg ones. Ah, thanks."

Trust Trunks not to even blink at Gohan's revival. Goten knows it's bothered him too, but the guy is acting as cool as a cucumber. Who does he think he's impressing?

"You're so grown up, Trunks."

Oh, Gohan apparently.

There are no hugs this time, with Gohan likely sensing that Trunks is indeed not a hugger. Much like Gohan had done with him earlier, he asks Trunks about himself, and because Trunks is a total peacock, he happily divulges, telling Gohan about school, girls he's dated, his great grades, shenanigans they get up to…

On the other side of the room an now away from the table, Dad and Dende talk in quiet tones. Goten doesn't catch much of anything, other than general utterances about the Zealites.

"The Supreme Kai said he'll return," he does hear Dende say; "And Lord Beerus might, too."

It fills him with a cold dread. Part of him thinks Gohan might have heard them as well, demonstrated when his hand reassures Goten with a pat atop of the arm.

"And how was being dead?" Trunks asks casually.

Goten chokes on the last bite of his bao, but Gohan handles the question with ease.

"I can't recall most of the details. It's really fuzzy no matter what I try to remember. All that I know is that I really missed you all."

"How annoying. Were you in limbo or something?"

"Kind of, I guess. I don't know much about it."

"I wonder if it's because you killed yourself."

The room drops several degrees. Goten feels himself wither and both Dad and Dende turn with a look of dismay. Why –Why would he just say that? It's been burning at the front of Goten's mind but even he has more tact!

He tries not to strangle his friend. "What the hell, Tr—"

"Be quiet, Goten," Gohan suddenly orders, voice far icier and more cutting than moments ago. It causes Goten to freeze on the spot. "What did you just say, Trunks?"

Nobody dares speak, and Gohan repeats his question in an even firmer tone.

"What?" Trunks looks around the room, at the horrified faces staring back. "What? Are we just pretending that it didn't happen?"

"What are you talking about?"

It then seems to dawn on Trunks, and on Goten too, that something is clearly amiss. Had Dad been right after all?

"Trunks."

Or like the Supreme Kai had said yesterday, Gohan might not remember. Did his death steal not only his life but also his memory?

Goten feels his brother tense up beside him. "Can someone please tell me what happened? What truly happened? Dad?"

Dad's face has turned to stone and so Goten decides to speak for both of them.

"Gohan," he begins, nervous, "Your body… it was…" When looking to Trunks for strength, only regret faces back. "It was full of self-infelc—"

"Self-inflicted," Trunks corrects, numb.

"Wounds," Goten finishes. "Self-inflicted wounds."

Something dark crosses Gohan's face, something unreadable and burning with a red hot fury. It was only fleeting but Goten saw it. Did Gohan... just remember something?

His voice is thin. "Are you saying…?"

"Suicide," Trunks finally supplies. His voice is weaker, guilt-laden. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean to."

Silence.

It carries until Gohan finally brings himself to stand up and leave the room, slamming the door behind him.

.

.

.

.

.

I popped the fluff balloon. I love Trunks. He's a gem, ain't he?

Thanks to Kags for the beta job once again. I don't think this chapter tried to fight us much. I took my time writing it because I think it's one of those crucial chapters and I didn't want to fuck it up, so yeah, I hope it delivers -I know a lot of people have been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Thank you for reviews, PMs, follows and favs. I'm happy people are following and enjoying! Some have mentioned that they'll miss Rixas and Quell for this Earth "saga", which is super high praise, and I have to say that I will too. Them, along with Trunks and Whis are delightful to write. Goten bums me out.

Life continues for me and I return to work this September (Guess my job) so I'm gonna' be a bit busier, but I'll aim to get another chapter out sooner rather than later. I might also pen one for 32 because that story is starved.

If you have enjoyed please drop me a review and let me know! If you didn't enjoy then you can lie and placate my feelings because I'm fragile.