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The Fire That Were Meant To Be
by The Great Saiyan Romancer
More by this Writer
Mirai Trunks returns from a very special training. Will Gohan be pleased by Mirai Trunks new skills…
Author’s Notes: Done in collaboration with Dena.
Author’s Notes: Done in collaboration with Dena.
CHAPTER 1 – The Dream That Burned Backwards
It started with fire.Not the kind that warms,
nor the kind that destroys —
but the fire of helplessness,
of a scream choked inside a throat too proud to beg.
The battlefield was already lost when Gohan moved.
Not because they had been defeated,
but because what they were facing —
Zamasu, Black, the broken sky itself —
was beyond winning.
Trunks had fallen.
He was curled on the scorched earth,
his breath ragged,
sword shattered,
ki bleeding from him like steam.
And Gohan…
Gohan did the only thing he knew.
He moved.
He threw himself forward —
not in attack,
not in defense,
but in offering.
A shield of flesh and spirit
between the ruin
and the boy who had come back from time
just to be broken again.
He heard the scream behind him —
Trunks, calling his name —
and then the sky ruptured.
Zeno’s light erased everything.
---
Gohan woke up gasping.
His chest heaved, drenched in sweat,
hair clinging to his forehead.
The air in the room was cool, calm, utterly ordinary —
the exact opposite of what boiled in his skull.
He turned slightly, heart still racing,
and there he was:
Trunks.
Sleeping beside him.
One arm curled under the pillow,
the rise and fall of his bare back steady, peaceful.
Alive.
Safe.
Because Goku had summoned Zeno.
Because his father had, once again,
done what Gohan could not.
The shame settled over him like wet ash.
He slid out of bed carefully,
not to wake Trunks,
and stood at the window.
The city shimmered in pre-dawn quiet.
Capsule Tower lights blinked in gentle sequence.
Life continued.
And he, Son Gohan, former savior of Earth,
stood useless in the wake of salvation he hadn’t provided.
His hands tightened on the window frame.
He had asked Whis for training not long ago.
But it was Trunks who had changed.
Trunks who had chosen.
Who had thrown himself into the fire again.
Gohan looked down at his palms.
No calluses anymore.
Soft.
Academic.
His strength had become an idea, not a reality.
Behind him, the bedsheets stirred.
A sleepy voice, warm and unguarded:
“You okay?”
He turned.
Trunks was propped on one elbow,
hair tousled,
a soft crease on his cheek from the pillow.
His eyes were still heavy with sleep,
but his gaze was steady.
Gohan forced a smile. “Just needed the bathroom. Go back to sleep.”
Trunks didn’t move.
He watched him a moment longer,
then lay back down slowly.
“Alright,” he murmured.
But his body shifted closer,
even in half-sleep.
Gohan returned to the bed.
He lay still,
staring at the ceiling,
feeling the warmth of Trunks press faintly against his side.
He had almost died for him.
And still it didn’t feel like enough.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
---
The alarm clock didn’t ring.
Instead, it was the sound of birds —
Capsule birds, small and bioengineered,
chirping just outside the window —
that pulled Gohan back from the tangle of half-sleep.
Trunks had rolled toward him during the night.
One arm draped over his stomach.
One knee thrown lazily across his thigh.
Gohan could feel the exhale of his breath against his shoulder.
He didn’t move.
There was a kind of sacred weight to Trunks’s sleeping body —
not physical,
not even spiritual,
but meaningful.
Like holding a promise you were terrified to break.
He remembered how close he had come to losing him.
Again.
The sheets smelled faintly of lavender shampoo and ozone.
Trunks.
Gohan closed his eyes again.
Just for a moment.
Not to sleep,
but to rest inside that scent.
He wondered if Trunks would still be there when he woke for real.
Or if this —
too warm,
too close,
too safe —
was just an echo of a dream that hadn’t burned yet.
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