Welcome to Boxer & Rice

Retcon: In the first chapter I wrote that Trunks would be traveling to late April. I also wrote that he was going to arrive shortly after the defeat of Buu. Buu was defeated in May, canonically. Pretend all references to “late April” or any variations thereof are now “early June”. ]


Chapter 2: Un-straight Priorities

Gohan finished pulling the knot on his red belt closed before reaching down to lift the frayed cloth handles of his purple duffle bag. He’d gotten up and eaten early for a Saturday. His body was still in the rhythm of rising at dawn from his old school schedule. He walked as quietly as he could to the door and eased it open. He knew he could probably blow up the house without waking anyone, but he did his best to be considerate anyway.

As he reached the foot of the stairs he was unsurprised to see his parents’ door slightly ajar. His mother was already awake. He grabbed a biscuit from the counter as he headed for the front door. Closing it gently behind him, Gohan saw his mother a short way away in the yard, taking clothes off the line.

“Morning, mom,” he said brightly. She turned and smiled at him as he took half the biscuit in one bite.

“Good morning, Gohan! Off to Capsule, I suppose?” she asked. Gohan nodded. “Well, alright then, but don’t be gone all day this time! Remember, Videl is coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Right, mom,” he said; he’d have to beat Vegeta a bit harder than usual to appease his mother today. “I’m gonna head out now, see you tonight,” Gohan said, hopping onto Nimbus.

“Good-bye, Gohan!” she called as the fluffy, yellow-orange cloud carried him off into the sky. “Give that meathead a thrashing for me!”

Gohan chuckled as the wind whipped against his face. He was glad he finally had some time off. It wasn’t long ago that his mother would have clubbed him to within an inch of his life for even suggesting the idea of going off to train every weekend. He’d never admit it to her but he was pleased with the effect being eaten by Majin Buu had had on her attitude. His acceptance to every university he had applied to didn’t hurt in that respect, either.

Martial arts training was something he’d always enjoyed, even if he wasn’t overly keen on real competitive combat. After his humiliation aboard Babidi’s ship Gohan wasn’t going to make the same mistake by letting himself slip – most powerful fighter in the universe or not. He knew all too well just how fleeting that title could be.

On the whole, though, he had to admit that he wasn’t displeased with the unintended consequences the most recent threat to all life in the universe had on his life. For one thing, his father and Vegeta had finally gotten over their rivalry. That meant the Saiyan Prince begrudged Gohan significantly less as well; in fact, he seemed to hold a degree of respect for the young half-breed.

Then there was his father. His resentment over some of his father’s decisions aside, Gohan was elated to have him back. His mother had been exceedingly lonely in the years he was gone, and she turned all of her immense energy on her two sons. Goku was about the only person who could keep up with her on most days. Gohan was also glad that his little brother finally had a father. He’d tried his best to fill the void himself, but he had his own life to be getting on with. He was getting married later that year, and going away to college – he couldn’t be around for Goten forever.

Videl was another of those unintended consequences. The experiences at the tournament and afterward had brought them even closer together. Her father gave up his objections when he learned that Gohan was the one he’d been stealing the credit for defeating Cell from. Just two weeks after Majin Buu’s defeat, he’d proposed to Videl at his mother’s insistence. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready, but he was happy nonetheless.

He smirked as Nimbus began descending toward the Capsule Corp. dome. Gohan didn’t mind, either, that thanks to the Elder Kai he was now able to trounce both his father and Vegeta – without transforming into a Super Saiyan.

He hopped lightly off of Nimbus a few feet off the ground. He gave the soft pillow of cloud a gentle pat before it zoomed off into the sky. The sun had fully risen now, so it was likely the Saiyan Prince was awake as well. Reaching out a hand as he reached the glass front doors, he pulled the cool metal handle only to find it was locked. Peering inside he saw that there was nobody in the lobby. A twinge of annoyance at their house doubling as a misshapen office building dissipated as Gohan smirked to himself.

Majin Buu had never had anyone escape his body after being absorbed, and for that matter, he’d never absorbed anyone as strong-willed as Gohan and Piccolo before. It had taken all of two days’ meditation for the latter to learn that the link which allowed Buu to tap into their power had worked both ways. He alerted his demi-Saiyan friend immediately. The Namek had an idea that while they were suspended inside of the pink beast’s body they may have subconsciously reached out and taken something from him.

It had taken the better part of a month before Gohan was able to unlock anything, but it was well worth the wait. Just five days prior he’d discovered he was able to instantaneously move from one place to another in a way very similar to the Kais’ technique. He hadn’t had much opportunity to test it out, so he was glad for this chance. Homing in on the familiar energy signatures he could sense inside, Gohan focused his energy inward as his body slipped into the dark void of nothingness.

***********************************

The surrounding room was swimming in and out of focus. His head felt like it had been cleaved cleanly in half. Eyelids blinked lazily over weary blue eyes, each opening bringing a fresh pounding of pain to his forehead. Slowly the rotating blades of the ceiling fan above came into view. He felt queasy.

Trunks sat up carefully and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. As he looked around at the bare room, however, he realized that this wasn’t his bed. This wasn’t his room. In fact, he didn’t recognize it at all. He tried to remember how he’d gotten there, but his aching head protested forcefully enough to convince him that it could wait. There were other ways to figure out where he was, after all.

His stomach gave a loud grumble.

There were also more pressing needs than knowing where he was and how he got there. He eased himself off the bed. As he stood, he felt a distinct weight shift at the side of his left leg that signaled something was stretching his pocket downward. He reached in and pulled out a small, white, rectangular case. Aware of what it was, he wasn’t surprised to find five capsules inside; he was surprised, though, that they were custom storage capsules and that he had them in the first place. He hesitantly placed them on the bedside table, hoping he wouldn’t forget they were there like he’d forgotten how he got them.

The carpet felt stiff under his bare feet as Trunks padded toward the closed door, as if it had scarcely been walked on. He stepped out into the cold tiled hallway to a most peculiar sight. It was familiar in dimension; certainly it resembled the inside of the Capsule compound. The walls were shining in early morning light, painted a soft peachy color rather than the familiar dull white. The walls that should have been bare were adorned with a number of – in his opinion – hideous, abstract paintings. This was odd.

The room he just exited was at the end of the corridor, so he made his way gently toward the opposite end, where it split two different ways. About halfway he heard the sound of chattering voices and slowed his pace. Trunks didn’t know where he was and how he got there. If he could glean anything from their conversation before he revealed himself he might not appear so vulnerable to these strangers with the bad taste in art.

As he inched closer, Trunks caught the scent of food. Scrambled eggs. Toast. Fried tomatoes. Sausage. His mouth watered as the speaking voice became discernible.

“…better drink all your milk young man or you won’t see Goten for a week!” He knew the voice of his mother at once, but it was still somehow different. It was more energetic and fiery, and he had no idea who she could be talking to or why she was even in this place. And what was a Goten? The questions raced through his mind and he leaned closer to listen.

“But it tastes like feet! I hate it!” the child shot back at his mother; Trunks privately agreed. Then he said imploringly, “Dad, help me out here!”

The background scraping noise Trunks hadn’t noticed stopped as a third voice demanded, “Drink your milk or I’ll beat the tar out of you.” The voice was harsh and gruff but muffled by what he assumed was a mouthful of food. He thought it sounded familiar, too, but he couldn’t place it as the scraping and clanking of dishware continued. He heard the young boy groan in defeat.

“So why do you think he came back this time?” asked the voice of Bizarro-Bulma. Her voice sounded curious, but also concerned.

“Perhaps to warn of a new threat,” the man grunted, still chewing. “Probably Majin Buu, in that case.”

“Oh, I hope not!” she cried. “Don’t you think he’s been through enough?”

The man said nothing and for a while only the sounds of eating could be heard. Trunks only felt more confused. The pain in his head was subsiding, but the conversation he’d overheard made no sense and he couldn’t get over the familiarity of the man’s voice. He was sure that if he could just hear him speak without food in his mouth he’d be able to tell who was speaking. Then perhaps he’d be able to piece something together. As the minutes dragged by, however, he teetered on the edge of showing himself. He was growing impatient.

There was a sudden disturbance in the room around the corner. Trunks held his breath, attentively listening for anything that might clue him in. Then a fourth voice spoke.

“Morning, everyone!” It was also strangely familiar, yet different. He knew who it sounded like, but knew it couldn’t be him. His thoughts didn’t go any further than that as speech broke out again.

“Hi, Gohan!” cried out the child and there was the distinct scraping of a moving chair. Trunks tensed up at the spoken name. There was a scuffling sound and a strangled yelp before the chair scraped again.

“Milk,” came a dangerous growl.

“Good morning, Gohan,” the female said happily. “How was your week?”

“Pretty hectic, actually,” he admitted. “Last exams before I head off to college in the autumn. Assuming I figure out how to pay for it, that is.”

“What?” she asked, incredulous. “Weren’t you offered any scholarships?”

“Not enough,” he said uncomfortably. “Unfortunately they don’t give out big scholarships for saving the planet,” he laughed nervously; a shiver ran down Trunks’s spine. “On the bright side, now that Summer’s here I’ll have a lot more time to train!”

“You’ll be here every day,” barked the older man, “or I’ll blast you to pieces!” Trunks knew the voice too well, but he couldn’t believe it. How could it be? Was he dead?

“Gohan, you’ll never guess who showed up last night!” The youngest one burst back into the conversation, blurting out the words he was apparently dying to say.

“Who?” asked the newcomer, audibly amused.

“Me! I did!” he shouted, ready to burst from the excitement. “Me from the future!”

“What?!” said the older boy in disbelief. His voice became sharper when he asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said the gruff voice. The dawning realization that it belonged to his father was stifled as Vegeta said mockingly, “Why don’t you ask him? He’s been standing around the corner eavesdropping for at least ten minutes.”

Trunks sighed. Unsure whether or not he was dreaming, he knew that either way there was no point in trying to deceive his father. He stepped forward and into the entryway to the large kitchen, smiling sheepishly and blushing.

His eyes swept the room. He saw his mother at the sink, smiling brightly back at him. Her hair was much shorter, around ear-length, and she looked at least a decade younger. He saw his father seated at the table. Vegeta looked just as he always had and was smirking, staring fixedly at the future version of his son. Then, Trunks let his eyes come to rest on Gohan. His eyebrows lifted and he inhaled sharply.

He looked so much different than Trunks remembered. His hair was longer and stood up in long, straight spikes save for a bit in the front that hung over his forehead. The scars on his face were gone and he had both arms. His body was slighter and leaner, garbed in a loose, pale blue training gi. Trunks knew it was Gohan when blue eyes met black. The cheerful grin lighting up his face was unmistakable.

“Sorry,” Trunks managed to mumble, not tearing his eyes from the tall half-Saiyan standing across the room.

His mother was here, but she looked and acted differently. His father and Gohan were alive. Trunks furrowed his brow in concentration. He felt a tug at his side and looked down into eyes slightly smaller but identical in color to his own. He gasped as he saw the lavender hair and the face identical to what his had once been.

He was in the past.

Memories came flooding back, temporarily dissolving the room around him. The lake, reflecting the stars above; the inscription passing under his fingertips; the window, flecked with raindrops and illuminated by flashes of lightning; his mother, crumpled on the floor; a mug of tea swirling in his hand; blue eyes, streaking tears down a pained face. Trunks clutched at an adjacent countertop to hold himself up as understanding struck him.

***********************************

Gohan couldn’t help himself. Actually, he rarely could. His lips stretched outward as his face split into a broad grin.

He beamed at the time-traveling demi-Saiyan as he stepped into the kitchen, looking thoroughly embarrassed. Gohan was extremely glad to see him again; after all these years he’d stopped believing that he ever would. He looked exactly as Gohan remembered from the days of the Cell games, with his long lavender hair; vibrant, azure eyes; tall, lean frame; and sharp, regal features that disguised his kind and gentle nature.

The older version of Trunks had been an awe-inspiring figure for young Gohan. He had endured tragedy that Gohan could not fathom and arrived fortuitously to save his father and the planet from the same fate as in his own timeline. He was the consummate survivor who had conquered even time itself. He had been the first to tell Gohan that he could and would become a Super Saiyan, and he was the first to prove that Goku was not the only one capable of the feat.

Whenever Gohan had been feeling insecure or unsure of himself, Trunks always had a story about his future counterpart to reassure him. Gohan had found the older boy’s storytelling fascinating and a great source of motivation; the suffering that Trunks described drove Gohan like nothing else, not just to prevent it from becoming his reality but also to ensure that the time traveler’s trip was not in vain.

What Gohan found most alluring about him, though, was his empathy. Trunks always seemed to understand the frustration Gohan was experiencing in pushing his limits. Where Piccolo or his father would always give him training tips or some kind of advice Trunks gave him something else entirely: empathy. He didn’t make any further demands on Gohan, he didn’t tell him to push harder or how to do it. He simply listened to the younger boy and related how he’d experienced similar problems. Trunks had been a friend who Gohan could relate to and from whom Gohan felt no pressure.

Gohan was drawn back to the present as he heard a gasp. Trunks was looking at him. There was a moment where Gohan simply grinned at Trunks’s startled expression before the latter smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to the silent room. Gohan saw him processing the scene before he looked down at Chibi Trunks, who was eagerly tugging at his pants to get his attention, his eyes full of wonder.

The taller of the two lavender-haired demis gasped. His expression was one of horrified shock. He quickly grabbed the countertop to hold himself up. Gohan surmised that seeing himself at that age was something he hadn’t expected and that it held some untold implication for how and why he was in this timeline. The possibilities buzzed inside Gohan’s head until Trunks croaked, just loudly enough for the room to hear.

“What is the date?”

“The eighth of June,” Bulma said uncertainly, glancing at Vegeta. He was staring unsmiling at the elder Trunks.

“What year?” Trunks asked, his voice still quiet and croaky.

“Seven-seventy-four,” Bulma replied.

Gohan could practically hear the whirring of the time-traveler’s brain at work. Trunks’s knuckles were white with the strength of his grip, his eyes were moving rapidly from side to side under quick-blinking lids, and his breathing was shallow. He didn’t look surprised at the fact that he’d just jumped more than a decade back in time as much as frantic.

“Where is the time machine?” he asked suddenly. Gohan looked up. His voice was much calmer and he appeared to have quickly regained his composure. He was standing unsupported now, though he continued to stare at the floor. After a moment Gohan noticed that his eyes were flicking frequently at Vegeta; Gohan chanced a glance as well to find the pureblood still wearing that same impassive expression, his arms folded.

Bulma hesitated before answering. “Well,” she began. “Most of it is on the ground out behind the compound. Vegeta put out the flames before he pulled you out, and I think one of the engines might still be stuck in the tree.” She wrung her hands nervously around a towel. “I was going to haul it in but I thought you’d better see it first, I didn’t want to make things any worse.”

There was another long interlude of silence before Vegeta clicked his tongue impatiently. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell us why you’re here, or did you come all this way just to be a statue to adorn this kitchen?” he mocked, ever the gentleman.

“Vegeta!”

“Vegeta!”

Bulma and Gohan voiced their outrage in chorus at his gruff treatment. Trunks was unfazed.

“I…” he hesitated briefly, “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Oh, well that’s just fantastic. We’ll hope that it’s not some horrible new threat about to destroy all life on Earth that you wanted to warn us about while you take your sweet-ass time,” Vegeta spat irritably.

“It’s not,” Trunks was quick to assure him. “That much I do remember.” He furrowed his brow in concentration, his eyes shut tight. “Trust me.”

“Hn,” was all Vegeta could offer. Gohan glanced their way to see Bulma giving her husband a quelling look. Then, she turned to speak to the future incarnation of her son.

“So, Trunks,” she began.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Yes?”

The lavender-haired namesakes looked at each other quizzically before breaking into near-identical grins.

“Mirai Trunks,” Bulma specified. She looked apologetically at the elder of the pair and asked, “I hope you don’t mind the nickname?”

“Not at all,” he said. There was a loud rumble of what sounded like thunder and Mirai blushed furiously. “I’m the one imposing, after all.”

Bulma slapped her forehead in mock exasperation. “Four Saiyans!” she sighed. “I’m going to have to hire a cook!” She smiled and indicated the table, “Go ahead and sit and I’ll get back to it. You must be starving!”

“Thanks a lot,” he said, genuinely grateful. She winked.

Gohan watched with his own trademark grin spread across his face. He was always amazed at how Bulma could diffuse the tension of a conversation, especially where Vegeta was concerned. The blur of little Trunks leaving the room, grateful for the distraction, did not escape his notice. He had a feeling his little brother would soon know of Mirai Trunks’s arrival.

“Only three Saiyans, woman, if all goes as it should today,” Vegeta chimed in. He didn’t see Bulma’s rotating figure, her eyes rolling at him as he turned to address Gohan. “My son will be eating your remains for dinner,” he declared. Gohan yawned pointedly, leaning his chair back on two legs with his eyes closed.

“If you keep starving the kid he’s never going to grow into that enormous head of his!” Gohan said. He opened one eyelid and the dark iris it concealed swept over the Saiyan Prince as he paused. “Well, like father like son I guess.” Vegeta smirked.

“Is that why you wear that clown suit, Gohan?” he asked.

Crash. Gohan had fallen backward in his chair, his feet kicking the table’s underside. He scrambled to his feet and shouted at a laughing Vegeta, “IT IS NOT A CLOWN SUIT!”

“You tell him, Gohan!” Bulma screamed while brandishing a still-sizzling frying pan. “It’s the pinnacle of modern fashion!”

Gohan blushed as he got back into his seat. Vegeta seemed to be satisfied with his provocation and was now back to smiling quietly as he stared at the ceiling. Gohan saw Trunks looking simply aghast at his father before realizing that he was staring and looking back down at his lap. Gohan couldn’t help but grin. This Trunks was so very different from the one he’d become familiar with. He was polite, innocent, reserved, and modest. As sometimes happened Gohan’s thoughts transferred to his mouth without filter.

“Man, it’s really great to see you again, Trunks,” he said. Trunks looked up.

“You too,” he said. He started to choke another syllable; as if he was going to address the person he was talking to by name but decided not to. Gohan noticed that the other demi didn’t seem to want to look at him. His grin faded a little.

“So, how long are you planning to stay?” he asked. Immediately he regretted it, remembering the wrecked time machine stuck in a tree.

“I’m not sure, it depends how long it takes for me to get the time machine working again. My mother invented and built it mostly on her own, so I don’t know how much I can do. Could be long-term,” he said, staring at his lap again. He spoke evenly, but the concern was evident in his face. “Could be forever,” he finished under his breath. Gohan thanked his Saiyan senses.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,” Bulma said as she heaped mounds of scrambled eggs, fried potato cubes, bacon, French toast, and assorted berries in front of Trunks. “We’ll help any way we can.”

Trunks’s eyes lit up at the sustenance placed before him and he gave a hurried, “Thank you!” before digging in. He ate slowly and composedly for someone of his heritage, Gohan thought, and wondered why the boy sitting across from him felt the need to use table manners with them.

No one spoke for a long while. Trunks, oblivious to everything around him as he ate, did not notice Gohan’s eyes fixed intently on him. Gohan still couldn’t land on an explanation for his fascination with the time traveler any more than he could stop himself grinning. Memories of some of the most fulfilling days of his life were swelling inside him: watching Frieza be defeated, preparing for the androids, training to become a Super Saiyan. As he came to the last, an idea struck him.

“Trunks, why don’t you train with us today?” he blurted out. Vegeta made a startled movement and Gohan looked warningly at him in case he tried to protest.

“Hm, yes,” the pureblood said thoughtfully. He smirked. “You can help me beat this brat once and for all.” Vegeta jerked a thumb at Gohan, who was in turn grinning at Trunks, who was in turn looking like a deer in the headlights. He swallowed the remaining food in his mouth hard.

“Well, alright,” he said tentatively. There was a scraping sound as Vegeta abruptly got to his feet.

“Let’s go, then. We’ve wasted enough time,” the prince commanded. Gohan also got up from his seat, which unlike Vegeta he tucked back under the table. They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, staring down across the table at Trunks. With a start he also raised himself out of his seat and tucked it in, then stood waiting for them to lead him to wherever it was they were going.

“Step over here, please, Trunks,” Gohan said.

“Um, alright,” Trunks replied as he walked around the long, rectangular table to where his father and Gohan stood. Still not wanting to look the latter in the face, his eyes came to rest somewhere he knew they had even less place in being. Yet as he gazed at the firm area that crowned the back of Gohan’s muscular thighs he found he couldn’t look away. More surprising was what Gohan said next.

“Grab on.”

Trunks gave a start and couldn’t help himself. His fiercely-blushing face looked into Gohan’s, which was smiling kindly. The darker-haired demi was indicating his own shoulder with one hand.

“Ah, right,” Trunks said. He hesitated a moment before resting a hand on Gohan’s shoulder, gripping only lightly. He was again averting his face, his head spinning at what had just happened.

“I still hate this. It’s emasculating,” Vegeta said as the sound of rushing air filled the room. With a soft whistle the short Saiyan prince, the tall, dark-haired teenager, and the thoroughly embarrassed lavender-haired time-traveler vanished on the spot.

***********************************

Trunks’s knees buckled as they slammed hard into solid ground. It was all he could do to stop from falling flat on his face. His skin was tingling and he felt slightly winded. Looking around he noticed that the experience didn’t seem to bother Vegeta or Gohan: they were already stretching. This wasn’t their first time traveling by Instantaneous Movement and he supposed that they were accustomed to the sensations by now. Trunks wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

“First time’s always the worst,” Gohan reassured, holding a knee to his chest as his boot grazed his spiky hair. Trunks looked away quickly, not trusting himself after the incident at Capsule Corp. just a few minutes earlier. Surveying the rocky, barren landscape he had the odd feeling that he’d been here before.

“This place looks familiar,” Trunks commented off-hand.

He knew it was pretty unlikely, and he couldn’t quite place just what it was about this place. He might have been more inclined to trust his instinct had he seen the panicked look on Gohan’s face as the dark-haired demi clapped his hands to his mouth to stifle a yelp. All he caught was a dismissive grunt from Vegeta as he continued warming up, furthering Trunks’s doubts.

“I guess these volcanic deserts in the middle of nowhere all tend to blend together after a while,” Gohan said in an abnormally high-pitched voice. Trunks chanced a glance to see that trademark grin as Gohan rubbed the back of his head absently. He looked away again quickly.

‘They look so alike,’ Trunks lamented to himself. He was almost instantly distracted, then, by an enormous, swelling energy. Looking up at the noise of impatience his father made he watched as Vegeta transformed. The Saiyan’s hair grew a bit longer and flashed as it turned a bright golden blonde. As the wind whirled around the man, sending puffs of dust outward, Trunks noticed that his father looked a bit different in this state than he remembered to go along with his drastically increased power level. When little electrical sparks began dancing in the glowing aura, Trunks gaped.

“You…” he blurted, pointing at Vegeta. “You’re like,” he paused, then moved his pointing finger in Gohan’s direction. “Like him?” he finished. He’d only sensed power of that kind once before.

“Hell no,” he spat, sticking his nose in the air and folding his arms. “I am a warrior, not a clown.” Trunks continued to stare in disbelief at Vegeta before the latter clarified, “But yes, I have ascended to the second level of Super Saiyan.”

“Wow, Father, that’s amazing!” Trunks gushed. He supposed the man’s trademark dedication must have paid off in the years since Cell.

“Hnh, don’t be too proud of me,” Vegeta said, the air still crackling around him. “As always, the Clown family is one or two steps ahead. Ready, Gohan?” he addressed the dark-haired demi-Saiyan, and Trunks was surprised to hear that gruff voice uttering his master’s name.

“Sure.” The nonchalance in Gohan’s voice broke Trunks’s reverent reverie. His aura was glowing faintly and the air seemed to be rippling his loose gi, but he hadn’t ascended to Super Saiyan. Trunks tried to reach out for his energy level, but found it indistinct and difficult to read. “Care to join in, Trunks? We could have a three-way!” Gohan suggested eagerly. Trunks hoped that he wasn’t blushing at the social naivety that exceeded even his own.

“I think I’ll just watch for now,” he said. “I just ate, and I’m still feeling a little woozy.” It was true, though the feeling had nothing to do with his explosive arrival at Capsule.

“Alright then,” said Gohan, crouching back into a defensive stance. “Ready when you are, Your Highness.” He was smirking confidently.

Trunks leapt a few dozen yards backwards just in time as Vegeta launched himself full-force at his sparring partner. He moved so fast that his son could barely keep up, and when he caught sight of the battling pair between clouds of dust he saw Vegeta putting up a vicious frontal assault.

To his astonishment, however, Gohan was blocking and dodging every punch and kick the older Saiyan threw at him – with one arm behind his back. Yawning, he vanished and re-appeared a few hundred feet in the air. Vegeta pursued him relentlessly, kicking up the intensity until––

WHAM.

Gohan had brought his unused right arm down on Vegeta who crashed straight down. Awe-struck, Trunks almost didn’t notice the dark-haired fighter he was staring at grinning and waving in his direction. How was this possible? He hadn’t even transformed into a Super-Saiyan. There wasn’t much time to ponder it, however.

Gohan did a vertical back-flip and kicked away a large ki blast that was approaching behind him quickly enough to meet with his forearms the blows of a not-so-large Vegeta that appeared in front of him. Vegeta was attacking with renewed vigor, and the two of them were becoming increasingly difficult for Trunks to follow. On the occasions that they did stay in one place briefly, he always caught a glimpse of Gohan giving him a thumbs-up or a two-fingered “victory” sign. The fifth time this happened, Vegeta had had enough.

“Stop toying with me!” he roared as his fury propelled a punch past Gohan’s defenses to connect with his jaw. The fighting paused as the taller fighter recoiled a little before quickly regaining his stance. He said something that Trunks could not hear from such a distance.

The ground began to vibrate slightly. Dust whirled around the ground below the airborne Saiyans. Gohan let out a short scream. A blast of heated air hit Trunks and, simultaneously, the wave of Gohan’s energy signal crashed over him. It was unfathomable, beyond anything he’d ever felt or imagined by far; yet, he still wasn’t a Super Saiyan. Trunks fell backwards into a sitting position.

Trunks felt another rush of hot air before the two started clashing with thunderous crashes. They were now moving too fast for him to follow, save when Vegeta was sent hurtling into the ground or a rock face.

Trunks sat on his hands and haunches, dazed. As the distracting shock of his father’s and Gohan’s newly-attained power subsided, his overall predicament returned to the front of his mind. He inclined his head to the sky and squeezed his eyes shut.

His mother’s last words to him rang dully in his mind. Vegeta had asked him why he was here, which he had answered truthfully – he didn’t really know. How he was here he had pieced together from the memories of the previous night, though they felt like a lifetime ago. Did she really think that sending him into this past where he would be constantly reminded of everything he never had would make him happy? He could hardly look at Gohan’s or Bulma’s counterparts in this timeline. And what about the effect his presence would have on his own counterpart?

Still, there was a persistent fear tugging at him. Maybe she had simply said those things to spare his feelings. He had seen the fear in her eyes that night; maybe she had sent him back to a time where there were people who could keep his strength in check. Trunks didn’t want to believe his own mother capable of that kind of betrayal, but he couldn’t rid himself of the thought any more than he could suppress the feeling that such would have been justified.

Now that he was here he had no idea what to do next. He wasn’t wanted in his own time, but he didn’t want to impose and interfere in a place where he didn’t belong. He wasn’t sure he could bear living here, no matter how many times he reminded himself that this wasn’t “his” Gohan. Just hours after silently promising him that he would move on, Trunks had already resumed dwelling on his deceased master’s memory. He knew he should’ve been looking over his destroyed time machine at this very moment, but he’d been utterly unable to say no to that grin which he knew so well. It disarmed him completely, and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not to do something incredibly stupid.

Almost as bad was seeing his parents together, living with his younger doppelganger, much happier than any of them had been in his own time. It was hard not to resent the differences in how things had turned out. It did nothing to help him move on from the immense losses he continued to struggle with.

Lost in thought, Trunks mulled over his predicament and tried to sort everything out in his head. Consequently, he’d become oblivious to the battle that continued to rage nearby – not that he could follow it, anyway. It took him a moment to realize, therefore, that someone was shouting his name.

***********************************

“As you wish, milord.”

Gohan knew mockery to be an adequate way to irk Vegeta in defiance of a demand to take things more seriously. He smirked in satisfaction. Vegeta needed a little humiliation for making fun of his Saiyaman outfit. And for being insensitive towards a clearly troubled Trunks, of course. Gohan was the only one – aside from his unwilling father – who could teach the Saiyan Prince these lessons in a language he understood. That is, the fist. He wouldn’t go all the way, that was quite unnecessary, but he at least wanted to give Vegeta a roughing up to tire him out. He had the welfare of his surrogate younger brother in mind. Even the energy and enthusiasm of an 8-year-old demi-Saiyan couldn’t hope to match the Prince’s intensity.

“That’s more like it!” Vegeta said with apparent relish as he, too, pushed his power level upward.

Gohan’s muscles tensed as he ceased suppressing his energy and instead began focusing it. The comfortable warmth flowed through his muscles as he powered up. He let out a roar to match its intensity that signaled he was ready to move past the playful first stage of their sparring match.

Gohan looked quickly at Trunks, smiling at the bewildered look on the older demi’s face as he began to match Vegeta blow-for-blow. Soon the course of their training consumed his attention, though he found himself occasionally casting glances toward the figure on the ground some distance away. What he saw was concerning him.

Far from the looks of awe that had lit up his face a short time ago, Trunks now wore an expression of pained contemplation. Given his behavior at breakfast earlier, Gohan was getting an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach about the time-traveler’s arrival. There could only be a handful of explanations for why Trunks might lie about the reason for his return to this timeline.

These drifting thoughts were jarring Gohan’s concentration. Vegeta seemed to have noticed, too, as he landed a number of significant punches and kicks that Gohan should have blocked with ease. On the sixth such occasion, Vegeta relented in order to speak.

“You’re sloppy today, Gohan,” he said.

“Nah, I just feel bad. It must get boring never being able to hit me,” Gohan responded, waving his hand airily.

“If you want to fight us both so badly you should have asked. I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige,” Vegeta said. To Gohan’s horror he turned to regard the lavender-haired demi sitting on the ground below. “Trunks!” he barked.

“Vegeta, don’t!” Gohan hissed. He knew all the good it would do, but he was desperate.

“Trunks!” he repeated. “Hey, pretty-boy, I’m talking to you! Trunks!” Vegeta continued, more agitated. It yielded the desired result as Trunks came out of his trance, getting to his feet and looking quizzically at his father and Gohan. The latter smiled apologetically; he half-heartedly hoped that this would at least distract the other demi from whatever was troubling him.

“Get up here and help me––” Gohan still thought these words sounded strange in Vegeta’s harsh voice, “––kick the crap out of this brat!” Trunks looked taken aback for a moment. Then he shrugged.

“Alright,” he said. “But I don’t think I’ll be able to keep up with the two of you.”

Again the ground began to shake as a golden aura grew brighter and brighter around Trunks. His hair sprung up in blonde spikes as a circular wind whipped the sand off the ground around him. He was gritting his teeth and completely tensed up; Gohan realized that the older demi was pushing himself to his limits. A raucous scream echoed off the rock faces as Trunks gathered every ounce of his strength.

“Hn. He hasn’t gotten any stronger since he left,” Vegeta said. Gohan merely glared.

Vegeta was right, but he wasn’t going to validate his derision. It was clear that not as much time had passed in Trunks’s timeline as had in theirs. Trunks was still immensely powerful by any measure, moreso than either Goten or the younger Trunks by quite a margin. With a final burst of energy he launched from the ground and was at his father’s side. He was wearing a cocky smile so extraordinarily like the one next to him that it made a muscle twitch in Gohan’s cheek.

“Well,” Gohan said slowly, drawing himself up into an unnaturally straight posture and sticking his nose in the air. “I suppose it’s only fair that I give you the first punch,” he said, looking down at Trunks. He extended his hand in a gesture of “come-get-some”.

His opponents looked sideways at each other and, with a brief nod, vanished. Gohan caught Vegeta with an elbow to the stomach. The elder Saiyan had been trying to grab him from behind. Then the wind was knocked from his lungs as a fist met his stomach and arrogant teal eyes met his stunned dark ones. Gohan seized the opportunity. Trunks crashed to the ground, his head in agony from the brutal blow it had suffered by a genetically-hardened Son skull.

There was no time to celebrate as Gohan spun around to catch a kick from Vegeta, who was throwing a relentless barrage of punches that took quite an effort to block. Not enough effort to distract him from the ki blast quickly approaching from behind him. Smiling at Vegeta, he vanished with a whoosh and a whistle as the Saiyan was blasted by his son’s attack.

“I hope I didn’t give you a headache,” Gohan said thoughtfully. Trunks, whom he was standing behind, made a jerk of surprise. He spun around and made an all-out frontal assault. The expression of cockiness had been replaced by one of fierce determination, which might’ve made Gohan drift off with nostalgia if Vegeta hadn’t been aiming a two-footed torpedo-kick at his head.

Holding off Trunks’s punches with one hand, Gohan reached out and grabbed Vegeta by the ankles, swung him around, and clubbed him into Trunks’s side. Father and son slammed into a cliff a kilometer away. A drop of sweat trailed down Gohan’s forehead and onto his nose. He crossed his eyes to look at it.

“Wow! Guys, look! You made me break a sweat!” he called. “Hey Vegeta, maybe if you can get the rest of your family out here you can actually give me that beating you keep promising!”

Had Gohan not been laughing jovially at his own great humor, he might have observed that they had both been down far too long and were clearly up to something. Unfortunately, this did not occur to him until dozens of ki blasts started issuing from the ground below. He knew as very few of them went for him precisely what attack this was, and watched as they began to hang in mid-air around him. He sighed.

As the balls of energy made their sudden inward movement to blow him up, Gohan disappeared once more, reappearing with a whistle some distance above the explosion.

“Like I’m that slow,” he said with exasperation.

“Just in the head,” Trunks shouted as his foot connected with Gohan’s jaw, sending him flying to the ground.

“Nice hit,” Vegeta said, coming to a mid-air rest a few feet behind his son. “We seem to be getting quite a few of those in on him.”

“Thanks,” Trunks said. He blushed faintly. Praise from his father was a rare treat. He was glad his back was turned.

“That boy is not on top of his game today,” Vegeta went on, thinking aloud. “Maybe it would be better if––” he trailed off for a moment. “Yes,” he said firmly.

Before Trunks even registered the apparently incoherent conversation his father was having with himself, Vegeta was above him, his arms raised high and his hands clamped together in a double fist. He slammed down hard on a stunned Trunks, who hardly had time to react, and smashed into the ground. Vegeta hung in the air, cackling like a maniac.

“That was a cheap shot,” Gohan said. His voice was stern, not angry, but the emotion showed in his face.

“Yes, it killed me to do it but if you’re going to go soft on him then what use is that? He will benefit from a real challenge more than either of us,” Vegeta explained in a low voice. Some things about Vegeta would never change, it seemed.

“You two will fight me now,” Vegeta called so that Trunks could hear as well, ignoring Gohan’s admonishing glare.

“As you wish, my liege,” Gohan growled. Vegeta had the shortest of moments to contemplate whether he’d made a mistake before Gohan was on him.

A punch to the stomach; a kick to the ribs; a knee to the face; a punch to the jaw; Gohan grabbed Vegeta by the ankle and threw him, reeling in pain, far off to the side. Gohan was waiting for him, and kicked him hard, further into the sky. Again, Gohan was waiting for him. He grabbed onto Vegeta’s back and took him into a vertical dive. He flew as fast as he could, far faster than gravity could have pulled him, and at the last possible opportunity let go of his prey. Vegeta blasted into the ground with a deafening crash.

Gohan, unsatisfied, was already several hundred feet above the still-forming Vegeta Crater. He crossed his hands over his forehead and focused his energy to that point.

“Masenko––” the first word was quiet, but the last syllable came out in a mad scream. “––HAAA!”

A short but vast, intense beam of energy shot from his palm as he thrust his hands downward. It was far from enough to kill him, or even cause him serious harm, but Gohan hoped that Vegeta would get the point from the unusually vicious attack. Saiyan or no, getting the crap kicked out of him missed the point of a spar. It didn’t do him – or anyone – any good.

Gohan sighed and lowered himself to the ground, landing beside Trunks. The other demi looked shocked and at a complete loss for what to do. He knew Trunks could sense power levels and thus that his father wasn’t dead, but he was all too aware that it probably looked like harsh treatment. This Trunks had an immense respect for Vegeta and Gohan was suddenly uncomfortable that he might have trodden on the wrong ground.

The mount of rubble began to tremble and was blasted away in an outburst of golden energy. Vegeta, hanging amongst the falling dust and pebbles, eased himself back onto even ground and stood facing Gohan and Trunks. There was blood trailing from his forehead and lip. He looked sour.

“I think we’d better leave it there for today, Vegeta,” Gohan said. He eased his eyes towards the sky and continued, “It’s well past noon already and I’m getting kinda hungry!” As if on demand, his stomach grumbled, and he brought his hand up to absently scratch the back of his head, grinning apologetically.

“Fine,” he spat. “My son needs to stop lazing about the house, anyway.” Gohan’s eyes met Vegeta’s; he hoped his intention of wearing the older Saiyan down didn’t backfire. The only thing worse than a fresh Vegeta was a cranky one. Vegeta merely jerked his head and spit out a bit of blood. “Same time to-morrow, then?” he asked.

“As you please,” Gohan sighed. With that, Vegeta took to the sky and was soon far out of sight.

“It’s like having a child, with him, sometimes,” Gohan said wearily. Nevertheless, he was grinning. Trunks avoided his gaze, instead continuing to stare in the direction his father had disappeared.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?” Gohan replied, puzzled.

“My father ascended to the next level of Super Saiyan yet you completely dominated him. You weren’t even trying the whole time, that was nowhere near your best, and you didn’t even transform. I didn’t think it was possible,” he explained. There remained a hint of that skepticism in his voice.

“Oooh, wow,” Gohan said, scratching his chin. “That’s going to take a long time to explain! Well, the short version is that I don’t need to transform into a Super Saiyan to channel my energy anymore,” he hesitated. He had reservations about telling the rest, but if Trunks was going to be here a while he’d hear it somehow. Gohan still felt he needed more time to think about how to lay it all out. “The long version can wait a while, I want to wash up and get something to eat!”

This time it was Trunks’s stomach that grumbled on prompt. Gohan grinned.

“Well I can’t say no to that,” sighed the lavender-haired demi. Gohan assumed he was talking about his stomach.

“Let’s go get washed up, then,” Gohan shouted over his shoulder as he ran to scoop up his somehow-unharmed duffel bag. He leapt back over to Trunks in one, graceful arc. His face alight with excitement he said, “Come on, I know just the place!”

Before Trunks could even think, Gohan had him by the forearm and he was overcome with a sick, swirling feeling. A short second that felt like a lifetime and his feet slammed hard into the ground. Again, he managed to keep himself standing but he felt distinctly winded, his skin tingling.

“You need to give me a bit more warning when you’re going to do that,” Trunks complained.

“Oh, sorry about that!” Gohan laughed. He was already pulling his shirt over his head.

They were standing on the edge of a vast lake. It sat nestled in a valley almost completely surrounded by mountains, lush greenery growing around much of the shoreline. Across the lake was a grassy slope down to the lakebed, bare except for a single, ancient tree whose broad-leafed canopy cast a vast shadow on the ground below. The water rippled slightly in the breeze and sparkled deep blue under the afternoon sun.

As Gohan tossed his shirt aside onto the bag in which he kept his change of clothes, a thought occurred to him. Trunks didn’t have a change with him – actually, he wasn’t sure if Trunks had brought anything with him from the future. He didn’t generally swim naked, but he also didn’t want his friend to feel uncomfortable doing so. Without a second thought Gohan dropped his pants and boxers, then slid the boots off his ankles.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” he shouted as he gave a great running jump and dove into the center of the lake.

***********************************

A thousand thoughts flitted through Trunks’s head. This was the place. He had just been here. That tree, slightly shorter and less broad, was still unmistakable. The incorrigible sounds of life that filled the trees and hills of the valley beneath Mount Paozu were all too familiar. Gohan, this Gohan, had no idea what he had done in bringing him here. How could he?

It was like every event was shaping itself to make Trunks’s fulfillment of his master’s last request as difficult as possible. He shuddered as a breeze whipped through his hair. He had to pull himself together. If he didn’t maintain his presence of mind in the here and now it would only create more problems for him. He took a deep breath.

Trunks looked around, intending to nonchalantly ask Gohan where they were, and he only caught his jaw mid-drop. Perhaps returning his focus to the here and now wasn’t the best plan. Gohan was running towards the lake, completely naked.

“Last one in’s a rotten egg!” Gohan shouted, jumping 20 feet into the air and diving straight down into the center of the lake.

It was a good thing the other demi-Saiyan was underwater, Trunks thought, or he might have noticed the deep, calming breaths the older boy was now taking. Or worse, the shifting fidgets of his legs. He glanced over to make sure he’d seen right, and all of Gohan’s clothes were indeed shed and piled near his bag. He groaned. Then Gohan surfaced with a splash.

“Whew!” he exclaimed. “The water’s perfect,” he called, slopping water over his head.

Trunks pulled his shirt over his head, taking care to fold it meticulously. Aside from the distraction, it provided him with precious seconds to get himself under control. He silently damned Gohan’s oblivious innocence. He sat on the ground and slowly unlaced his boots. Slipping them off, he stood back up and untied his pants. He stepped out of them, folded them carefully, and took a couple of deep breaths. Stacking his pants on his shirt, beside his boots, he slid his boxers off his hips, kicked them unceremoniously to the side, and ran at the lake. Imitating Gohan he jumped into the air, then dove in feet-first.

Trunks’s body screamed in protest as he plunged into the frigid depths. Maybe he just wasn’t used to bathing in mountain lakes like the Sons, but he had to wonder how Gohan had managed to move in the ice-cold water. He wouldn’t have to worry about any betrayals from his groin, at least. He popped his head back above the surface, his hair sopping wet and clinging to his face, to find Gohan grinning broadly. Damn him.

“You call this perfect?” Trunks said, his teeth chattering.

“No doubt,” Gohan said without breaking his grin.

Trunks wondered if Gohan was still referring to the water temperature. Instead of letting his mind convince itself of what it had wanted Gohan’s words to mean, he began shaking his head vigorously. Huge droplets of water went flying from his hair in all directions, and Gohan disappeared under the water with a playful yelp. Trunks stopped, feeling dizzy. Holding the sides of his head in a vain effort to steady it, he didn’t hear the other demi emerging silently from the water behind him.

Feeling himself dunked underwater by the forceful hand on his head, Trunks’s first instinct was to squeeze his eyes shut – he was afraid of what he might see down there. His second instinct was to mentally mope that his hair was now soaking wet again. It always took so long to dry. The pressure was released, and he kicked back to the surface. Gohan was laughing madly.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Trunks spluttered, his mouth full of water and hair. He knew he wouldn’t be able to make good on the threat now, when Gohan had his guard up, but that was fine. Trunks knew how to wait for vengeance.

“I’ll be waiting,” Gohan laughed, splashing an exasperated Trunks as he tried to wring water out of his hair. “How about that food, then?” Gohan asked cheerily.

“Alright,” Trunks said with an embellished growl. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get out of here before I drown you.”

Before he knew it, Trunks was plunging downward again, the other’s hand planted atop his head. His eyes raked over the bluey-green-tinted chest, stomach, hips… eek! He closed his eyes at once and as quickly as it had come, the hand forcing him down was gone. He shot back to the surface to see Gohan doing a graceful (and revealing) backstroke towards the shore. Blushing furiously, all he could do was grumble under his breath as he swam in the same direction.

Gohan was blasting and evaporating the water from his body with little waves of ki. Trunks tried to do the same, but found his hair kept simply dripping all over him. With a sigh he flipped his head forward and squeezed as much water out of it as possible, then tied it into the best ponytail he could manage. His unruly bangs still curtained his face.

Gohan was now wearing khaki pants, a beige shirt, and a rather hideous yellow sweater-vest. Trunks tried not to snigger, but failed, and had to cover it up with a fake sneeze. His pajamas-turned-training clothes weren’t exactly the pinnacle of fashion this season, but he’d never honestly believed anyone would dress… like that. A flutter of a memory of the morning’s beakfast made him wonder if this was the “costume” his father had referred to.

“Come on, this way,” Gohan said, walking around the edge of the lake. Trunks groaned inwardly. Of course, it was his favorite place in the whole world too. They were the same person to an extent, after all. Trunks followed along silently.

“Here we go,” Gohan said, coming to a stop on the edge of the shade the tree provided from the sun, still high in the sky. “No better place for a picnic!” he assured.

“Is that so?” Trunks asked absently. He was avoiding looking at Gohan again. ‘This is too much,’ he thought to himself, gazing with unfocused eyes towards the mountains beyond the lake.

“Yup!” Gohan affirmed, now resting his head in his palm. “Now, where to get food…” he trailed off for a moment. “No, no, no,” he said slowly to himself. “No, ah – wait! He’s not training so he must be…” Gohan snapped his fingers with a look of triumph and said, “I will be right back, with food!” Trunks felt a slight whooshing of air and a low whistle as Gohan vanished completely.

It felt so strange being here, not just because it was a different time. If he looked over the hill he’d see the house still inhabited and kempt, the road paved, the scene cozy. Even as he sat here the tree beside him looked healthy, the whole world seemed more alive, happier. Or perhaps that was what he perceived as the difference, because in one world he visited this place without Gohan and in the other he visited with him. It was alarming what an effect this simple locale could have on him.

Gohan reppeared as suddenly and in the same fashion as he had disappeared. He was smiling broadly behind a tablecloth he was holding in his teeth. In each hand he balanced a plate stacked high with fat sandwiches. Pressed between his arm and his side was a bottle of what appeared to be red wine. Yet, something wasn’t right, here.

“Gohan, where did you get all this and why is your back smoking?” Trunks asked, as there was indeed a trail of smoke issuing from behind his shoulders.

“Uh-jee-ah,” he managed from behind the tablecloth. “Hel’,” he said, offering the two plates to Trunks, who took them. Gohan set the wine down as he spread the tablecloth wide over the grass. Trunks put the plates down and sat.

The dark-haired demi had other plans, though; looking momentarily stunned he shouted, “Idea!” and again vanished from sight. He reappeared in the same spot moments later, cradling two dozen huge, red apples in his arms and looking the pure embodiment of glee. Trunks, who watched from the corner of his eye in spite of himself, couldn’t help but smile, too.

“You really like that teleporting trick, don’t you?” Trunks asked.

“Of course,” said Gohan, looking up curiously from the apples he was stacking into a neat pyramid. “Every kid’s favorite toy is his newest one!” he said. Trunks chuckled after a moment.

“I guess that’s the sort of analogy I’d expect from someone who has teddy bears on his underwear.”

“At least I don’t wear my hair like a girl,” Gohan remarked as he triumphantly placed the last apple on top. Checkmate.

Trunks pulled a few locks of hair in front of his eyes. “You think so too, huh? Maybe I should cut it,” he said, crestfallen.

“Nah, I was only kidding,” Gohan said, visibly surprised by the sudden change in Trunks’s demeanor. “I think you look better with longer hair. It makes you look older and more, er… warrior-like,” he said, fidgeting a little. Breaking the tension he grabbed an apple and took half of it off in one bit. “And don’t worry, the teddies forgive you,” he said as he looked to select a sandwich.

Trunks picked up a turkey and swiss sandwich on rye as he pondered that. So was that how Gohan viewed him? The sword-wielding Super Saiyan warrior from the future? He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He supposed Gohan had been young and impressionable by figures that seemed larger than life. Trunks had a hard time thinking of himself in such a way.

“Hey are you going to finish that today, or what?” Gohan blurted. Trunks looked up to see him holding a sandwich in each hand, his mouth bulging. “You better eat like you mean it or you’re not going to get any!”

Trunks chuckled. “Master Gohan always used to tell me that if we were going to train like Saiyans, we ought to eat like humans,” he explained, taking another measured bite. Gohan nodded.

“My mother’s words, almost exactly,” he said. “I used to live by them, too, until Goten came along. I’d have starved to death long ago if I didn’t get used to eating like this,” Gohan explained before swallowing another sandwich whole.

“Goten?” Trunks said, bemused; that was twice he’d heard about this person now. Gohan slapped his palm to his forehead.

“Of course! Goten is my little brother––” Trunks gasped as Gohan went on, “––who was born shortly after you left, after the Cell games. He’s about a year younger than you, in this timeline. Looks a lot like Dad. Eats like him, too,” he said, rubbing his chin as he thought of his family.

The change in dynamic stunned Trunks into silence; Gohan had a real brother. The small alterations to history in this timeline were already sending ripples that would go on forever through the fabric of time. It was unnerving to have exerted that kind of influence almost unwittingly.

They went on eating, Trunks a bit more hastily, and passing back and forth the bottle of wine for some time. Trunks wondered just how much else had changed. When the food was gone he was ready with a barrage of questions, but Gohan seemed to think it was his turn now. They both laid back, their arms folded behind their heads and stared at the spots of blue sky visible between the gaps in the tree’s branches.

“So what happened?” he asked abruptly, catching Trunks off-guard. “When you returned,” Gohan clarified. “We were worried when we didn’t hear from you again.” Trunks felt a wave of guilt overcome him.

“I did it,” he said simply. “I killed them both. Quickly. I destroyed Gero’s lab, and when Cell came a few months later, I killed him,” he said, unable and not really wanting to keep the hatred out of his voice. “With both timelines safe I didn’t want to risk intermingling them again. I kept the time machine safe at my side where it could be protected and intended to never use it again,” he went on. The bitterness in his voice was almost tangible, heating the air.

“But you did,” Gohan said gently. “Why?”

“I already told you all, I don’t know why.” Trunks gulped. His throat was tightening and urging him. “It wasn’t my choice,” he croaked.

“Ah,” said Gohan. “Then, do you have any theories on why or how you fell from the sky over Capsule Corp. this morning?” he asked. There was no pressure in his voice. Trunks damned the younger demi’s compassion and his insight.

“Several.”

“Do you want to talk about them?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.

Trunks felt horrible for being so terse. Gohan was the one person here he wanted to open up to most and also the one person that he could never allow himself to open up to. There was too much potential to cause confusion for the both of them, and while he knew his own life couldn’t get much more destroyed, Trunks wanted to spare that of Gohan.

“Trunks?” Gohan prompted suddenly, rolling onto his stomach to look into those radiant azure eyes. “Does it have anything to do with why you’ve refused to look at me all day?” he asked, not waiting for an acknowledgment. Trunks’s blood went cold. Of course he’d have noticed.

“I, uh…” Trunks stammered. Words failed him. He cast around for the right words, but as none came, Gohan spoke again.

“It’s okay Trunks, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it was just bothering me,” Gohan said quickly to diffuse the sudden tension.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just that, well, you look,” Trunks paused and took a deep breath. He sounded like an idiot. “You just remind me of him. My master, Gohan. You look and act a lot alike. No surprise there, I guess,” Trunks said and he gave a feeble laugh. Gohan didn’t smile.

Trunks sighed and went on, “He meant a lot to me. He was my father, my brother, my best friend, my mentor. He was everything to me, and he gave everything for me. Killing the androids and Cell didn’t bring me any kind of closure, and when I see you it’s a reminder of all that I lost.” Trunks had said more than he meant to, but the feelings bubbled so close to the surface that they flowed easily from his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Gohan said. “For bombarding you with all of this. I didn’t mean it to be some kind of interrogation, you just look like you’ve got a lot on your mind and it doesn’t do to keep too many secrets. Just thought you might need to talk.”

“Thanks, Gohan. Maybe I’ll take you up on that when I’m not so confused myself,” Trunks said.

“Oh, speaking of that, I promised you a lengthy story, didn’t I?” Gohan asked, his chin in his hands. Trunks nodded, though he still didn’t make eye contact.

“Well,” Gohan began, “I guess it all started about a month ago, now, at the 31st World Martial Arts Tournament. Dad was resurrected for a day…”

***********************************

“…Now all that’s left of him his Good Buu, who most of us just call Buu. He lives with Videl’s dad, Mr. Satan, in hiding for now. Dad promised that when a year has passed and we can use the Dragonballs again we’re going to erase all memory of the whole incident so that he can live here in peace.

“So that’s the story! All in such a short span of time, too, it’s almost hard to fathom – and I was there!” Gohan said. His voice was getting hoarse but he was still full of energy. “So, any questions?”

“Mr. Satan? Really?”

“Yeah, if you can believe it!” Gohan chuckled. “He turned out alright in the end, really, helping Dad and Vegeta, pacifying Buu. He even gave his blessing for me to marry Videl,” Gohan said cheerily, scratching the back of his head without realizing what he was doing. Several long moments of silence passed.

He looked down at Trunks, who was just laying back, frowning slightly, too taken aback to express any serious thought. Gohan had warned him that it was a long story, hadn’t he? He shifted uncomfortably. This was Bulma’s son, he hoped he wasn’t thinking of exactly what Gohan was afraid he was thinking.

“Why did you say Babidi came to Earth again?” Trunks asked. Yep, that’s what he was thinking.

“To resurrect Majin Buu,” Gohan said nervously.

“But you said Majin Buu was sealed away and hidden,” Trunks said. Gohan could’ve punched himself.

“Did I?” he said evasively.

“He was hidden on Earth, wasn’t he?” Trunks asked quietly.

“I – uh, yes,” Gohan conceded. “Yes, Bibidi had placed the sealed Majin Buu on Earth before the Supreme Kai killed him. Supreme Kai hid it deep underground, near the planet’s core, hoping it would be safe.”

“But it wasn’t,” Trunks said, his voice straining. “And this happened …”

“Millions of years ago,” Gohan finished his sentence for him with a sigh. He knew the conclusion Trunks had reached. The lavender-haired demi got up and began pacing.

“Well, my mother’s intentions aside, at least now I know the real purpose of this little encore tour of mine,” Trunks said savagely. “No good deed goes unpunished!” Gohan stood up, alarmed by his friend’s anger.

“Trunks, calm down,” Gohan said, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders and forcing eye contact. If he was going to remind Trunks of his old master, he could at least exploit it for his own good.

“That’s very easy for you to say, Gohan! You don’t have to live with the guilt of not being there to protect them, of maybe never knowing what became of your world,” he lashed out. “And it’s all because of some stupid, nearsighted …” he trailed off into incoherent grumbling for a moment.

“Listen to me, they need an enormous amount of energy to resurrect Majin Buu. As the strongest person by far on Earth in your timeline, you were in danger and endangering the entire Earth without even knowing it. And if Majin Buu was somehow resurrected, you would have simply been killed, along with everyone on Earth,” Gohan said. His voice was honest and gentle but authoritative.

“This is not your fault, any of it. You won’t get anywhere blaming yourself for anything that has happened or might. Now, there’s only one way you’re getting back there, right?” Gohan asked.

“The time machine, yes,” Trunks said, looking at his feet.

“On which you can set the precise date and time you wish to arrive, no?”

“That’s right.”

“Then relax; it can be set to return to the very day you left, if necessary. We’ll figure out a plan. You saved this world, Trunks, and we’re not going to let yours burn,” Gohan reassured him. He took his hands off of Trunks’s shoulders and looked up. The sun was getting pretty low in the sky, he’d need to head home very soon.

Gohan watched as Trunks paced some more, then retreated towards the tree. He sat at the base of the trunk, his knees pulled to his chest as he watched the small ripples across the darkening lake. He was repressing so much, Gohan was sure, and must be in agony. He’d gleaned that Bulma had sent him against his will back to this timeline, apparently without a reason, and that struck him as very odd. As he watched the expressionless, unblinking face, he couldn’t help himself.

“Will you be alright, Trunks?” Gohan asked.

“Fine,” he said flatly. Gohan wished he wouldn’t do that.

“Alright, well, I’ve got to head back to the house or my mother will murder me. I’d invite you for dinner, but, well, it’s not the most comfortable and relaxing event – especially when Videl is over,” Gohan rushed. He felt horrible. “Why don’t you head back to Capsule and you and Bulma can look over the time machine?” he suggested.

Trunks didn’t respond. He simply continued to stare ahead, hardly blinking, not a muscle twitching. Gohan, defeated, began climbing the hill back to the Son home.

“Good-night, Trunks,” he said sadly.

“Do you mind?” Trunks asked, and Gohan turned around, letting silence convey that he did not understand. “If I just stay here, by the lake, for a while? It’s nice here,” he said. His voice was dreamy, distant, and calm. Gohan grew more worried.

“Sure thing. If you need anything, well, you know where the house is. Anything, Trunks,” Gohan said, and he began to turn back towards the house.

“Thanks a lot, Gohan.”

“Any time.”

As he reached the top of the hill, Gohan turned and looked back at the unmoving figure whose side was just barely visible at the base of that lush old oak. He heaved a sigh and headed for the house. Before he found out about Trunks’s arrival that morning, Gohan had been looking forward to dinner tonight and hearing about Videl’s most recent plans for what he was told would be the happiest day of their lives. But now he wondered how he would focus on that considering everything he and the time traveler had just been discussing.

He had his father back, and so did Goten. He was going to university and getting married, his mother’s greatest dreams fulfilled. Yet all Gohan could think about was the lavender-haired demi-Saiyan curled up beside the lake.

[ End-notes: Okay, I know what you’re thinking, and yes. That was a little bit longer than the first one. I took the most common complaint and I tossed it out the bloody window! Sorry! I tried to listen to every other criticism, so please by all means leave me a lot more if you hate something or other.


Many many many many huge thanks to Veronica for all her help with this one. There were certain scenes that I just hated and she really bounced me along. Always a source of ideas and inspiration. Oh, and she even beta-read. Seriously, how cool is that? ]