Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edible

“Papa, lookit!”

Vegeta grunted and looked up from his breakfast. His eyebrows rose when he found his daughter standing on the tiled kitchen floor wearing what could best be described as a bright red pillow.

Bra beamed at him. Vegeta would go to his grave before admitting how his heart melted each time she did.

“I’m a staw-bee!” she announced proudly.

Ah, so that’s what it was. A strawberry. Vegeta finished his last mouthful of food before leaning down, offering his arm to her. Bra waddled over in her cumbersome costume and he scooped her up into his lap for better inspection.

“Why are you a fruit?” he asked her, getting to the heart of the matter.

Bra grinned. “Papa, it’s Halloween!”

Right, that Earth festivity where children dressed up and demanded sweets from strangers. A perplexing custom, but bold.

“Why a strawberry?” he insisted. Why not something with a little more bite? Of course, he had his suspicions. This had Bulma written all over it.

“Mommy likes staw-bees,” Bra explained.

Bingo.

Vegeta’s mouth thinned. “That she does,” he agreed. “What’s your brother dressing as?”

“Tunks is with Goten. He’s a big boy, he says — he says he’s too old.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed. That lazy good-for-nothing son of his was hanging out with Kakarot’s pup instead of his sister on a holiday? Clearly the boy was overdue having some sense beaten into him.

“Hn.”

“Papa?”

“What?”

“Do you like staw-bees?” Bra asked, kicking her soft, pudgy feet into his stomach.

He allowed himself a rare smile and grabbed her ankles with one hand, lifting her up to dangle before him like a fish on a line. She squealed in delight.

“I do. In fact, this strawberry looks especially tasty, and ready to eat,” he growled.

Bra twisted in his clutches, her arms flapping helplessly. “No, Papa! I’m not for eatin’!”

“No?”

“No!”

“No one says no to a prince!” Vegeta countered, leaning in with a wicked smirk. “You had better run, or I’m going to gobble you up.”

Bra screamed excitedly as Vegeta set her down, her stubby legs carrying her off into the living room. He gave her a generous head start before prowling after. Entering the room, Vegeta could see half of a bulbous strawberry peeking out from behind the couch.

“I smell something edible,” he growled, pretending to look around the room. It was important to build up a pup’s self confidence after all. 

A muffled giggle echoed from behind the furniture. 

Vegeta started exploring the hiding spaces of the living room, peeking into the coat closet, under the coffee table, and behind the curtains, pretending to grow more frustrated each time he found nothing. There was another giggle behind him, and the pitta-pat of tiny feet as Bra relocated. Clever girl; he had gotten too close to her position. 

Sadly, her stealth needed some work. Time to teach her a lesson.

“What’s that I hear?”

“Nothing, Papa!” Bra squealed and charged off. 

He dashed after her, capturing her in a heartbeat, tumbling them to the floor with her safely held in his arms.

“Gotchya!” he said, playfully biting at her fat little legs that stuck out from her costume. Bra’s shrieks of glee echoed through the house. 

“Papa noooo!” she begged through fits of laughter. “Mommy, mommy, helpit!”

“You think that Earth woman can save you?”

“Aun-nee 18!” Bra begged.

Aunty 18?

Vegeta looked up, and all the blood drained from his face. Horrified, he discovered Android 18 and Marron standing in the doorway. They stared back, just as surprised to see him on the ground nibbling at his daughter’s thighs. 

“…Marron, where’s your camera?” 18 asked flatly. “Your father will never believe me.”

Vegeta stood up so fast it made instant transmission obsolete, righting Bra to her feet at the same time. Heat rose to his cheeks.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he snapped.

18 smirked. “Bulma and I are taking the girls to a Halloween party.”

“Oh, you’re here!” Bulma said, walking into the room with a big bag of candy. 

“Mommy!” Bra yelled, running over to Bulma. “Papa says he likes staw-bees too and— and den he tried to eat me!”

“Did he now?” Bulma asked, glancing at Vegeta with an amused expression.

He crossed his arms, looking away with a huff. Even the tips of his ears were burning.

“You didn’t use ki shots in the house, did you?” Bulma asked her daughter sternly. 

“Nuh-uh!” Bra protested.

“Okay, good girl. Well, we can deal with your father later,” Bulma said, straightening Bra’s costume. “We have to get going or we’re going to be late for the party.”

“Meet you in the car,” 18 drawled, giving Vegeta a last smirk before shepherding her daughter outside. 

Vegeta’s eyes slid to Bulma and narrowed, his gaze accusing, blaming her for having been caught in a vulnerable moment. “I expect recompense,” he snipped at her.

Bulma took Bra in one hand, meeting his gaze as she walked past him for the door. “I’m sure I can offer you something tastier than a strawberry to sink your teeth into.”

Vegeta’s eyes tracked her, admiring the sway of her hips despite his annoyance. He didn’t doubt her offer.

Bulma grabbed her keys and purse, then turned to Bra. “Alright honey, say bye-bye to Papa.”

Bra hurried over and leapt up. Vegeta caught her mid air and pulled her in for a hug.

“Bye, Papa!” she gushed, placing her tiny hands on his cheeks and leaning in to give a wet kiss.

He grimaced but bore it well. “Don’t think you can escape me so easily next time,” he warned, putting her back down. She started waddling off. 

“Echalotte?” he called.

She stopped and turned. “Yes, Papa?”

“Aren ilgnen kalor,” he told her.

Bra grinned. “I know, Papa!” She cupped her hands together in a clumsy attempt at a heart.

Outwardly, Vegeta maintained perfect stoicism, but inwardly, his chest constricted in a way that made his past deaths feel like child’s play. It was a pain he would bear endlessly for her.

Bra toddled after her mother — who was giving him a keen look that he refused to acknowledge — before exiting the house to start their day. His superior hearing picked up Bulma asking Bra, “What did Papa say to you, honey?”

“It’s Saiyan, Mommy.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

“You-are-my-heart!” Bra sing-songed.

“I see.”

Vegeta tracked their ki signatures until he could no longer distinguish them from all the other people in the city. He turned and went to the GR to begin his training for the day.

~xoXox~

AN: Beta-read by the illustrious Artephile / Marcella-Duchamp.

I had a hell of a week and needed a bit of fluff. Some belated Halloween gushiness for you all ^_^ 

I kind of head-canon that Saiyans didn’t really say ‘I love you’ even in their own language, but probably had phrases that were equivalent (if more literal). Since the heart is such an important organ for life, calling someone ‘your heart’ would have been a huge honor in Saiyan culture… Or so Vegeta tried to convince Bulma later on when she called him a sap, and he got butt-hurt about it XD

And yes, I’m still 100% committed to making ‘Echalotte’ be a thing!

Chapter Text

Vegeta stood under the warm spray of the shower and relished the peace and solitude. His body — thrumming from a hard day’s training — melted under the hot respite the water provided. Soon though his stomach growled for sustenance, so he turned off the faucet and stepped out of the shower to—

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed, nearly falling over in his attempt not to step into his daughter standing on the bathroom mat. If his heart wasn’t thundering a hundred miles per hour, Vegeta might have been proud that her stealth skills had improved. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded, quickly snatching the nearest towel and covering himself up.

Bra was indifferent to his nakedness and his surprise. She beamed, her arms hiding something behind her back. “Mommy told me to wait, but I couldn’t wait, Papa.”

“Couldn’t wait for what?” he asked, adjusting the towel about his waist.

“This!” she proclaimed and produced a string of dried, brightly colored pasta as if presenting him with her first kill. 

Vegeta looked at it dubiously. “…What is it?”

Bra giggled. “It’s ma-ga-no-nee.”

Vegeta’s eyes narrowed, steeling himself against a smile. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh!” she gushed. “I made it for you, Papa.”

Vegeta knelt down in front of his little girl and took the string of dried starch into his hand. He thumbed over the macaroni pieces with growing confusion. Wasn’t pasta, when ‘made’, supposed to be cooked? Still, Bra looked so damn proud of herself that he wasn’t about to shatter her tiny heart with criticism. Cupping the back of her head, he kissed her fluffy blue hair.

“Thank you, Princess.”

Bra threw her chubby arms about his neck and hugged him. “I love you, Papa.”

His throat grew tight. Likely due to the lingering humidity from the shower and not from her sweet endearment.

“C’mon, let’s get to dinner,” he said gruffly.

Quickly dressing, he took Bra’s hand and hoisted her up, dangling and swinging her about in the air to her delighted squeals as they made their way into the kitchen.

Bulma and Trunks looked up from the kitchen island, his wife letting out an exasperated sigh. “Bra, I thought I told you not to bother your father?”

“I’m not a bother, Mommy!” Bra protested, hanging upside down from Vegeta’s forearm.

“You are too,” Trunks countered.

“Am not!” Bra replied hotly.

The boy leaned over the counter to give his sister a wicked grin. “You pack the biggest bother-to-size ratio of anyone I’ve met.”

“I AM NOT A RA-SHEE-O!” Bra screamed.

Vegeta winced and deposited Bra onto a stool. “No squabbling,” he snapped at them. Their mouths shut, but Trunks and Bra remained locked in a deadly eye-staring match.

Warm hands touched his sore shoulders, kneading them to his immense gratification. “Sorry, I didn’t notice she had snuck off,” Bulma whispered softly in his ear.

He grunted in response. That reminded him: Bra’s gift which he still carried in his left hand. Looking at the string of macaroni, he raised it to his mouth and took a teeth-jarring bite.

The flavor was about as pleasant as dry stale pasta could be, but he had eaten worse things in his life. As Vegeta attempted to palate the mouthful, he became aware of three sets of matching blue eyes staring at him in various states of surprise.

Great, what Earth custom had he fucked up now?

Trunks was the first to break, bursting out into laughter and then immediately slapping a hand over his mouth before he was murdered on the spot. Bra was staring at him with big eyes, her face slack in shock. A sigh left Bulma, though whether she was amused or beleaguered he couldn’t say. 

“You’re supposed to wear it, not eat it,” his wife informed him.

Oh.

Well, shit.

Vegeta looked down at the ‘necklace’ he had bitten into, and then back at its maker. Bra’s eyes shone, appearing on the verge of tears.

Double Shit.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to fix this. Where was fucking Whis when you needed that time-reversing bastard? 

“He ate it…” Bra whispered to herself, so softly that he barely heard. Her eyes grew impossibly wide. Just when Vegeta expected her to bawl, Bra turned to her brother excitedly and exclaimed, “Papa ated my ma-ga-no-nee! No one elses’ Papas ated their ma-ga-no-nee.”

Trunks’ eyes softened, and he gave his baby sister an indulgent smile and pat her head. “Yep, I can absolutely guarantee that’s true.”

Vegeta shot his son a warning glare. Trunks did his best to ignore it.

Oblivious to this exchange, Bra’s face spilt into a beauteous smile and looked at him. “Is it that good, Papa?”

The soggy fragments of uncooked pasta still rolled about in his mouth. “It’s a snack befitting Saiyan royalty,” Vegeta declared flatly. It wasn’t a lie if he — a prince — was actually eating it, right?

Bra clapped her hands and bounced in her seat, elated by her father’s approval. “I’ll make you lots of ma-ga-no-nee. Lots and lots and lots until you’re super super strong.”

Kill me…

“I’m already super super strong, Echalotte.”

Bra giggled. “I know, Papa. You’re the strongest in the whoooole galaxy! Mommy told me.”

Vegeta’s eyes darted over to his wife, catching her smile before she turned to serve them dinner. He gave the pasta a final chew and swallowed, and decided that it wasn’t so bad after all. 

“Well, your mother is the smartest person I know, so she must be right.”

“Oh, please,” Trunks groaned, rolling his eyes and making a gagging sound. 

“Don’t tempt me, boy,” Vegeta growled.

Trunks quickly hid behind a forkful of food, shoveling his mouth full before he could put his foot in it again. As the children started to eat, Bulma came up and rescued the macaroni necklace from his grip.

“Allow me,” she said, and tied the two ends of the string about his neck. 

After dinner, Trunks went to visit the Sons while Bulma, Vegeta, and Bra curled up to watch some television. Bra sat in her father’s lap, her little fist curled about his necklace as she started to fall asleep.

“She adores you, you know,” Bulma whispered, reaching over to brush back her daughter’s messy hair.

Vegeta grunted. The feeling was mutual. 

“Could make a woman jealous,” Bulma added, giving him a sly smile. 

Vegeta smirked back at her. “Unfortunately, I don’t come cheap. Just look at this fine edible adornment I was given.”

Bulma leaned in, pretending to admire it. “It is exceptional. But lucky for me, I’m disgustingly rich. What’ll it cost me?” 

Vegeta’s mouth thinned. “A way to get out of eating a million macaroni necklaces.”

Bulma laughed. “You’re on your own there, bud.”

“Traitor.”

“Yep.”

~xox~

AN: I couldn’t help myself. Vegeta and his little princess are just too cute.

Chapter Text

-3-

“Papa, potty!”

It was becoming a familiar greeting for Vegeta when he returned from training. His wife was sat at the kitchen counter, one eye on her work laptop, the other on dinner. Next to her, Bra was doodling with crayons, but she abandoned them the moment Vegeta entered the room. Her face lit up, and little chubby hands raised towards him in expectation of being picked up. 

“Again?” he asked, casting his wife a disgruntled look. “What do you do all day, hook her up to the faucet?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Bulma replied, glancing at him over her laptop screen. “I tried to take her potty fifteen minutes ago, but she refused. She’s as stubborn as you are.”

Vegeta huffed, not needing to voice who he thought the more stubborn one was. He scooped Bra into his arms and carried her off to the bathroom. 

“Papa, you smell,” Bra complained, her little nose crinkling.

“That’s what happens when you don’t let me shower first.”

They arrived at the nearest bathroom, the one with the little pink plastic child’s toilet that Vegeta thought was ridiculous, but Bulma insisted was a necessary tool. He wanted to complain that Saiyan pups didn’t need such molly-coddling devices, but then again, he had no experience in the matter. Since Bulma raised Trunks mostly on her own, and — as she so often liked to point out — had read extensively on child-rearing, Vegeta was forced to defer to her expertise. 

He set Bra down and crossed his arms. “Do you need any help?” he asked gruffly.

“Nuh-uh,” she enthused, and with clumsy determination pulled down her pants and wiggled her way onto the pink potty. The little tinkle of water filled the silence.

Once finished, Vegeta helped lift his daughter to sink-level so that she could wash her hands.

“Did I do good, Papa?” she asked, looking up at him with hopeful blue eyes.

He ran his hand over her hair. “Yes, princess.”

Bra beamed and pressed her face into his chest, demanding to be carried back to the kitchen. 

The next day was much the same, and the day after. Bulma offered to take Bra in his place, but their daughter puffed out her cheeks and replied shrilly, “No, I want PAPA!”

With a beleaguered sigh, he complied. 

The following evening as he made his way towards the kitchen, Vegeta felt something… off. Both his wife and daughter’s ki was elevated. Alarmed, he dashed into the living space. Bulma was standing in the middle of the room at a loss, watching as their daughter sobbed, crouched down, face to the wall. Bra only did that when she was really upset. The broken cries she muffled against the wall were that of a child whose whole tiny world had ended and nothing could ever make it right again.

It tore his heart into shreds.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

Bulma sighed. “I told her that you couldn’t take her potty, and she threw a fit.”

“Why did you tell her that?”

“Because she’s been holding on all day, waiting for you. That’s not healthy, Vegeta. She needs to learn to go without you holding her hand.”

Bra’s crying continued, and Vegeta headed over and put his hand on her heaving back. “Echalotte.”

“Pa…pa…” she sobbed, and turned around to bury her face in his neck. “Mo-mmy s-said—”

“I know,” he replied, pulling her into his arms and carrying her off to the bathroom before she had an accident. After that was taken care of, Vegeta lay Bra down, the poor thing so exhausted from crying that she had fallen asleep on her plastic toilet.

Back in the kitchen, Bulma was reading something on her laptop, her brow furrowed. Vegeta knew that look of concentration, it meant she had something to say and that he probably wasn’t going to like it.

“Potty-training was your idea,” he said, not keen to be blamed for Bra’s meltdown.

But she didn’t come at him with accusations. Instead, Bulma spun the laptop around and pointed at the screen. “I know. And I think I have the answer: it’s a matter of positive reinforcement,” she said in that tone which meant something was very obvious — if you were a genius. As much as Vegeta liked to pride himself on his intelligence and strategic thinking, he knew that genius-levels of intellect were slightly out of his reach.

“What?”

“Bra’s behavior,” Bulma explained. “That’s what it says here. You know how you reward her for going potty? I think you need to do something else with her to positively reinforce her.”

“Positively… reinforce?” Vegeta repeated slowly, as if saying the words would help him understand their meaning.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Oh my god. It means be nice to her, encourage her. She’s desperate for your approval.”

Vegeta scowled, taking the words to heart. Was he failing his daughter? The notion was a bitter pill to swallow. He had been so distant for Trunks’ early childhood, he didn’t care to repeat those same mistakes again.

“Hey.” Bulma’s hand touched his arm, and she gave him a soft smile. “You’re a good father, Vegeta. We just need to find a better way for you and her to bond that won’t result in a urinary infection.”

His frown turned contemplative as he considered his options. “I have an idea.”

~xox~

“Again.”

Bra scowled in concentration as she struck Vegeta’s palm with a chubby fist. They were in the gravity room (with the gravity turned off, mind you, but it was the principal of the matter that they practice in the appropriate setting). Vegeta had bargained with his daughter to train her for an hour each day if she promised to go potty with her mother when she needed to. Bra had been ecstatic.

“Good,” Vegeta said as her fist connected nicely. “Remember, visualize your hand going through mine.”

“What’s viz-ju-lies?”

“It means imagine.”

“Oh.” Bra narrowed her eyes at his palm, but hesitated. “I won’t hurt you?” she asked nervously.

Vegeta reached out and adjusted the positioning of her thumb. “No, princess. Who’s the strongest in the universe?”

She perked up. “You are!”

He smiled. “Exactly. So don’t hold back.”

“Okay, Papa.” Her little face scrunched in fierce determination. Vegeta held up his palm, and Bra cried out and punched. “Ha!”

“Good. Again.”

“Ha!”

“Again.”

“Haaa!”

“More! Your brother just stole your dessert. How do you feel?”

“AAAAAAAAAGHHHH!”

The smirk of satisfaction he gave was sinister.

~xox~

“-And then - and then I helpit Papa with his push-ups!” Bra announced proudly as she came back from the bathroom hand-in-hand with Bulma.

“Wow, Papa’s really lucky to have your help,” Bulma told her.

“Uh-huh! I sat on his back and yelled, AGAIN, AGAIN. And then he said roth gaer!” Bra said, making her voice deep and gravelly to mimic her father’s tone as she repeated the Saiyan curse.

Crap. The girl had good ears, and a good memory.

Bulma shot Vegeta a suspicious look. “Did he really? That sounds an awful lot like something a little princess shouldn’t be saying.”

“She must have misheard me,” Vegeta lied, and stuffed his mouth with dinner to avoid further questioning. 

“Mm-hmm,” Bulma said, not buying it, but she spared him the talk about swearing around the children. There was a tug on his leg, and Bra climbed awkwardly up to sit in his lap instead of her own chair. Vegeta allowed it. 

“Where’s the boy?” he asked as Bulma busied getting her own plate of food.

“Where do you think?”

At Kakarot’s, of course. Trunks and Goten were near-inseparable. 

“Mommy?” Bra asked, peeking out from around her father’s arm. “Can I have a suit like Papa’s?”

Vegeta paused mid-bite, looking down at his daughter, then up at Bulma. The question blindsided him. Bra wanted Saiyan battle armor? 

Something hot swelled in his chest, filling him with a warm and almost suffocating sensation: pride.

Bulma gave both of them a knowing smile. “Hm, let’s see. If you eat all your vegetables, I’ll think about it.”

Bra squealed in delight and reached for a potato on his plate.

“Hey,” he chastised, knocking the spud from her hand and replacing it with a fork. “This is not the Son household. We are not animals.” 

Bra did her best, although she had to use her left hand to put food on her fork, something which Vegeta pretended not to see. Together they wolfed down his meal and two more plates which Bulma was kind enough to serve. It didn’t escape his notice that Bra ate the same things he did, mimicking him even when he drank. She let out a satisfied little ‘ah’ when she finished gulping down her water.

An affectionate smile formed on his lips before he could stop it, which he hid by pressing his mouth to the top of her soft hair. “Good. It’s important to take care of your body if you want to be strong.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what Tunks says too.”

Did he? So the boy hadn’t forgotten everything, that was good to know.

“Mommy, I’m done. Can I have a super duper suit now?”

Vegeta’s cheek twitched, feeling the ghosts of his ancestors turning in their nonexistent graves. Bulma barely held back a laugh. “Well, did you eat all your vegetables?”

“Yes, mommy!”

Several spoonfuls of peas on the floor would disagree with her, but Vegeta nudged them out of sight with the toe of his boot. If Bulma noticed, she said nothing.

“Okay then. Let’s get you measured.”

Bra shrieked happily, and inadvertently kicked and elbowed every sensitive part of Vegeta she could as she clumsily climbed down him. Once situated on her feet, she glanced back up for one final question.

“I did good today, right Papa?”

He reached out and stroked her hair. “Yes, Echalotte. You made me very proud.”

Her face split into her brightest smile yet, and then off she ran towards Bulma’s lab, singing some made-up song about being super duper. Bulma came over and bestowed him with a soft kiss. 

“She’s going to grow up to break hearts, and now bones.”

“Hn,” he agreed, though not in the way Bulma might have imagined. The only broken heart he feared was his own, the day Bra no longer looked to him for his approval.

~xoXox~

AN: I swear I never intended this to be more than a one-shot, but cute ideas keep cropping up.

Chapter Text

-4-

Vegeta stared down at the beautiful woman he — by some stroke of luck — called his wife. Bulma lay sprawled beneath him. The soft glow of morning highlighted the rise and fall of her chest, flushed cheeks, and matted hair. ‘Thoroughly fucked’ was one of his favorite looks on her.

The column of her throat beckoned. He leaned in to kiss it while contemplating an encore. 

“Mmm,” she sighed sleepily.

Ah, he knew that tone. She was exhausted, even now her breathing was evening out. What time had she come to bed? He couldn’t recall, having fallen asleep waiting up for her. 

Damn. Perhaps waking her up so early for this wasn’t the best of ideas.

He gently pushed off. She made a half-hearted sound of protest as he wiped her clean, but was half-way asleep by the time he tucked her in under the blankets. With a final kiss to her brow, Vegeta pried himself away, ignoring the instinct to stay and watch over his mate.

He headed for the spare bathroom by the kids’ rooms so as not to disturb Bulma’s sleep while he cleaned up. Along the way, hushed voices caught his attention. He slowed to a halt.

Trunks and Bra were coming down the opposite end of the corridor, the older boy bent to whisper in his little sister’s ear. “—just remember, don’t tell Dad or—”

“Don’t tell me what?”

Trunks froze, the color draining from his face. 

“Papa!” His daughter’s face lit up and she came dashing towards him. “I’m BLEEDING!”

What?! For a sickening moment, Vegeta couldn’t breathe.

“Bra, you snitch.” Trunks slapped a hand over his face with a groan. 

Bra came to a halt by his boots and raised her skirt to show off her bleeding knee. A tiny wound. But the impression it left was huge. Vegeta scooped her up before laying murderous eyes on his son, the same glare he had leveled enemies with. “Boy, you have five seconds to explain yourself before I send you to the afterlife.”

“Dad, c’mon. We were playing outside and she tripped. No big deal, I swear.”

“Tunks says I might get a scar like you, Papa!” Bra announced excitedly.

“Bra!” Trunks hissed with desperation, begging her to stop making the situation worse.

Vegeta tightened his fingers over his daughter. “Oh, he better hope you don’t. Trunks, go make breakfast. Your mother worked late last night, so you’d best be quiet. I’ll deal with your lack of common sense regarding the care of your sister later.”

Trunks made a sour face but dragged himself off to the kitchen without further protest. Vegeta shifted Bra’s weight in his arms, brushing back her fly-away hair. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

“Okay.”

He carried her to the bathroom and set her on the sink. “Is this the only place you’re hurt?” he asked, looking at the graze on her knee. It was already scabbing over. Thank you Saiyan genes. 

“Uh-huh.”

Such a wound for a Saiyan was inconsequential, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with his little girl. He cleaned the wound and dug around in the cabinet, pulling out a box of all-purpose band-aids. 

“Nuh-uh, not dose ones. I wannit the ones with the staw-bees!”

Vegeta sighed and kept searching.

“Papa?”

“Hn?”

“You have lotsa scars.”

Glancing down, he saw Bra scrutinizing his torso. It was the same look Bulma gave when puzzling out a malfunctioning invention.

“Did you fall down too?” his daughter inquired.

If anyone else accused him of tripping over, Vegeta would have ended them. Permanently. But Bra’s world-view was small and innocent. She meant no insult, and she certainly couldn’t comprehend the suffering or horror that he had endured and inflicted to earn his scars. Like hell he was going to ruin that innocence just yet. 

“…Something like that.”

“Oh… You’re really clumsy, Papa.”

His cheek twitched. Thankfully Bulma wasn’t around to hear that one; he never would have lived it down. 

“So it would seem. But what’s important is that I picked myself up again. Every time.”

Her little brow furrowed with contemplation. “You didn’t cry?”

A few unpleasant memories resurfaced. “…Only when it really mattered.”

She fell silent, and he resumed his search for the bandaids.

Ah. Finally. A box of bandaids with cartoon strawberries smiling obscenely at him was tucked away in the far back corner. Someone really needed to organize this cabinet better. Vegeta dug it out and peeled open a plaster, smoothing it over his daughter’s knee.

“How’s that?”

Bra lifted her leg to examine his handiwork. “It’s crooked.”

“Then fall more symmetrically next time.”

She laughed, her whole face lighting up. At least someone got his sense of humor. The sound was infectious, wriggling under his skin and easing the tension in his body he wasn’t aware he carried. 

Despite himself, he smiled back. “Alright, Princess. Let’s go check on your brother.”

“Okay.” She made grabby hands, and Vegeta picked her up. As they walked towards the kitchen, her chubby fingers traced a scar on his shoulder.

“Papa, did your Papa help fixit your hurts too?”

His mouth thinned. His father? Now that was an old wound. Time had mostly healed it over but it still stung when dug at. “No, he didn’t.”

Couldn’t.

Or wouldn’t.

A side-glance found Bra watching him with big blue eyes. He stopped his thoughts before they ruined the morning. 

“What do you think Mommy would like for breakfast?”

Bra gasped and bounced in his arms, excited to know the answer. “Staw-bee pancakes!”

Vegeta smiled and carried her off to the kitchen as she chanted the words over and over.

~xox~

Bra wasn’t watching where she put her spoon. It missed her mouth, smearing mashed sweet potato over her cheek. She rubbed the mess away with the back of her hand, eyes fixed on her parents. 

Papa sat on a kitchen stool, his face as grumpy as the troll in her Saturday morning cartoons, only the troll didn’t usually bleed bright red from a cut on his brow. Mommy was sewing up Papa’s hurt. he didn’t look happy about it, but still he allowed her to fix him. After all, Mommy was very good at fixing broken things; she had fixed her toys more than once.

“Can’t you and Son ever go easy on each other?” Bulma asked.

“Tch. That is not how true warriors train. Besides, I gave Kakarot as good as I got, and more.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Bra adjusted her spoon and this time found her mouth. Blergh. Her nose scrunched at the taste of cold vegetables. With a careful glance to make sure her parents weren’t watching, she spat the food back on her plate.

“This is entirely unnecessary,” Vegeta grumbled. “You know it will heal on its own.”

“Not before bleeding all over the damn place. Besides, it’s deep enough that it might scar, and I think you have enough of those.” Bulma finished her stitches and put a bandage over the wound. With a warm smile she leaned in, nudging her nose to Vegeta’s. “There. As rugged as that might look, I’ve grown fond of your face the way it is.”

He huffed, his large hands grabbing Bulma’s hips and pulling her closer. “Why do I tolerate you?”

Bulma nuzzled his cheek. “Let’s go to bed and I’ll remind you.”

He started to smile, but then his eyes slid to the side where Bra was still pretending to eat. “Echalotte.” She snapped upright at his sharp tone. “Did you finish your dinner?”

Her plate was mostly untouched. “Uh… not yet, Papa.”

“Stop dawdling.”

Her head lowered at his reprimand. Papa rarely told her off; she didn’t much care for the experience. Sullenly, Bra pushed her vegetables about on her plate, kicking her feet into the kitchen counter below.

“I’m going to wash off,” Vegeta said, and left Bulma to pack up the first aid kid. 

Still sulking, Bra smooshed her peas into her plate. “Mommy?”

“Yes honey?”

“Why do you helpit Papa? I don’t think he likes getting fixed.”

Bulma laughed. “Ah, your father just thinks he’s too tough for help. But truth is, he’s not used to getting any and doesn’t know how to ask for it.”

“He doesn’t know how?” Bra asked, amazed there was something Papa couldn’t do.

“Nope. So I just help him.”

Bra reflected on that as she swirled her food into paste. Papa was always helping her and Tunks and Mommy and even the whooooole universe from evil bad guys. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t ask for help in return. 

“Mommy?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for helping Papa.”

Bulma smiled and came to sit by her. “Of course.” She brushed Bra’s bangs out of her face. “That’s what families do: help each other. Because we love each other, right?”

Bra beamed. “Right!”

“Now finish your dinner.”

“Ugh,” Bra whined, dropping her head forward in defeat.

~xox~

Blood splattered the ground where Vegeta walked. His wife would be pissed. Bulma hated when he made a mess but in a roundabout way, this was her fault. Sure, he might have asked Bulma to increase the intensity of the training bots but she was the one who exceeded his expectations. If he didn’t know any better, he would think his wife was trying to kill him.

Goddamn she was amazing.

Still, he had underestimated her upgrades and now suffered the consequences. With some luck, he hoped to make it to the bathroom before anyone noticed.

He limped passed the living room where Bulma’s mother was keeping an eye on Bra. 

“Oh my!” Panchy exclaimed. “Vegeta sweety, don’t you look a fright.”

So much for not getting noticed.

At Panchy’s announcement, Bra’s head jerked up from her coloring book, her eyes going wide seeing the state of her father. “Papa! You’re hurt again?”

He paused. “It’s nothing. Keep drawing.”

Bra ignored him, hurrying over and grabbing his hand. It made his heart tighten to see how tiny her fingers were compared to his. Bra examined his wounds, her brow furrowing mightily. What had got her so worked up? She had seen him injured before. But before he could ask, Bra sprang off down the hall. “Wait, Papa. I’ll helpit!”

Ah, goddamn it. Off to fetch her mother, no doubt. With a heavy sigh, Vegeta followed. May as well get this over with. 

But he didn’t get far. The patter of little feet heralded Bra’s return, a box of bandaids held in her chubby hands. She looked at him with the same determination he had seen countless times on her mother’s face.

“Okay, Papa. Let Bra take good care of you!”

Well fuck. How could he say no to that?

With a sigh, he sunk into a sitting position before her, and allowed his daughter to play nurse.

Just like her mother. 

“You have so many hurts,” Bra tutted as she stuck plaster after plaster on him. At least it wasn’t the goddamn strawberry ones. “Don’t worry, Papa. Families helpit each other.”

He peeled open an eye to look at his daughter’s earnest face. Family… Did he ever imagine he could have such a precious family after everything that had happened to him?

Bra was opening another plaster when he scooped her up into his arms and hugged her tight.

“Aren ilgnen kalor, Echalotte,” he whispered fiercely in her ear.

“Papa!” she squealed, and soon her laughter filled the corridor as he tickled her sides and nommed her tiny neck.

~xoXox~

AN: Inspired by Okebtrash’s adorable picture of Bulla patching up her papa with bandages. <3

See it here: https://okebtrash.tumblr.com/post/175264594724/princess-bulla-and-papa-ι-д-ι-im