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His back hurt. Strokes of blood marred his flesh and the heinous feeling of wanting to throw up punched in his guts like the hit that had just knocked him down.
“Stand up.” Stinging like the open gash in his right arm, that voice felt like a cold shower, it forced him to try harder, pushed him to stand up, gave him a reason not to just let the wind lull him to sleep.
He didn’t even have the time to stand up, that air was knocked out from his lungs again, he felt his body bending inwards and forwards, some ugly tentative to shell his body from further attacks. But his adversary wasn’t on the same page, calm fury filled every hook, the shine in his onyx eyes, the only visible hint of his presence in the night. His jabs were fast and essential as if he knew precisely where to hit to cause the most damage. Trunks scoped his surroundings as fast as possible, letting his foe have it in order to find an opening, whatever opening.
But his father seemed to have none. As soon as his knuckles left his body, a new motion was ready to follow, undaunted, vile and merciless. It was almost morning when the young man finally found purchase in the rapid stepping away of his father, a second that meant everything for someone who’d been cornered until that very moment. He double jumped backwards, using his hands as a lever to fell his opponent with a roundhouse kick. The tip of his boot barely grazed Vegeta’s cheek, the older man dodged easily, but didn’t stop at that. Instead, he took hold of his retracting instep, throwing him in the air and following up immediately; headbutting his chest. Trunks felt some ribs give out under the pressure but quickly joined his hands in front of him, palms open toward the target, the propulsion had been enough to give him momentum and he exploited that to charge ki between his fingers. The blast left his hands and convoluted around Vegeta, controlled by the will of its owner. Vegeta smirked at him just a second before the explosion took place. In another moment, he was in front of him again, whispering a ‘the end’ in his face. A straight punch knocked him out for good. Everything went black.
Trunks re-opened his eyes to a starry sky, his head felt fuzzy and his body sore in a way it had never been. But he felt alive. His senses were still functioning enough to intercept something flying his way, he readily caught it in his hand, just to discover it was a senzu.
“You’re getting slower,” Vegeta commenced, walking toward him whilst toweling his forehead.
“Or maybe you’re getting faster.” Trunks smiled, popping the regenerative legume in his mouth.
“If you can’t keep up, it’s only your fault. Searching for poor excuses reveals just how much of a slacker you have become.” Crude as it may have been, his comment held a sarcastic undertone, almost playful in its own way.
“I’ve been training every day for the past two years.” Trunks whined, laying back instead of getting up.
“You used to train way more when you were a cub.”
In the corner of his eye, Vegeta leant forward, turning on a standpipe to drink greedily from it. After quenching his thirst, he proceeded to dive headfirst into the stream.
“I was a kid. Kids work on sugar and naps. Teens work on sudden mood swings and hormones.”
“You awfully sound like your mother.” Vegeta sniffed haughtily, turning off the water. “Go inside and eat as much as you can, we’re resuming the training in thirty minutes sharp.”
Trunks didn’t obey immediately, continuing to observe his father, his movements, his almost robotic way to execute even the simplest tasks. It was when it looked like that Vegeta was leaving that his mouth opened without his will, “dad! Wait I-”
Vegeta stopped moving, Trunks could just parse the ghost of his silhouette camouflaging almost impeccably among shadows. His standing still meant he was allowing Trunks to maraud his time a bit more.
“Can I ask you… why are you doing this?” The question came out almost like a strangled cough, or something said by mistake.
“Why do you think I’m doing this?”
Trunks was taken aback, he didn’t expect another question as a response. Not from his father, who was straightforward even if it meant hurting feelings. Oh come on, that’s why I asked, he thought, because I don’t know. He used to ask many unfiltered questions when he was a child. Never once, though, had he ever questioned the reason behind determinate actions or decisions. Maybe it was because he simply starved for attention, a thing that man had fed to him in crumbs. Therefore, when Vegeta invited him to spend time together, it was such a feast that he didn’t care for anything else. However, year after year, while his human friends had started to show the first signs of disinterest in their family, preferring to pave their way toward independence… on the contrary, he’d began to feel stuck where he was. Moving forward meant leaving too many question marks behind, searching for responses in the past meant to dig a barren soil. The present was what he had always dreamed about, even much more but… why? That question just wouldn’t leave him alone, it kept bugging and getting stronger and stronger and stronger.
“I don’t know.” That was all that Trunks could offer, honestly. It looked like Vegeta expected him to be aware of things without needing to explain them. He’d seen a similar pattern in the behavior he had with his mother and Bulla too. He knew him, damn, he did know him… at least, what he wanted them to know. Not even Goten was like this, even though he’d had the opportunity to live with his father far less than him. Goten was tame and understanding, much like his older brother; and they both seemed to share a mute admiration for their ghost parent. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Why they didn’t ask? Why did they just accept the absence of Goku as it was? Maybe they simply were just mature enough to understand him, or… weren’t so overly obsessed on the subject.
Sometimes, Trunks wanted to scream
I felt alone
. You always kept me on the backlines. I started existing just when you deemed it was convenient for you. Why?
Vegeta was silent, a silence that soon stretched too far and long. Was that it? He didn’t know, too? They were there, living under the same roof, training together, talking and sharing the same blood… without knowing the reason? It was heartbreaking. In a way that felt too uncomfortable for him. “Hey, you know what? Forget it, dad. I mean… we don’t need a reason to do this. I’m fine with it so long as it lasts.” Bullcrap. Perhaps, they should go back to exchanging blows. He needed to punch him in the face to dissipate his frustration and anger. Wounds and cuts at least didn’t hurt as much. He was such a wimp. He was nothing like the man standing in front of him, and the thought sizzled like fire in his heart. Is it for pity, dad? You wouldn’t do that, right? If you saw a pitiful me, you’d rather smash my face and tell me to grow up instead than practicing hollow parenthood… right? I can’t ask this. I’m supposed to be a saiyan, I can’t ask this. Feelings get in the way. Isn’t this your mantra? Your code of life? How do you want me? Who do I have to become in order to satisfy you? To make you proud of me? Are you proud of me? I want you to be proud of me. So bad, so bad, so bad.
“Why you’d ask if it doesn’t matter?”
The tears he was desperately trying to hold back fell silently on his cheeks, his effort betrayed by the sudden widening of his eyes. “I…” his words were lumped down his throat. See? This is the result of your experiments! He wanted to shout. That’s what happens when you create half-saiyans. We have fucking feelings! You ask why I ask? Isn’t that obvious? because I look up to you! You’ve never been here for me, not once! Once!
But no. This… this wasn’t him. He looked down at his hands, they trembled. No, this couldn’t be him. Such words, that anger… they didn’t belong to him.
“You’re not telling me.” Oh no, he was blurting out stuff he didn’t mean to say, but something pushed them up like vomit, they came out all at once. “Which means you don’t know either! Seriously, am I even a son to you? Have I ever been? Or did you and mom have nothing better to do than fuck without thinking about the consequenc-”
“Don’t you dare, kid!”
His ribcage felt split in half, he was so encased in the wall behind him, that it had started to crumble dangerously. The fact that he couldn’t breathe didn’t matter. What mattered was the pair of intense eyes that were now staring straight into his soul. Vegeta’s hand was on his throat, pressing him into the wall with brutal strength. “Don’t you dare insult your mother not now or ever again.”
He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to.
“Why? Will you kill me if I do?” This wasn’t him.
“If you have something to say, just say it.” A storm brewed in his eyes, his solemn timbre made Trunks shiver with stupid admiration. But he didn't yield to the intimidating aura floating seamlessly around Vegeta.
Instead, he bent his legs against his abdomen and managed to kick his father away from him.
"You asked for it!" He felt anger mount furiously from his very core, pushing energy outside in tendrils of gold.
Then, he detached from the ground, the pressure of his sole cracking the ground underneath. Trunks flung himself at Vegeta, overwhelming him with fast and confident blows. Vegeta parried each of them, taking his furious knuckles in his palms.
"You confuse me! First you don't give a shit, then you suddenly do! Make up your mind. I'm not a kid anymore, you can't feed me bullshit expecting me to just accept that!" His fury thundered in his words, in his attacks, in his unbridled tears.
And suddenly he was having the upper hand, his right fist found Vegeta's nose and dove for more. He was pushing him back and the thought exhilarated him.
"I hate when you aren't here! I hate it that we have to always, always, always wait for you. Every time, for years, I stood in my room staring out of the window dreaming for a fucking normal father!"
His chest felt lighter at every successful punch.
"Sometimes I can't even tell if we really share the same blood or not! I've had enough of you. I had enough of your silence, of your pretending games, of your stupid pigheadedness!"
His knee found Vegeta’s stomach, and drilled in it with all of his strength, pushing the other saiyan downward on the ground until he was digging into it with his back.
"Listen to me! Watch me…" he was hunched on top of him, his arms still on each side of Vegeta's head, when his anger subsided, his golden locks gradually lost their shine, falling on his face in liliac strands.
"Please…"
Vegeta wasn't looking at him, his bloody face was turned away. Hardness had never left his body for all the fight.
He felt like withering away, crying like the kid he pretended not to be.
"I do."
A moment later, a strong hand was awkwardly patting his head.
"That's why I train you."
Trunks stared at him. Shock made his wide blue eyes tremble.
Vegeta was still not looking at him. But his words, just those words, hit him so hard that hot tears started to fall even more heavily on his cheeks.
He wanted to say that he was sorry. But it wouldn't be the truth.
Instead, his forehead fell on Vegeta's chest.
He cried a lot that morning and his father's hand never moved from his head.