Chapter Text
Playlist: Power is Power - Travis, SZA and the Weeknd
.I rise from my scars.
Sometimes, Vegeta feels tired.
His fatigue is not from the irritatingly frequent threats from the next super-villain that seem to pester Earth on a quarterly basis, pending review. (Really, for a small mud-ball with nothing much to offer except a few aliens and furry people, Earth attracted far more trouble than it was worth.)
His fatigue is not from the constant daily grind of putting his body through grueling training and pushing his physical limit. In a way what appeared as torture to others was meditation to him: the more intensely he tries to break down his physical body, the more relaxed and at peace he becomes in his soul. Gruesome as it is, training is medicine for his ragged mind.
Vegeta knows that Bulma and Kakarot both find his heedless desire to run himself to the ground worrisome. They both find their ways to mitigate the damage he does to himself. Bulma overrides the gravity chamber to her liking and woul claim it needs maintenance; a tactic which works until Vegeta figures out how to carry out basic repairs himself- he has spent 20 years on Frieza’s ship and in space pods; he was fairly adept at technological quick-fixes.
Kakarot suspiciously pops up when the prince was a sliver away from breaking himself or the gravity chamber, and would hover like a mother hen, cheerfully pestering him with one thing or another until the prince finally vacates the premise out of sheer annoyance.
(Being fair to the younger saiyan though, Kakarot never steps in until absolutely necessary; as if he understands without it needing to be said, how desperately Vegeta needs the daily battles with his external self to escape the conflict that stormed and raged within.)
Vegeta’s fatigue goes beyond all those valid reasons. He is tired, not at present, but at constant. The exhaustion goes beyond his bones. It is a weariness, borne of years of being on guard, constantly tense and ready to activate his fight response. He is tired from two (literal) lifetimes finding enemies in shadows, even when there is no longer any lurking threat, even when told both verbally and empathically again and again that he is safe. The years on Frieza’s ship has put his body in constant stress mode. It is why the prince carries a chip on his shoulder, why he snaps and reacts with aggression and hostility, why he would never be truly at rest. Why he would never fit in with the people around him.
Vegeta does not like to talk about his time with Frieza. He knows some of the others wonders at the extent of his damage, knows Kakarot has glimpsed some of it in the time they had been fused; knows both the younger saiyan and Bulma see more in the prince's rough and rude exterior than they let on. But they never ask and if ever they do, the prince resolves to simply divert the matter. Not just out of misguided sense of pride to protect the image of strength he projected, but also out of shame. He was not the victim of his past - oh no, he was also a perpetrator. For everything he got, he gave as much and more, if only to people who deserved none of it. But every tormentor learnt their torment from somewhere.
Regardless, it is a chapter of his life he has buried for good, more so after the Majin debacle. Kakarot’s easy acceptance and warm friendship, Bulma’s care, and his son’s complete utter faith in Vegeta despite all the horrors he has committed has mellowed him. In turn, his own attempt at martyrdom for their sakes has chipped away the last of his resistance and attempt to return to his past evil (stupid) glory.
Mentally, Vegeta is reborn. But the phantom pains of torture, anger and servitude of his past life remains very much alive, slithering, and rooted, like a tattoo he will never be able to erase.
Sometimes when the weather is cold, the sky morose, pouring its grief and sharing its mood with Earth, Vegeta’s joints start to ache. His limbs hurt. There is a phantom pain in his movements and his scars seem to pulse, in a way that has nothing to do with the present.
In a way that cannot be cured.
On these days Vegeta often feels as though he is drowning in his own mind, as if his breath is both suffocating and empty all at once.
On these days when the voices are loud, he would escape into the nearest wilderness, uncaring that he is drenched in the process (saiyans were made to roam anyway…) curling in a shade of the foliage or between the ledges of a rocky outcrop, merely watching the sky cry. His eyes do not see cleansing water; rather he sees red streaks and remembers another planet long lost.
On these days he is an emptier vessel than normal.
Bulma never senses or sees these moods as Vegeta disappears too quickly for her to realise, and thus leaves him be. He supposes that had she been able to, she would have probably either tried to find him and drag him back, probably with lots of yelling and something warm for the phantom aches; or she would know what he wanted and give him the solace space he craves. It was fifty-fifty, really; the human woman with the heart of a saiyan.
Kakarot, with the triple trouble traits of being the stubborn carefree clown third-class idiot he is; being able to sense where Vegeta was anywhere in the galaxy; and possessing an unhealthy level of complete disregard for listening to whatever Vegeta says he wants; somehow always finds him.
It starts one day when Vegeta’s limbs and scars hurt so much that he could no longer stand it. He would have even gone so low as to ask for a senzu bean, but as the pain is not something physically there, it is not something a senzu can fix. Vegeta is curled up and bowed over, gritting his teeth, fingers gripping tightly enough to bleed had he not been wearing gloves. He is drenched in both sweat and rain, desperately reminding himself that the ache was not real; he was safe, he was in the safest space he had ever been in his tragedy of a life. His ki must have been fluctuating wildly, or perhaps the mental link they shared since the fusion was going haywire, or perhaps Kakarot was just as attuned to Vegeta as he was in the reverse, because Kakarot literally pops into existence behind him, and Vegeta would have jumped in shock had he not been too lost in his mind (damn Instant Transmission, Vegeta curses the day the younger saiyan ever learnt the technique.) Kakarot had then dropped to his knees to gently unfurl the prince’s tightly clenched palms and just. Hold them.
Normally, Vegeta would have punched away the too-familiar contact, but that day, he had allowed it. The ache didn’t subside, but it didn’t get worse.
Since then, Kakarot has completely disregarded his silent plea for personal space on these blue days. The other saiyan always somehow finds him, subtly making sure Vegeta was physically okay before settling down some ways behind or around. Vegeta would be more annoyed, but these days, Vegeta is too empty to even bark at his intruder. He almost never acknowledges Kakarot, and despite his numbness and half-hearted irritation that the younger saiyan would not leave him alone, he is somewhat glad for the company of the saiyan. On these days the usually cheerful Saiyan tends to be quieter, more sombre; and Vegeta is appreciative of the silence. It was a simple camaraderie that didn’t require speech between them. Sometimes Kakarot drapes something warm over him, like a thick blanket covering, or on one memorable occasion a fur pelt. It triggers nicer, half-forgotten memories of a luxurious palace and warm crib; and darker, more prominent nightmares of many missions sleeping in different worlds across the galaxy under similar covering, ready to kill and purge the next morning. Instead of recoiling, Vegeta would only bury deeper into the warmth, losing himself in how they soothe his aching ghost pains, but also bring him to notice them and his damaged mind more fiercely. He never says thank you- he is not sure thank you is the appropriate word for what he feels. But Kakarot never seems to mind, seems to understand that on these days, words were beyond him.
Kakarot never asks why, never ever acknowledges these blue days, nor brings up these silent moments that are completely at odds with Vegeta’s standard bearing. He never uses it as a weapon, even in times when they bicker more seriously; or as an excuse to coddle Vegeta from an impending fight, or a testament that Vegeta was more fragile than he let on. For someone to know a weakness, and yet never exploit ... It was a concept utterly alien to Vegeta. And yet that was the very essence of Kakarot. For that, Vegeta couldn’t deny being overwhelmingly grateful.
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One (normal) day, Kakarot surprises him, first by appearing out of thin air, then by dropping into his lap a leaf of paper (things on this planet were so fragile, Vegeta distantly observes.) Vegeta doesn’t bother to read the letters imprinted. He looks up, raises an eyebrow, and waits. Silence is powerful and speaks for itself, he has learnt, and is incredibly useful in getting people to explain themselves without him having to exert much energy.
Kakarot drops into a cross-legged position in front of him. “I was thinking you could try this, Vegeta.”
Vegeta stares and waits. Kakarot, perhaps too used to his mannerisms, doesn’t get unnerved, as many do. The nerve of him, Vegeta thinks almost fondly, before catching himself. “Yoga. I think it would be good for you. For... some days.”
He doesn’t elaborate or specify what days. Yet Vegeta understands, instantly, and bristles, disliking the broken pact not to speak of what they shared. He is ready to pick a fight, but Kakarot doesn’t give him a chance to do anything more. The younger saiyan only smiles back with something like impossible fondness in his eyes, flicks the prince's forehead playfully, affectionately -what utter -and disappears, leaving with the same swiftness as he had arrived.
“Hn.” Vegeta would be incensed at the sudden (dis)appearance, but just as Kakarot was too used to his prince to be intimidated, he was too used to Kakarot to be truly annoyed. They understand too much of each other to take offence as humans might or do. He looks back at the leaflet with a little interest. He has heard of yoga before; observed the Earthlings’ fondness for it alongside other forms of movement; seen Bulma playing some videos on one of her many health-kicks. He himself had a brief interest in yoga, upon hearing something called the “Warrior” poses, before retreating in disgruntlement and almost a curious disappointment that it was not a spin on a battle move, as the name seemed to signify. Despite it all, privately, he views yoga as not unlike a less powerful and aggressive version of the katas Vegeta-sei practiced and passed down, both as an art form and a way to keep durable saiyan bodies nimble and in peak condition.
A wave of nostalgia that makes him clench his palms. Vegeta squeezes his eyes shut and breathes.
He supposes he can appreciate the reason behind practice.
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After the farce of a battle with Frieza (if it could even be called that), the skies begin to drizzle. Without waiting to be healed or even checked over, Vegeta flies off to one of his favourite brooding places, high up in the valley, far north of where he knows none of the other earthlings would voluntarily venture. He expects to be disappointed that once again, he has not been allowed to deal the finishing blow to the bastard lizard, but curiously, he feels… empty. Numb.
Not necessarily in a bad way.
It had been a powerful moment for him, to have stood in front of the golden form of his old tormentor (what an utter joke that the bastard’s final form had to be golden, just like a super saiyan’s aura…) and felt… nothing. No fury, righteous though it might have been, no burning desire to be the one to finish him off. Perhaps his past self might have been furious with his present self’s apathy. That was a rather amusing mental image. But Vegeta knew, objectively looking at the situation, that the lack of emotional response was one of the more obvious proofs of how far he has risen. That the years of damage to his young mind and body no longer held him in a vice grip. He would never be completely free of the taint of evil and pain and abuse, but… he was no longer defined by it.
The best revenge truly is no revenge at all. To be so far removed from the situation that he truly could no longer truly care about the outcome, who got to hand the final blow... not to even be disturbed by the taunts of his old master (Vegeta shudders) was the final proof he needed to see that he had healed. Given the honours to deal the final blow was unnecessary. Vegeta had healed, he had won.
He had won.
And it wasn’t even a battle he had consciously been fighting.
The heavens begin pouring in earnest, but they no longer seem to be wailing in grief.
His limbs sting and his joints begin to ache, but somehow with less ferocity than before.
His scars begin to pulse with the same familiar throb, but curiously, they have a muted quality to them.
Vegeta resists the temptation to curl into a ball and watch the weather rage. That is not what he needs today. He instead begins a soothing, now-familiar kata, a mixture of the yoga practice the humans were so fond of, and his own half-remembered style of Vegeta-sei’s kata. At first he had felt a weird sort of shame that the fusion of the two styles of practice, like he was somehow polluting his blood and heritage. But over time Vegeta had become good at catching his disruptive thought patterns and he now recognizes that it is a silly way to think. Something combined didn’t mean it was tainted or impure. Sometimes it resulted in something better. Saiyans learnt from better battle forms and adapted theirs all the time through the ages. Hybrid battle styles tended to surprise the enemy. And speaking of hybrids… Vegeta thinks of the pride and playfulness of his son, and the youngest spawn of Kakarot who was tied at the hip to the boy, as their fathers were. He thinks of the strength and potential that Kakarot’s older son always carried. His son, no, they all, are the best example that amazing things could rise from the mix, that powerful things could rise from the broken.
Unbidden, a small fondness warms his chest and turns his lips upwards. With a breath, his one hand rises to the heavens, the other arm reaching towards the ground, as he sinks low in his kata. This art form, it is hybrid of Earth and Vegeta-sei, and it was not polluted nor tainted - it was Vegeta’s unique form, the physical manifestation of all he has endured, all the pain he has inflicted and received, all that he grieved and celebrated and all that he had struggled to make peace with.
Kakarot is wrong. Yoga never helps with the pain he feels during these days. But what he has explored did, in some strange way, allow him a different kind of peace.
Vegeta finishes with one, long, calm breath. As he senses return to his surroundings he becomes aware of a familiar ki, raised slightly, like a friendly greeting, designed not to startle him. His face flames, but he has done silly stuff and worse with and around Kakarot (the ridiculous moves of the fusion dance, and memories of a pink apron come to mind) so he does not dwell on it. He turns, and is struck by the expression on the other saiyan’s face.
Kakarot looks at him with naked wonder in his eyes. “Vegeta,” he breathes, “that was … beautiful.”
Perhaps a human would have interpreted the words differently, but Saiyans view beauty in terms of power and strength. Unknowingly, Kakarot is paying him the highest compliment a saiyan would if they were courting someone. Slightly flustered, heat rises to his cheeks, but Vegeta decides to accept it for the compliment it is, and inclines his head in silent thanks.
“I found yoga similar to a form of kata on Vegeta-sei. This is the resulting combination of saiyan and human practice,” Vegeta tells the younger saiyan. He does not need to explain all that it symbolised. He knows Kakarot sees further, being the battle genius and annoying Vegeta-reader that he is.
Kakarot uncharacteristically hesitates, which indicates that whatever comes out next from him would either unfoot Vegeta or make him want the bludgeon the other saiyan even more than usual.
“Could you… teach me?”
The request takes Vegeta by surprise. He stares at Kakarot for a bit.
Teach…?
Perhaps once upon a time Vegeta would have laughed in Kakarot's face. Taken delight that he finally had something superior to Kakarot.
But now...
Here stood the one who had saved him from his own darkness, through a long and painful path of redemption; the one who had taught him there is more to life that pain and revenge; who had been a powerful influence in the path he had ultimately taken, asking humbly to be taught something Vegeta did not consider was worth very much in the first place. Kakarot was looking at him with a quiet desperation in his eyes, perhaps desiring to connect with the heritage and culture he has never been able to know. Vegeta has secretly always been soft for that kicked-puppy expression; How could he fight those eyes?
Despite being torn and never growing to know his own people’s way, Kakarot, with his love of battle and desire to seek the next strong opponent, and to roam for adventure, was a true saiyan: one Vegeta would have proudly called his brother-in-arms - though he would die before doing so out loud- and yet… the younger saiyan somehow managed to retain and balance the battlelust with the sweetness and big heart that was truly his own.
There is no other being in the world outside his family that Vegeta could and would grant the same level of respect and.. care..?, as this one before him.
Only Kakarot is surprised when Vegeta quietly agrees.
The first piece of art is by me (can find me on Instagram as stardust_steel), the second is unknown.