Chapter Text
The Potara earrings, a great gift to be cherished. The power of fusion, the promise of a new body and a new life. A relic protected and used by Supreme Kais. Not something to be taken lightly or abused.
Several months after the defeat of Buu and having peace restored . . .
Knuckles colided with cartilage accompanied by little resistance and a satisfying crunch. Vegeta's entire body jerked, his head whipping back from the impact to it's preferred position. Lose focus and get hit. Or worse, get hit hard enough to break your nose.
Vegeta's assailant seemed rather nonchalant about the whole situation.
“C'mon now, we just started! I can't bring you to Dende this early!” Goku let a giggle creep into his speech, completely unphased by the crimson river pouring from Vegeta's nose that was no fault but his own.
“You absolute dick! Can't you even apologize?”
“Well, we are fightin', ” Earth's defender began, “an' if you wanted to keep your nose all pretty for dinner you shoulda dodged!”
This lit the fire under Vegeta's ass anew. Seeing red, the prince put his defense up and began retorting with his fists; swinging back, albeit wildly and worryingly uncoordinated for someone like him. Someone with his expertise and someone who works well when it comes to harnessing his anger. Vegeta is always dangerously pissed to a fault, so why would a broken nose matter so much?
Digging into his psyche on the topic of Kakarot should yeild unsurprising results. As a very prideful man, Vegeta is never content being second best. But . . . he'd overcome most of that right? Learning to coexist as a well established and seasoned warrior along side rather than pinned against Goku. And, it's not to say like he hasn't had his nose broken dozens of times before.
Feral growls directed at Goku poured like malice from Vegeta's mouth as he kneed the Son patriarch in the stomach.
Wind knocked out of him, the noise Goku made sounded akin to a chain smokers's wheezing cough “Jeez, Vegeta. I'm real sorry about the nose. I didn't think it would make you this angry!” He spoke breathlessly, before taking a large gulp of air. “We can go to Dende as soon as—”
White gloved fingers interlocked as Vegeta prepared to meteor smash his opponent, but as his balled fists grazed Goku's soft spiky hair, the younger man dematerialized. Feeling a rush of air from behind, Vegeta whipped his head around to find Kakarot with two fingers pressed to the center of his forehead and a hand clutching his stomach.
“Not only . . . was I . . . talking to you,” Goku asserts matter-of-factly while swerving to avoid Vegeta's punches fueled by fury, “you're awful sloppy today, too.”
A meaty palm stops the older Saiyan's last impact of the onslaught, gripping him tightly so it was harder for him to get away without listening. Goku peered down at Vegeta through his bushy brows and long lashes, “Something's wrong. Y'gotta tell me.” Spoken gently, despite his pained stomach and Vegeta's bloody face.
“Pah, you're overreacting.”
“What'f I'm reactin' just enough?”
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Whatever makes you tired,
the resting always fails.
'Cos anywhere you lay yourself's
a bed of nails.
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Vegeta often had problems with insomnia and paranoia. Knowing he was being watched and listened to was one thing, but this other issue was completely different. Getting to sleep was a chore— especially around Kakarot.
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Whenever you exhale
I breathe it in the air.
You offer me a seat
in your electric chair.
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Both close and distant. Vegeta saw himself often emotionally pushing Goku away out of fear of being hurt. If he was mean enough Kakarot would hate him and everything would be solved, right?
But . . .
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Are you safe to leave behind . . .
every anchor in your mind?
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When asked about it . . .
“Vegeta, I'm gettin' real worried somethin's goin' on with you. I 'onno.”
Vegeta was stubborn. He denied any change in behavior.
“Tch. It's your mind playing tricks.”
“ 'Geta, no really!!”
That was the end of their sparring today. Vegeta left with a grunt.
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You know better than I do,
so clue me in!
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Goku, being himself, wouldn't take no for an answer. Unfortunately that was the only answer it seemed like he was going to receive. Time for him to get creative.
Ever since that day, the younger Saiyan tried to keep extra good track of the little hints Vegeta gave off until he could think of an ultimate plan to help.
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Every day you ask yourself,
“Why was I born?”
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Vegeta, our prideful secondary protagonist has reasons for being the way he his. Sure, his race plays into his Saiyan pride. But what if it's a coping mechanism to deal with underlying insecurities. Or it's to make up for the fact he asked himself this question every day during his 'employment' in the Frieza force.
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'Cos every migraine feels like
wearing a crown of thorns.
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“Show no weakness. Never be weakness. You're fucking above this.” Vegeta was mentally screaming at himself, clutching his broken arm, trying to stabilize it in some effort to get a grip on his situation.
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And all the time I find you
crawling on all fours.
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Meteors were crashing down all around him— Vegeta swerving left and right, hopping all over to save his hide. Finally, he was struck down. And when he pulled himself up from the rubble, bloodied and battered he cried, “No! No more! That's it, I don't care!” He slammed his fist down.
“I never really understood why you wanted it so bad. But m'guessin' you needed it.”
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'Cos any movement sends you
falling through trap doors.
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“And when I didn't tell you about about Super Saiyan three, I can see why that hurt so much.” But, that was just about the end of what Goku could remember seeing from when he was Vegito. There wasn't really a lot of time to stop and snoop through Vegeta's memories.
Sure it was wrong but what's the worst that could happen?
What's the worst that could happen?
“You know better than I do, so clue me in.”