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It’s summertime.
The clearing they’ve found is a rarity in the mountains. They’ve abandoned the East District for a change of pace at Pan and Bra’s insistence. It’s their second detour after excursions round Mount Paozu. The novelty of farmland and familiar trees can only last so long, he supposes, but Goku knows his local area like the back of his hand—it’s easy to find somewhere wide and wild enough to entertain them. They’re lucky, he supposes, that the girls’ interests don’t wear out sooner, but Goku’s resourceful enough to make any backwater patch of grass look like a playground fit for kings.
It’s there that they’ve settled, sprawled out in a patch of grass in a sea of wild lavender and iris. That’s what had stopped them—Bra had squealed and kicked at his back until they’d landed, and they’ve run free since, wrestling and screaming and picking flowers to put in their hair.
“Grampa!”
Goku starts. Vegeta feels it—he’s lying against him, his back flush with Goku’s chest, and there’s a slight jump of Goku’s shoulders as he’s jolted to semi-consciousness. There’s movement against his hair as Goku lifts his chin, and an arm snakes around his middle, a lazy hand settling on his waist. Vegeta doesn’t bother to open his eyes. She’d asked for her grandpa, after all.
“You two havin’ fun, girls?”
“Uh-huh!” There’s the distinct sound of shuffling and skin against skin, and a noise Vegeta knows as Bra’s high-pitched growl. They’re fighting, clearly. They’ve gotten more into the habit of it with the heat of the summer, restless with growth spurts and pent-up energy, and Goku is all too happy an enabler of good-natured roughhousing to interfere. He shifts behind him once more, stretching out against the trunk of the maple tree and sighing into Vegeta’s hair.
The air is cool this high up. A gentle breeze sweeps through the thicket around them, the greens and yellows of ginkgo and maple shifting with the wind. They’re past the peak of summertime, comfortably settling into mid-August, but the sun still bears down something fierce. The girls don’t seem to mind. Nobody’s piped up for water yet, and they’re still brawling, tumbling through the flowers the way only Saiyan children know to.
“Bra’s gettin’ better,” Goku says.
Vegeta leans back, feels the arm around his waist tighten. “She is.”
“You see it, don’t’cha?”
Goku squeezes his side, and Vegeta feels out their ki, tucking his head back into Goku’s neck. His is first, naturally, humming steadily behind him, a bright spark of orange that settles warm in his chest. The girls are next—and they’re practically vibrating out of their own skin, wide pools of loose energy that pulse wildly with their movements. He can see their every motion through their ki: each sweep of Pan’s legs, every rush of Bra’s fists. He spots it, then: the flares of ki at Bra’s palms, spreading like webs through her fingertips and bursting.
“She’s aware,” Vegeta says, watching the balls of ki in his mind come to blows. “She’s been practicing all week. She told me she wanted to hold my hand and tried to burn me.” He frowns. “Called it an experiment.”
Goku laughs into his hair. “She’s her mama’s daughter, alright.”
Bra’s ki surges, and Vegeta focuses again, watches the two of them in their clumsy spar. It’s a new dance for them, a luxury they’ve only enjoyed this summer. Bra’s been a dog at his heels since Pan started school, restless with her mother’s smarts and her father’s strength, and Trunks can only wrestle her so many times after school before the repetition gets tedious. It’s better now that she has a partner—someone to pester and tease and ask about school, if teachers are scary and if she can feed dogs homework.
Their training in Pan’s absence wasn’t for naught. She’s better, recognising stances and openings—she’s planning out her moves instead of flailing wildly, even if her attacks are wide off the mark. She’s strategising, plucking her lessons from her mother and her spars with her father and combining them into her own movement. It’s evident everywhere, from her attacks to her jumps to her stances, but nowhere does it show more than her ki. Vegeta watches the flow of it, a pulse of blue from core to limb to digit, as Bra reaches for Pan and pulls, and he watches with his mind’s eye as they tumble to the ground.
“Daddy!” Bra calls. She’s laughing. “Look! I got her! Look!”
Vegeta opens his eyes then, taking in the full sight: Bra flipping Pan face-first into the ground, her romper grass-stained and her smile wide. “I did it, daddy!” She cries. Her pigtails are sloppy, the hairbands hanging loose and stray strands flying free. “Uncle Goku, look!” Pan wiggles beneath her, her legs lashing wildly, and she bucks up in an attempt to get free. Bra tightens her grip on Pan’s wrists, digging her knee into the girl’s back, and Pan’s groan is a little too theatrical to be real. Vegeta knows it for what it is—she’s letting her win.
“You got her,” he says. The acknowledgement is enough to get her squealing, and her excitement is enough to distract her—he’s not looking at her, but at Pan, his eyebrows furrowed seriously. Don’t get into the habit, he hopes he’s communicating. Pan grins right back.
“Bra-chan, you’re doin’ great!”
“Grampa!” Pan cries. “You’re ‘sposed to be on my side!”
Goku laughs into Vegeta’s hair. “You’re doin’ great too, Pan-chan!”
“No fair!” Pan’s indignant yell is what does it—she digs her knees into the ground and pushes, lifting her torso and throwing Bra off-balance. She flops back, grinning as Bra’s back collides with the grass with a thud, and she slams her head back, hitting Bra square in the stomach as Pan twists to straddle her, pinning her to the ground.
Bra gives it her all. Really—she twists and kicks, she punches and scratches, she thrusts her head forward. But Pan is a year older, at the end of the day, and a year when they’re this small is a hard gap to narrow, much less cross. They’re talented both for their age and their blood, but there’s a clear advantage in their matchup, and it doesn’t fall in Bra’s favour.
“Get off!”
“You gotta make me,” Pan replies, her eyes darting to Vegeta’s own. See, she seems to say. I won’t let her win.
“Get off!”
A pause. Pan settles her hands on Bra’s wrists; Bra quivers her bottom lip. They all know what’s coming.
“Dad -dy!” Bra wails. The tears are already flowing by the time she yells, batting Pan’s hands away from her wrists. “It’s not fair! Uncle Go- ku!”
Vegeta sighs. He knows what follows this, too. Goku loosens his arm around his middle, the other resting gently on his hip. “‘Geta—”
“You’re spoiling her,” Vegeta says, leaning forward as he crosses his arms. He already knows Goku’s pouting. “Go on.”
“You were spoiled, I bet.” Goku smiles as he stands, kicking Vegeta’s thigh with his foot. “She gets it from the both’a you.” He lifts his hands to the sky as he stretches, standing on his tiptoes when he swings his arms behind him. He’s partially lit by the sun where it peeks through the leaves, drawing crooked lines along his gi and his brow. He’s tanned, as is usual for the season, his skin darkened from long days on the farm in peak summer heat.
At least he’s good eye candy.
“Don’t try me,” Vegeta warns. Goku’s already walking away by the time Vegeta says it, his eyes on the small of his back and the way his gi falls at his waist. He closes his eyes before Goku reaches them, but he can see his ki, the condensed, powerful mass of it lowering to the ground as he crouches.
“Pan, let ‘er up for a minute,” Goku says, leaning down to peer at the pair. Vegeta opens his eyes to watch Pan slowly stand up, shuffling from foot to foot as she settles at Goku’s side. Goku rests a hand on Pan’s shoulder, then, as Pan wrinkles her nose, guilt written all over her face. Bra stays on the ground, sprawled out, her hands coming to wipe at her cheeks as she sniffles.
“You okay there, Bra-chan?” Goku asks
“N-No.” She coughs.
“What happened, huh?”
“You saw it,” Bra says, her tone as venomous as a child her age can muster. “She hit me!”
“Well, you were hittin’ her, weren’t’cha?”
“It was different. ” She leans forward, drawing her knees up so she can perch her chin on her leg.
“Different how?”
“Different! You know it’s different! Don’t be stupid!”
“Eschalot,” Vegeta calls, narrowing his eyes. Bra turns to face him, her brows drawn up with anger as she sniffs. There’s something uniquely comical about the look of anger on his own child, all that fury in a container of snot and tears. “Watch your tone.”
“You know it’s different, daddy!” Her nose is red and her eyes are puffy with tears as she shouts. “It’s not fair! You’re not being fair!”
“You hit me, too,” Pan says. “And it really hurt.”
Bra snorts. “We’re sparring. It’s supposed to hurt.”
“Then how come you can hurt me, but I can’t hurt you?”
“‘Cause you’re stupid!”
“Eschalot!” Bra curls in her shoulders as Vegeta approaches her side, scowling up at him. He can feel her ki flaring wildly, a concentrated ball that’s hardly reigned in.
“Whatever,” she says, flaring her nostrils.
“Bra-chan,” Goku chides, “that wasn’t very nice.”
She scoffs. “I don’t care. ”
“That’s enough.” Vegeta is at Bra’s side before he even knows it, lifting her by her shoulders to stand her up. Bra’s eyes are wide as she looks up at him, clearly deciding if she wants to hug him or beat him. “You’re acting like a brat.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Vegeta stares down at Bra as she furrows her brows, her shoulder shaking as she sniffs. “You hit her twice as much as she hit you.”
“I did?” Bra’s eyes are wide as the words slip out. Her energy dims, suddenly, the wild ball slowly contracting, and Vegeta isn’t surprised to feel Pan’s ki pulsing to match it.
“You did. You pinned her for twice as long. Did you realise?”
Bra shakes her head. She reaches a hand up to rub her nose. “N-No…”
“You wanted to cause her pain,” Vegeta says.
“Yeah…”
“And you did.”
“‘Course she did,” Goku says, his hand carding through Pan’s hair as she hugs his arm. “Bra’s a strong girl. You know you pack a punch, don’t’cha, Bra-chan?”
“Uh-huh.” Bra bows her head. She’d bask in the glow of the compliment, ordinarily, but her shoulders are tensed, her small hands balled into fists. The shame is settling in.
“And that’s the point of a spar, right? Play-fightin’.”
Bra nods, her eyes trained on the ground.
“So it’s all fine ‘n good if it’s hurtin’, kiddo.” Goku reaches out to pet Bra’s head. “Happens in a spar. But it’s a two-way street. You punch Pan-chan here,” he says, feeling Pan squeeze his leg, “and Pan-chan’ll punch back.”
“But…”
“And if it’s too much—and it ain’t meant to hurt too much in a spar, yeah? If it’s too much, ain’t no shame in tappin’ out, right?”
Bra sniffs, clenching her fists even tighter. “I don’t wanna tap out,” she mumbles.
“You don’t want to tap out,” Vegeta settles a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, watching fresh tears well up in her eyes. “But you do it regardless. If you know you’ve been bested in a fight, only a fool would continue.”
“I’m not a fool,” Bra says. She lifts her head, then, her gaze settling on the other girl before her—taking in the way Pan shuffles, the grip she has on her grandfather’s gi. Vegeta looks down to her, too, watching Pan’s expression shift in an instant: awkward to apologetic.
“I didn’ mean t’ hurt you that bad, Bra-chan,” Pan says, her hands dropping from Goku’s clothes.
“You didn’t,” Bra hiccups.
Pan steps closer. She posts herself in front of Bra, her hand coming to rest on her friend’s free shoulder. “Y’got me real good, y’know.”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh.”
A silence settles around them. The wind picks up—stray leaves from the maple tree blow past and around them, and the tall grass that fences the clearing sways with its movement. Something roars in the distance, guttural and fierce, a harsh cry to break the peace of the usual bird calls and chatter. Vegeta moves his hand to cradle Bra’s neck, feeling out the ki around him once more. Goku’s, thrumming evenly; Pan’s, slowly stilling, finding harmony in her grandfather’s energy; and Bra’s, reducing to match it.
“‘M sorry,” Bra mumbles.
Vegeta strokes his thumb at the nape of her neck. He feels her tilt her head back, chasing it, seeking out the small touch. Just like her mother. “Be specific,” he says.
“I’m sorry I called you stupid, Pan.” Bra reaches her hand out, her lips still framed in a slight pout as she sniffs. “And, um, I’m sorry I got all mad.”
“It’s okay,” Pan grins, taking Bra’s hand with ease. “‘M sorry if I beat’cha too bad,” she says, and she giggles as Bra squeezes her hand and grumbles.
Bra opens her mouth to speak, but her words become a squeal—Vegeta drops his hand as Goku scoops the girls up, holding one on each hip. “That wasn’ so hard, was it?”
“Uncle Go -ku ,” Bra squeaks, pressing her head to Goku’s cheek, “you scared me!” She stretches her arms around Goku’s neck, grinning as Goku bumps his nose against her cheek. Pan tucks her head in to match, pressing her forehead to her grandfather’s ear.
“Sorry, Bra-chan,” Goku apologises, lifting his arms to boost them up. “But I think now’s a good time for a water break, yeah?” He winks at Vegeta as Bra starts up her chatter, suddenly dying of thirst. It’s the start of a usual pattern with the two of them, whenever the girls are in their care. Sit them in the shade after they’ve tired themselves out, get something in them—food or drink—and enjoy an hour or two of silence as they get in a nap.
“You’ve signed up to be the pillow,” Vegeta says, and he’s thankful for the sacrifice. Bra’s too light a sleeper for him to enjoy the duty, but Goku relishes in a nap as much as the children do. It’s no wonder he’s the favourite.
Goku shrugs, resigned to his fate, as he walks back to the maple tree. His focus is already back on the girls, grinning as Pan nuzzles at his cheek. Bra plays with his hair, fingers leafing through his spikes, and Pan tugs at his gi as she points out a flower in the distance. They’ll be out for a nap in an hour, at least, and the three of them will be down for another two—that’s in time for them to get to Capsule Corp for dinner, and right into bed thereafter.
Vegeta wonders, not for the first time, how he’s ended up like this. What might have brought him here, be it fate, be it destiny, or something else. Something more conscious, an inevitable path set about when his priorities, whatever they were, shifted, when he found them irreconcilable with whatever future he had once set out. He knows that he is a parody of the man who had landed here, tamed the way one would bring in a feral cat: thoroughly domesticated, rendered fatherly and amicable.
Vegeta stands alone in the clearing as Goku settles at the tree, the girls scrambling into his lap. Goku presses their water bottles into their hands, and he watches, smiling, as they point at the leaves above, watching them wall with the blow of the wind. Goku pats their shoulders to get their attention, then, and Vegeta watches as he leans in, right to the girls’ ears, to whisper something he can’t hear. They look at Vegeta and suddenly, with no warning, they laugh, waving their bottles as they fall back against Goku’s chest. Vegeta frowns. Bra laughs harder.
“Grampa says you’re thinkin’ too hard,” Pan yells.
They’re already at the tree, well-settled in—Pan at Goku’s left and Bra at his right, all cross-legged against the maple’s trunk. Bra is too busy gulping down water to comment, but she manages to do it smugly, like she’s been clued in to something he doesn’t know.
She really is her mother’s daughter.
“Am I,” Vegeta says.
Goku shrugs. “‘M not wrong.”
Vegeta walks towards them, then, subconsciously feeling them out once more. It’s strange, the way their energies sync. Across both their families, across generations, their energies feel each other out, rushing to synchronise. He sees it in them now, resting against the tree—three concentrations of energy in perfect harmony, thrumming in sync, burning all too bright while they’re idle. Vegeta’s energy pulses to match them.
What brought him here doesn't matter, he supposes.
His body knows that this is home.