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Goku doesn’t know what time it is when his phone rings. Maybe one, two in the morning. Usually, he keeps it off at night—but ever since Gohan went off to university, some paranoid part of him that still remembers a dark shadow of a brother clawing into his son’s tiny, trembling frame insists he keep it on during all twenty four hours. Just in case, he tells himself.
So when Gohan’s call comes it wakes him up on the first ring, like a sixth sense. His sharp Saiyan hearing lets the familiar little tune cut through whatever nonsense dream he was having, and when he sees Gohan’s name light up the screen he swipes for his phone and relies on muscle memory to find the ‘answer’ button. The brightness of the screen is hurting his eyes, a little.
“… Hello?”
Gohan’s voice sounds small over the line, like he’s a timid four year old boy again. Goku’s brows furrow. Now he’s positive something is wrong. He checks to make sure Chichi is still asleep, and then tucks the blanket over her shoulders when he slips out of bed.
“Yeah, Gohan,” he answers, shutting the door behind him, walking until he’s out in the fields. The grass is cool against his bare feet. “What’s up, buddy? Missed your old man?”
That at least gets a laugh out of him. But it still sounds strained and wobbly and wrong. Goku is getting more concerned by the minute.
“Yeah, something like that,” Gohan says, but his voice is quivering. “Listen, I— never mind. Sorry I woke you at such a ridiculous hour, dad. I’ll hang u—”
“No!” Goku shouts, and then he calms himself down, running a hand through his hair. Gohan is radio silent on the other side of the line. Goku sighs. “Sorry I yelled. I just meant, it’s fine. And I’m not hanging up until you tell me what’s wrong with you.”
In hindsight, Goku realizes that Gohan would have just flown home if he was only homesick. It’s a measly four minutes for their speed, two if you really want to book it, and he’s got the keys to the house. The fact that he’s calling him instead of doing that has Goku more concerned.
“I—” Gohan makes a kind of strangled noise, and then a shuddering sob comes next. Goku almost drops the stupid metal brick in his hand, and his eyes go wide. Gohan sniffles, and then he manages to get out, “S-Something happened. I don’t think I’m okay, dad.”
Gohan hasn’t cried since—Goku actually has to think back. Probably the Cell Games, when he finally breached Super Saiyan 2, golden lightning drying those tears as soon as they came out. A cold stab of guilt hits him, and suddenly Goku feels sick. He’s walking back to the house without Gohan even having to say anything else and shrugging on the first shirt he finds laying around somewhere, gritting his teeth as he listens to the way Gohan tries to hold back his cries over the phone. The kid is probably biting his lip so hard it’s bleeding.
“Okay, son, just take deep breaths for me,” he soothes, pulling on a pair of pants, too. “I’ll be there in a second.”
Gohan squeaks. “No, n-no, dad, it’s fine. Shit, I shouldn’t have called—it’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” Goku says, a gentle sternness working into his voice. “I’m gonna hang up. See you soon.”
He waits for Gohan to respond first. “… Okay. Thanks, dad.”
That’s all he needs before he’s got two fingers to his forehead and he’s feeling out his son’s wavering ki. He’s in Gohan’s dorm room within a second, like he promised, and his eyes dart around the dark room until he finds his son curled up on the couch, tears glowing silver in the dark.
He looks so small. Gohan is eighteen now, and he’s already got Goku beat in the height leagues by two inches. And now here he is, knees pulled to his chest, breathing into his hands like he’s afraid to make any noise or take up any space. The coffee table that sits in front of the couch has been split in two, and looking around, it’s evident there was some kind of struggle here. What really gets Goku is that his son doesn’t even sense him until he’s standing right in front of him. Gohan startles like a wild animal, looking up at his father with so much fear it makes Goku’s heart clench.
“Hey,” Goku says softly, crouching down so he’s on one knee. “It’s okay. ’S just me.”
Gohan blinks, which effectively causes two fat tears to roll down his cheeks, and then nods once, like he just barely understands. Goku reaches out and lets his hands hover on either side of his son’s face, searching for signs he’ll let him touch him. Gohan immediately flinches away, and then, like he comprehends what he just did, he whips his head around to look back at Goku so fast his neck audibly cracks.
“Sorry,” Gohan hiccups, “sorry, I—”
“It’s fine,” Goku says, smiling gently at him. Even though on the inside he’s thinking about how when he finds out whoever’s responsible for the state his son is in, he’s going to make a carpet out of their skin and put their heart on a platter.
Okay. Maybe that won’t make anything better, actually. But he still might need to kick some stupid college kid ass tonight.
“You can sit,” Gohan chokes out, ears going horribly red as he shuffles up into a sitting position. Goku nods, getting to his feet and then plopping down next to his son. For a while, neither of them say anything. This is fine. Goku doesn’t press, and Gohan spends an entire twenty minutes picking at his cuticles. He’s still sniffling, but at least he’s not outright crying anymore.
It feels like an eternity before Gohan finally lets his head drop onto Goku’s shoulder, scooting closer so he’s well and truly pressed into the older man’s side. Goku hesitantly wraps an arm around Gohan’s shoulders, and when it’s clear he’s not going to shake him away again, he tightens his hold and pulls Gohan flush against him so he’s almost in his lap.
“This is so fucking stupid,” Gohan groans, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not stupid, and there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Goku counters, rubbing circular patterns into Gohan’s shoulder. “… Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Gohan is quiet for a moment, and Goku almost thinks all the progress he’s made since getting here has gone to shit before his son’s voice starts up again.
“There was this guy,” he says, voice faraway. Goku’s hand stills, and then he gives his shoulder a squeeze. Keep going, the gesture says. Gohan swallows. “Um, I don’t know. I was at—this party, with Sharpener— Oh my God, don’t tell mom I was at a party, please.”
Goku snickers at him, grinning. “You’re so cute. Of course I won’t tell her.”
Gohan goes red, burying his face into the crook of Goku’s neck. “Like I was saying. I think I got a little too drunk,” he admits sheepishly. “It was all so new to me. And it was fun, and Sharpener ran off to go hang with some girl, and—well, that’s when I met this guy.”
“Mhm,” Goku hums, not liking where this is going.
“He was real nice. We were talking, and all that, and then I—” Gohan looks up at him, and that fear is back, swimming in the twin abysses that are his eyes. Goku levels his gaze, coating his fingertips in ki and then pressing them softly to Gohan’s terror-frozen body.
It seems to help a bit. Gohan clears his throat and tries to disguise it as cough. “I kissed him.”
He says it like it’s some huge taboo and he’s expecting Goku to throw him through a wall for it.
“Okay,” Goku says, still working on loosening his son’s joints.
“You’re not mad?”
“Why would I be?”
“Don’t know,” Gohan whispers, burrowing closer. If he still had his tail, it would be wriggling around anxiously right about now, maybe beginning to wrap itself around his father’s wrist. “I figured out I liked boys a while back after I got to university, but I never told you or mom. Thought you’d tell me it’s wrong.”
Goku frowns. “I’m sorry if we did anything that made you feel that way, sport.” He laughs when Gohan sputters and backtracks. Goku pats his arm. “But trust me, neither of us care who you like. As long as it’s someone who’s gonna treat our boy well.”
Gohan sinks into Goku’s side. “I still like girls.” He says it like a last line of defense. If Goku’s remembering properly, Gohan and Videl agreed to take a break from their relationship for the time being. Goku’s still not sure why, but he doesn’t see the point of unearthing that right now, unless Gohan brings it up.
“So keep telling me your crazy party story,” Goku quips, attempting to lighten up the mood, but it just makes Gohan wrap himself up into a ball of nerves again at his side. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t try to put any distance between the two of them.
“After we kissed, things got really hazy,” he mumbles. His voice is so quiet even Goku’s Saiyan senses have to strain to hear him. Gohan shifts next to him. “He gave me something to drink. I don’t know for sure, but…” His eyes start to fill with tears again, and something howls for violence inside Goku at the sight.
“But?” Goku prods, voice low.
“I think it had something in it,” Gohan blurts, like he has to force the words out. Like he’s ashamed of even saying it. “Like, if I was just human, it would have knocked me out completely. I only managed to resist it because I’m half Saiyan.”
Goku puts his chin on Gohan’s head, closing his eyes. He’s so fucking angry at whoever this guy is, but getting angry isn’t going to solve anything right now, so he just holds Gohan closer and waits for him to keep talking.
“I didn’t know something was off until we got back to my place,” Gohan huffs out, jamming the heels of his palms into his eyes. “He—he tried to. Um. Go further than just kissing. I didn’t know what to do. He was on top of me, and suddenly my whole body felt so heavy. I connected the dots then, but it was already too late. If I wanted to get him off me, I was gonna have to seriously hurt him.”
Goku rubs Gohan’s back, thumb circling the space between his shoulder blades. “Oh, Gohan,” he sighs, feeling rage roll through him, liquid and molten lava hot, displacing the blood in his veins.
Gohan hiccups, shoulders bucking. “I kept telling him to stop. I told him, I did. But he wouldn’t. And it’s like, logically, I knew that even if I was drugged I could still beat the shit out of him with my eyes closed.” He lets out a watery laugh. “But I just felt so bad about it. And he kept telling me I wanted this, so what was I even complaining about?”
Goku growls at that. He puts two fingers under Gohan’s chin and yanks his son’s downcast face up, meeting his gaze. The tears in Gohan’s eyes make the dark brown of his irises go wobbly, like two fish bowls. “Gohan. You listen to me. You didn’t want it, and you made that very clear. Even if you hadn’t made it clear, no one should ever do anything unless you give them a straight up yes. He’s the one who disrespected that. You did nothing wrong.”
Gohan sobs, and Goku feels the way his jaw moves with it. “But I attacked him, dad! I couldn’t take it anymore and I hit him so hard he was coughing blood. I’m pretty sure all his ribs are broken, and—”
“Serves him right,” Goku scoffs, still cradling his son like he’s a baby and not halfway a grown man.
“But it was wrong,” Gohan cries, hands slapped over his face. “Poor guy is gonna be bedridden for at least a week.”
“Atta boy.”
“Dad.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Goku huffs, leaning down to press a quick kiss on top of Gohan’s head. “But you weren’t in the wrong there. And you know I’d tell you if you were.”
“I know,” Gohan agrees, blinking blearily. “I think I’m done crying.”
“It’s fine if you aren’t,” Goku reassures him, because hell, this is the first time Gohan has come crying to him since he was, what, four? It’s ridiculous. Gohan has spent a large chunk of his childhood swallowing emotions and trying to measure up to men who were already grown, and the other chunk was spent maturing without a father while raising a brother like a son. By the time Goku came back to life after seven years, a true dead man walking, Gohan was already somewhere close to an adult, standing at his father’s eye level, shoulders nearly as wide. So excuse him if he wants to pamper the son who’s never needed pampering for once in his life.
“No, I think I’m good.” Gohan raps a fist weakly against Goku’s chest. “Now I’m just hungry.”
Goku laughs, hearty and full. “Just like your daddy, aren’t you? Should we go home tonight? I’m sure we can whip up a little midnight meal together.”
He doesn’t say that he would really rather Gohan be anywhere but here, alone in this dark dorm. He’d rather have Gohan sleeping in his childhood bed with Goten tucked under his chin, like how it was when he was in high school. Goten cried for two days straight when Gohan announced he was moving away for university, so the little boy will definitely be happy to have his beloved big brother back for the short while.
Gohan’s eyes are still puffy and red-rimmed, but he manages a smile. “Okay. I don’t have classes tomorrow, anyway.”
“And Gohan?”
“… Yeah?”
“Chichi and I really don’t care about the gay stuff. Bisexual stuff, whatever. Yes, I know what that is, get your jaw off the floor.” Goku waves a hand. “She’ll be a bit upset if she never gets any grandchildren, but she’ll get over it.”
Gohan chuckles wryly. “Well, there’s still Goten.”
Goku snorts. “I wouldn’t count on him. He’s attached to Trunks at the hip.”
They both laugh, and for the first time since Gohan called his father, he feels… okay. And definitely ready for bed. After food. Yeah.
Goku stands and sweeps Gohan into his arms in one fluid motion, balancing him on his hip like he’s the child who tired himself out chasing butterflies again. Gohan groans as he blushes, and Goku grins and wiggles his brows.
“Whaddaya say, huh? Just like the good old days,” Goku teases. “You should let me carry you like this more often.”
Gohan stopped asking him to carry him after the Saiyans flipped everything they knew inside out and then upside down. After Goku legally died on paper in a “hunting accident” when Gohan was four years old. Goku doesn’t know how he can ever make it up to him, but this seems like a good start.
“Not a chance in hell,” is all Gohan mutters fondly into Goku’s hair before they’re Instant Transmission-ing back to Mount Paozu.
And all is well. All is well.