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Gohan touches down on Mount Paozu looking more frazzled than Goku’s ever seen him, cradling Pan to his chest like he’s just barely containing her from flying a million miles away. Knowing her, he probably is. The late afternoon sun swelters above them, makes Goku wipe the sweat off his brow as he beams at the two of them.
“Sorry, sorry,” is the first thing out of Gohan’s mouth as he’s trotting over, and Goku has to purse his lips to keep from laughing at the way Pan is attempting to wriggle out of his hold. “I don’t even know what happened, I thought I had the day off today—”
“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Goku soothes, catching Pan when her great escape plan proves successful, watching her go through the five stages of grief when she realizes she’s just transferred her cage from her father’s arms to her grandfather’s. “I’m taking a break from training Uub anyway this week.”
“Thanks again. Where’s mom?” Gohan asks, buttoning up his dress shirt.
“Visiting her father,” Goku answers, trying not to feel a little wounded at the way Gohan’s hands pause. “Hey. I’m just as good with kids as she is, okay. Maybe even better.”
Gohan doesn’t look very impressed. “No sugar after seven o’clock.”
“You suck, daddy,” Pan chimes, ducking her head out over Goku’s bicep.
“Yeah, what she said,” Goku backs her up, watching Gohan massage his temples with a sigh.
“I’ve gotta stop leaving her around Goten,” he mutters, shrugging on his suit jacket. “Anyway. Call me if anything happens.”
“I won’t need to, everything will go great and Pan will love me more than you by the time today is over,” Goku claims, leaning down to pinch her cheek. “Isn’t that right?”
“G’andpa, let go!” she shrieks, words slurred with his grip on her, giggling when Goku tugs harder. “G’andpa!”
Gohan’s lips curve into a fond smile. “I’ll be over to pick her up sometime in the evening. I don’t know the specifics,” he sighs, threading a hand through the thick mass of his untamed hair. “I really was supposed to have the day off, but I guess they need me for something. I feel a little bad about inconveniencing you like this.”
Goku feels his grin falter, just a little. “What? Gohan, it’s not an inconvenience. She’s my granddaughter,” he reminds him, putting emphasis on the relation, watching something vaguely unsure pass through the black of Gohan’s eyes.
“I know! I didn’t mean it like that,” Gohan backtracks, laughing nervously in the way that suggests he probably, definitely, actually did mean it like that. “Um. Well, I’ll be off, then.”
“... Sure,” Goku says, smile twitching. “Fly safe, son.”
“Thanks,” Gohan returns. He turns his gentle eyes on Pan. “Be good, sweetheart. Don’t cause any trouble for grandpa.”
Pan grins at him, gap-toothed and dimpled. She raises her hand in an adorable salute. “Yes, sir! Bye-bye, daddy!”
Gohan chuckles and salutes her back. “Bye-bye.” And then he looks up at Goku. “See you, dad.”
“See ya,” Goku hums, watching Gohan launch off into the air. He stands there with Pan in his arms until Gohan’s figure blazes into a star in the sky and then disappears. “Your daddy’s a strange guy, isn’t he, Pan?”
“Daddy’s not strange!” Pan huffs, frowning up at Goku, cheeks puffing out with her indignance. “You’re the strange one, grandpa!”
“Oh, wow, someone’s quick to switch sides,” Goku teases her, stalking off with her still trapped in his arms. “You were just on my side a few minutes ago, baby girl.”
“Not a baby!” Pan denies, fisting the fabric of his gi. She’s so cute Goku thinks she’s in serious danger of being squished to death within the next five or so seconds.
“Oh, yes you are,” he coos, squashing her against his chest, grinning when she yips with laughter, head falling against his neck. “Come on. You wanna go inside?”
Pan darts her head up, chin between his collar bones. “Can I play with Bulla?”
Goku snorts with his laughter. “What? Your grandpa isn’t good enough to entertain you?”
“Nooo!” She throws her arms around Goku’s neck. So small, but so powerful. It makes him more wistful than he’d like to admit. “I love you, grandpa! We can play!”
She really does have him dancing in the palm of her little hand. Goku kisses her forehead. “I love you, too. So what should we play?” he inquires, watching her brow furrow with concentration as she seriously contemplates what her answer should be.
“Tag!” Pan exclaims, hands curled around Goku’s shoulders. “Let’s play tag, grandpa!”
“On the ground or in the sky?” Goku questions, and the way she rolls her eyes makes him laugh, deep in his chest.
“Obviously in the sky!” Pan explains, like he seriously should have known that. She writhes her way out of Goku’s clasp and uses his shoulders as a means to launch herself off, already headed for the rolling clouds up ahead. “Come and get me, grandpa!”
Well, Goku’s never been one to deny a challenge. He springs off his feet to join her, torpedoing through the sky after her as she dashes through the sky. They’re just playing around, sure, but he can’t help the swell of pride that warms his chest at her casual show of skill. She really is something fierce, a four year old spitfire. Goku grins as he whips through the clouds in his pursuit for her, watching her eyes widen when she realizes he’s caught up to her. She performs a somersault mid air with an amount of grace that a normal human child would never be capable of, a clear, mundane reminder of his blood running through her veins.
“Grandpa, you’re too fast,” she complains, dodging him when he reaches out to nab her by the ankle.
“Hey,” Goku laughs, “I’ve been doing this for a while longer than you, darling.”
Pan’s lips twist into a pout. “You aren’t gonna catch me!” she taunts him, zipping out of arm’s-length again. “I’m gonna win this time!”
He does end up letting her win, in the end, because he’s had a soft spot for this little girl his son gifted him since the day he saw her as a baby wrapped up in a towel and still wet with birthing blood. So he parodies being drastically out of breath, falling over onto the ground with a guttural groan, right at her tiny feet when she lands triumphantly before him.
“You’ve beaten me,” he says, drawn out like he’s acting out a death scene in one of those video games Goten’s always playing, and Pan’s laugh is as clear as the skies above them.
“You suck at pretending, grandpa,” she giggles, crawling into Goku’s lap when he straightens up and sits with his legs crossed.
“No, no, you really did win,” Goku assures her, picking her up and sitting her down on his right thigh. “You got me good.”
“Yeah, right,” Pan says, rolling her eyes. “Hey, hey, grandpa?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think I’ll be as good as you one day?” Pan asks, looking up at him like she’s looking right at the sun. “I wanna be strong like you. And daddy. And Piccolo.” A thoughtful expression crosses her face. “And also grandma. I think grandma is the strongest.”
Goku snickers. His large palm dwarfs her tiny back. “You would be right about that, Pan,” he agrees, gaze full of warmth when he looks down at her. “Yeah, I think you’ll be real strong.”
“Really?” Pan’s eyes are starry with the kind of idolized hope Gohan used to have, directed with full force at Goku and enough to make him wither under its constant pressure. (Gohan doesn’t really look at him that anymore.) She’s picking a twig out of her bangs when she asks again, “Really, grandpa?”
“You know it,” Goku assures her, patting her shoulder. “You’re already flyin’ around and stuff. That’s very impressive, you know. Your father and I, we couldn’t fly when we were that young.” Although Gohan was forced to learn soon enough. He dispels the thought right as it forms.
Pan gapes at him. “You guys couldn’t fly?! But it’s so easy!”
Goku shrugs. “Eh. We can’t all be geniuses.” He grins slyly at the way she automatically fluffs up with pride at his implied compliment. “You’re gettin’ there much quicker than the rest of us did, sweetheart.”
Pan latches her arms around his waist and snuggles into his stomach. “Yay!” Her voice is muffled into his gi when she says, “I like being with you, grandpa. I wish we could do it more often.”
Goku’s heart drops at that, right down his rib cage. He doesn’t have the guts to decipher why fully. “Yeah?” he asks, softly.
“Mhm,” Pan confirms. “I love Piccolo, too, but I never get to hang out with you. Daddy says it’s ’cuz you’re busy a lot.”
Busy, huh. Well, it’s not exactly like that’s a lie—he has a responsibility to take care of Uub, since the boy’s very existence and overwhelming strength is sort of his fault; although he won’t deny that the fact that fighting him when he’s honed his skill in the future excites him. But Pan’s admission, Daddy says you’re busy a lot—imagining Gohan telling her that, it makes something turn over in his stomach. What does his face look like when he says it? Are his lips drawn up in that same placid smile he wears when he’s swallowing the things he wants to spit in Goku’s face? Are his eyes full of passive resentment?
Goku shakes his head. “He’s right about that. But I’m sorry I haven’t been making enough time for you, Pan.” He cradles her right cheek. “I’ll try to work on that, I promise.”
Pan lights up so immensely that Goku thinks if he goes back on his word the guilt will kill him. “Okay, grandpa.” Her eyes droop with inevitable, childish sleepiness. She’s still just a little girl, no matter how strong she is. (Gohan was still just a little boy, no matter how strong he was.) Her head slumps against Goku’s torso.
“Time for a nap?” he asks, gathering her into his arms. The only answer he receives is the feeling of her tiny snores buzzing warm across his skin.
As it turns out, when Pan falls asleep, she ends up immobilizing Goku, too. She whines in her slumber if he tries to leave her alone on the couch to get other things done, so he settles for letting her curl up in his lap like a little kitten, stroking her hair as he watches the rise and fall of her back. She’s so tiny. Goku remembers thinking the same thing about Gohan, when he was this age: four years old and already pronouncing big words from those books Chi-Chi put in front of him, reading them off the paper with his tiny face screwed up in concentration. Toddling around with his tail waving behind him like his heart on his sleeve.
Gohan’s neck is broken. They’re on Namek, and Gohan’s neck is broken.
Goku stares at the ticking clock that hangs on the wall, right above where all the family pictures are stacked together on a humble wooden shelf.
He just stares at Goku like he’s a stranger when his limp body up is propped up on Goku’s knee. And Goku doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the snap of Gohan’s bones as he shoved the senzu bean down his throat—cracking vulgarly back into place, as if they should never have been shattered in the first place.
“No use thinking about that,” Goku mutters, eyes falling shut. He’s still combing hand through Pan’s hair, sections of her tresses pooling between his fingers, like he’s on autopilot. “No darn use.”
(In some of his dreams, Gohan’s neck breaks again, and the noise the action makes is copied verbatim from how it resonated on Namek. His head does a three hundred and sixty degree rotation on his shoulders when Goku throws Cell that senzu bean, staring at him with Super Saiyan blue eyes, face aged by a year in one day: asking over and over again, How could you? How could you? He hadn’t said that back then. But Goku could tell he was thinking it.)
The chuckle that leaves Goku’s lips almost sounds like a sob. “I must be getting old. That all feels like it was forever ago,” he mumbles, looking down at the snoozing girl in his lap.
Right, Pan is four years old, Goku recounts. Four years old and sleeping peacefully on her grandfather’s lap. The same age Gohan was when his father died and he was thrown to the wolves to fend for himself. The thought of it strikes Goku so suddenly it makes his body still for a second, and he only remembers to keep carding his fingers through Pan’s hair when she kicks his hip, half awake.
Goku laughs as he leans back against the sofa’s cushion. “You aren’t really asleep, are you?”
“Mhm, I am,” Pan whispers, nuzzling closer to him like she’s trying to become part of his body. “Shh, grandpa.”
Goku rolls his eyes as he scratches absentmindedly at her hairline. She makes a pleased noise, similar to the one Gohan used to make when Goku did the same thing for him—Goku’s sure that if Pan had a tail like Gohan did as a boy, it would be wagging appreciatively right about now. “You want anything to eat?”
Pan opens one dark eye. “What do you have?”
Goku smirks. “Everything.” He wiggles his brows. “Your grandma made her beef cutlet this morning.”
Pan sits up as quick as a bullet. “I want some!” she declares, and Goku can’t help it—he throws his head back and laughs.
“Fully awake now, huh?” he teases, crushing her cheeks between his hands. “Come on then, missy.”
Dinner with Pan, just the two of them, is a sweet affair. She eats so well, doesn’t hesitate to shovel food into her mouth in true Son family fashion, and Goku even caves and gives her some off of his plate.
“You’re a growing girl,” he tells her, sliding rice into her bowl with his chopsticks, “I’ve already done all the growing I need to do.”
Pan looks at him solemnly. “I think you can still get taller, grandpa. If you put your mind to it.”
Goku grins at her as he pops a dumpling into his mouth. “Thanks for the enouragement,” he says, dropping a hand in her hair and ruffling it.
Pan’s eyes are huge. “Maybe you’ll be as tall as Piccolo!” Ouch.
“Come on, Piccolo isn’t that much taller than me,” Goku scoffs, trying not to pout like a kid as he picks at his rice petulantly.
Pan pats his forearm, sympathetic. “It’s okay, grandpa. I still love you.”
“Wow.” Goku feeds her a bite of chicken. “Love you too, though.”
The day is already beginning to seep into evening by the time they get around to doing the dishes, sky streaked with pinks and reds and oranges outside the window. Pan marvels at it as she climbs up onto the stool Goku’s laid out for her, hands curled intently around the counter as she leans forward.
“It’s so pretty,” she whispers, eyes hazed over with the hues of the clouds. Goku pulls her back by her shirt so she doesn’t topple right into the sink.
“It is, huh?” he agrees, turning the tap on. “Watch out, honey.”
Pan does a stellar job at her assigned role of wiping the dishes, but Goku can see her beginning to sort of teeter with the beginnings of fatigue on her stool as they finish everything up. He scoops her up into his arms just as she’s about to fall back, adjusting her so her head rolls against his chest.
“That’s right,” he mumbles, smoothing a thumb over the crease of her brow. “Have a lot of fun, eat a lot of good food, and get plenty of rest. That’s the proper way to grow.”
(Goku remembers tucking Gohan in the night before the Cell Games. He smoothed his thumb over the crease of his boy’s brow, his heart aching and aching and aching.)
“Huh.” Goku turns to look at the window. “Right on time.”
Gohan’s ki is blazing out about five kilometres away, cutting through the distance within minutes. Goku kicks the stool back into its place by the fridge and walks until he reaches the front door, swings it open and toes on his shoes as he waits for his son’s arrival. It doesn’t take long for Gohan to reach him, suit jacket flung open and the first few buttons of his shirt popped. He looks exhausted as he steps towards Goku, but he still smiles as he holds out his arms for his daughter.
“Long day?” Goku asks him, handing Pan over. Gohan nods as he slips an arm under her bottom, letting her forehead collapse onto his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he answers, sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose and then pocketing them. “I’m just glad tomorrow’s Saturday. Ugh.”
Goku laughs, quietly. “At least you don’t have to worry about putting her to bed. She’ll be out like a light, trust me.”
“Yeah, I believe you,” Gohan chuckles, thumping her lightly on the small of her back. “How was she? No problems?”
“Not at all,” Goku replies, waving a hand. “We had a lot of fun.”
Gohan’s eyes soften. Something about it makes Goku’s skin crawl. “That’s good. I’m glad. She was really happy about getting to see you today, you know.”
Goku swallows. Works a crick out of his neck. “She’s a lot like you,” he says, before he can stop himself. Gohan’s expression seems to freeze over as what Goku’s just said washes over him.
“Is she?” Gohan questions, voice coloured with an unsure laugh. “I’ve never really thought she was. Feel like she takes more after Videl. Or even you.”
“I think she is,” Goku says, pushing further. “She does a lot of things you used to do when you were a kid.”
It’s a cruel thing to suggest, that this child who has been afforded the luxury of being a child by every adult in her life is anything like Gohan.
Gohan looks like he wants to hit him hard enough to see blood. His features hardly move from their polite fixture, but Goku knows him like the back of his own hand, so he can see the miniscule indications like they’re lined in neon—the clench of his jaw, the twitch of his mouth. Goku wishes he would do it, but they both know Gohan never would unless Goku struck him first.
“She’s a lot more carefree than I was,” Gohan finally says. The statement is loaded; packed full of violent memories, bloody flashes of the past. He’s not looking at Goku—he’s looking at the house he grew up in behind him. “I intend to keep it that way, dad.”
Goku exhales through his nose. He wonders, idly, when Gohan got taller than him. “Of course,” he utters, watching Gohan’s gaze shift back to him. Goku’s staring into the untamed grass that billows at their feet when he says, “I know I put you through a lot.”
Gohan flinches. He’s looking at Goku like he’s ten and they’re in in the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, staring at his father’s outstretched hand like it was an alien object after Goku had just beaten the hell out of him in a spar. “There was a reason for all of it.” Gohan shrugs, and the motion itself is a choppy thing. “I don’t blame you. Or anyone else, for that matter. That’s just how things had to be, back then.”
“It shouldn’t have been.” Goku furrows his brow. The words I’m sorry rot on the tip of his tongue, where they have been for decades. Goku can’t bring himself to say them. He doubts he ever will. Because isn’t what Gohan is saying true? Isn’t that just how things had to be? Wasn’t it just Gohan’s destiny to be a too-powerful, too-mature child at the helm of it all, the world’s saviour when he was eleven? To have to be the man of a household when he was just a kid himself? Goku feels better about it when he thinks of it that way. But he also knows that’s just an excuse.
“There was nothing you could have done prevent it,” Gohan tells him, words of empty consolement. His smile seems detached from the rest of his face, not quite matching up with his eyes and his nose. “Really, dad. It’s no use dwelling on the past.”
Goku’s fingers flex at his side. “I was protecting you,” he says, and it takes a great amount of effort not to choke on the claim. “I was… all of it, it was... all for you, Gohan.” I was doing what I thought was best for you. But it feels cheap to say that out loud.
The lilt to Gohan’s lips widens. Stretches across his face all wrong. His canines, the ones Goku blessed him with at birth, appear ill-assorted with the rest of his blunt, human teeth. It’s gotten dark, all of a sudden. “No, dad,” he hums, already beginning to turn away. Too far out of Goku’s reach.
“You were training me.”