Chapter Text
Vegeta strolled down the corridors of Capsule Corp, the setting sun casting low hues of orange as he strode toward the master bedroom. That was until he noticed light spilling from the doorframe of Bulla’s room.
With a small sigh, he carefully stepped inside and found Bulla sitting on her bed, cradling a teddy bear. Her eyes looked tired, and she glanced at him with a slight frown.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked, raising a brow. She didn’t respond, only hugged her teddy bear tighter. He let out a quiet sigh and stepped forward, closing the door behind him as he approached her.
“You know it’s past your bedtime.”
Bulla shrugged, burying her face into the teddy as she mumbled, “Not tired.”
“Sure you’re not,” he replied sarcastically.
She pulled her face away from the teddy and frowned at him.
“You look like your mother when you do that,” he said with a light chuckle, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “You need to at least try and get some sleep.”
“But I did try,” she replied, a note of certainty in her voice.
“Well, perhaps you haven’t tried hard enough,” he said, raising a brow at her as she wrinkled her nose at him. Ever since she turned eight, she had started to rebel a lot more. In a strange way it made him proud. She was already headstrong.
“You need to go to sleep, Bulla,” he added, gesturing for her to lie back on the bed. She huffed and shook her head in protest.
“Mama usually reads me a bedtime story.”
Vegeta swallowed hard as she pointed to the fairy tale books neatly stacked on the bookshelf opposite her bed.
“Did she not read you one tonight?” he asked hesitantly, glancing at the books and then back at her.
She shook her head, and he sighed. “I’ll go get your mother—”
“Can’t you read me one?” she interrupted, her eyes wide with a pleading look.
“You want me to read you a bedtime story?”
She nodded with a sweet smile. He smiled back at her, then turned toward the books, doing his best not to grimace at them.
“Okay,” he agreed, “but you have to promise me you’ll go to sleep afterward.” He held out his pinky.
“I promise,” she replied, grinning as she hooked her pinky with his.
He stood up and sauntered over to the bookshelf, his fingers gliding across the hardbacks. Glancing back at her, he asked, “Any one in particular you want me to read?”
She stared at the shelf in deep concentration for a moment before pointing at the Cinderella book. “That one!”
His lips twitched as he forced a smile. Oh, how he’d heard that story countless times…mainly when he overheard Bulma reading it to her, but even before then, Bulma had introduced him to her favorite fairy tales.
“Sure,” he muttered, clearing his throat. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he opened the book and began to read. Bulla snuggled under the covers, listening intently.
As he continued reading, she suddenly sat up, a curious glint in her eyes.
“What was it like growing up as a prince?”
He froze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He looked at her innocent curiosity. He had never shared much about his childhood with his children,never felt the need. Yet here she was, staring up at him, waiting for an answer.
His eyes drifted down to the page, a picture of the prince dancing with Cinderella and he sighed.
“Not quite like this,” he said, nodding at the illustration.
Bulla raised her brows and glanced at the page, then back at him. The curious glint in her eye filled him with a strange guilt. He had kept a large part of his past hidden from his family, mainly because it wasn’t something he found easy to open up about. Being on an alien planet with different morals made him question parts of his past as he watched his children grow – how lucky they were not to have endured what he had.
While he sat lost in turmoil, a gentle hand rested on top of the book, drawing his attention back to his daughter, who looked up at him with concern.
“It’s okay, Daddy. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to,” she whispered, her voice softer near the end as she snuggled closer to her teddy.
He glanced at the page again before letting out a soft sigh and gently closing the book. “Well, what is it you’d like to know?” he asked, meeting her curious gaze.
She scrunched her brows in thought, tapping her chin as she stared upwards before looking back at him. “Do you remember being my age?”
Something heavy sank inside him at that question. He hesitated, wondering if he should answer truthfully, but her earnest stare urged him on. He gave a gentle nod and glanced out the window by her bed. “Yes,” he answered briefly, eyes fixed on the twinkling stars.
“What was your favourite story back then?” she asked curiously, grabbing the book that rested on his lap. “Were they anything like these?” She held the book up toward him, pulling his attention back to her.
A small smirk crept onto his face as he glanced at the cover. Stories like these would have left his father disgusted. The tales told to him had been of bloodthirsty battles, proudly won, and the unyielding belief that they were the most elite warriors in the galaxy.
“Not quite like these,” he said, taking the book from her as he gazed at its illustrated cover. “The stories I was told at your age were about the battles before me. About how we became the elite warriors, and how my father earned his respect.” His jaw tightened slightly as other memories resurfaced.
Bulla’s eyes widened in awe as she leaned back in bed, snuggling her teddy and ready to listen.
“My father mostly had servants who handled the mundane tasks of nighttime routines, ensuring I was well rested for training and—”
“What about your mother?” Bulla cut in, asking innocently.
Vegeta pressed his lips together and glanced out the window again, thinking carefully about how to explain without upsetting her. “She wasn’t around,” he said softly, doing his best to compose himself. “But I know she was a strong warrior. Many were terrified of her, or so I was told.” He grinned faintly as Bulla beamed with pride.
“I was very young when she passed, so I don’t have much memory of her,” he continued, smoothing a hand over Bulla’s hair as she lay back to listen. “But I was told stories. Once, when we were invaded by a hostile planet, she didn’t back down. She challenged their leader directly. They accepted, confident they would win. It was a long battle, but my mother fought on, even while injured and she prevailed. She claimed their planet as her reward.”
“How’d she win?” Bulla asked mid-yawn.
Vegeta paused, debating how to answer. The truth was that his mother had decapitated the leader by biting off his head in her Oozaru form, leaving the enemy forces too terrified to continue. But he softened the tale. “She blasted him through the chest,” he lied, deciding it sounded less gruesome.
Bulla smiled sleepily. “Cool.”
Her reaction made him smile; it reminded him of how he had once felt hearing the same story. He smoothed his hand over her hair. “Our race were warriors, feared by many, and raised on pride.”
He tucked her into bed as she drifted closer to sleep.
“The stories I was told weren’t about princesses needing saving,” he went on, watching her fight her drowsiness. “They were about our heritage, our beliefs, and what we stood for. I was raised to fight, to never back down.” He cleared his throat. “At your age, I had already witnessed many things no child should ever see but to me… it was normal.”
He leaned over to close the curtains, then glanced at the book she had asked him to read earlier. “My life wasn’t like the fairy tales your mother tells you. It was full of hardships, losses, and battles just to survive.” His gaze softened as he saw her sleeping soundly, teddy in her arms. “But this is part of your heritage too.”
A soft creak pulled his attention to the door. Bulma stood in the doorway, wrapped in her dressing gown, smiling gently.
“She wanted to know about my upbringing,” he said quietly, careful not to wake their daughter as he rose to place the book back on the shelf.
“I heard.” Bulma gave him a small smile. She knew his past was painful and had never pressed too much, something Vegeta had always been grateful for. “You don’t need to tell her everything, you know. Not if you don’t want to.”
He glanced at their daughter, then back at Bulma as he walked toward her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I want to. She, you, and Trunks deserve to know parts of my past. Just… not all of it. Not now.”
Bulma nodded, kissed him on the cheek, and squeezed his hand. “Come on, let’s not stand here too long. We don’t want to wake our sleeping princess.”
He smiled and followed her out, pausing for one last look at Bulla. She was still sound asleep, snuggled against her teddy.
“Good night, Bulla,” he whispered, smiling as he gently closed the door.