Chapter Text
Normal POV
It had been a month since the end of the Cell Games.
A month since Gohan had saved them all from Cell.
A month since Goku died.
A month since...since he lost Puar to an incurable sickness and in that time Yamcha had been unsettled for days he couldn't properly sleep without suffering from a nightmare.
Everytime it was the same.
From the time he had let himself get blown up by Saibamen, to losing Bulma, to getting his chest caved in by that old bastard Gero, to being useless against the androids and Cell, to getting outpaced by the Saiyans,and to working for funds in order to treat Puar only to lose him.
His best friend was gone.
The thought sat in his chest like a stone, heavy and unmoving, no matter how many times he tried to breathe around it. Puar had always been there floating beside him, teasing him when he got cocky, worrying when he got hurt, and believing in him even when he'd stopped believing in himself.
Now the silence beside his bed was unbearable
Yamcha stared at the ceiling, eyes bloodshot, and jaw clenched.
He'd told himself he was used to losing.
Goku.
Bulma.
His Pride.
His Dreams.
Yet this felt different because Puar hadn't died in some world-ending battle or heroic sacrifice. He'd slipped away slowly, quietly while Yamcha scrambled for money and miracles that never came.
The Dragon Balls couldn't even fix or bring him back since his death was a natural one and the new batch of senzu beans hadn't fully grown yet.
"I'm sorry," Yamcha whispered to the dark room, his voice cracking.
He didn't know who he was apologizing to anymore Puar, Goku, or the version of himself that used to believe he mattered.
Sleep finally dragged him under, but it offered no mercy.
He was back on that battlefield again.
The Saibaman leaping at him, the sudden realization a second too late.
The explosion.
Then it shifted Android 20's hand through his chest while he uselessly fought against him.
Another cut standing uselessly as Vegeta, Tien, Krillen, and Piccolo charged ahead their backs growing smaller while Yamcha stayed behind, irrelevant.
And then Puar.
Puar calling his name.
Yamcha bolted upright with a gasp, sweat soaking his white tanktop, an heart pounding like it wanted out.
Dawn light crept through his window, pale and weak.
He dragged a hand down his face and let out a shaky breath.
"Enough," he muttered with a clenched fist.
He's had enough running.
Enough of pretending he was fine with being left behind. Enough of telling himself this was just how things were meant to be.
The Saiyans trained because they loved to fight. Goku trained because it made him happy. Vegeta trained because his pride demanded it. Tien trained because it was his way of life.
Yamcha hadn't trained because somewhere along the way, he'd convinced himself that he was content with his level of power.
Yamcha stood up shoulders shaking not with fear, but with something hot and burning that he hadn't felt in quite some time.
Resolve.
"I won't waste it anymore Puar," he said softly, eyes hardening as the sun finally rose "not your faith in me and not my life. I am going to keep on growing as a fighter and I won't stop anymore this I swear!" he declared.
Going into his bathroom Yamcha quickly washed his face and teeth before going towards his closet where he began to lightly pack up his stuff.
After that he ate breakfast before slinging his bag over his shoulder and leaving his house. Which he had made in the middle of a wooden forest, after Puar died he just didn't feel like living in the cities anymore.
With a simple thought Yamcha flew up through the air his destination? To master Roshi's place. While his former master had indeed trained him quite well there were still some Ki techniques that he wanted to pick up from him.
Like his MAX transformation, the sleepy boy technique, and the thundershock surprise.
The wind roared in his ears as he cut through the sky, trees and rivers blurring beneath him.
Normally flying like this felt freeing and calm.
Today, it just felt...heavy.
The ocean came into view before long, sunlight glinting off the waves in lazy sparkles that felt almost insulting in their calm.
Kame House stood exactly as it always has.
Yamcha slowed and touched down on the sand, his boots sinking slightly.
He walked up and knocked.
No answer.
He frowned then knocked again, harder this time "uh Master Roshi? It's me Yamcha."
Still nothing.
Yamcha sighed and slid the door open "I'm coming in!"
The words died in his throat.
Master Roshi was sprawled face-down on the floor, unmoving, sunglasses crooked, and arms splayed like he'd been dropped there.
Yamcha's heart skipped "Roshi?!"
In an instant he was at the old man's side, hand hovering over his chest, ki flaring reflexively as he checked for-
A sudden snort stopped him in his tracks.
Roshi shifted lifting his head an inch "n-nn... five more minutes... Bulma..."
Yamcha slumped back on his heels.
A breath he didn't realize he'd been holding rushing out of him "phew geez old timer you damn nearly gave me heart attack,"
Roshi cracked one eye open and peered at him "huh? Yamcha? What are you doin' here so early in the morning, kiddo?" although his tone was casual Roshi could tell something was different about his young student.
"I need your help," Yamcha said simply.
That made Roshi blink once.
Then he slowly pushed himself up into a seated position, adjusting his sunglasses and giving Yamcha a long, quiet look "with what exactly? If it's about training well I've practically taught you everything I already know."
"Yeah," Yamcha replied his voice unwavering, "and it's not enough. You have plenty of other techniques that you haven't taught and I really want to learn them from you Master."
Roshi looked at Yamcha's bloodshot eyes, noticing how tired his old student still was and let out an inner sigh of sadness.
Ever since Puar's death Yamcha hadn't been the same.
"Kid," Roshi spoke quietly, "you look like hell."
Yamcha didn't flinch "I feel worse actually."
For a moment, the only sound was the ocean lapping against the shore.
Roshi rubbed his beard, thoughtful, and then slowly stood his joints popping as he straightened himself out "alright I'll teach you the techniques but first you need to rest up. Remember what I first taught you. Work hard, study, hard, eat, and sleep plenty. That's the Turtle Hermit way. Something that I can clearly see you've been neglecting."
Yamcha let out a quiet huff of breath, shoulders sagging just a little "yeah I figured you'd notice," he muttered.
Roshi gave him a sideways look "of course I noticed. I'm old not blind and grief makes for terrible students."
Yamcha clenched his fists at his sides.
For a second, he looked like he might argue, might insist he was fine, that he didn't need rest, that time was being wasted.
Instead, he bowed.
"...Alright," Yamcha said quietly, "I'll do it your way Master."
That earned him a small smile beneath Roshi's beard.
"Good," the old master said, turning toward the kitchen "because if you collapse halfway through training, I'm not dragging your sorry carcass back inside."
Yamcha almost laughed.
"Now you know where the guest room is so go up and catch up on some sleep then I'll start your training," Roshi instructed.
He nodded slinging his bag off his shoulder and heading up the narrow staircase. The guest room was small, with a single bed, a desk cluttered with seashells, and a window overlooking the ocean.
Just like he remembered.
He let out a long breath and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
For a few moments, Yamcha allowed himself to just...exist.
No guilt.
No failure.
No Puar's absence pressing on his chest.
Just the sound of waves rolling lazily against the shore.
The exhaustion hit him harder than he expected.
A month of restless nights, constant anxiety, and the weight of his own failures came crashing down. His body surrendered immediately and sleep finally claimed him without resistance.