Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Paradigm ❯ Paradigm ( One-Shot )

He was a young man now, dashing and bright, quick to flash a winsome grin or give a quick thumbs-up.

 

Vegeta recognized the gesture, remembered it well from his other son—his first son. Trunks-from-the-future.

 

This boy had crept into his heart in much the same way as the other had: Vegeta's balking and hatred became an unwilling acceptance; his stubborn will, slowly, was transformed into a hot glow beneath his collarbone that only seemed to brighten with time. This boy was no longer a boy, he supposed—was older than the young man who had appeared more than two decades ago, the Trunks that had captured his affection before this one ever could have.

 

He'd never have admitted it, of course—but his actions had spoken loudly enough. As Trunks had died—so suddenly, and the beam through his chest so violently familiar—the lightning rage through Vegeta's veins scared him, the power of it, and compelled him to act. What he'd done had been stupid, more meaningful than any words he could have spoken. It was an abrupt awakening to what he—he, Vegeta—could wield within his ribcage, however awkwardly. But he would get better with it; he gained practice as his Trunks, his boy, came to replace the man who had been revived and who left his father's eyes blurred with a thumbs-up.

 

Trunks-from-the-future had been a product of trauma, and seemed heavily scarred, almost as Vegeta himself. This Trunks was quiet, and his pride resonated subtly beneath the surface, so unlike his father's. As they had trained together, a bond had formed. At the time, Vegeta had believed it to be tenuous—a product merely of the time they had spent in such close proximity. But no: it was the inconspicuous growth of what would later strike him sharply.

 

The Trunks he'd known for so much longer—his Trunks, his boy—was less stone and more resilient rubber. His world, for all the destruction it had experienced, had been restored nearly seamlessly—no one left dead, unrestorable. Could any of Trunks' continued stability, any of his happiness, be attributed to Vegeta's presence as he grew?

He and his boy had bonded through training, too. Ever since young Trunks' ability had started shining through, Vegeta had insisted that the child train with him, for he knew his potential well. If Vegeta could know whether he'd have fostered the boy's talents and cared for him so thoroughly—whether he'd have loved him, had felt the same glowing affection for him—even if he had not glimpsed what Trunks' future could hold—

 

But there was no way to know, was there? He could never be sure if he would have stayed to watch the boy grow, if he'd have cared for his son at all. He had no way to know, and even so many years later, he was worried.

 

Very worried—because this Trunks was not the same. This was not the one who had awakened his heart. This boy who he held so dear and so familiar was yet a stranger to him, even as they grew together—for Vegeta was always waiting, always expecting.

 

And here Trunks was—not at all the same but for one thing. He stuffed the last box into the aircraft, ready to move out, hopping in with optimistic grace. Trunks shut the door and waved through the glass.

 

He smirked faintly, and so did Vegeta in return, hoping it was enough to convey his well wishes for the boy's future.

 

Thumbs-up.