Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Play Alongs ❯ Papa! ( Chapter 5 )

7. Papa!

Anonymous asked: How do you think Vegeta felt when Trunks called him Papa for the first time

The heat was unbearably dense, the pressure rising gradually as Vegeta stood by the control console, proceeding to increase the forces inside the Gravity Room that his mate had designed especially for him.

It’d become a routine by now, a daily routine of grueling, hardcore exercise, pushing his body to the limit and constantly testing his boundaries, much to his woman’s dismay. As much as it pained him to admit it, Bulma had become the main reason why, ever since he’d finally found the strength and the will to go back to his regular training schedule, months after his depression following the Cell Games debacle, he’d managed to find a balance between keeping up with his brutal physical regime and staying alive somehow.

The thought of taking care of himself for the sake of someone else’s peace of mind was something new for a lonesome warrior like himself, just like sharing his life with a woman who actually cared for him, and that found inexplicable happiness in his company, had most certainly represented a major change in his existence. But nothing could have ever prepared him for the incredibly foreign emotions coursing right through him ever since he’d embarked in what he’d soon realized would be the greatest emotional challenge of his new life on Earth.

Behind him, right in the middle of the heated training chamber, a lavender-haired baby boy stood on a pair of chubby, wobbly legs. His mother’s bright blue eyes frowning in concentration, in an almost comical imitation of his father’s trademark scowl, his little arms stretched to his sides, tiny fists clutched and lips firmly pursed as he precariously struggled to keep his balance with a stubbornness that would make his Saiyan great-grandfathers proud.

Vegeta still couldn’t believe it.      

He found it impossible to believe that the boy’s mother had actually agreed, without even putting up a fight, to his outrageous suggestion of commencing Trunks’ training as soon as the child started to walk. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that he’d treated both Bulma and the boy with the most blatant disregard, barely acknowledging their presence and importance in his life, and even refusing to save both of them in the battlefield, a shameful event he’d deeply regret for the rest of his days. And yet, Bulma had welcomed him back with open arms, giving their still too fragile relationship a second chance and, now, offering him the opportunity of training and raising the child with her.

The Prince had the strong suspicion that his mate’s unconditional love and generosity towards an outcast like him would forever remain a mystery in his mind. But, deep down, he’d always feel infinitely grateful for it, despite living with the unshakeable premonition that, not only he’d never be able to find a way of expressing just how much Bulma’s trust meant to him, but that, sooner or later, he’d end up failing them both in the long run, just as he always did.

Before his pessimistic, gloomy thoughts could take hold of him, the warrior quickly shook them off, choosing to focus on the child instead. Thanks to his past experiences with Mirai Trunks, Vegeta already knew just how unbelievably strong Trunks would grow up to be. The boy was half-Saiyan, after all. But the little brat was young still, and if the boy got hurt in any way during their training sessions, not only would there be Hell to pay with his woman, but the Prince knew his own guilt would never allow him to live with himself afterwards.

“Alright…” The Prince declared in a soft but firm tone as he typed in the settings he considered appropriate for the child to handle safely. “Look at me, boy…”

His father’s grave voice instantly caught the young child’s attention and, in the blink of an eye, Trunks penetrating scowl was promptly replaced by an ingenuous look of naïve fascination as he stared at the minuscule energy ball Vegeta had gathered in the palm of his roughed hand.

It took the Saiyan a few seconds to collect himself and continue with the boy’s education. The innocence in those oceanic eyes, as pure as driven snow and oh so frighteningly similar to that in his mate’s gaze, unnerved him still. And he knew that it would take an entire lifetime for him to get used to the outlandish idea of a killer like him contributing to bringing such a pure, uncorrupted being into this world.

“Follow me, boy…” He finally instructed with as much kindness as he could muster, even though in the last few days, ever since he’d begun his son’s coaching, it’d become apparent that the boy’s fear towards him had disappeared by now.           

Trunks blinked a few times in surprise, raising his eyebrows and gasping in genuine interest and admiration towards his father’s enigmatic power.

“Trunks,” he summoned again, slightly increasing the size of his ki ball in order to further lure the small boy. “Follow me…”  

This time, the child understood his father’s commands at last, and he nodded in excited agreement, his pudgy little arms stretching in front of him as he initiated the arduous task of walking in the direction of Vegeta’s spot as the gravity forces kept hindering his efforts.

Soon, the candid captivation in the child’s face morphed into that familiarly deep, ferocious scowl of his, as he relentlessly chased his much-prized goal, making his father’s chest inwardly swell with pride as he witnessed the boy’s Saiyan instincts taking over, pursuing his target with a determination that no human boy would ever be able to possess.

The child kept walking steadily, his fingers wiggling anxiously, vainly attempting to catch the Prince’s mysterious gift. Before long, Trunks was puffing and groaning, little beads of sweat dampening his hair and streaming down his forehead as he fought the inhuman forces crippling him, literally blocking him and stopping him from reaching his golden goal. But the little brat was progressing, Vegeta noticed, and doing so at an impressive speed, his previously shaky, unsteady legs, now growing stronger and noticeably more confident as he carried his father’s instructions.

It took a good twenty minutes for his strength to falter, his resolve weakening as he slowed down his pace, finally landing, quite literally, on his bottom, his fall cushioned by the dinosaur diapers he was wearing underneath his yellow overalls. Trunks panted lightly, running his minute hands across his eyes, getting rid of the salty drops now blinding him under his father’s watchful eye.

“Impressive…” Vegeta mumbled to himself, dispersing his little sphere of energy and taking a few steps forward, standing cross-armed in front of his son, his astute eyes fixated on him as he analyzed the boy’s ki signal.

Despite the child’s premature exhaustion, he could tell that he was strong, perhaps even stronger than he himself had been at his age, even though the Prince had absolutely no way to confirm or disprove his theory. A hundred generations of Royal Blood run through the child’s veins, and the warrior knew, without question, that someday Trunks would surpass him in strength. The very thought of someone, anyone, besting him in combat had always made his blood boil but, oddly enough, a rare sense of pride and satisfaction engulfed him at the mental image of his offspring being the one to steal his crown in the future.

Vegeta stood still, hesitating for an instant about his next plan of action. He’d considered perhaps giving the child a chance to recover from his fatigue before trying once more, but, as soon as Trunks yawned loudly, tiredly rubbing his eyes, he soon learnt that the boy had had enough training for a day.    

“Tired already, boy?” The Prince asked knowingly, the tinge of a slick smirk crossing his lips.

The child nodded sleepily, extending his arms towards his father in a silent plea for him to pick him up from the ground, and the older man couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow in disbelief at his son’s request.

“Absolutely not, boy. A Saiyan stands on his own,” he stated with firm conviction.

Trunks’ plump little face fell sadly at his father’s rejection, making the Prince secretly curse at just how scarily similar he looked to Bulma’s gestures whenever she begged him to do something for her, bending him to her will and always getting him to do whatever she asked of him.

But he’d be damned if he let the boy get away with this type of soppy behavior as well…

“Trunks,” he gently commanded, his robust arms still inflexibly crossed over his chest. “Stand up, boy…”

The boy sighed in frustration, shaking his head no and pouting sullenly as he kept stretching his arms suppliantly, his chubby little fingers wriggling eagerly in his father’s direction.

“I said no, boy,” the Prince retorted, fearing that he’d end up losing his feeble patience any minute now. “You must stand on your own, Trunks. A true warrior must always…”

“Papa!” The child sobbed, his tiny fists clenching and unclenching nervously as he sought his father’s assistance.   

Vegeta’s words instantly froze in the back of his throat, gaping in shock at what appeared to be the boy’s very first word. He’d heard the little brat babbling annoyingly for the past couple of months, muttering unintelligible sounds that his Bulma had told him were perfectly normal for a child his age. The Saiyan didn’t know much about children, all he knew was that, when his mate had confessed her excitement and curiosity about what Trunks’ first word would be, the last thing he’d ever imagined was that it’d have anything to do with him.

“Trunks…” He muttered, awkwardly clearing his throat and figuring that, perhaps, all of this had been nothing more than some bizarre coincidence. “Boy, you must…”

“Papa!” The child yelled again, his disappointment turning into a kind of strange, childish amusement at the unusual sight of his father’s obvious amazement.

The Prince’s speech was immediately cut off again, comprehending that the child’s word had been no accident, after all.

Papa.

Well, he’d be damned…

Not only had his son just called him ‘Papa’, but the boy kept staring at him with those sparkly blue eyes, filled to the brim with wide-eyed interest. His short arms were still extended to him, wanting not only his help but his comfort as well.

His son, his own son, was seeking comfort.

In him.

Vegeta’s mouth went dry, feeling as if every wisp of air had been knocked from his lungs, and that all too familiar tightness in his chest, that rare warmth that always overcame him whenever he got to share some alone time with Bulma and the blasted woman made him feel for her.

He had to get out.

Now.

The Prince bent down, grabbing the kid from the back of his sweaty baby overalls and lifting him off the floor. Trunks fidgeted and squirmed in his hold, his little arms and legs still reaching out to him, trying to hug him without success as Vegeta’s fully stretched arm kept him at bay.   

“Papa!” The child exclaimed again, wheezing and puckering in discontent when his father wouldn’t relent to his wishes.

“Boy!” Vegeta ordered, already walking towards the exit door, his chest constricting and his face scorching hot. “S-S-Stop it… Stop that!”

And then it happened...

The boy giggled.

A loud, cheerful giggle, as if the sight of his father blushing furiously, and the almost humorous way in which his cheek twitched in agitation, was the funniest thing Trunks had seen in his entire life.

“Papa!” He laughed again.

“T-Trunks…” Vegeta mumbled threateningly. “S-Stop that!!!”

“Papapapapapapapapapapapapa!!!”

The warrior finally made it to the Chamber’s door, swiftly unlocking it and cracking it wide open, stepping into the grass as the boy kept happily waving his arms and legs around in the air, chuckling and snickering in glee, undoubtedly having the time of his life.

“Woman!” The Saiyan vociferated, calling out for Bulma, who was lounging by the pool, discussing Capsule Corp. business on the phone as she savored the last few sunrays of the day.

“I know, I know…” The scientist uttered to whoever was on the other end of the line, completely ignoring her mate’s words as he quickly approached her with their son still hanging in the air, his cute little face bright red with laughter.

“Bulma!” He demanded grouchily, now standing by her side and offering the kid to her. “Take your child!”

“Uh?” Bulma asked, absolutely dumbfounded by the curious scene unfolding before her eyes, wondering why her mate’s face was so oddly livid while their son, literally hanging from his arm, kept cackling stridently as if there were no tomorrow. “Uh, could you wait just a minute, Veg…?”

“N-No! T-Take him! Take him now!”

“Um… Will you give me just a second?” Bulma asked to the employee she was on the phone with. “Vegeta, what in Heaven’s name is happening her…?”

“Papa!” Trunks yelled vivaciously again.

“Trunks! S-Stop that!!!”

“Oh, my Gods…” Bulma gasped in total shock, finally understanding the reason behind Vegeta’s evident turmoil.

Feelings.

Feelings for days…

“O-Okay… I’ll call you later…” She mumbled, saying goodbye to the woman on the phone and barely able to pick up Trunks before her Prince took off, inexplicably disappearing into the sky.        

“Papa!” The child whimpered sadly, pointing with his tiny finger at the shimmery spark of energy fading through the clouds, and looking at his mother with bright, disconcerted eyes.

Bulma released her phone, properly holding her baby boy in her arms as she tried to console him.

“Aw, sweetie…” She whispered softly. “Did you just say ‘Papa’?”

Trunks nodded in assent, his eyes wide open, wondering, all of a sudden, whether he’d done something wrong.

“That a boy!” Bulma cheered him, her maternal pride shining radiantly all over her beautiful face, instantly instilling confidence into the child. “I’m sure your Papa loved it, Trunksie!”

“Papa?” Trunks asked inoffensively, still pointing to the sky as he curiously tilted his head to the side.

“Aw, it’s okay, honey…” Bulma cooed, caressing her son’s hair as she stood from her deck chair, walking through the garden in the direction of their luxurious home. “I bet your Papa was just really, really surprised, that’s all. He’ll be back later, you’ll see…” She whispered reassuringly, stealing a giggle from the child when she playfully nuzzled his rosy cheek. “How about dinner and a bath?”

The dazzling smile in Trunks’ face told her she didn’t need to ask twice…

Hours later, a heavy-eyed child, cozily wrapped in a baby blue bathrobe, clutched his mother’s shirt with minuscule fists as he drowsily buried his face in her shoulder, wholly spent after a long, hot bath. Bulma tenderly pressed his lithe body against hers, soothingly rubbing his back as she felt him drifting off to sleep and quietly exiting the bathroom, stepping into hers and her mate’s bedroom.

As she walked across the faintly illuminated place, heading for Trunks’ own bedroom, a smile of bliss drew itself on her lips when she discerned the unmistakable silhouette of the man standing on her balcony, waiting patiently for her to put their son to bed before making his presence known. The vigilant, protective shadow of a lethal warrior who feared love and emotion more than anything in this vast Universe, yet he’d chosen to stay, to spend the rest of his life with his family in spite of it all.

“Papa…” The child mumbled in his sleep, his sweet breath ghosting Bulma’s warm skin as she carried him in her arms.

“I told you, baby boy…” She whispered proudly in the dark, laying a soft kiss on her son’s temple.

“Your Papa isn’t going anywhere…”