Blood - Desastrosa - Dragon Ball [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

The door closed and Trunks felt the suffocating heat deep in his bones, the increased gravity weighting down his lungs. He watched Vegeta, the man who wasn’t technically his father, walk ahead of him and not turn back to watch him.

Trunks had never trained with anyone except Gohan. His Gohan. A Gohan who was kind and protective of him. Trunks grew up without a father, so Gohan had been the closest thing. He had lost an arm to save him, he had died to protect what was left of humanity.

Gohan believed that Trunks would surpass his strength and save them all. It was difficult not to feel special, not to let his ego swell with pride at the thought of his master believing wholeheartedly that Trunks would save the world.

Maybe Gohan hadn’t known it, but he was a father figure for Trunks.

As Trunks observed the empty surroundings Hyperbolic Time Chamber in silence, he wondered why he felt a craving for Vegeta’s attention. He couldn’t have been more dissimilar to Gohan. Vegeta truly didn’t seem to care about him at all. He ignored Trunks, barely allowing his presence. Trunks remained at his side, as close as Vegeta would allow him to be, in silence. Waiting for a morsel of attention. Endlessly patient with the kind of unconditional love that only a child could have for his father.

Trunks had found that he was good at reading his father’s intentions. It was exhausting, like being constantly on edge, but he was used to it. His world, his reality, had required a sort of alertness that never waned. The Androids could show up anytime. You can’t lower your guard, ever.

He followed Vegeta with his gaze, giving him space when he suspected that’s what he wanted. He sat quietly near him when it felt like it would be okay to do. Trunks took the first punches when Vegeta wordlessly initiated a sparring session, quietly grateful that his father was paying attention to him. Trunks was there, alive, at the same time as his father. And it felt horrible to think, but it nourished some part of him, of his need for fatherly love, better than Gohan could have ever fulfilled.

—

Trunks whined softly when Vegeta’s fist connected with his sternum for the fifth time in this fight.

“You always leave your upper torso unguarded” Vegeta said, watching Trunks drop to his knees and try to catch his breath.

Trunks nodded through the pain, grateful for the observation, and watched his Father turn away from him.

“Are you aware-“ Vegeta’s voice startled Trunks, who had thought that the sparring session was over “that we Saiyans get stronger after we recuperate after being on the brink of death?”.

Trunks got up, his breathing uneven. “Yes, father”. He looked at his father’s back, standing still a few feet from him.

“Who taught you that?”.

“Son Gohan”.

“And who taught him that?”.

“You, father. In Namek”.

“That’s right” Vegeta turned around, a ball of energy in the palm of his hand. Trunks didn’t have time to dodge, being blasted right in the chest again.

Tough love. Trunks had thought that tough love was his mom barring him from training to keep him safe from the Androids. That tough love was his Gohan knocking him out to keep him away from a lethal fight. No, that wasn’t tough. That was just love. Overprotection, maybe. But it wasn’t tough.

Trying to be loved by Vegeta was tough. It felt like an impossible task, a futile exercise in patience. Trunks quickly learned to forfeit his own desires to please his father. He felt like he was being tested sometimes. Trunks couldn’t tell how long it had been, but one day Vegeta woke up and didn’t train. He stayed in bed the entire day, eyes closed, and Trunks felt a desperate itch to know what was happening. It was almost maddening to sit for hours, maybe an entire day, at the edge of his own bed, eyes fixed on the floor, simply waiting. He wanted to get up, eat something, train. No time to waste. But he couldn’t.

“Son Gohan trained you, huh?” Vegeta’s voice made Trunks sit even straighter.

“Yes, father”.

“I pity you”.

Trunks parted his lips, feeling the urge to speak. Thoughts swirled in his head, how could anyone dare to badmouth his master? A young man who gave it all for the world? A man who lost an arm for him? Who died for him? Trunks pursed his lips.

“You’re not going to talk back, boy?” Vegeta mocked.

Trunks felt a pang of guilt more painful that any physical injury he had ever experienced.

“No, father”.

A betrayal. Gohan had loved him unconditionally, and yet here Trunks was, allowing his father to say such a thing about him. He felt disgusted with himself, saddened by his own weakness. He wanted Vegeta’s love so desperately that he would put up with almost anything.

—

Trunks heard his father scream, his ki raising to levels Trunks had never sensed before. He bit his lip, as he nursed a deep cut under his ribs, with real dread. Was that his father’s current strength?

He looked at his own blood-covered hand, his heart beating faster in his chest. Was he... stronger than Vegeta?

The idea made him almost feel sick. He felt his father’s gaze from a distance, heard him panting softly, gloating in his power.

“Did I injure you too badly, boy?” Vegeta asked.

“No, father” Trunks responded. His clammy hands pressed against the bandages that covered the side of his torso.

Trunks paled as Vegeta flew near him. He felt his father float above him, observing him in silence. Trunks had paled, his breathing a little shaken, his eyes darted from the medkit on the floor to his own knees, afraid to look up.

“You’re weak” Vegeta said.

Trunks looked up and locked eyes with his father.

“You weren’t trained right”.

“I’m sorry” Trunks apologized.

“Tsk” Vegeta clicked his tongue, disgusted with the answer. “You have no pride. Pride is all we have at the end of the fight. Pride is what moves you to become stronger, and you don’t have it”.

Trunks was too afraid to look away. He savored the attention, the words coming his way. Those words were for him, from his father, so they meant the world to him. Even if Vegeta was putting him down. Those words were a gift. The Vegeta that had fathered him died without sparing him a single word.

“I don’t expect you to know these things anymore” Vegeta continued, floating menacingly above Trunks. “I understand now that you don’t know anything”.

Vegeta crossed his arms around his chest. “Somehow I died in your world. But you and your mother survived. You’re here, aren’t you? You’re alive. Kakarot’s bloodline is over, but mine is not. Why aren’t you proud?”.

Vegeta slowly lowered himself until his boots touched the ground next to Trunks. He watched his son, sitting on the floor, covered in bloody bandages.

“That’s my blood” he said. “You are my blood. And you survived whatever f*cked up world you came out of”.

Trunks held his breath. He feared that if he moved an inch, the moment would disappear. Things would be ruined somehow. His father was acknowledging him. Trunks was his blood.