Chapter Text
Recap:
In the main timeline, Young Vegeta and Bulma discover that they’re going to be parents together. Also, Bulma finds out that Vegeta's odd and creepy behavior is related to the 'instructional mating videos' he's been watching, and ends up on somewhat better terms with him.
Sometime later in the same timeline, Future Trunks arrives to assist the Earth's warriors in the battle against the Androids and finds out his younger self was born a year too early due to Future Vegeta's interference. When Cell appears, and the chances of defeating him seem bleak, Trunks devises a plan to retrieve Future Vegeta, adding another Super Saiyan to their arsenal to combat Cell's perfect form.
Subsequently, Trunks travels to the earlier timeline to retrieve Future Vegeta and saves him from being killed by Frieza.
In the future timeline where the Androids are still evil and have free reign, Future Vegeta and Trunks discover that Future Bulma has been murdered by the Androids. Father and son bond over a Saiyan fit of rage, culminating in the brutal elimination of both Androids. Trunks convinces Future Vegeta to participate in the Cell Games.
In the earliest timeline, a volatile Teen Vegeta and a brain-damaged Raditz commence their training on Capsule Corp. grounds. Now that they no longer serve Frieza, they both attempt to adapt to life on Earth. Despite Yamcha and Bulma breaking up, Teen Vegeta doesn't appreciate Yamcha's attention toward his blue-haired ‘servant’.
In the last chapter, Teen Vegeta discovers that the person he believed to be his father is actually his future self. In the 'main' timeline, the warriors, assisted by Future Vegeta, defeat Cell, who, like Gohan, achieves SSJ2. Future Vegeta and Trunks learn that their Bulma has been wished back.
Epilogue, part 1/3
When Future Vegeta woke up alone in the morning. Only a faint imprint and some lingering warmth on the memory foam mattress hinted at Bulma’s recent departure. It was a wonder he hadn't been awakened by the rustling of the sheets and the muffled patter of her footsteps on the carpet.
Rubbing his face, he grumbled about how indulging in luxury during peaceful times was already making him softer. Under the Androids' brutal rule, resting on his laurels was never an option. He sighed deeply, recognizing in his own voice the echoes of the old man he was becoming—or perhaps had already become. He chose to ignore the little voice whispering that he was finally getting the well-deserved rest he had earned.
He emerged from the layers of high-quality blankets arranged by the younger Bulma. Initially, he had ridiculed the unnecessary luxury, yet a trace of old princeliness lingered in him, secretly relishing the moment the high-thread-count fabric had brushed along his bare skin.
It was, in any case, an adjustment that his flesh wasn't constantly subjected to torture, but rather to the gentle hands of Bulma and the warm streams of the shower. It was strange to now be provided for with his needs, things he had almost forgotten he had enjoyed, such as steaming hot coffee, pancakes with maple syrup, and lounging in freshly mowed grass after an intense workout.
Before stepping into the shower, Vegeta devoured a couple of high-calorie protein bars from his nightstand that didn't exactly please his palate. He consumed them merely because Bulma always insisted on it. He swallowed the last bite, waiting for the shower water to warm up.
He washed himself, secretly grateful for the first time in years that he had been able to sleep through the night and enjoy a morning in. Bulla had been in the care of Bulma's younger self and her mother last night, both of whom were more than willing to look after the little ball of energy.
Yesterday, as his Bulma was painting her nails with the sticky substance that irritated his sensitive nose so much—much like so many of her cosmetic sorceries—she had firmly stated that he wasn't allowed to see her this morning. Vegeta had initially dismissed it as nonsense, but now, as he was making himself look presentable for her, he could understand the sentiment.
Moments later, Vegeta gazed into the mirror, gliding the shaving foam across his cheeks in circular motions. The breakfast scents wafting up from the kitchen downstairs reached the en-suite bathroom, and Vegeta knew that a feast would be waiting for him when he came downstairs. In fact, he knew that the rest of the day would be filled with treats, and he was looking forward to sample all of them. His stomach rumbled loudly in response, and he silently admitted that Bulma had been right about those awful protein bars helping to kickstart the engine of his appetite. Apparently, the size of his stomach had adjusted to years of starvation.
The day was still young, but the date instilled a moment of reflection on the events of the past year or so. Even though he had been here for a while, he still couldn't get used to the fact that he was staying in an early timeline, where another version of himself walked free, along with younger versions of Bulma and Trunks. He was still in the timeline where they had collaborated to defeat the creature Cell. ‘Big’ Trunks and he himself hadn’t had a chance to travel back to the future and kill off more Androids, despite every fiber in his being itching for him to go and do so.
His
Bulma had pleaded with him not to leave around the time of the birth, and he had no choice other than relenting to Bulma’s persistent pleas. Additionally, both travel devices needed to be rebooted first to ensure safe travels. In the past few months, his own Bulma had fused her brainpower with her twenty-something version. Explaining the principles of quantum time travel to her younger self had taken a few months alone, before fuel could start being manufactured.
Staying here for a while turned out to have many benefits because his Bulma had received the best pre-and postnatal care available in this timeline. While he shaved his face with precise strokes, he considered that being affiliated with the wealthiest family on the planet definitely had its perks. And because
his
Bulma had what the doctors called a ‘geriatric’ pregnancy because of her age (a fact that absolutely should not be spoken of within her hearing range), there were all sorts of risks involved. Also, the doctor who had apparently assisted Young Bulma during the birth of Trunks, had emphasized the importance of top-notch pre- and postnatal care for the hybrid baby. So, for the time being, they had to accept it was better to stay wherever the best medical care was available.
An underestimated side effect was that he, Bulma, and Trunks could finally catch their breath after almost two decades. Despite his and Trunks’ eagerness to take down the remaining Androids, being here provided them with the time and space to experience a true sense of family.
He dragged the knife across his skin, rinsing the suds away on the blades after every stroke and released a deep breath that carried with it an exhaustion years in the making. It was strange that his own timeline—the one he originated from—didn’t actually feel like his timeline anymore. The future where he, forty-something-Bulma and ‘big’ Trunks had lived together felt more like a home than anything else. His home was now where his family was. And now that his life was enriched by his precious baby daughter, that feeling had only intensified.
Because it was the first time he had experienced the birth of a child, there were several things that had initially overwhelmed him. After a rather tough labor during which Bulma had screamed the whole household deaf and she had cussed him out with the fervor of ten seasoned space pirates, their daughter had come into the world.
During Bulla's first week, he had already encountered several challenges. There was a book the matriarch had thrust into his hands about human baby development, and after flipping through it, he had hoped that Bulla had inherited enough of his genes to compensate for the utter helplessness of human infants. He was skeptical about it initially, because she hadn’t been born with a tail and he had no idea how something so precious-looking could have sprung from his DNA.
Shortly after birth, he had learned how to lift her from the crib and hold her securely on his arm. But it was all just a precaution, because her neck had quickly grown strong enough to support itself, and she quickly learned to intuitively float through the air to explore her surroundings, appearing fearless (which filled him with immense pride). This all was proof that, despite Bulla's human-like appearance, she had inherited many Saiyan traits. This relieved him, as it meant she could likely defend herself if he were no longer around, much like Big Trunks.
He splashed a couple of hands of cold water into his face to wash off the remnants of shaving cream. The circles under his eyes were still present, and he wondered if they would ever go away.
Something he also hadn't anticipated was that he had never imagined that being the father of a family of four would be so time-consuming and exhausting. He had nearly a year of sleep to catch up on, but actually getting a good night's rest proved to be more challenging than he had anticipated. The strange thing was that his impatient longing for sleep seemed to drive sleep further away. He was accustomed to always being on high-alert; a mere creak of a branch, a gust of wind shaking a window, and he would be wide awake and ready to fight. Still, in the last few weeks, he had managed to establish a routine. He had also little choice in the matter, as the first few weeks after his daughter's birth had imposed a strict schedule.
Early evenings, he would start his family duties by seeing to his woman’s intimacy needs. Sex wasn’t allowed yet, but she wanted him close to her body before sleep anyway, which sexually frustrated him to no end, but he needed to endure for her sake. Bulma referred to it as ‘cuddling’, a term he openly scoffed at, but in the privacy of their home, he secretly relished her gentle warmth.
They’d sleep together for a few hours, with her, falling asleep curled up against him, but more often than not he would find himself relocated to the hallway before midnight, where he would rest his back against the wall. He was still getting used to sleeping in a bed, and whenever he slept with Bulma in their room, a daunting sense of unease would grow, feeling he was letting his children sleep ‘unguarded’. The vulnerability of his wife and daughter would often seize him by the throat in unguarded moments, like an invisible hand shooting out and cutting off his airway whenever he would enter deep sleep. He would be awake at times, just to monitor the energy signatures of his family.
Occasionally, he would find himself standing outside Trunks' bedroom in a half-sleeping panic whenever he couldn’t make out Trunks’ usual pulse in the network of energies. Behind the door, he would hold his breath, trying to discern the rhythm of his son's breathing, only to realize that Trunks' energy was subdued due to entering deep sleep. On other nights, he would hear his son groan from the hallway, always followed by a spike in ki. It brought him comfort to know that Trunks' nightmares had gradually lessened over the past few months.
He ran a sparsely toothed comb through his mane, which flattened his hair before springing back into place. He noticed a few isolated white hairs, shimmering in the bathroom lights. They weren’t supposed to come in for a few years, but he guessed two decades of dire living circumstances hadn’t done him any favors.
Vegeta's 'Bulla-shift' always started around midnight, to let Bulma get some rest. It made sense, since after years of having to be on high alert 24/7, Vegeta's circadian rhythm had been completely disrupted, so he was quite accustomed to being awake at odd hours of the night anyway.
The first time Bulla's cries pierced the stillness of the night, their echoes reverberated down the hallway and invaded his dreams. Subconsciously, the sound of her sobs evoked memories of baby Trunks, who usually haunted his nightmares, and he would conjure up images of the little boy lying all alone amidst a heap of Capsule. Corp. rubble, tears staining his reddened eyes and his fragile throat strained from crying.
It took an agonizing week for his unconsciousness to distinguish Bulla’s cries from baby Trunks’, and now he was usually at the crib before she could utter her second crying breath. Whenever he approached, she would immediately stop, as she was likely already attuned to his energy field.
As time went on, and they’d started settling as a family of four, Vegeta had learned a few things about himself. The large, sparkling eyes of his baby daughter and her chubby little arms reaching out to him, clearly expressing the desire to be lifted from her crib in the middle of the night, were something he could never resist, not in a million years.
Over the past week, she had become more active, experimenting with moving her little arms and legs. Many of the crib's bars had been bent by now. And just as with any Saiyan infant, Bulla developed an extraordinary hunger, and unless she was distracted, she would raise a tremendous ruckus in the form of floating off and throwing everything she could get her chubby little hands on. Vegeta sharply sucked in a breath of air. On one occasion, she had gotten a hold on a dirty diaper... and the room had literally looked like shit had hit the fan.
Thanking the Saiyan Gods that Capsule Corp. was equipped with many cleaning robots, Vegeta stretched his arms to work out the tangles in the ends of his locks.
It sometimes took a bit of effort to catch her in her hungry state and bring her to the kitchen, but once Bulla realized that Vegeta was making food for her, she’d coo and blow bubbles. While Vegeta heated up a gallon of porridge, she marveled at the energy light show created by igniting the gas with an energy beam.
Aside from screaming bloody murder for food and trying to make his ears bleed, she was a joyful baby. Always smiling up at him—especially when he was feeding her. He would try to get her back to bed immediately after, but if she didn’t want to sleep —which was often the case, he’d fly over West City, to the mountains, carrying her against his chest.
Vegeta always acted as if Bulla keeping him awake at night was an immense burden, yet in truth, he often found joy in their nights together. Whenever her eyes would light up when seeing the city lights from above, he’d felt as if a warm ray of sunlight was cast on his darkened soul. The feeling outweighed her occasional temper tantrums and the nightly diaper change by the spades, he mused, grasping his electric toothbrush and smearing a dot of toothpaste on it.
He often found himself in awe over how fortunate he had been to get a second chance with his family. It was entirely undeserved, but that was beside the point. Now that it had been handed to him, he seized the opportunity with both hands, to make amends for his mistakes eighteen years ago.
Before 4:30 AM, he would give her the second bottle. If the weather permitted, he'd take a nap with her on one of the deckchairs outside, gazing at the vast expanse of the starry sky above them. He’d point to certain constellations, telling her stories, making sure not to include too many gruesome details—for fear of Bulma building a machine to skin him alive. Laying on his chest, she would gradually roll onto her stomach as her eyelids began to droop. He would shield her from the chill with his energy field, embracing her as they napped until the sun graced the horizon. His palm would rest protectively on her back, with two fingers curling around her fragile shoulder bone.
They would usually be awakened by Trunks standing over them, with his backpack already packed. In this timeline, his Bulma had urged Trunks to attend high school, to finally experience a sense of normalcy and forge connections with his peers. Vegeta, on the other hand, argued that there was little value in socializing with idiots. Furthermore, he had intended to embark on an intensive training regimen with Trunks. However, with two against one, he reluctantly settled for brief training sessions early in the mornings. He would lay Bulla next to her mother in bed, where they’d both sleep another hour or two, and he would work on Trunks getting the basics right, correcting what he should’ve done ages ago.
The hours he spent with Big Trunks were still quite difficult. Vegeta had tried to make up for lost time with the grown-up version of his son, but their relationship remained somewhat strained. On some level, he felt that he needed to rectify things that his younger self had shattered. Both his own self, eighteen years ago, and his younger version, who had spent time with Trunks in the hyperbolic time chamber.
Additionally, Future Vegeta began to realize that he and Trunks still carried the burden of the years under the Androids' tyranny, and this weight was darkening their relationship. They shared a brutal history that they had both endured in two different worlds, and to which they both dealt with in different ways. He himself had turned feral after all those years alone, like an animal that had been isolated for too long. Trunks however, often concealed a smoldering anger beneath a facade of restraint, which would frequently erupt during their intense sparring sessions, with Trunks hurling the sharpest accusations at him;
“You abandoned me and my mom when I was still a fucking baby!"
"You've only ever cared about yourself and your fucking ego!"
"You've endangered the whole planet by allowing Cell to absorb the Androids!" Trunks shouted as he pounded his fist into his father's stomach.
The last statement was about a different version of himself, but the other remarks were truly hitting home. Vegeta typically didn't have much to say in response; he simply absorbed the words, which were far more painful than the hard blows Trunks was simultaneously delivering.
By contrast, it was evident that Bulla was beginning to develop a preference for her father. When she cried in his presence, she would stretch out her chubby arms and move towards him. It was a strange feeling that there was such a tiny being relying on him, placing complete trust in him. Yet, it also filled him with a muted sense of guilt, as he had completely overlooked Trunks as a baby and that his second offspring was receiving all the attention. His weakest moments had led him to compress his energy field to the size of a bug, standing by baby Trunks' crib, watching his peacefully sleeping face. The face that wasn’t much different from the baby he had held in his arms almost two decades ago, a baby that was no longer breathing.
The younger Vegeta often shone in his absence, burying himself in 500 times gravity in the simulator. Despite Vegeta living in a separate house on the premises, he was well aware that his younger self only entered the main living quarters when he came to raid the refrigerator at night.
Future knew exactly where that cold demeanor came from. He understood that his younger self, deep down, had no clue how to handle a young child, his only experience comprising of alien mothers pleading with him to spare their lives, desperately clutching their children to their breast.
In the past few months, he had also observed that the younger Bulma only made half-hearted attempts to involve Young Vegeta into family life. She behaved differently from his own Bulma, and he wondered what had transpired between them.
He had noticed that she would give him a polite nod whenever crossed paths with Young Vegeta on the lawn. When his younger self tried to provoke her with half-hearted insults, she would respond with a shoulder shrug. It was quite a change from the usual routine of clenched fists and noisy tirades he was used to seeing with his own Bulma.
Future Vegeta wasn't surprised that Young Vegeta showed little interest in this little boy. However, he found it strange that his younger self couldn't stand it when Future Vegeta occasionally visited the little boy's crib. A few fights had broken out about all sorts of things, and to ensure the survival of the planet they had both fought for, they kept their distance from each other as much as possible. A capsule house had been set up for Future and his family in the garden so that everyone could have some privacy and avoid potentially combustible situations.
During the day, Future Vegeta had to give up the gravity room for his younger self, who would refuse to share ‘his room’ with anyone else after eight-thirty. Only Big Trunks was allowed to enter the gravity simulator under such an exception, provided he was present himself.
Future Vegeta's days typically revolved around training in the desert, taking naps beneath the sparse palm trees, and consuming the food he brought in a rucksack. This approach allowed him to minimize interactions with other humans and Saiyans, as he still needed to become accustomed to being around them.
He had been consuming copious amounts of food to try and restore his body's vigor, but his appetite hadn’t fully kicked in. He gazed into the mirror, observing the sunken cheeks he had been sporting had gradually regained a healthier appearance. Vegeta felt as though everything that had come to him was undeserved. He hadn't even vanquished the Androids in his own future timeline yet. However, the certainty that he could defeat them effortlessly instilled in him a sense of liberation, causing his natural confidence to grow again.
He looked over the replica of the traditional Royal Saiyan attire that his Bulma had made for him. Laid out on his bed, Vegeta examined the suit. It was an exquisite creation, featuring intricate golden embroidery over deep royal blue fabric, blending elegance with power. His fingers explored the fabric's texture, sensing a strong resemblance to authenticity. It was a tangible link to his heritage. Something that was long forgotten, but was still a fundamental part of him, he could now share with his family.
His field of vision became watery, and he quickly averted his gaze. He checked the mirror one more time to see if there was still some fuzz left on his chin and sideburns. He needed to look extra polished, because today was a special day.
Because today, he was going to get married.