Summary: Six-year-old Bulma makes a wish on a star. Someone listens, someone sneezes, and years later, someone laughs.

Author's Notes: Hey people! Just in case you didn't know, HFIL means "Home For Infinite Losers", i.e. Hell.

Disclaimer: catch me some other day and I'll tell you then.

Wish Upon A Star

The sun fell out of sight behind the horizon, and Bulma let out a petulant little sigh as she watched it go. Her small, round chin rested on little hands, and her eyes gazed unblinkingly up at the nighttime sky. Her petite body sat bow-legged on her bed, elbows on the windowsill. She was six years old today, and had enjoyed a shower of gifts once again. She loved birthdays, because everyone looked at her and talked to her and made her feel special. They'd said she looked so pretty in her new dress: yellow chiffon and ribbon.

She'd gotten a cat, video games, three different dolls, a lock-picking kit and a set of finger-paints, but her favorite present had been the thick book of fairy tales her mother had gotten her. She'd promised to read one story to Bulma every night, until her daughter could read them for herself. The little teal-haired girl had tried already, and had gotten through some, but the old words were complicated and she didn't have a big enough vocabulary, even with the family dictionary on hand.

"I want to marry a prince when I grow up," Bulma said aloud, pouting cutely up at the darkening sky.

The first story in the book had been "Snow White and the Seven Dwarves". Bulma didn't like Snow White herself much; the six-year-old thought the princess was stupid to take food from a weird old lady without knowing her, but Bulma liked the dwarves okay, especially after they banded together and killed the wicked queen. And she really liked the prince who woke up Snow White from death with a kiss. Being able to bring back someone from death with the power of love made Bulma want to giggle, and gave her a soft, warm feeling in her chest. She hoped when she grew up, she'd have someone who loved her enough to rescue her from death.

And she wanted him to be a prince. Like all wistful, dreamy girls her age she was really determined about that part. He was going to arrive one day and claim was a prince, come to save her and the world from evil. He'd look in her eyes and they'd fall madly in love, and after he rescued her (and her family and her friends, they were important too) the two would get married and live in a pretty castle.

Her aquamarine eyes lit up as they spotted a telltale twinkle appear up in the atmosphere. With a huge smile she sat up straight, braced her hands on the sill, and announced in a clear, childish but energetic voice: "Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight! I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight!"

Elfin features beamed hopefully upward, and the star blinked once in the sky, as if encouraging her to make a wish, promising her it would listen if she only wished hard enough.

She let out a happy giggle and proclaimed loudly, "I wish to marry a prince when I grow up, and live happily ever after!"

More stars emerged, twinkling like little grains of pretty glass or sugar, and Bulma Briefs, satisfied that her desire was heard, flopped back onto her twin bed. In moments she was asleep and dreaming.

Far up in the same night sky, many miles away and upward, a kindly, if odd-looking old man gazed over the edge of a huge tree-filled marble courtyard, to the earth below. Antennae wiggled slightly above his broccoli-green face, and the twinkle of a particular star reflected from his eyes that night. A strange expression had settled over his features, one that was unusual for his normally benign and compassionate face. If it wouldn't have been considered totally impossible by the man's chubby, affectionate companion, Mr. Popo would have said his master's look seemed almost… sneaky.

Devious, even. But that was impossible; his master was much too good and kind and honest to do anything underhanded. "Kami-san…" Mr. Popo asked, "What do you see?"

The green god laughed, amused by some private, omniscient joke. "Nothing old friend," he replied lightly, "Nothing that isn't going to be good in the end."

He shifted his staff from one hand to another, and with a sly, knowing smirk to the world below, whispered, "Sleep well, my child."

In a galaxy far, far away, a seven-year-old boy stopped mid-air and sneezed. With an annoyed huff he looked up into the bright, sunny sky, young black eyes flashing.

"Come on, you little brat," his teacher snarled from the ground. "Pay attention, or I'll tell Frieza his toy prince is trying to escape again!"

After one more irrationally suspicious glare at the sky, the boy proceeded to pummel the HFIL out of his classmates.

Many years into the time that followed, a bikini-clad Bulma stopped reading the romance novel on her chest as a thought occurred to her. She looked over at the man sleeping stretched out on pool chair next to her, and then glanced at the two kids laughing and jumping in and out of the water a little ways away.

For no reason, Bulma laughed.