No Son of Mine

Trunks has something he needs to tell Vegeta about himself and Goten.


Trunks took a deep, steadying breath. I can do this, he thought encouragingly to himself. It's nothing. No big deal. It's just… my father.

Briefly clenching his hand into a fist to keep it from shaking, he pressed the call button on the gravity room and waited.

Soon the light blinked from red to green, and the door slid open, revealing Vegeta's scowling face.

"What do you want?" he gruffed, scrubbing his sweat-soaked face with a towel. Trunks was suddenly speechless, rooted to the spot in pure terror. He couldn't go through with this, it would never work—

"Well?" his father repeated, impatient, and Trunks thought suddenly of Goten's laughing face, and the sight filled him with resolve.

"Dad, I have something to tell you." He winced as his voice cracked, but he hurried on before he could lose his nerve. "I… I'm in love with Goten."

Vegeta went very still, and did not speak for several seconds.

"What," he said quietly. "Exactly. Do you mean by that?"

"We've been having sex," Trunks blurted out, and his father actually winced. Trunks waited.

"Well? What are you telling me for?"

Trunks looked up at his father's face, suddenly hopeful. No beating? No disownment? His next words came more easily.

"We'd like your blessing, father."

Vegeta's face contorted into an ugly rictus of disgust and horror, and veins stood out against his forehead as his hands clenched into fists.

"You!" he roared. "Want. My. What?"

Trunks cringed, trying to force out complete sentences against the stammer that was currently all he could manage. Before he could, though, Vegeta reached out with Super Saiyan speed and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, holding him up so that his feet no longer touched the ground, even though he was nearly a foot taller than his father.

"You want my—No son of mine! You are banished! Exiled! Disowned! Get out of my sight!" Vegeta was grinding out words semi-incoherently, his face purple. Trunks was dimly aware of being carried, and then he found himself flying, shards of glass keeping pace with him as he arced towards the ground. He heard his father's voice—"Don't come back unless you bring me that boy's head on a platter!"—and realized he'd been thrown out the nearest window. He lay where he'd fallen for a moment, and then stood up, shook himself, and began the flight to his meeting with Goten.


"Well?"

Goten looked eager, but Trunks didn't say anything until he touched down, wiping at some blood on his cheek before he spoke.

"He threw me out the window."

Goten stared at him, and then burst out laughing so hard he fell to the ground and rolled back and forth. Trunks scowled.

"Hey, I almost had it until I asked him for his blessing."

This only made Goten howl even louder ("You—asked—him—for—"), so Trunks added,

"He wants your head on a platter now."

Goten froze, looking at his friend in horror.

"Holy crap on a stick, he's gonna kill me?"

"Nah," Trunks said, sitting down next to him. "He wants me to do it."

"Oh. Okay."

"So what'd Chi-Chi say?"

Goten's grin was oddly guilty, and his hand flew to the back of his head.

"You're invited for dinner?" he said sheepishly. Trunks blinked.

"For real? She didn't go mental?"

Goten shrugged helplessly.

"I think she wants to make sure you're good enough for me."

It was Trunks' turn to laugh. Goten frowned in mild outrage.

"Hey, she's making a lot of food, you know. You could at least come eat it."

"Oh, fine," Trunks agreed reluctantly, though his ire was just for show. He adored Chi-Chi's cooking and they both knew it. "I might as well, since I'm disowned and all."

They kicked off as one, flowing low and slow towards the Son house.

"I can't believe you asked him for his blessing," Goten chuckled, losing altitude for a moment as he rolled over in mirth.

"I can't believe I actually let you talk me into this," Trunks grumbled.

"Me?" Goten exclaimed in mock outrage. "It was your idea!"

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was!"

They arrived at the Son house, late and disheveled, just in time for dinner.