Chapter Text
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A yawn pushed past his jaw as Broly walked out from the spare room he’d been given in the Lookout. Since Vegeta was still occupying the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, Dende and Mr.Popo altered a part of the building to create an accommodating room for him to stay in. It was simple, scarcely furnished, but more than enough for the Saiyan. His time out in space taught him to make due with the bare minimum. So long as he got his daily visit from the one person he looked forward to every day, he could’ve slept just as soundly anywhere else, even the floors.
The waves of cotton clouds stretched out from the edge of the Lookout as far as they could see. From the horizon, the sun peeked over, chasing away the cold of the night as it rose. Broly popped his shoulders and stretched out his muscles. He noticed Dende already standing next to Mr. Popo chatting casually together. Sensing him as he walked up, Mr. Popo offered a polite smile and a greeting tip of his head, while Dende gave a more unsteady good morning to him.
“How did you sleep, Broly? Well, I hope?” Mr. Popo asked.
Broly shrugged. “It was fine.”
Mr. Popo nodded, seeming satisfied despite the clipped response. He pressed on, face illuminated by the yellow glow of the sunrise. “Are you ready to begin your training?”
Broly was suddenly hyperaware of himself as he tongued for an answer behind his clenched teeth. “I’m… Yes. Maybe?”
His eyes stayed on the sky, staring far enough they didn’t focus, but he still heard the change in Mr. Popo’s voice. Concerned, patient. Too kind. “What has you so worried?”
His head spat the words back to him, sure it was meant with judgement. When his voice refused to spill his thoughts, and those prying eyes drifted off of him, Broly felt the tension in his body coil. How was he meant to do this? How much was too much or too little? Would they refuse him if they knew how twisted he truly was? The words filling his head felt too big, too heavy for this moment in front of the facing sun and too personal for the open atmosphere.
The silence following was uncomfortable. Broly could feel more than hear Dende’s fidgeting, and Mr. Popo was stock-still in contrast, almost unnervingly motionless. He was confused as to what he was. Trunks had said he thought he was a subordinate god, stationed here to accompany the Guardian. Neither of them had sure answers.
Speaking of, a familiar presence, movements antsy but nonetheless adamant, rose towards the Lookout, and in the same breath every tendon in Broly’s body relaxed. He turned towards the ki before the new arrival's face had risen over the side of the platform.
“Princess Trunks!”
Trunks waved at them, the smallest hint of grogginess sticking to his movements, but he remained light on his feet as he approached them. “Morning, everyone.” After greeting the two deities, he turned to look up at Broly, demeanor relaxed. “How was your first night? You didn’t give these two any trouble, did you?”
Broly hesitantly shook his head, looking at the two for any sign that he had. Mr. Popo caught his unease and was quick to reassure them both. “Not at all! His presence is hardly worrisome, and we were surprised to find he was a much lighter eater compared to Goku or Gohan despite being much bigger.” He faced Broly with a kind nod. “Not to say we wouldn’t have accommodated, of course. Just a pleasant surprise.”
Trunks grinned. “Well, that’s good to hear. So what do you say, big guy? Wanna stretch and do some training exercises with me before Goku joins us?”
Broly nodded enthusiastically, ready to begin spending time with his Princess before Dende interrupted his thoughts. “Wait! Have either of you eaten yet? It’s not a good idea to train on an empty stomach, if we’ve learned anything about Saiyans.”
Mr. Popo agreed, settling the growing unrest in Broly with a raised hand as he added with a teasing lilt to his voice, “Yes, that would be a good first step. It’s probably best for you two to have a meal before Goku arrives and devours everything!”
The idea seemed to calm the Saiyan, and Trunks humbly accepted the offer. It was rare to get first dibs on food whenever Goku was around. They were led into the open sitting room where a space resembling a picnic table with long benches on two sides stood. With a wave of his hand, Mr. Popo summoned a large spread of breakfast dishes. Trunks and Broly could feel their mouths watering as they got a whiff of the mingling scents before they’d even sat down.
They faced each other at the table and began their feast. They were more tame in their grab for plates and sides, splitting the servings amongst each other peacefully. Trunks offered for Dende and Mr. Popo to join them, which they turned down as Dende explained he only consumed water and Mr. Popo didn’t share the same taste for food as mortals did.
Broly ate contentedly, savoring each individual flavor and absorbing the pleasant atmosphere shared amongst the four of them. Dende and Mr. Popo began quietly talking about the upcoming day, their voices a pleasant background buzz to fill the silence while he and Trunks enjoyed themselves. Broly enjoyed it the most; most meals weren’t shared, at least not like this. Not calmly and without a looming sense of urgency. Raising his head from his bowl, Broly swallowed the bite in his mouth, letting out a shallow breath as he viewed the man across from him.
Trunks had tied the half of his hair in a loose ponytail, keeping it out of the way while his bangs curtained the front of his face. With every spoonful of marinated meat or soft bite of rice, Broly noticed the smallest movement, subtle enough to miss if he’d continued in his own endeavor. The tiniest of wiggles would overcome some part of Trunks; either his whole torso squirmed like a worm or his wrist would jiggle, or he could feel the softest of taps from one of his feet against the solid floor. It seemed involuntary, and incredibly adorable to the Saiyan who had suddenly paused in his own indulgence.
Trunks noticed this and looked over with a question in his eyes. Broly jumped at being caught staring, diving back into his own food to try and hide his blush, covering his face with his hair and using the ceramic dishes as his shields. They continued in shared silence. Broly couldn’t stop noticing every small mannerism of the other man, choking down the food and drink that suddenly became second in his mind to the display in front of him. His face felt on fire, ears burning with shameless affection. Somehow, the feelings Trunks brought out of him were the hardest to swallow. Was this what his father meant when he said feelings were often trouble?
‘No.’ He scolded himself in his mind. ‘It’s no trouble. It’s…’
He struggled to think of a word, but he knew ‘bad’ didn’t fit how he viewed this. Perhaps he was still too undisciplined in the matter. He’d figure it out. For now, he focused on finishing the last few portions on his plate as Trunks set down his utensils, his own plate barren.
Right as his utensils rested on the table’s surface, another presence was felt rocketing up to the Lookout. The peace in Broly was shattered in an instant, and he heaved a sigh as the voice of Kak—Goku rang out in the morning dazed air. Trunks patted him on the arm comfortingly, sensing the spike of animosity, before they stepped out of the sitting room. He greeted the approaching Saiyan with a wave and a shout of “good morning!”
Broly bit down the growl that tried to rumble up his throat once Goku had reached them. His voice was grating at such an early hour. “Hey guys! Ready to start training?”
Trunks nodded easily while Broly chose to avert his eyes. Goku noticed and shot him a smile that he hoped would reassure the other Saiyan. “No need to worry, Broly. This is just sparring, so nothing too intense. Okay?”
At Trunks’ insistent nudge against his side, Broly grunted out a sort-of-answer.
They walked out onto the open grounds. Mr. Popo and Dende stood under the shade of the walkway’s cover, hidden from the sun that had begun shining down on them with a vengeance. Trunks joined them as the two Saiyans took their places from across one another. With directing from Mr. Popo, they lowered into their readied positions and on his count, their ‘friendly’ training commenced.
A little after it had started, Trunks noticed a common pattern between the clashing fighters. Even though Broly obviously held the title of strength, his movements were brash and not as coordinated as Goku’s, who had studied martial arts under several teachers for majority of his life.
Goku continuously outmaneuvered Broly’s attacks, only frustrating the latter with every minute passed. Soon the Lookout began to shake whenever Broly struck into its surface rather than his target, letting out aggravated sounds. As Trunks started to consider if one of them should try to intervene, Mr. Popo stepped forward with one hand raised and called out to the two Saiyans currently locked in a trade of blows. “Alright, enough you two!”
Goku stopped first, ducking under Broly’s arms and subduing him in a headlock. Broly broke out and went to lunge for Goku again, senses deafened by the harsh tempo in his ears, when two beady eyes and a calm smile greeted him once he’d spun around. “Broly, I said that’s enough. Did you not hear me?”
It wasn’t accusatory, but Broly still stiffened. His body went rigid, face stony as he averted his eyes, his blood pulsing loudly in his head. “…No, I didn’t. Sorry.”
Mr. Popo floated down from between them, gesturing for them to follow. Once they’d touched ground, he faced Goku first. “Just as I expected from you, Goku. Still strong as ever, but you’ve gotten quite lackadaisical with your practice.”
Said Saiyan laughed nervously and scratched his cheek. “Hey, no biggie, Mr. Popo! I’ll be just fine once the tournament arrives.”
A soft sigh left the demigod, shaking his head as he turned to now face Broly. “As for you, I have seen enough. Now is the time for corrections.”
Broly tensed under those unyielding eyes. He was guided into sitting criss-cross on the floor as Mr. Popo’s attitude shifted into something more teacher-like. “Before we begin, Broly, can you tell me about any previous lessons you’ve had in the matter of martial arts?”
Broly thought about it, unsure what exactly that meant. Did he mean his teachers who had taught him about his powers and how to control them? Maybe that’s what he wanted to hear. With a slow start, Broly recounted each of his teachers from his past, briefly describing how they’d helped him and his situation. Mr. Popo nodded, soaking up the offered information with apt attention.
When Broly finished, he hummed. “I see… You’ve undergone the disciplining of your powers, but still haven’t been taught how to use them alongside technique. That leaves a lot for you to learn, but in time, it will come to you. I will help you, so there is no need for doubt.”
As the Saiyan gazed at the deity before him, stood upright and strong while maintaining that calm, formal disposition, all too suddenly a want buried deep within resurfaced. It wore the face of his father, and it took everything in Broly to not choke out a plea to be released from the way his throat tightened and his stomach suddenly feeling upturned. It was the same feeling when he looked in the eyes of his past mentors and didn’t find the innate hatred or fear others had shown when he’d first face them, more than likely moments from their demise. It was the smallest of mercies, but he’d been quick to learn all his life that mercy doesn’t favor the strong.
Accepting the offered hand, nostalgic in the way he recalled the dark void of his birth and the moments before all went wrong. It felt solid in his palm, cradling his mind in a way too far back to be recognizable but long-suffering for him to have known it was sought by something juvenile inside him.
Broly stood, and Mr. Popo looked up at him with that same unwavering gaze. Each mistake made, Broly’s shoulders would tighten, preparing for the reprimanding sure to follow, but none came. Instead, steady hands lifted his limbs to corrected positions, showing nothing but knowledge pressed through dark fingertips.
Once he’d gotten the basics down, Mr. Popo led Goku back, and despite the uncomfortable look Broly sported, they were set to begin again.
The Lookout shivered less frequently under the weight of their clashes. The plants blew with less force from their beds of soil in the winds created by their movements. Sometime during his upper hold of the spar, Broly realized Trunks and Dende had begun yelling out cheers from where the two of them stood, whooping and hollering loudly, dramatically even. The gesture didn’t come off mocking, but thrilled, and in the moment, Broly felt the selfish part of him gleam. A glow of energy formed at his fingertip, and when met with the green light Goku looked at him with apprehension in his features.
When he let it go, the outcry from Mr. Popo and their audience of two rose with the arch of the beam, sent flying towards where Goku had been. The beam crashed into the floor, having missed its target by a hair. They stared at the crater in quiet distress.
Mr. Popo sighed, calling up to Broly who looked confused with the sudden silence. “Alright, next lesson: ki blast control!”
The day continued in a similar fashion. Mr. Popo led Broly through the beginnings of martial arts, often lecturing him on his more rash use of his powers or his bullheaded approach during their practice. Goku had been brought in at several points (mainly to use as a fail-safe punching bag), but as the sun began its descent in the early evening, the other Saiyan suddenly declared he had to go.
“Gohan and I need to start collecting dinner, otherwise Chi-Chi will be mad at the both of us for being late again. Duty calls! See ya later guys, and thanks again for the training, Broly!”
With two fingers held up to his temple, he disappeared in a flicker. Mr. Popo stared blankly at where he once stood, sighing before turning back to Broly while thumbing at his chin in thought. “Hmm, now we need to find you a new training partner. Unless you’d like to stop here for the day.”
Broly considered it, before a specific presence called his eyes over. Mr. Popo followed his line of sight and hummed again, expectant of this answer. “Of course…” He mumbled amusedly to himself.
When Broly looked down at him questioningly, Mr. Popo just shook his head and called out to Trunks. “Trunks! Would you please do me a favor and fill in for Goku for the rest of the session? This part won’t be too intense, so no need for transforming.”
Said man jumped, surprised to be called on. Dende gave him a reassuring pat on his leg to soothe his anxieties and he offered a grateful smile, albeit a bit wobbly. Walking up to join them, Trunks waited patiently for the next instructions.
Mr. Popo held a hand towards each of them while saying, “Alright, now Broly, we’ll focus on honing the techniques you’ve learned rather than relying solely on brute strength, so no transforming and no excessive use of ki blasts. We don’t want any unnecessary damages, do we?” At the Saiyan’s tentative nod, he continued. “Trunks, I trust you two will take care of each other. Make sure you act quick and think fast. Broly needs to learn how to use intellect alongside instinct, and you are one of the most fitted for the task.”
He blushed at the high praise, bowing as he gave a breathless affirmation. “Yes sir! Thank you…”
Mr. Popo took a step back, raised his palm, and slashed it down in a quick motion. “Begin!”
They lowered in sync, anticipation felt across their bodies as they both sprang back. It promptly became obvious to Trunks how much the Saiyan’s demeanor had changed in just the hours they’d spent today. His form was less weighed down by his mind, more focused and steadfast. A playful voice muttered from the sidelines of his mind; ‘But is it enough?’
He became eager to put that thought to the test. In seconds he was to Broly’s right, movements a blur to the common eye but watched through a film of curiosity by the Saiyan. Out of habit, Trunks reached behind him, remembering a moment too late that he had lost his sword in his fight against Android 18. Broly caught the floundered action and took advantage of it, flipping onto his palm to ground himself as he swung his leg around, kicking Trunks in his core and sending him skidding onto the ground.
He recovered with a roll back onto his feet, grunting at the throbbing feeling in his stomach. He couldn’t make another mistake like that. He had to let go of his lost weapon and fight head on. Gritting his teeth, he hovered over the ground, taking short flight. With a yell, he soared forward. Broly’s eyes widened, not expecting such a direct approach from the other. Throwing his arms up in a guard, the friction of skin against metal as Trunks’ punch landed directly into his forearms felt like a buzz.
It was a flicker in the film of his thoughts; he was back on New Vegeta, adrenaline pumping through him as that thrill they had shared came back full force. Broly grinned, more enthusiastic as he continued to counter Trunks. When he strafed in his pursuit of gaining ground, Broly gave chase. They traded blows, and it became apparent to the half-Saiyan how much more controlled Broly’s attacks were, but they slipped just enough out of his newly formed reigns for Trunks to find the weak spots, attacking as necessary to make him stagger, even for just a few seconds.
They went from the air back to the ground after Broly managed to land a heavy hit. Trunks crashed into the stone floors, groaning on his stomach as he turned around to find Broly’s form fast approaching. His face was manic, startling Trunks to jump out of the way as brawny hands and legs made contact around where he had laid with a harsh shake going through the platform.
Trunks raised his hand to fire a moderate but swift blast. Broly dodged it with ease, spinning out of the trajectory and facing him again. As he looked ready to pounce, Trunks grinned back and pulled the ki he’d sent flying back towards them. When Broly saw his expression, he turned around a second too late as he was struck with the golden light.
Stumbling forward, he regained his footing with a grimace on his face, lacking any venom. He looked at Trunks with something dark in his eyes. “Not bad, Princess. Next time, hit harder.”
He wasn’t sure why it had elicited such a strong reaction, but Trunks felt his head fill with blood at the purred words. His moment of fluster left him gaping. Broly was now suddenly a few paces away from him with his arms outstretched and quickly gaining ground. When Trunks saw the familiar movement and familiar face, eyes less green and hair less blue, he leapt out of reach. All too easily he recalled how that attack had caught him the first time in an almost-hug, and all too intimately his brain supplied the rest of the following memories after that.
Broly recovered when his arms had closed around nothing, grinding his heels into the floor and redirecting his momentum, wasting no time to continue chasing Trunks. Gradually, the training mattered less than their personal game of cat and mouse. Their pulses raced as they continued their heated dance around one another, hearts heaving every time their eyes met from afar or up close.
At one point, Broly had managed to kick Trunks’ feet out from under him, knocking the breath from his lungs and landing him on his back. Broly was on him instantly, lips pulled back to bare his teeth to him in an intimidating display. Trunks struggled to keep the large form looming above from crushing him. Their fingers dug into the divots of their hands, squeezing around each other’s knuckles. Neither wanted to yield, but Trunks knew if it continued like this Broly’s stamina would exceed his strength, already feeling the exhaustion creeping in.
An idea, arriving abrupt but in time, struck Trunks. He slowly eased Broly’s body lower, letting him believe he was gaining the upper hand, and blew a gust of air into Broly’s eyes, causing him to scrunch them close. When he opened them again, he had a moment to catch Trunks’ head surging up towards him before feeling a stinging pain bloom in the center of his face.
Groaning loudly, Trunks hoisted him off and threw him to the side, stumbling back onto his feet and flexing his fingers while he directed a hooded gaze at the Saiyan. Broly caught himself before he hit the ground, pleasantly surprised. He met the glower with something depraved. He watched as Trunks bit down the hitch in his breath, all too pleased with himself when the tension in the other’s brow tightened.
They fell back into their stances, readying to start again when someone cleared their throat. They both turned to see Mr. Popo standing like before, hands folded behind his back and watching them. “That is all for today. You two should rest up for now. It’s gotten quite late and there’s still tomorrow.”
Trunks looked up and only now processed how much time had passed. The sky was now dark, and it brought out a flutter of soft bulbs of light which illuminated the edges and the walkways of the Lookout. The black ocean above, swirling with faraway galaxies and stars, winked down at them in an array of flecks of white. The night always brought something more open out of the half-Saiyan. Wondrous, unexplored. Across timelines, he found the night sky always remained captivating no matter when or where he was. Trunks breathed in the cool air brought out by the moon’s arrival, untensing his body as he faced the Saiyan who was talking with Mr. Popo again.
He looked more compliant in this lighting; he nodded his head to whatever the deity was telling him, likely more pointers to help sharpen his moves, but Trunks couldn’t focus on that. He was drawn to the sparks of light flashing off of the golden accessories the Saiyan wore, twinkling with every small movement.
All too soon he dragged his eyes up to find Broly staring back at him. ‘Caught,’ his mind supplied, but he couldn’t find it in him to feel admonished. The subtle red crawling over the other’s ivory skin was far too pretty in the night’s atmosphere. It had Trunks cursing as he felt the feelings crowd his throat and fill his mouth, slipping between his teeth and forcing him to bite down the words he couldn’t even discern, but knew were all too needy.
These moments of scrutinizing clarity had been happening every now and again, never too long but long enough for it to have been there. Trunks felt an unseen judgement from an unknown presence anchoring him in place while his senses were far too busy adjusting to the sight of Broly. He almost choked when a voice spoke up from beside him.
“What was that?”
Trunks felt his bones nearly jump out of his flesh when he finally took notice of Dende next to him. Not fully hearing the question, he sputtered for an answer. “I—! Well—See, uhh… It was… It was training! Just—Just a Saiyan… thing…?”
Dende stared at him for a few beats of uncomfortable silence before he simply shrugged and hummed out a noncommittal, “Alright.”
Trunks breathed an uneasy sigh of relief that was quickly dissipated when he felt a familiar energy walk up behind him. Craning his neck, he felt bare under those dark eyes peering down at him.
“Princess Trunks,” Broly leaned forward into a bow, taking hold of one of Trunks’ hands in an unexpectedly tender grasp. “Thank you for today. I hope to see you again tomorrow?”
Trunks wordlessly stared red-faced at the Saiyan. He barely choked out a whispered, “…Yeah, yes. I’ll… see you tomorrow.”
Satisfied, Broly smiled at him again, releasing his hand and bowing one more time. Mr. Popo called him over to begin evening chores. Facing him one last time, gaze holding something longing, he lifted a hand in a wave, only turning to join the deity waiting patiently for him when Trunks waved back.
On his flight home, he desperately tried to reign in his stuttering heartbeat and flustered face before his family started asking questions he really didn’t want to answer right now.
Noticeably lagging behind the Saiyan, Dende gaped at what he’d just witnessed. “...Saiyans can be so… weird.”
Mr. Popo laughed softly, tickled by the bizarre display. “Yes, but they do whatever it is they are well. They’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
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“What will it be like?”
The question surprised him. Trunks turned to Broly, who was holding up the side of the gravity chamber that had collapsed after another one of Vegeta’s ‘training outbursts’ after being kicked out of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. Dr. Briefs was hard at work on repairing it, recruiting the two of them for the more laborious tasks. He’d stepped inside to retrieve a part he needed.
“What do you mean?” Trunks asked.
Broly turned to face him, using one of his hands to keep up the large pod. “Your timeline. Once Cell is taken care of, will it be saved?”
‘Ah.’ Trunks folded his arms and sighed, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, it won’t. I’ll still have to deal with the Androids and Cell in my timeline once I’m finished here.”
Broly tilted his head, staring at him confused. “How come?”
“It’s because of multiverse theory.”
“Multi… Huh?”
Trunks prepared for the long explanation. “Essentially, when I traveled back to the past, my arrival had created a butterfly effect, which means a lot of things were changed as a result of my actions. First, the Androids that arrived in my timeline to destroy everything were different from the Androids that this timeline’s Z Fighters faced. I faced Android 18 and 17. They faced Android 19 and 20, who was Dr.Gero himself. Still not sure how he turned himself into an Android…”
Dr. Briefs arrived with the needed part and waved at them with a short greeting, stepping up to the side of the pod to begin repairs. From behind his welding mask, they heard him chime in, “That Gero was truly a force to reckon with. A true shame he turned out to be so malicious in his craft.”
Trunks gave a polite nod, even if his grandfather couldn’t see. He continued once Broly looked at him again. “Then we found an exact replica of my time machine. Turns out, it was my time machine, but from my ‘original’ timeline where I had defeated the Androids and planned to travel back to tell the others the good news, but was killed by Cell before I had the chance. He used my time machine to travel back a year before I arrived. Due to both of our actions, it caused a rift. My actions in this time only affect the outcome here and not in my own timeline.”
After a moment of silence, Broly nodded solemnly. “...I see.”
“Yeah…” Trunks busied himself with handing his grandfather tools he needed. “It’s… It’ll be fine, though. We’ll defeat Cell, then I can return home and defeat the Androids, then wait three years and take care of Cell in my timeline. I’ll be a lot stronger then, and things will be okay. Heh, simple, right?”
The tightness in his throat felt more concrete than his words. From beside him, Broly had leaned in closer to Trunks and reached for his hand, hovering for a second before moving up to his shoulder. The touch still suited to ground Trunks when he looked up into attentive eyes.
“It will, Princess. You have my word. No matter what happens, I will help you get back.”
His words were tender, full and held away from the only other person present who stood a couple feet from them, offered only to the half-Saiyan. Trunks blushed under the intense stare, nodding and lightly holding Broly’s arm in a returned gesture. “Thanks, Broly. Really.”
The towering Saiyan nodded back, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips, wistful and gone the next time he blinked.
They continued in silence. Dr. Briefs completed the repairs in under two hours of work, thanking them both for the aid. Panchy had come out, calling for the boys.
“Oh, there you two are! I’ve been searching everywhere for you!” She said sweetly.
Broly liked her. She was kind, mindful rather than ditsy like he’d heard the King call her (which he’d gotten a long lecture from the Queen when she caught it), and she always smelled like a bakery. Specifically, always something with a hint of lemon zest.
Trunks placed his full attention on her, features softening. “Yes, Grandmother? Did you need our help for something next?”
She giggled while shaking her head, lightly waving his concerns off. “Oh no no, sweetie. Not that. I made some snacks and wanted to make sure you boys got your fill! Come along now.”
They followed dutifully, soon being drawn into the living area where a blend of sweet scents wafted through the air. Noticing the kitchen sink had rinsed dishes in it, Trunks made a mental note to take care of those for his grandmother.
They were sat on adjoining couches. Their stomachs made agreeing noises of complaint, resulting in both men blushing in embarrassment. Panchy smiled, holding the plate to each of them. “No need to be shy, boys. Please, eat as much as you like!”
They eagerly complied, savoring the pastries as they sampled each of them. Panchy made simple conversation with them, mostly talking to Broly, obviously curious about how he’d come to join their strange team. Taking the focus off of him allowed for Trunks’ brain to wander.
Having easy access to this much food was still a strange area for him. He’d been raised on rations, but the moment he’d been caught showing old habits, his grandmother had dutifully curbed his scarcity mindset, assuring him that here, he could let himself relish in abundance.
‘In this house, no one goes hungry. So enjoy yourself! You’ve deserved the delight of these kinds of luxuries for a long time.’
When he had asked her how she knew, she just answered, ‘A mother’s intuition is always correct, sweetie!’ with a smile that betrayed that she knew more than she let on.
He’d caught himself packing away a few samples to try and bring back to his mother. Panchy was quick to properly prepare a parting gift for when he returned to his timeline. She was truly a force to be reckoned with, just like his own mother. Looking over at the older woman, lively and refined in her mannerisms, Trunks found himself grateful for getting to know her, at least in this timeline. As he ate one of the cream filled sweets, his thoughts trailed off to his mother back in the future. He hoped she was okay and not worrying too much over him. He already worried her enough as is.
Glancing towards Broly beside him, he felt a small snicker leave him. Jam and powdered sugar were strewn around his lips and on his fingers. Looking up at the sound, Trunks was staring back at those lost eyes. He grabbed a napkin from the tray and held it out to him. After Broly wiped off his fingers, Trunks pointed at his face when he went to discard the napkin. “You missed a spot.”
Broly scrunched his face as he attempted to clean off the rest. He managed to get most of it, but Trunks noticed a small glob of frosting beside his lip. Without saying anything, he leaned over and thumbed it off, licking his finger clean.
The silent atmosphere grew apparent. Trunks looked up to find his grandmother holding a hand over her mouth in subdued shock. She also looked… amused? He asked simply, “What? My mother would do that all the time while I was growing up.”
Panchy faintly giggled through her hand. “Trunks, honey, between family that may seem like a simple act, but between non-family, well…” She couldn’t hide her cheeky smile as she finished, “It can be taken quite romantically!”
Trunks’ brain caught up and his thoughts screeched to a halt. Slowly peering up to Broly, he was met with a just as red Saiyan looking down at him, wide-eyed and speechless. In a panic, he rushed out a few stuttered words before stuffing another pastry into his mouth, resolutely avoiding saying anything, else he embarrasses himself more than he already has.
Conveniently interrupting them, the sound of a baby crying caught their attention. Panchy stood up, gesturing for Trunks to sit back down. “Ohh, that poor boy. He’s been fussy all morning. I’ll go help your mother hon’, you stay here. Be back in a minute!”
A beat of awkward silence passed over them once Panchy had left the room, then, “What… is your world like?”
“Hm?” Swallowing the chunk of sweet in his mouth, Trunks struggled to return the prying gaze placed upon him. “What do you mean?”
Broly fiddled with the napkin still in his hand. “You said your timeline is ‘messed up’. What exactly does it look like compared to here?”
The memories of the environment he’d grown up in brought forth a dull ache in the depths of his chest. Trunks looked down at his lap as he tried to find the words to explain. “It’s… a lot less lively, that’s for sure. Most cities are destroyed, left in ruin and lacking any life. There are some survivors scattered throughout these cities, hiding in fear of the Androids returning. The best way I can describe it compared to here is ‘desolate’.”
“What does that mean?”
His voice was hollow, seeping out like a spectre. “Abandoned, lonely-looking.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah.” Trunks bit a smaller piece out of the cake he was eating, appetite shrunken. “It’s… It’s not great.”
“But you’ll fix it, right?”
And there was that look again. Trunks felt the rearing dread in the pit of his stomach pause along with his dreary thoughts. ‘You'll fix it, right?’
Broly shied away as Trunks just looked at him. Had he said something wrong? He hoped his words didn’t sound as rough around the edges as his voice was. “I mean… Obviously, not just you. You’ll have help right?”
Trunks glanced down at his hands. He didn’t miss the slight tremor in them at the thought. No doubt Broly didn’t miss it either.
Getting to rebuild, feeling safe, having a home.
“Yeah,” he finally said. His voice was stronger this time. “Yeah, I’m going to fix things. I will.”
At Broly’s brightened expression, another thought suddenly hit Trunks. He and Broly started something back on New Vegeta. He’d told him they would properly figure it out when they got back to Earth and cleaned up their business there, but then what? Trunks had to return to the future, and jumping nearly two decades into a place that looked like it devolved several decades back felt like a lot to ask of anyone. Where did Broly fit into his life?
The question sat heavily on his tongue. Should he break it to him now? Would it be crueler to wait?
Trunks groaned internally. They still had training later, roughly an hour away from now. He couldn’t slip up because he was caught in the waves of his rolling thoughts.
Panchy returned not too long after and started talking about new recipes she’s been learning, thankfully distracting him from the spiral his mind was tipping into.
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Their session on the Lookout went similarly to the day before. The lesson focused on movement. With Broly’s larger form, despite his ability to tank most hits, being able to maneuver around opponents’ attacks was key.
Even though he was clever and managed to avoid most of Broly’s pursuit, Trunks felt himself being worn down as the day dragged on. The sun dipped below the horizon and made way for the waning moon. Trunks laid splayed out on the Lookout floor, breathing in long bursts. Heavy footfalls came from his left and he looked up to find Broly joining him, sitting with his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands.
Trunks heaved out jokingly, “You’re… getting way too fast for me to keep up with, even in this form.”
Broly grew sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Trunks felt the flush in his face at the genuine worry in Broly’s voice, partly hiding it by throwing an arm over his eyes. “No, don’t worry. It’s not a bad thing either. It just means you’re learning fast enough that we have less to worry about for the upcoming tournament.”
A tranquil silence settled over them. Mr. Popo and Dende had turned in for the night, leaving them to finish their practice on their own. Even though this training was mainly to teach Broly, Trunks found himself learning more than he could’ve imagined. From what Goku had mentioned, Mr. Popo lived up to his reputation as being one of the best teachers in the martial arts.
Staring up into the night sky, the cool breeze was a welcome refreshment against their sweaty bodies. Trunks heard Broly shuffling beside him. He tipped his head to find him also laying on his back, hands folded over his middle. They laid far enough away from any of the warm off-white lights floating around the Lookout where the blue undertones of the night draped over them like an overlaying curtain.
Looking at his side profile from this close, Trunks noticed the more delicate details of the Saiyan’s features. His eyes looked sharper from this angle, lashes laid in fine rows over his lids. There were crease lines in the space between his brows, imperceptible in the daylight. In the dim atmosphere, the space beneath Broly’s eyes looked sunken, betraying the smallest bit of fatigue.
When Broly craned his head to look back at him, the weight of his gaze crushed Trunks’ chest. Pulling in full breaths took more effort compared to when they were training. His nerves went frigid when Broly rolled onto his side, a few inches closer, giving him his full attention.
“What are you thinking about?”
It took everything in Trunks to not wheeze out a pathetic, ‘You.’
“…I think you made a mistake choosing me as your mate.”
The drop in Broly’s expression felt like Trunks had poured an entire tub of ice water over himself as he registered his own words. Broly sat up—away—and Trunks wanted to bite his tongue off.
Bolting upright, Trunks frantically attempted to backtrack. “S-Sorry! I don’t know why my brain thought that was the way to say that! I meant—”
Swallowing his nerves, he tried to start again, slowly. “…A lot. I’ve been thinking about… a lot. Mostly regarding when I have to go back to the future. I… I feel like I’ve tricked you by promising we could be something here on Earth when I have to leave this timeline and return to mine. I just… I feel bad because—” His voice croaked out the words, heart clanging against the bars holding it in his chest, “I was never supposed to happen to you…”
A hand shot out over his vision, and in the next moment he was staring into Broly’s eyes. His expression read ‘assured’, but something shook behind it, something painstakingly raw, like Trunks had peeled off his skin to look at the confession written over Broly’s every bone to be sure it was ever even there.
“Don't say that." His whispered beg caved in the center, sending a pang down the curve in Trunks’ sternum. His eyebrow twitched and his eyes shimmered in the low moonlight. “You are the realest I’ve felt in years. Across every galaxy I’ve been to, none have grounded me the way you do, and I know it like it was there before my birth; where you go, I go with you.”
Trunks strained his neck to properly stare at him. Broly’s expression had gone blank, but the little things stuck out; his fingers had the smallest tremble going through them. His eyes never fully met his, and Trunks had a sinking feeling as to why.
“You… want to go back… with me?” Trunks was dumbfounded. Bringing Broly with him had briefly crossed his mind once in passing, back during their escape of New Vegeta, and he’d quickly made peace with that never happening. Now, it seemed in reach again, and the thought made him uneasy. “You know it's not a good place, right? It's half destroyed, abandoned in most places, and it's not exactly somewhere you'd want to be.”
“You're going.” He answered simply. Like that's all it took. Like that's all he needed to explain.
Frustration built up in Trunks. He was yelling now. Why was he yelling? “Because I have to! It's my home! My mom is still there!”
“Then I’ll go with you.” His veiled guard from before resurfaced, falling away a second later as something broken sounded through the Saiyan’s voice. “Unless… you don't want me, anymore.”
When his voice cracked, just for a second, suddenly he looked like any other man. He steeled his face, pressing up the poisoned plea like it made his words easier to hear. “Tell me. Tell me you don't want me, and only then will I leave you be.”
Trunks opened his mouth, but only an airy squeak came out. The words wouldn't even be supplied by his brain. He knew. He already knew his answer, but he still felt so… so…!
“Please," Broly’s voice was small, deathly so, “don't run from me.”
…
Scared.
That’s what it was. He feared having another good thing, because all good things in his life would be ripped away from him. His father, the Z Fighters, Gohan, and if he wasn't good enough, his mother. That's how it's been his entire life. What has changed, and how?
‘How will you be any different?’
As the words stayed in him, somehow, the Legendary still heard. Heard it in the skittish beat of the organ that made him ache like it’d found its other half every time he was close enough to graze the warmth Broly radiated.
‘Like the sun.’ His brain offered. ‘Furious, bright, and dangerous.’
‘And the beginning of life.’
His limbs were moving faster than he could tell his brain to stop them. Trunks swayed upwards, hauling his body over Broly’s and straddling him while swiftly taking his hand into his in one motion, away from his scrunched face. He squeezed it, harder than necessary but enough to show the agony within him.
“I want you.” He bled in a hushed demand, bled like a martyr as he faced the one devotee to his altar of self-inflicted penance. “I want you like I want a future. I want you like I want to right things. I want you, Broly.”
And the kneeling man’s prayers were heeded; Broly’s hands reached up, like he was yearning for the stars and the heavens themselves as he held Trunks against him, stardust in his chest while his heart weaved new strings. Relief felt too simple of a word to describe this sensation.
“Together." Broly’s voice came out ragged, staggering on his own feelings that welled through every syllable of his name. “I will do this together with you, Trunks.”
As Trunks tried to keep his own emotions from shaking his whole body, his brain reminded him of what Broly had said before in the medical bay;
‘...attachments only weigh us down,’ and Trunks began to wonder; was it truly a sin for him to want to anchor this Legend from worlds away that has lived years amongst the cosmos without a real place to call Home? Was that the step too far?
He held a firm belief that the fall would feel no different from the flight. And in the back of his mind, his mother’s voice broke through his own defenses, shattering him completely.
‘You deserve good things too.’
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