Author's Notes: I'm not dead, although I am in college which is almost completely synonymous with it. This is sort of an intercession chapter, just to get me back on this story and brain-storming its plot. In regards to how I portray Trunks and Goten (and, for future reference, the rest of the Z fighters) I am going off of a DBZ timeline. To me, this is how I feel the characters should have progressed. Although I respect GT as it was (a giant disconnected fanfiction dubbed by funimation), I think that its biggest flaw was the weakening of Trunks and Goten's characters. There is almost no connection to who the two boys were as children, in my honest opinion, and I feel the excuse of 'well, they grew up' is used a little loosely. To a certain extent, people change, but to that degree? Eh. I'm going to have to say I disagree. So, as this is my story, I'm throwing a bit of a curveball at the claimed canon by the depictions I use in this story. I hope that adds some clarity.

TL;DR: I wrote Trunks and Goten however the hell I wanted to because this is fanfiction and I'm a rowdy risk-taking college student now.

How long was proper to wait before you break down a door to somebody's private sanctuary? To wait for a few minutes seemed too brief while knocking for hours seemed far too persistent. There was no winning in the current situation, but there wasn't much winning going on in Trunks' life at the moment anyway so he couldn't very well remember what it felt like to have a solid victory, even if it be one as small as getting his father to see the light of day instead of the color-blinding red of the gravity-room.

He loomed outside of the large steel door of the training center, blue eyes locked on the padlocking system to see if it would turn off by way of a scowl or hard glare. He telepathically tried to urge his father out from the depths of his physical activities and instead into the arms of what was left of his family. The first sign of healthy mourning rehabilitation would be a steady beep from the gravity room that would signal Vegeta's emergence. He waited for the beep for a minute that stretched out longer than he could handle.

No beep came. Vegeta's power signature remained recklessly high and centered in a place on the other side of the wall that, without damaging his mother's work(which seemed almost sacrilegious in theory now that she wasn't there to fix his messes), he couldn't reach.

It wasn't surprising that Vegeta was being stubborn. It wasn't as if the stubbornness was a trait that solely lived through Bulma. It hadn't died when she had died and expecting anything less than complete and total difficult and childish behavior from his father had been completely naïve for the teen to think.

Trunks shuffled down the hallways of his home, taking off his tie as he considered his current dilemma. Bra wasn't due back for another hour, and she would be taking the bus so that transportation had been sorted out without him having to fret over it. He supposed he could fix a dinner for the family of three, but Vegeta wouldn't come out for any food and Bra would complain about the food not tasting like Grandma's and then Trunks would just be angry with the entire situation as if he wasn't angry enough with everything as it was.

Nobody was cooperating. He was trying very hard to be a foundation, but he was only 17. This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing right now. Quite frankly, he had college to worry about and he knew his mother would be furious if he put off getting into a prestigious school based solely upon her death. Bulma was very reliant on the dragonballs, and, if the balls were an option, then mourning was not.

Trunks took a seat at the round kitchen table, his hand running along the dark cherry finish before he rested his head on his arm. He wondered if his mother knew just how much disarray she had caused everyone with her passing. Society was in chaos at the mere rumor that she was in a coma (which was what they had told everybody in order to avoid company restructuring of Capsule Corp.), but even the family of Z fighters were all off their usual game.

It was as if somebody had taken a normal every-day scenario and draped it with a grey felt blanket, causing a dreary numbness to fall down upon those who were left in the after-math of the Brief-family explosion. He had seen the immediate anesthetic death caused when he finally had reached the house and looked into his father's eyes.

Before Trunks had set eyes on the burning home, although he could smell it from miles away, he looked at his father. It was something he had learned over the years. If his father was neither shaken nor scared, there was nothing to be upset about. If he was arrogant, he was over-compensating like some sort of endangered peacock and was feeling the need to prove himself. Arrogance was not always a bad thing to see in his father's face, but he knew that it also did not always mean success.

However, when he looked at his father that day, he saw something he had never seen before. Trunks had taken in the sight of Vegeta's soot covered body, the prince's knees pressed into dirt outside of Capsule Corp. while one hand rested on the back of his very tense neck. Trunks found himself circling around to get a look at the face of his father and what he witness was a shocking amount of emptiness before him. The blanket of gray had fallen in the shape of ash and it had already enveloped Vegeta, the prince of all Saiyans, in a suffocating embrace.

It was in that moment that he realized his mother and everybody else who had been inside Capsule Corp. was dead.

It was in that moment that Trunks ran for the carnage that once was his home and began to dig for what might be left of Bulma.

Thinking about the incident caused a chill to rocket through Trunks's body. He sat up, rubbing at his bare fore-arms while he lifted his sculpted body to a completely upright standing position.

He needed a fresh pair of ears. He needed someone to listen to him rant about his father and his problems. He needed his best friend.

He needed Goten.

Trunks pulled out his cell-phone with one hand while using the other to open the door that lead out to the open patio. A swing of his feet over the railing sent him flying into the air. There was a beautiful moment of free-fall before Trunks focused his energy to send himself to the Son house. He had an hour before Bra got home which gave him fourty-five minutes or so with his friend. Hopefully that would be enough to put his mind at ease.

Two thick thumbs tapped at the keyboard of his phone and typed out a message of simplicity. "Expect me."

Goten only had ten seconds to take in the words before he saw Trunks landing on the roof outside his window. The purple-haired corporate heir stared inside solemnly, not saying a word and sending chills down Goten's spine. Sometimes Goten saw Vegeta in Trunks's face and it sort of terrified him. There was a large amount of pain that needed to be experienced before one could start to emulate the man that was the prince of all Saiyans. Ever since the accident, Trunks's scowl had a more genetic gleam and his blue eyes less of a human sparkle.

Trunks was sneering a bit, about to blast open the window out of impatience for the two seconds he was being kept waiting. Goten took a two-step stride and unlocked the latches, letting his friend inside. There was a breeze of wind that made Goten hold his breath and turn to his bed where Trunks had practically leapt as soon as the window had opened.

"I am going insane."

"I didn't want to say anything," Goten replied, teasing a bit to try and distract from the heavy conversation he could feel was about to come.

Trunks was leaning forward, his knees being used for the placement of his elbows. His left hand hung out from his stiff arm while his right was rubbing the back of his muscular neck. "I'm trying everything I can to keep… To…" Trunks faltered.

"To keep?" Goten urged.

"That's not the right word. Uhm." Trunks looked at Goten for a moment, his eyes blank suddenly and then he looked at the wall. "He resents help from everybody, even me. I can't do anything for him."

"Your dad?" Goten yanked at the back of his rarely used desk-chair, swiveling it so he could sit comfortably and listen to Trunks.

The hand that had been rubbing at his neck suddenly slipped up to massage his forehead, as if the question had brought on a sudden wave of anxiety. Trunks grunted, but said nothing.

"Dad said that he isn't taking 'hand-outs'," Goten announced.

"There's a difference between compassion and hand-outs." Trunks's voice was suddenly vicious and his head lifted up so he could stare at Goten through the glare of his father.

"I know I know!" Goten raised his hands quickly. "But that doesn't mean he knows! Your dad has always been a bit… Well, y'knooow…"

"He's a pain in the ass. I know." Trunks was back to being morose and his hand slipped back down to his neck while his gaze softened.

"I'm trying really hard to make this work out. It's not as if we don't have the dragonballs. It's not as if this is a permanent thing. I know that, man. I know that." The repetition ended a bit soft. Trunks straightened up slightly, his eyes still directed at the wall. "It's the only thing keeping my head on straight. I know that it's all going to get fixed eventually."

Goten's eyebrows pulled together slightly and his head tilted a bit. Trunks knew it was going to be okay, yet he was still so stressed. The idea of the dragonballs would be enough to keep Goten pleasant through the situation, if he ever had to go through with it so he really didn't get this dilemma.

"Bra is so young. This is just unfair to subject her to. Father is just this time-bomb and she doesn't understand anything except that he's angry and Mom is gone," Trunks mumbled.

"She's young enough, she probably won't even remember this la-"

"You say that as if you don't remember the years your dad was gone. As if I don't remember when Father blew himself up because of Majin Buu. That pain is absolutely resounding and time doesn't make you forget it, it just piles on more crap so you have less of an opportunity to come to terms with it."

The words had been quick and almost mechanic, as if they were something that had been juggled around in the teen's mind for many years and had now been given a sudden outlet to jump through. Trunks turned his head from the wall finally and looked at Goten, silence entering the room.

"Death happens, man." Goten honestly didn't understand.

"You're so used to this." The royal heir's face was suddenly one of soft sympathy.

Goten's face, however, was simply perplexed. "Well, it's going to work out in the end. No need to stress about it now, am I right?" The teen then offered a positive grin up at Trunks who had now made it up to his feet.

Trunks took a deep breath. "It's going to work out in the end."

"That's what I said," Goten said with a chuckle. "It always does, why would this time be any different?"

Trunks smiled. "It always works out."

There was a swift breeze that caused Goten's long hair to whip around and hit him square in the face. The abrupt exit had left the windowpanes gently flapping against the side of the Son house as Trunks headed back to his own home with one thing in mind.

It always works out.