By Panabelle

Trunks sat in the living room with his newest toy, wishing Goten had been able to come over. With a sigh, he got up and walked over to the couch, flopping down into the big cushions.

A seven year old, bored out of his mind, on a Saturday night.

Not good.

Add pride and saiyan blood, and you had a very deadly combination.

Behind him, he heard the door open and his father entered, trailed by the screaming of his mother.

Another sentimenal argument, and bitter love.

“VEGETA!!!!”

“What Woman?!”

Fucked without a kiss again and dragged it through the mud.

“Woman, I need to train! I don’t need to eat ‘with my family’, I’m the Prince of the Saiyans! Training is more important then this ‘family time’ you insist on having!”

“Vegeta! You have an obligation to your son!”

“Woman! Just get me my food and let me return to my gravity room!”

“Fine! If that’s the way you want it, you can sleep in your precious gravity room tonight!”

Yelling at brick walls and punching windows made of stone,
the worry rock has turned to dust and fallen on our pride.

Trunks sighed and flomped back against the cushions.

Just a normal Saturday night at the Briefs’ house.

“Woman! You are not—”

“Kicking you out my bed? YES I AM!!!!!!”

“Woman! You can not kick me out of my own bed—”

“Since when the hell has it been your bed? You have to sleep in it for it to be your bed, Vegeta!!!!!”

O.o 10 years later:

Trunks and Bra were sitting in the living room floor messing around with a boardgame.

Trunks angrily moved the car into the red square with bars in the corner and glared at his sister, who looked up at him with innocent eyes.

Five years old and she was kicking his ass.

A knocked-down, dragged out fight,

“VEGETA!!!!!!!”

Trunks groaned. Looked like she’d finally seen the bruise covering half of his body from his sparring session with his father that morning.

“What Woman?!”

“What the hell did you do to my son!?!”

*fair lips and open wounds

Bra looked up, watching as her mommy and daddy yelled. Her father stood arrogantly in the corner, and her mother walked up to him, poking him in the chest. Her father smirked, leaned close to her mother, planted a rough kiss on her lips. Then he walked away, leaving her mother to recover, shrug, and walk the other direction.

Another wasted night
and no one will take the fall.

Trunks and Bra looked at each other and shrugged. It was nothing new for them, they were used to it.

Bulma and Vegeta had been like this ever since before either of their children were born.

Probably since the dawn of the Earth.

Where do we go from here and what did you do with the directions?
Promise me no dead end streets and I guarantee we’ll have the road.

o.O Ten years later:

Trunks trudged in the front door, dragging his suit jacket and briefcase behind him, his glasses shoved deep into a pocket somewhere.

“Trunks!”

He jumped, seeing his best friends and sister gathered around a radio in the living room.

Curious, he moved to join them.

“I found this old CD,” Pan giggled as he sat down next to her. “We’re trying to figure out if we can think of anyone that the songs represent.”

Trunks listened for a moment, ignoring the sounds of battle coming from the kitchen, and recognized the song.

“A knocked-down, dragged out fight,” he sang quietly.

Bra nodded. “*Fair lips and open wounds.”

“VEGETA!!! GET BACK HERE AND LISTEN TO ME!!!!!”

“MAKE ME WOMAN!”

“Another wasted night, and no one will take the fall,” they said quietly together.

Pan and Goten looked at each other, and they both grinned, finally placing a person—or family—to the song.

Vegeta and Bulma moved into the living room, squabbling again, as normal.

“You listen to me, Mr. Prince of Saiyans,” she started.

Oblivious to their parents, Bra and Trunks continued to follow the song.

“Another sentimental argument,” he started, and she finished, “and bitter love.”

Coming together to harmonize, they didn’t notice and Bulma grabbed a cushion and started beating Vegeta.

“Fucked without a kiss again and dragged it through the mud.”

Pan and Goten knew this was a normal Saturday night activity for the Briefs, but still couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it.

“Where do we go from here and what did you do with the directions? Promise me no dead end streets, and I guarantee we’ll have the road,” Bra and Trunks sang softly.

Bulma took a swing a Vegeta, Vegeta snatched the pillow away, tucked it under his arm and started to walk away.

“Vegeta!” Bulma cried, shaking with anger.

“And I guarantee we’ll have the road.”

“Vegeta!” she cried again, louder, following him this time.

“And I guarantee we’ll have the road.”

“VEGETA!!!!!!!”