Written after the deadline for the challenge alone. Arigato, D-san. -_^

I did not ask for my title, and I know that here, now, at this moment, I do not want it. I am crown prince of the last of the Saiyan species, of which there are probably now two remaining, including myself. The third's ki signature disappeared moments ago, along with the others, somewhere out there in the blizzard of ash. His spawn is the only living thing I see in my reduced field of vision, and from the look in his eyes, he may not be here much longer.

I will not allow him to meet the same fate as his foolhardy father and friends. "We have to leave," I tell him over the deep rumbling muffled by the ash-fall, "this planet is destroying itself! There's a pod behind me - come!"

He looks at me incredulously. "No! I have to find Tousan! He's in trouble!"

"His ki is gone! He's dead!" I cry out to him. "If we leave now, we can live!"

"No, Vegeta," he cries out. "I have to be with him!"

Something in his voice, something in his desperation, makes my own desperation grow. I will not allow this one to throw his life away. My pride and comportment evaporated, I fall to my knees in front of him, embracing his legs with both my arms. "Please, don't do this," I plead to him. "Please stay."

He drops to his own knees. "I'm sorry, Vegeta, but I have to go." He embraces me. Shutting my eyes against the blinding ash, I wrap my arms around him again, willing him not to leave. Somehow, he slips out of my grasp, and as I open my eyes, he is already on his feet, his back turned to me, walking quickly into the blue-white void.

"Gohan!" I cry out, but he is already gone. In a moment, his ki also disappears. "GOHAAAAN!" I clench my eyes and my fists, pounding the ground at my knees. I fall to my side in a fetal position, as I ---

--- awaken with a start. After a moment of disorientation, I realize that I must have twisted in my sleep, yanking the covers around me in a tangled swirl. Turning around in the bed, I notice that I've pulled them off the bed's other occupant. The larger, older, uncovered version of the little boy who ran away from me in the dream now blinks at me sleepily. "'Geta? Whass wrong?" he slurs.

I turn over again, away from him, loosening the covers for his benefit, but contracting myself into a ball once more, hoping he won't probe too deeply. "Nothing. I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

I hear nothing for a few moments, then a sigh, as he draws himself up into a sitting position. "You had that dream again, didn't you?"

I remain motionless for a while, but finally respond; I discovered long ago that it was impossible to keep things from him. "Yes," I said simply. I can feel his eyes on me. I realize I probably won't get back to sleep anytime soon, so I lift myself up, matching his position as I lean my back against the headboard, my arms folded over my chest.

Though I keep my eyes forward, I can feel his remain on me, and I suddenly understand why dogs become nervous and upset when they're stared at. I turn to him, hoping to intimidate him into leaving me alone, and let the subject drop. "What?" I ask, curtly.

He continues to regard me, and looking directly at him, I see some spark of recognition, of understanding. "I think I know what the dream is about," he muses. "It's not some alternate retelling of Namek. You're losing everyone in the dream, and it scares you to death, doesn't it? You don't want to be left alone."

As quickly as I can, I replace the momentary look of startlement on my face with the usual irked dispassion. I wonder for a moment whether the bluehair was wrong, that these hybrid children of ours really are telepathic or empathic. It might explain his knack for intuition. Then again, it couldn't possibly have anything to do with his parentage… "What makes you think -" I begin.

"Vegeta," he says gently, cutting me off. "You don't have to hide anything from me. Some part of you is afraid I'm going to run off and leave you… like he did. Vegeta, I'm nothing like my father."

I can sense a trace of bitterness in his voice, and I feel a rush of unbidden emotion. He's less impulsive and more amiable than the onna; wiser and more emotionally mature than Kakarrot. I want so much for him to be the last one. The real one. The one for all time. The one I can finally drop my careful emotional defenses for. My hardened expression wavers as I look into the infinite care and mercy in his eyes. God dammit, I will not start crying…

I see the look of recognition in his eyes again, and before I know it, he's pulled me into his arms. Nestled in his bare flesh, I breathe in his scent, one that I cannot readily describe, but at this moment, gives me comfort and security. His words, however, are what break my defenses completely, and I begin to sob like an infant. "I'm not going anywhere, Vegeta. I love you, and nothing will change that."

Tears that I would have erased entire worlds to prevent people from seeing run freely from my face, and the dark part of my mind begins to recite its usual litany. You're weak. Stop crying. This will never work. You don't deserve him. He's too good for you. He's just like the rest. Trust no one. Keep it all inside. One of his hands reaches into my hair and begins to stroke it, and he begins to rock us both gently. I feel the raw physicality and emotionality of the moment, but it has nothing to do with his nudity, his cock, his ass, or his lips. I feel him. I begin to remember what it was like to think, feel, and live like an ordinary person, and the soft, steady drone of normality begins to drown out my fears, uncertainties, and doubts.

After long, cathartic minutes, the tears and sobbing cease, and I am left with a drained satisfaction, like the drowsy, pleasant feeling that comes after a sneezing fit. "Better?" I hear him say quietly, the stroking and rocking coming to an end. I squeeze him harder in response. After another moment, I feel his body shake. Is he laughing? I look up at him quizzically. "Some day, though," he says gently, with a soft smile, "you're going to have to tell me why, in these dreams, we're never wearing pants."

I roll my eyes and groan quietly. Some things are better left unanalyzed. He chuckles again, and begins to gently pull us both back down onto the bed. He draws the covers over us, and I feel him spoon into me, draping one large arm across my chest, twining the fingers of his hand into one of mine. "Good night, Ouji," he whispers in my ear. "Dream of happy things." I do not reply with words, but gently squeeze my hand against his. Breathing his comforting scent once more, I drift off to sleep.

I did not ask for my title, and I know that here, now, at this moment, I do not want it. In the comfort of our bed, in our house, in the dark, the title truly belongs to him. My Gohan. My prince.