The whole messy affair began when Krillin was killed.

Now, this in itself was nothing unusual—it had already happened three times before, in attacks by progressively stronger and more psychotic villains. No, Krillin finding himself being sent off to the dimension beyond the grave was far from strange.

Upon Krillin's arrival in the heavenly afterlife, King Kai had handed him a 'Frequent Dyer' card. "Five deaths," the Guardian of the Northern Universe had explained, "and your sixth one is free." Krillin was not amused.

What were unusual were the circumstances under which this death took place. Krillin's enigmatic and reclusive brother-in-law, the creatively named Android Seventeen, would insist later that it was a complete accident. After all, he'd been inorganic for a very long time now; how was he supposed to remember how easily mere humans caught fire? And he could not possibly have foreseen what had to be an act of divine intervention in the form of a volcanic eruption.

Krillin's wife, the equally creatively named Android Eighteen, was profoundly displeased with this turn of events. Because though her husband may have been shorter, weaker, and significantly less attractive than she was, he was also marvelously attentive to her personal needs. After all, she may have been an android, but she was still a woman.

Besides, he made killer pancakes. And though Eighteen didn't really need to eat, she just couldn't resist well-made flapjacks.

The solution was obvious: Krillin's group of friends, companions, and co-warriors would have to gather the magical orange orbs known as the Dragonballs, speak the Eternal Dragon's name, and wish Krillin back to life. The problem with this solution was equally obvious: Krillin had already been brought back to life by Shenlong, and Shenlong refused to grant the same wish twice.

The gang had once summoned Shenlong for the sole purpose of asking him why, exactly, he could not grant the same wish more than once. The Eternal Dragon simply shrugged—an impressive feat for a creature without shoulders—and said, "Dramatic tension."

So an alternative had to be proposed. Luckily, there was another set of Dragonballs in a far-off galaxy, where few Earthlings had tread before, on the planet known as Namek. Also luckily, at least one of their group, Son Goku, had developed quite the rapport with the Namekians, meaning they were more than likely to allow him to use their Dragonballs without much argument.

Saving an entire race, apparently, comes with some fringe benefits.

And so our heroes prepared to take off for what they hoped would be a simple mission. Forgetting, of course, that nothing in their lives was ever simple.

"Absolutely not!" Vegeta glowered at his wife, folding his arms and setting his face into a deep scowl.

Bulma rolled her eyes as she set a bag of supplies down by the spaceship. "I'm not arguing with you about this, Vegeta. I'm going."

Vegeta's scowl deepened. That afternoon had been the first he'd heard about his wife's plan for reviving Krillin. While he would have been just as happy to let the midget remain in the hereafter this time around—Vegeta hoped by the fourth time he died he'd have the good sense to just stay dead—Bulma had apparently grown attached to the little man. That sentimental idiocy had been bad enough, but then he'd found out that not only was Kakarrot taking off on this misguided adventure, but Bulma was planning on accompanying him.

Needless to say, Vegeta was not pleased.

"Why?" Vegeta barked out. "What could you possibly have to contribute to this idiotic excursion?"

Bulma rolled her eyes at that. "I'm not letting Goku handle my spaceship on his own."

"So why can't Kakarrot just use that instant transmission technique of his?"

"New Namek is too far. You know that."

"So let him wish himself to Namek."

"Vegeta," she said, as though she were speaking to a very small, very slow child, "we don't know when we might need that wish again. It's not worth the risk."

"You are not leaving me with the brats while you traipse around with the idiot and those meditating lizards!" Vegeta shuddered at the thought of being left solely responsible for his 16-year-old son and three-year-old daughter.

"Vegeta," she repeated, "it's six days each way. I won't be gone that long, but I have to go."

"I won't let you!"

Bulma placed her hands on her hips. "I'm sorry, I don't recall asking your permission!"

They both stood that way for several long moments, staring each other down as the bright sun shone upon them in Capsule Corp's large, enclosed yard. Bulma narrowed her eyes at her husband; he narrowed his in return. She stuck out her lower lip in an angry pout; he locked his jaw and pursed his lips.

Neither would back down.

"Fine," Vegeta grunted. "Then I'm going with you."

Bulma raised one eyebrow at the man. "You're volunteering to be stuck with me and Goku for the better part of two weeks?"

"Yes," Vegeta said, struggling to hide his trepidation at the prospect of spending twelve days locked in a spaceship with the two most infuriating people he had ever met. "The question is, does the prospect of being stuck with me and Kakarrot for that time not make you reconsider."

"He's my oldest friend, you're my husband." She shot her husband an enigmatic smile. "Of course I don't mind." Vegeta wondered if the slight twitch in her right eye was simply his imagination.

Each was convinced the other was bluffing. The problem, of course, was that they were both right.

Goku had always been a remarkably brave man. From the time he was a child, he had unflinchingly faced mad scientists, megalomaniacs bent on world domination, and ungodly powerful demons. He had never shied away from a challenge, regardless of the dangers to himself. He had gone to his own death not once, but twice, and had done so both times with a smile.

Which was what made this particular display of cowardice so very, very sad.

"I don't wanna!" Goku shook his head vigorously, a truly uncharacteristic expression of panic coming over his face. "Please, please don't make me do this!"

Gohan pinched the bridge of his nose—it was a habit he'd picked up after two decades of dealing with tension headaches—and sighed. "Dad, you were raring to go yesterday."

"That's before I found out Vegeta was coming too! I can't sit on a spaceship with both of them for two weeks!"

"It won't be that bad," Gohan said, using the same reassuring tone he used with his two-year-old daughter when she was crying over a bad dream or a dropped lollipop. "They're both your friends." Gohan frowned, responding to the incredulous expression on his father's face. "Well, Bulma's your friend anyway. And Vegeta's your, um, something," he finished lamely.

Goku shook his head again. "I can handle one of them. Both of them? Together? For two weeks?"

"What's the worst that can happen?"

"They get in a fight, Vegeta blows his stack and blasts the ship to pieces, and we all die out in deep space!"

"Dad, that isn't going to happen." Gohan feigned more certainty than he actually felt. After all, the last time he had been in enclosed quarters with Bulma for any extended period of time was his own trip to Namek almost twenty years before. Doing that trip with Krillin along had been tense enough. The young man truly did not envy his father's position.

"Make Seventeen do it. He's the one that got Krillin killed." Goku shuddered. He couldn't understand, first, why the male android had decided that a volcanic ridge would be a good place for a hunting trip, or second, why Krillin had decided that would be a proper time to bond with his rarely-seen brother-in-law, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

"The whole reason you were going to go in the first place is because Elder Mori is probably going to let you use the Dragonballs," Gohan replied. "You know that."

Goku's face fell into a pout. "Can't Dende do it?"

"Dende's kind of busy. You know, being Guardian of the Earth and all."

"Then you do it!"

"Dad!" Gohan very rarely raised his voice—let alone to his father—but this was getting ridiculous. "I have lesson plans to write, research to do, and a two-year-old to raise!"

"But—"

"No buts! Now you will pack a bag, get down to Capsule Corp, and take off for Namek this afternoon so you can get your best friend back! Do you understand me?"

"Alright, alright," Goku said, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. The Saiyan sighed; he was man enough to know when he was beaten.

"Good," Gohan said, folding his arms. "Now go get your things together."

Goku sighed as he turned to go back into the house. Chichi could say what she wanted about Goku's influence—at times like this, it was clear that Gohan was his mother's son.

Trunks blinked rapidly, quickly wiping his eyes with the heels of his hand. His eyes stung as teardrops began to gather in the corners and soak his eyelashes.

"Whassa matter?" the small child in the high chair in front of him asked innocently. "Why're you crying?"

Trunks glared at his baby sister through red-rimmed eyes. "I'm not crying, Bra. I'm wiping out the applesauce that you just threw in my eyes." The teenager reached for a napkin, cleaning off his face. "Now, would you please, please eat your breakfast?"

The little girl gave her brother an exaggerated pout. "I want mommy!"

"We've been through this a million times. Mommy is on a trip."

"Then I want Daddy!"

Trunks rolled his eyes. "Daddy is with her." He'd had this conversation with Bra at least a dozen times over the last five days. She knew perfectly well where her parents were, but couldn't seem to resist giving her older brother a hard time. She was well-behaved enough when her grandmother tried to feed her, but Mrs. Briefs was out shopping, and Bra was not inclined to show Trunks the same level of respect.

The teenager could only console himself with the fact that, based on what he'd seen from Bulma's video calls home, his mother and father didn't seem to be enjoying themselves either. Not that his father had much to say during those calls, but Trunks could hear the man shouting—presumably at Goku—in the background of most of Bulma's chats.

"Come on, Bra," Trunks pleaded. "At least drink some of your milk."

Trunks sighed in relief as the girl took a sip from the small plastic tumbler on her high chair. That is, until Bra apparently decided that "drink" meant "take a big sip, slosh it around in your mouth for a while, then spit it all over your big brother."

"Bra!" Trunks grabbed a paper towel, reaching up to wipe his sister's breakfast off his face for the second time in as many minutes. "That's a very bad girl!"

He opened his eyes to see his baby sister's lower lip trembling. "Oh no, Bra, please don't—"

"You shout at me!" the girl yelled before letting out a loud wail. "You're mean!"

"Damnit," Trunks muttered to himself. He sat down at the kitchen table, resting his milk-and-apple-sauce soaked head on his arms and staring at his screaming sister. "I give up. Starve, see if I care."

A familiar voice responded from behind Trunks. "I don't think your mom and dad would be too happy if that happened."

Trunks jolted upright and turned to see his best friend standing in the doorway. "Goten!" He stood from his chair as Bra suddenly stopped her crying. "Thank Kami you're here."

Goten laughed as he walked toward Trunks. "What the hell happened to you?"

"That happened," Trunks said, pointing at Bra. She had wiped the tears from her face and was smiling beatifically at her brother's friend. "Help me out?"

"Hiiii, Goten," she said, her grin broadening. "Did you come to see me?"

Goten laughed, reaching over to ruffle the little girl's pigtailed hair. "You bet, princess." He turned back to Trunks. "I'll do breakfast. You take a shower."

"Another shower," Trunks emphasized as he bounded out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He quickly showered and changed before returning to the kitchen, finding an empty cereal bowl, a smiling Bra, and a very smug-looking Goten.

Goten grinned as he pulled Bra out of her high chair and set her on the floor. "Now, you be a good girl and go play in your room, alright?"

Bra smiled coyly at Goten, tilting her face up and tapping her left cheek with one finger. Goten laughed before leaning down to place a small kiss on the child's cheek. She squealed before running out of the kitchen.

"Thanks, buddy," Trunks said, running a hand through his damp hair.

"I'm sure you'll get me back later." Goten stepped over to the large freezer and began digging through; he was long past the point of asking for permission to get a snack at the Briefs household. He grabbed a tub of ice cream and set it down on the kitchen table before going to grab a bowl and a scoop.

Trunks raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Isn't it a little early in the day for dessert?"

"Nope!" Goten said with a grin as he returned to the table. Trunks made a sour face as his stomach turned; he may have had a Saiyan appetite, but even he couldn't come close to matching Goten's cast-iron stomach.

Goten gleefully licked a bite of fudge ripple off his spoon. "Has she been like this all week?"

"Just with me," Trunks sighed out. "She's fine with grandma."

"And with me."

"Yeah, just wait until she's a little older. You won't think her little crush is so cute in a few years." Trunks shot his friend an evil grin. "And neither will my dad, for that matter."

Goten froze, dropping his spoon on the table and swallowing loudly. "Don't even joke about that."

"Who's joking?"

Goten groaned. "Damnit, Trunks."

"Don't worry. That's assuming he even makes it back from Namek."

Goten's expression fell into one of genuine worry. "What do you mean? Did something happen?"

"No, I just mean that my mom might kill him before the week is out."

"Fair enough. I, uh, could hear them fighting in the background when my dad called home."

"Figures," Trunks said. "I don't know who to feel sorriest for, Goku, my mom, or my dad."

"I'm sure they're all doing a good job driving each other nuts."

"Yeah." Trunks drummed his fingers against the kitchen, staring off thoughtfully as Goten put himself another bowl of ice cream. This certainly wasn't the first time his parents had vanished on him without much warning—Bulma went on business trips often enough, while his father had a habit of disappearing for training trips for days on end. Still, they usually didn't manage to disappear at the same time, let alone with one another.

The Briefs family was generally quite good at—and had grown accustomed to—giving each other space.

"Hey," Goten said, apparently sensing Trunks' concern, "they've made it this far without killing each other, right?"

"You know they have to make the same trip all the way back, right?"

"Well," Goten said with a grin, "look at the bright side. You get another week of breakfast time with Bra!"

A loud shriek resonated through the Capsule Corp compound as Goten found his ice cream bowl shoved down his pants.

Goku did not like math. He had never studied it, had never had a knack for numbers, and had never even pretended to understand the complicated lesson plans Chichi had given Gohan as a child.

It was odd, then, that he had taken to counting things to pass the time during his flight to Namek.

There were 37 buttons and knobs on the control panel to pilot the ship. There were 42 rivets keeping the massive refrigerator bolted to the floor of the passenger cabin. There were sixteen small round windows on the upper deck of the circular spaceship, and eight windows on the lower deck.

"That damn idiot woman's shrill voice is like a bore through my skull!"

There were forty-seven metal panels lining the domed walls of the ship. There were eighteen rungs on the ladder from the upper to the lower deck.

"And her ridiculous hair—which changes every other week—always clogs the shower drain . . ."

Bulma had made four video calls back to Capsule Corp. Goku had made three calls to his family's home on Mount Paozu. Vegeta had made zero calls, but his shouting could be heard in the background of at least five of them.

"And if she drags me to one more damn Capsule Corp company function, I will obliterate every life form on Earth!"

Fifteen fights had broken out between Vegeta and Bulma over the course of the trip. Eight hours had passed since the two of them decided to stop speaking until they landed on Namek. Seven hours, fifty-nine minutes had passed since Goku had found out about this arrangement and gone nearly catatonic with glee. Seven hours, fifty-eight minutes since Goku had gone nearly catatonic with horror upon realizing this meant that Bulma was going to use a Goku as a sounding board to complain about Vegeta. Twelve minutes had passed since Goku realized that Vegeta was planning to do the same about Bulma.

"Kakarrot! Are you listening to me?"

Goku sighed and tossed his can of root beer into the bin. He had drunk thirteen cans of soda on the trip so far. He had gone through twice as many bottles of water.

"Kakarrot!"

Goku would try to count up the number of times he'd asked himself why he had agreed to go on this trip, but the Saiyan truly did not think he was capable of counting that high.

"Yes, Vegeta," Goku finally responded. "Bulma's loud hair clogs up Capsule Corp parties."

"Damnit!" the older man yelled, pounding one fist into his palm. "You haven't been listening to a damn word I've said!" Just as the Saiyan Prince seemed ready to turn his ire on Goku, both men were interrupted by the sudden jolting of the ship.

"And another thing!" Vegeta shouted as he landed on the floor. "She can't drive to save her life!"

"Is it just me, or does it feel like we falling?" Goku paused as he tried to stand on the jerking floor. "Really, really fast?"

The two men looked at each other for a few moments before dashing over to the pilot's deck.

"Bulma?" Goku stumbled as he made his way to the woman's seat before the control panel. Bulma was yanking on the steering console, jerking it up and down in an apparent attempt to get the ship steady. "Is everything okay?"

"Woman, what is going on?" Vegeta chimed in.

"Well," she said, frantically hitting buttons on the control panel, "I've got good news and bad news."

"And?"

"The good news is, we're coming in for a landing on Namek."

Goku grasped the back of her chair to keep his balance. "What's the bad news?"

Bulma gulped loudly. "The bad news is, we're coming in for a landing faster than I would have liked." Though her voice was calm, the expression on her face as she turned to her husband screamed absolute panic. "We just lost both our engines."