Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9292100.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Dragon_Ball
  Relationship:
      Mirai_Gohan/Piccolo, Piccolo/Mirai_Gohan, Mirai_Trunks/Gohan, Gohan/Mirai
      Trunks
  Character:
      Mirai_Gohan_|_Future_Gohan, Piccolo, Mirai_Trunks_|_Future_Trunks, Gohan
  Additional Tags:
      Drama, Angst, Romance, Hermaphrodites, mention_of_underage_rape
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-11 Updated: 2018-03-15 Chapters: 7/? Words: 26029
****** Undying ******
by Etsuryuu
***** ONE *****
                                      ONE
NO! She refused! She had endured helpless while each and every other person she
knew loved and cared for perished in vain. The two of them—at least—would
survive. She would not allow either of them to just throw their lives away
attempting to protect that which had already been lost. There was nothing left
to save in their world anyway—except them. And desperation and necessity had
luckily accelerated her own high ingenuity.
After Candida had torn the jinzou ningen and other peoples apart piece by piece
with ease, he allowed some time to pass for the people remaining to rebuild
cities; then, once people were finally hopeful there could be peace, he made
sure to slowly and sickeningly begin to pick lives off again one by one. There
was no method to his madness other than the fact that he delighted in the
suffering and destruction of others; enthralled to watch them hope,
meticulously tearing it all down again, highly aroused as he abused his
ridiculously high power—a typically primitively wasteful dastard indeed.
There was no opposing him; no weapons or attacks seemed to affect him at all.
Her only solace was that Gohan and her son had only been toyed around with
again; only beaten some and left knocked out, so the sick bastard could “play
again another day” before he flew off Kami knows where. Gohan and her son were
the strongest beings left on the planet besides that dastard. But, she could
feel that he was getting tired of “playing”. The next time he came, she knew it
would be for keeps.
It took all her strength to carry their heavy bodies back to what was left of
her dishevelled home. Once she found that they were both alright for the most
part, she immediately administered powerful sedatives into them before cleaning
and wrapping their wounds; not willing that they should wake until they were
far away from the crumbling planet that had once been their home.
There were two special capsules she held in her trembling hands as she walked
back to them after being in another room a while; one she placed in her son
Trunks’ jacket pocket the other she secured in Gohan’s gi. She looked at them
for a long while; her hands lingering one in each of their heads of different-
textured demi-Saiyajin locks—so distinct from human hair yet still uncannily
soft—before she gave each of their foreheads a gently kiss. Tears filled her
eyes as she gazed upon them silently for a few moments more; she had that
intuition she would never see them again. “There’s nothing left to save here,
so don’t you dare come back, you hear? Live, both of you live happily and well
for the rest of your natural lives. I won’t forgive you if you do otherwise,”
she quietly pleaded with all the love and maternal hope a parent could muster.
After depositing the two of them within the craft she had put the rest of her
energy, hope and will into, the cerulean-haired sapphire-eyed tensai onna
finally pushed the button; sending the last two Z Senshi from her world, far
away from all the hell their young souls had been forced to know.
Moments later she was more than grateful she had listened to her intuition;
upping her work, despite her body’s complaints and completing her greatest
work—besides her son—a special craft barely fitting enough for two faster than
she had initially anticipated. Though she had yearned to go with them, she
hadn’t enough time or resources to make it bigger and ensure that it still
function properly. And as the she felt her body begin to sear in agony in the
inferno that had become the Earth’s surface due to Candida’s sudden whim to
finally be done with the “boring planet”, she took silent peace in knowing her
boys would be alright, far away from such a hellish time and place; that her
best friend Son-kun would survive and somehow save the day like he always did. 
 
When Gohan awoke, he was significantly disoriented to say the least. After his
head stopped swimming with vivid colours, he regulated his breath and began
surveying his surroundings. His jaw dropped as he peered around. Was he
dreaming? Had he been hit so hard by Candida that he was stuck in La La Land?
Was he on Earth or some other planet? Or was he dead? It had been so long since
he’d seen any terrain that was healthy and unblemished that he was truly
incredulous.
As he tried to stand to get a better look, he realised his attempt was impeded
by some transparent barrier. The realisation that he was in some sort of craft
and not alone had finally hit him then. And as his eyes travelled over the
unconscious form of a familiar lilac-haired boy, he groaned to himself as he
began to realise what had probably transpired; a frown of sorrow and defeat
plaguing his face as his nails dug angrily into his fists. He had failed them…
He had so thoroughly failed them all! So Bulma had done the only thing left in
her power to…
Fierce pressure built behind his eyes then, but he forced the tears down before
they could surface like he had conditioned himself to for years after his
father’s death. After a few deep breaths he pressed the open button inside the
craft to open the top, gingerly picking his deshi up into his arms and exiting
the craft.
He bit his lip in thickened discomfiture when the small ship began to
disintegrate into fine dust the moment he and Trunks had left it; the wind
blowing its particles in multiple directions. His thoughts of Bulma then were
bittersweet. As grateful as he was that Trunks was safe now, he loathed the
cerulean-haired tensai for taking his choice from him. It should have been her
and Trunks to have been saved! He had wanted—needed to fight to his last! With
the craft gone, he probably couldn’t go back. And Trunks shouldn’t have had to
lose his mother too! He knew that pain only too well…
Gohan’s thoughts froze then. His dear deshi had awakened in his arms; the tears
trailing his young face telling that he already had an idea of what had
happened.       
“Tell me it isn’t true Gohan-san. Please tell me?!” cried the distraught ten-
year-old, as he grasped desperately at his shishou’s gi, causing even Gohan’s
usually stern face to crumble.
Gohan allowed his pupil to cry on him a while, remaining silent, holding him
tighter for a few moments before urging him to stand on his own two feet.
After wiping his face on his sleeve and taking a few thorough breaths, Trunks
was about to ask Gohan quite a few questions. But the sight of a tall green man
in weighted cape and turban clipped his thought.
Trunks watched fascinated as his shishou paused for a long moment before
jerking around and then jetting over to said green man; easily knocking him
clean over. Were his own heart not racked in anguish, he might have laughed at
said scene. For, he had never witnessed his shishou act in such a way. But
instead he just observed; probably as sternly as he was used to seeing his
shishou do.
Piccolo bristled as a strange man—so reminiscent of Goku it made him cringe
internally—continued to hug the life from him; incredulous as the man’s
hysterical tears continued to stain his gi, his indecipherable cries doing
something he didn’t much like to his chest. And when he heard his name cried
out the way only a certain child and pupil of his did by this man, his eyes
widened to comical levels.
Only after calming himself enough to keen his senses, Piccolo observed the
oddly beaten-looking, bandaged, tailed man more closely; sniffing his person
and feeling out his Ki to be sure that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.
“Gohan…” he finally attempted once sure, “are you going to tell what’s going
on?” he finished, trying to get his deshi off of him so they could both sit up
and then stand.
Gohan stilled then; sheer horror beginning to fill his person as he realised
what he had just unwittingly done. He swiftly jumped off his dear shishou and
stood strongly; his eyes shooting back to that of his own pupil. How in the
hell had he lost control like that?!
Trunks only looked to him with a sad smile; slight resentment but also
understanding gleaming in his eyes. He had heard Gohan call out Piccolo’s name;
knowing that if it had been reversed, if he had been the one who hadn’t seen
his dear shishou and friend for years, he probably would have done the same
thing. He stood strongly then; giving his shishou a real smile and head nod to
let him know it was alright.
Gohan smiled lightly back; relief filling his person before turning back to
face the once again standing Piccolo. “This is Earth, right? What year is it?”
he suddenly asked very seriously. Piccolo’s face became unreadable before
answering; things beginning to fall into place in his mind. And once Gohan
heard his answer, he started laughing hysterically; causing Piccolo and Trunks
to peer at him worriedly, Trunks beginning to move closer to the two. Neither
had ever seen him in such a state before.
Diligently wiping the tears from his eyes and face, Gohan moved to compose
himself; beginning to control his breath before speaking again. “It wasn’t a
spaceship; it was a time machine,” he informed both, though only he had seen
the actual craft before its untimely demise.   
Piccolo’s ears twitched slightly but other than that there was no indication
that the news affected him.
Trunks’ face scrunched up at that. Now he knew why his mother made sure to keep
him and Gohan out of a certain room in what had been left of Capsule Corp. His
only solace was if they had gone back in time, perhaps they could change things
so none of that hell would ever happen. But the thought also left his
precocious mind in unease. If they succeeded in changing certain events, what
would happen to him and Gohan? They belonged in a different time, all in all a
different world. Once it had been altered, would they disappear? As much as he
was for making things right, a part of him felt severe disquietude at the
thought of no longer existing. As sad as his life had been, he’d had one;
whether smiles or frowns those memories were his. Where would they all go if he
was no more? Would he have endured all that he had for naught? Would-
“Trunks, are you alright?” asked his shishou a lot softer than usual, his face
filled with worry, a battle-hardened hand gingerly squeezing his shoulder as he
peered down at his pupil. 
Trunks’ face became stern then. “I am fine Gohan-san. Since we can, we must
make sure that future never happens,” he urged seriously.
Gohan nodded in the affirmative, squeezing his shoulder with just a little more
force as lament permeated his own soul. As much as he wanted Trunks to be
strong and able to handle anything, he also yearned for him to be able to live
as the child he still was. It wasn’t right for him to have to worry about
things so. That had been the life they couldn’t choose before. Now that he
could he would do everything in his power to make sure it never ever came to
that.
Piccolo observed both thoroughly. So, one was a thoroughly more hardened
version of his deshi from the future. So who was the other; the boy with
strange coloured hair and tail, that was unmistakably his pupil’s pupil? He was
also obviously part Saiyajin—he could see it and scent it—but who was he? Who
were his parents? What exactly had happened in the future to harden the both of
them so? And…
“Piccolo-san?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re the only one that knows we’re here, right?”
“Just me, Dende and Mister Popo. It was Dende who asked me through telepathy to
check out the “strange disturbance in Earth’s atmosphere” that he “just
couldn’t quite pinpoint”—since I was already below the Tenkai on Earth. It
wasn’t difficult to find you once I was searching. Though, as long as you do
not power up or go Super Saiyajin, I doubt the others will notice,” he informed
matter-of-factly.
“That’s good. While we must make sure certain things never happen in order to
save the future, we don’t want to inadvertently change things that ought not to
be changed,” informed Gohan seriously.
“I agree. Perhaps we should use Shunkan Idou to go to Kami’s Temple instead of
flying. Bukujutsu would alert the other Z Senshi of your presences,” offered
Piccolo.
“You can do that?” asked Gohan with wide eyes.
Piccolo scowled at him, slightly insulted. “Yes, I can ‘do that’,” he informed
curtly. “Your father and I have been training seriously for a year since he
came back from Yardrat and finally destroyed Freeza for once and for all,” he
finished coldly.
Gohan finally realized why Piccolo was upset and held up his hands in defence.
“Oh, no Piccolo-san! I didn’t mean it that way. I have just had such a hard
time getting stronger myself that… It’s not really a surprise that you mastered
it. You’ve always been amazing,” he uttered sincerely.
Piccolo’s face became less harsh as he felt very warm at the confession; though
he wasn’t sure just quite why.
Trunks’ piercing blue eyes glimmered as realisation began to take place. No
wonder Gohan kept acting like ditz in front of Piccolo. He had been much more
than a shishou to him. Was that why Gohan, as his shishou, had always been a
little cold towards him, so that wouldn’t happen between them, because he
understood the pain of losing such a one? He tried really hard then to
understand, but it began to make him angry and...
“Hold on to me you two. Let’s get on Kami’s Temple and into room you won’t be
detected,” urged Piccolo evenly.
Trunks hesitated a moment before tightly grasping onto Piccolo’s gi; his lilac
tail furling in angst.
Gohan frowned as his eyes caught his pupil’s new stoic demeanour but said
nothing as he eagerly latched onto his shishou’s form. He couldn’t help how he
felt. It had been so long since he had the honour and privilege of sharing the
same time and space with Piccolo. He meant no insensitivity or disrespect to
his own deshi; it just felt good to have his own shishou back. Even if it was
only temporary, if changing the past would ensure the end of his existence; he
would treasure every moment he was allowed with him.
After Dende had healed their dishevelled forms, Piccolo observed their new
tailed guests devouring the feast Mister Popo had prepared, his face twitching
ever so slightly. They were definitely Saiyajin. He had known no other beings
able to fit that much food into such a small-in-comparison space and then still
want more.
It was then that he realized whom the keen blued-eyed one reminded him
of—Vegeta. If not for the hair and eyes, the boy Gohan kept calling “Trunks”
was a perfect younger replica of the over-haughty Saiyajin no Ouji. Now he
wanted to figure out whom in the hell had let Vegeta father a child? He
wouldn’t have just ‘taken it’, would he? No, as obnoxious as his “Royal
Highness” was at times, something like that would have been beyond his pride.
Vegeta could be called many things but a coward wasn’t one of them. Only a
feckless coward would do something as dastardly as steal someone’s humanity
like that. So that left him once again—who would allow Vegeta to father a
child?! He had no idea why it bothered him so, but it did.
“Piccolo-san, is there a reason why you keep glaring daggers at me?” asked
Trunks curtly, clearly peeved, looking even more like that certain arrogant
royal pain.
Piccolo sweatdropped before answering. “No, and I am not ‘glaring daggers’. I
was merely thinking hard. Finish your meal boy. When the two of you are done,
Dende has just finished creating other rooms and corridors inside the Temple
besides this that will hide your Ki so that you may do whatever you need to
without alerting the other Z Senshi of your presences. There are toilets and
baths within your personal rooms, and Dende has left sets of clothing that will
fit you both in each room respectively, though they are in the Namek fashion,”
he informed evenly.
“That’s more than enough. Thank you so much Piccolo-san, for everything,”
answered Gohan with profound emotion, striving to keep his shimmering eyes from
depositing unwanted fluid. It was so much harder to keep his emotions in check
now; it still surreal to him that the moment was real at all.
Trunks eyed the two of them closely. He suddenly wasn’t as hungry anymore,
pushing his last plate to the side and standing. “Would you please show me to
my room, Piccolo-san?” he asked with as little emotion as possible.
“Sure. Follow me. I will return shortly,” he answered evenly, saying the last
part to Gohan; his eyes telling him that they needed to talk—alone.
Tsudzuku…
Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.
***** TWO *****
Piccolo’s form remained unreadable as he continued to listen intently to each
and every word from his deshi from the future as the young man paced back and
force anxiously. Though truly unnerved the further Gohan went on, Piccolo
maintained his stoic façade. It really began to cinch his own pride to find out
that in the not-too-distance future he had been, would so be easily taken out
by jinzou ningen along with the rest of the Z Senshi not too long after Son
Goku would die from a virus negatively effecting his heart. And with each word
more that came from Gohan with immense emotion, the more the increasing urge to
crush something mounted within Piccolo; though his outer form remained calm.  
“…As despicable as the jinzou ningen were, they could not hold a flame to
Candida. Approximately eleven years from now he will appear out of nowhere in
outskirts near Metro West. For some odd reason he seemed to detest lifeforms
that had anything artificial about them, so it was a strange first encounter.
He really relished tearing apart the jinzou ningen piece by piece; seeming
simultaneously repulsed yet relieved as he toyed with them and prolonged their
suffering greatly before forcing their final demise. I am pretty sure he could
somehow sense their presence, unlike me, now that I think about it.
“It was that day—that moment after he had punished, blasted, and disintegrated
both heinous jinzou ningen to nothingness right before my eyes—that he gave me
the strangest look I’ve ever received from an enemy; like he was in pain,
lamenting, irate, disgusted, and joyous all at once. Those pale haunting grey
eyes made me wince every time I saw them for a couple years after off and on;
killing my pride from that very first day. For, he had inadvertently saved me
from the jinzou ningen that would have probably finally finished me that day
otherwise. I was so beaten; it destroyed my warrior spirit when he nonchalantly
left without laying a finger on me! Bastard! I would have-!”
“You wouldn’t be here, Gohan, had he destroyed you then or at all during his
horrid stay on Earth; had Bulma not kept her resolve.” Now that certain gaps
had been filled in his information, Piccolo had a greater respect for the
cerulean-haired Capsule Corp heiress and some sure empathy for his adult pupil,
for both of them. “Please do not regret surviving. The universe would not be
the same without you. Your own pupil certainly would not do well to lose you,
Gohan,” Piccolo declared with firm conviction, his eyes glimmering slightly
with emotion his usual harshness would not allow to pervade the rest of his
elegant face.        
Piccolo was at a loss for words when Gohan suddenly relinquished all etiquette
and swiftly pulled his person into a much needed embrace. His antennae twitched
underneath his turban; his tongue feeling as if it had grown too big for his
mouth. Pervasive warmth and pain filled his chest at all he had just been
informed of, but also at the novel sensation of an adult Gohan hugging him just
as warmly as the child he knew would. And yet, for a rare moment, he had no
clue what to do, feeling awkward; though finally opting to bring his arms
around his adult deshi too, a deep broken emotional gasp-like sigh coming from
Gohan once he finally had, Gohan beginning a much needed breakdown in his arms.
Piccolo knew his distressed deshi from the future needed it, so for once he did
not chastise him for his emotional indiscretion; allowing silence to be a
temporary comforting blanket for them both.
Trunks tried to smile and be grateful for the new life he was allowed. But the
more his precocious mind contemplated everything, the worse he felt; hot, heavy
pain laced tears beginning to stream from his eyes and spew from his young
soul. Although the powerful ten-year-old could understand a lot, there was much
he did not fully comprehend, leaving his precocious mind to grieve the more he
tried to ponder.
The loss of his mother and even the hellish world and home he had known all his
life surely took a toll on him. But as he began feeling as if he was losing his
sensei too, he was not sure of how much more he could withstand. Why?! Why did
everything have to turn so messed up?! Urgh! He was so tired of feeling so
much, feeling so helpless; tossing his jacket harshly against the wall, the odd
click it made then alerting him out of his heavy thoughts.
Tentatively walking over to it, Trunks bent and picked up the Capsule Corp
jacket, which was currently just a bit too big for him, but he was more than
grateful to have. It still had his mother’s scent on it; something precious he
would never forget.
Running his fingers over the expanse of the blue jacket—his gaze penetrating as
he observed it studiously—his lavender brow rising as he felt something
unfamiliar in an inner pocket. Fishing and taking said item out, he peered at
it thoughtfully.
He initially frowned when he saw that it was only a dishevelled unmarked
capsule, but thought better of it after a moment. His mother must have put
something important in there for him! If nothing else, it was one more thing he
had left to remember her by. And on that thought, another gush of anguish
saturated tears threatened to break loose. But Trunks bit his lip, took a few
deep cleansing breaths, wiped his face, and found his resolve. There would be
time to cry, if need be. Right now finding out what was in that capsule took
precedence.
Because he was unsure of what it contained, Trunks moved to one corner of the
luxurious room Dende afforded him before clicking the top and tossing the
capsule into the grand space before the bed.  
The room was immediately flooded with what remained of his things: clothes, old
toys, books, gadgets, trinkets, pictures, discs, small data drives and such.
But it was the small digital holographic video projector/recorder which caught
his eye; him gingerly picking up the small silver rectangular device and
placing it just a ways from all the stuff that had just come from the capsule,
pushing the black button to get it started, tears immediately filling his eyes
at the familiar life-sized 3D holographic image which began to speak:
Trunks, my son, know that there is not a day that passes that I am not proud of
you. You are strong, proud, determined and brave like your father, but also
smart, stylish, and adventurous like me. Though our time together was unfairly
difficult and short, each day of my life was a joy because you were in it… If
you are watching this now, it means our future our world could not be changed.
As such, I do not to ever want you feel guilty for surviving. And please, do
not ever attempt to come back to this hellish place. I can promise you there is
nothing left here. Live strong, well and honourably. Help Gohan get over his
guilt and anger. We have all done everything we could. And together, the both
of you with Son Goku make and keep that Earth, that universe a safe and decent
place for all. You have always been and will always be my pride and joy. Live
life to the fullest and do what makes you most happy. I love you always my dear
son.
The 3D holographic image of his mother faded then; the recorded message having
concluded, the room uncannily quiet. Heavy emotion drenched tears continued to
trail Trunks’ young face for a few moments more before he got up, wiped his
face and nose, and began sorting through the things amassed on his room floor.
The message was bittersweet for many reasons, but he would hold it forever
within himself; reverently placing the special holographic projector on his
bedside table.
After getting over his embarrassment of practically mauling his dear shishou in
such an emotionally uninhibited moment and awkwardly pulling away, Gohan sat
down on a plush sky blue hued settee in the room afforded him by Dende. “So,
Piccolo-san, I do not recall Dende staying on Earth when-”
“He did not. Your father went to New Namekkusei to get him to be Earth’s new
Kami, after I absorbed Kami into myself; me becoming one whole being once more.
As much as I hate to admit it, I wasn’t even hint of a challenge for your
father after his return from Yardrat. Though not my first choice, the one way I
had to amass significant power and strength swiftly was to reunite myself. It
is how I am able to help your father grow stronger. I am currently the
strongest being on the planet. Do I not seem different?”
“Now that I think about it, your presence is certainly greater... more
balanced. And if you are happier and more complete, I am happy for you. But you
were always great to me Piccolo-san; always will be,” confessed Gohan
sincerely, him striving to keep his tears from starting again as the years he
had endured without him crept into the front of his mind, inundating his
spirit.
It was quiet a long moment as neither knew what to say to the other. Though,
Piccolo eventually found something, “You must be tired Gohan. Take a load off
for a while… We can break things to your father sometime this week. No offence,
but I doubt any of the Earthlings would be able to do anything against the
enemies you’ve spoken of, if Vegeta and I were taken out so easily,” he
finished firmly, beginning to stand. Goku is not going to like hearing that he
might die in over a year or so. Then again, things are already somewhat
different from the past Gohan knew. Perhaps…
“Wait!” Gohan jumped up so quickly he almost tripped, his cheeks painting a
vivid rose in more embarrassment of his behaviour. But before he could utter a
word, an object foreign to his dogi jumbled out of it, Piccolo catching the
capsule before it could reach the floor; lifting a brow ridge as he held it in
front of Gohan to take. And Gohan did so intently; both moving to a side of the
room as Gohan clicked the top and tossed it to the middle of the room, neither
sure just what would come from it.
However, Gohan’s eyes immediately began to water once more as he got a good
view of all the deposited items; him swallowing thickly to bury his sorrow and
keep his tears from falling anymore in front of his dear shishou. Old pictures,
clothes and things his mother had made him before her death, data drives, odd
and ends Bulma had allowed him to keep while he had lived with her and Trunks,
and such piled on the room floor. He bit his lip harshly then, almost drawing
blood. He had had a family again with them, if only for a short time, and he
had failed to protect even them. Saturated chagrin and lament choked a portion
of his consciousness, but he forced his face remain firm as he had conditioned
himself. And as his dark eyes roved over each distinct item, somethings in
particular caught his eye.
In the middle of the pile was a medium thermos-shaped steel canister. To the
side of that was a very thick and heavy, black, clipped close, ring binder full
of paper. His feet began to take him there without much thought, his hand
reaching down and picking up the binder first. Undoing the protective cover
clip, Gohan began to peruse through the first couple pages, glancing through
others; his eyes lighting up, causing Piccolo to give him a questioning gaze.
“These are Bulma’s notes,” he informed evenly. “She has apparently documented
every jinzou ningen sighting, and also incorporated all the information she
could dig up on them and Candida. She also has all the information she could
get on the virus my father died from and other pathogens we’d only begun to
come across there… According to this, that canister has the only air,
temperature tight dosages of the antiviral medicine she was able to come by.
Times have been really hard for us for some time…” Gohan’s fists clenched then,
anguish and anger hitting him again full force; though he strove to swallow it
down as was habit, his fingers easily denting the binder.
“Gohan?”
“I am not disappearing; I still exist even after telling you everything. It
means us coming here could not change the time and place I come from. Instead
of entirely erasing a horrid time and making things right; we were merely able
to travel to another time, basically another universe in which certain things
have not yet occurred, which is no doubt why things have already happened
differently from the world in which I knew. Or even worse, our attempt to
travel through the fabric of time and space only succeeded in distorting it;
forcing another universe to be born with great similarity but very real
distinctions from the one I knew.”
“Both theories are types of multiverse regardless of which is true. Is either
so bad Gohan? The Universe is a vast and complex place and macro organism of
its own. That actually makes more sense. The past of any one timeline probably
cannot ever truly be changed, for the universe came into existence with the
explosion and continued expansion of a single point. Going backwards goes
against the Universe’s natural instinct to expand. And a life with a single
face cannot be facing both frontwards and backwards at the same time; it’s just
not possible. It’s still amazing though that Bulma was able to devise a vessel
that could even do that much… You and Trunks are still alive, do exist. Would
it be so bad to live on in memory of them?”
Gohan peered at Piccolo strongly then. In that moment he felt the most powerful
simultaneous urges to hug and slap Piccolo at once. Why did he always have to
be so logical, so rigid—so right…?
And then he bust up laughing, pressured tears finally falling in his boisterous
hoots; causing Piccolo’s firm physiognomy to frown at him. Gohan held up a hand
then to let Piccolo know he was alright, not hysterical, just brimming with the
incredulity and overwhelm that all that and he now knew meant.
“I’ve really missed you Piccolo-san,” said Gohan honestly, swiftly wiping his
tears and gazing at Piccolo earnestly. You just could not possibly know how
much.
“Hn,” uttered Piccolo tersely, suddenly feeling strangely uncomfortable. “Well,
if you need anything, Dende and Mister Popo aren’t too far… And I’ll of course
be up here too.” With that Piccolo swiftly left Gohan’s room, softly closing
the door behind him. He did not like the strange unease he suddenly felt in
Gohan’s presence as his eyes had lingered on him in a way they never had
before.
Gohan sighed heavily after Piccolo’s departure, relishing that his unique,
ethereal scent lingered; his eyes painfully going over the words: I know how
sharp of a mind you have and how you are. Don’t you dare try and come back,
Gohan. I promise you there is nothing left here. Please live well and help
Trunks do the same, which Bulma had written in large bold letters on quite a
few pages.
Fine Bulma, I’ll stay. And so help me, this world will be safe as long as I’m
in it. I know I’ve been selfish. Thank you for giving me another chance…
“Gohan-san, is there not some way we could train down on Earth without them
finding out who we are? We have only been up here for days and I cannot take it
anymore. It is a spacious, beautiful, accommodating temple, and I am grateful
for everything Dende-san, Piccolo-san and Popo-san have done for us. But even a
vast and beautiful prison is still a prison. We were trapped inside a lot
before too. I-”
“The boy is right. We need to train more freely, and a little nature wouldn’t
hurt. You two will be living on Earth from now on anyway. We are going to have
to just introduce you to everyone; get it out of the way so we can move on and
prepare for what is to come,” said Piccolo matter-of-factly.
“But how Piccolo-san. How? I do not think it would be a good idea for them to
know who we really are, at least not yet. They’ve never seen Trunks before,
granted. But what about me? My father and Vegeta have strong, non-diluted
Saiyajin senses. They will be able to tell that I’m his son!”
“Not necessarily. The Gohan of this time has not even hit puberty yet; scents
can change a lot during such times. We can dress the both of you up and make it
seem as if you have crash landed on Earth from another planet. We can let them
know tactfully that you are both half Saiyajin, have lost your families and
world—which is no lie—merely leaving certain details out.”
Piccolo was peering upward and rubbing his chin as his masterful mind began to
work. So submerged in thought was he that he failed to see the flushing face of
his adult deshi. Even Trunks missed it as his mind began going too.
“I like that idea Piccolo-san. I… I am kind of nervous to meet everyone, Gohan-
san. I would feel better if they didn’t know who I was; at least for now. I
mean, I haven’t even been born yet here. I think the less they know about us
the better,” admitted Trunks timidly, his vivid blue eyes gazing into his
shishou’s in a way he couldn’t say no to.
Gohan sighed heavily before answering, “Alright Trunks. Piccolo-san, can you
speak and somehow transmit fluent Intergalactic Common to us? You know Vegeta
will try us and won’t fall for this if we can only speak Earthling.”
“I do and can. And somehow we need to warn everyone of the impeding dangers to
come… Do you have any pictures, footage of the jinzou ningen or Candida?”
“Actually, I do. Somehow Bulma was able to manage a few tiny spy bots that did
get some footage of the three of them, and left me a drive of it. But… It is
already going to be difficult to convince them that were from another planet.
What are we going to say, that we came here to help save them after being too
late to save our own world, and because we had visions we can’t control, we
know how to? That’s too farfetched,” spoke Gohan evenly, folding his brawny
arms and shaking his head.
“No, it’s perfect Gohan. You just didn’t go far enough,” answered Piccolo with
a cunning smirk beginning to claim his features. “Thanks to Nail—the
Namekkuseijin I fused with on Namekkusei to fight against Freeza—through his
late parent’s passed down knowledge, I know of a planet off in another quadrant
of space populated with people extremely similar in stature and power to
humans, yet with much greater technological, intellectual and sociological
advancements. They no longer have corruption, greed, war, poverty or any type
of primitively wasteful socially constrained system or institution of
inequality on that world. They no longer pollute themselves or their planet;
keeping it a truly healthy world. The advanced weapons they keep are merely
kept and trained with in case less than laudable ‘visitors’ come from other
worlds; the only prisons there are for those same visitors if need be. It could
be surmised that a Saiyajin mating with one could produce children like you and
Trunks. We will just have to be adamant about not saying your parents’ names.
After all, you will be strangers, so you can’t be expected to tell them
everything. However, we will need valid names for you. And I will have to go to
that planet to be sure of those names, its current state and that of the people
there, their language, clothing and technology. They might even let us have
some.  
“Though, we will have to alter that story. Their world still exists as far as I
know. So, let’s just say your parents chose to spend most their lives
travelling through space, for research purposes and perhaps adventure. And
coming across a particularly powerful space mercenary, they gave their lives,
successfully defeating a heinous cretin to save yours. So the two of you
continued on your own in their spaceship, the legacy left to you; having no
other family members, using it to travel through space as you had once with
your parents. You can even be siblings if you like. We can even squeeze in the
detail of you having a vision of another world; that you wanted to help save it
in memory of your parents.
“We will get the details together soon enough. You two come with me. I will
take us to that planet with Shunkan Idou. Mine is more powerful than Goku’s
thanks to my natural abilities and psychokinesis, so I should be able to get us
there just fine. Goku or Gohan might come up here to see me. It would not do
for either of them to see you yet.”
Mirai Gohan and Trunks both nodded silently, peering at Piccolo in awe with
wide eyes. Though, a small smile began to seep through the conditioned hardness
of Gohan’s face. How much he had missed this immaculate being called Piccolo.
And for that slight moment, Gohan quietly revelled in the thought that things
just might actually somehow turn out right.   
Tsudzuku…
Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.
***** THREE *****
The Antaijin from Wakusei Anshinritsumei had been just as kind, intelligent,
peaceful, generous and amazing as Piccolo had described them to be. Though,
they were still great believers in universal balance, so they had asked that
Piccolo use his Namek materialisation technique to help fortify certain
protective structures around their planet in return for the spaceship, fuel,
foods, water, clothes, gadgets, weapons, books, and such they were asked for,
which was no real trouble. Thankfully everything went off without a hitch on
that planet; everyone allowed to learn a great deal from each other. It was the
trip home that made even Piccolo minutely nervous. So, the three of them
travelled through space for a time while getting themselves and the plan
together.
Piccolo gazed upon the now Antaijin space clothing garbed Gohan and Trunks;
both dressed in durable, plain, clean, tight formfitting, one-piece silver hued
suits that stretched to fit, and tight but flexible ankle high boots and gloves
of the same material, only white. They even had immaculately fabricated, very
convincing digital pictures of Gohan’s and Trunks’ obviously black-haired and
tailed, muscular full-blooded Saiyajin “mother” and lavender-haired blue-eyed
Antaijin “father”, and pictures of the four of them at different ages set up in
the ship, courtesy of the Antaijin. Yes, Piccolo believed they could pull it
off then. Within mere days they had all been made up-to-date on everything
Antaijin, and he had passed on fluent Antaigo and Intergalactic Common to both
young warriors from the future with a mind meld of sorts. There just wasn’t
time to learn each in the usual way. It was time to return.
“Are you both ready?” he asked in his usual even tone and calm façade.
“I am ready,” answered both Gohan and Trunks in Antaigo at the same time, their
faces firm and stances strong.
Though he had already gone over everything multiple times, Piccolo went on once
more, “You know your acting must be flawless. You cannot intimately know,
remember anyone on Earth. Not your parents, not me. You are strangers to Earth
and have come with the hope of helping save her and her people, thanks to your
spontaneous visions, which began after your parents’ demise. You know us only
as decent strangers you wish to help, images from unclear visions.”  
“We are ready,” repeated both young senshi from the future once more. Though
slightly nervous under the surface, they were ready to move things along.
“Very well. I am going to Shunkan Idou this entire ship into Earth’s solar
system and then myself to my room in Kami’s Temple. Dende and Popo have already
been made aware of things. With this, you won’t have to crash land after all.
Just make sure your sentou ryokus are up just enough, and the Z-Senshi and I
should be on the designated portion of Earth before you land, having sensed
powerful ‘visitors’ near. Also, have this ship perform an automatic cleansing
of itself and your suits before stepping out of it. We wouldn’t want anyone
with Saiyajin blood scenting my scent.” And with that Piccolo did just as he
said he would, gone from their sight in less than a second.
“Gohan-san, is this really happening? What if I mess up? What if when seeing my
mother I-”
“Trunks, I have full faith in you. I am proud to call you my pupil and am so
glad that you are here with me. I would not have made it this far without you,”
expressed Gohan firmly, his stout dark eyes peering strongly yet affectionately
into those of his deshi, pleased to see the young boy’s face finally light up
for a moment as a child’s should, the newfound confidence he had given him
significant beyond words.
Sure enough, when their grand clean silver hued, saucer-shaped vessel finally
landed in a wasteland on Earth, just about every Z-member was there waiting;
making both Trunks’ and Gohan’s tails twitch slightly around their waists. They
knew to keep them around their waists, as certain movements could easily give
away how they felt—the tail language. They would just have to keep themselves
as calm as possible. “Here goes Trunks. Just let me do most of the talking.
Your nervousness makes sense. You are after still a young child, so that will
work to our advantage,” offered Gohan, gently squeezing Trunks’ shoulder one
last time before moving in front of the ship’s hatch door.
Trunks swallowed thickly but followed after Gohan as he walked out of the ship
as coolly as possible. Though, he kept his gaze downward, Trunks could feel
everyone’s eyes on them; looking them up and down, assessing them, analysing
them. He did not much like it but allowed Gohan to take the lead as he said he
would, sighing when it finally began.
Gohan first greeted the group with the Antaijin gesture greeting of grasping
his own hands together in front of his chest in a cupped hold that signalled
peace and togetherness, bowing his head once slightly to finish the greeting.
It took a lot to see it, but Gohan noticed that Vegeta did not recognise the
greeting but kept eyeing both his and Trunks’ waists where their tails were
wrapped around. This was probably a good thing, as perhaps Antaijin were a
people Saiyajin and the Galactic Freeza Army never came across; probably part
of why they were thriving, and that was one thing they had forgotten to ask
while there.
Gohan began introducing himself as Mek (a name that means “honourable warrior”
in Antaigo) and his little “brother” as Tes (a name that means “hope of worlds”
in Antaigo) in Intergalactic Common; names Piccolo had helped them pick out. Of
course the Earthlings had no idea what he was saying. But Vegeta moved closer
to him, unfolding his arms and peering at him strongly. “You are Saiyajin, but
not full-blooded,” he stated harshly, his nose twitching slightly, his eyes
demanding to know how they had survived.
“That is correct Vegeta Ouji-sama,” said M. Gohan as respectfully as possible,
hoping that him knowing about him through his “mother” would work for them.
“Our mother was Saiyajin, our father Antaijin,” he continued matter-of-factly.
“She survived alone and found her solace on a world of peace, our father’s home
planet. The two of them became close and made it a habit never to stay in the
one place too long. My brother and I are the result of their union.”
Gohan did his best to maintain his calm even demeanour, giving Vegeta time to
make a choice, their eyes not leaving each other.
“Where are your parents now?” demanded Vegeta gruffly.
Here neither M. Gohan nor Trunks had to act; genuine ire, pain and frustration
filling their faces at what Gohan said next. “They died to save us from a
heinous mercenary. It is why I can go Super Saiyajin now. The anger and pain at
being too weak to help protect my family and world..!” suddenly bellowed M.
Gohan, his fists clenching, knees bending and bright golden energy surging
throughout his being until he had fully transformed into a Super Saiyajin.
Everyone there, except Vegeta, gasped at the sight; their eyes widening. Vegeta
grimaced quite perturbed; his jaw clenching as he was forced to witness another
reach his birth right before him.
Of course, no one was more excited at the sight than Goku; him immediately
jetting closer to M. Gohan and Trunks. “Amazing! That’s so cool!” he chirped
enthusiastically. “Battle me?”
Gohan almost sweatdropped at his father’s usual antics but feigned to not
understand his Earthling tongue instead, placing a hand on Goku’s head, both
sending and receiving much information through the touch; Goku’s eyes widening
as he finally quieted knowingly, peering profoundly at his son from the future.
“I might battle you some time Son Goku. For now, my brother and I come with
urgent message,” M. Gohan said firmly in Chikyuugo, his eyes telling Goku to
play along that he’d received the language telepathically through touch, which
he did.
From then on, M. Gohan reintroduced himself and his little “brother” in
Chikyuugo, allowing everyone there to introduce themselves as well, placing a
hand on Trunks as if sharing their language with him; informing everyone of why
they had come, the future threats envisioned to come to Earth, dates, times,
appearances, details and such; being as tactful as possible as he explained how
they had received such fractured information in sad reoccurring dreams after
their parents’ deaths.
Of course everyone’s heads were whirling then, but M. Gohan wasn’t quite
finished. Pulling a small foreign rounded silver hued cube from a pouch on his
belt, M. Gohan pressed a side of it, it opening with the same sound of a
capsule on Earth only smoother, as it was the Antaijins’ own original version
of such. Out of it came a large shimmering crystal container which held many
vials of multi-coloured fluids.
“My brother and I will do all that we can to help. But to ensure that none of
you die from infected pathogens or illness before the battles even begin, I
have brought every antiviral and antibiotic medicine we know of.” Pausing a
moment to point to the violet hued vial, he continued, “After the persistent
visions, I am sure this is the medicine you might need, Son Goku. Though, if
all goes well, you hopefully won’t need any medicine at all.” M. Gohan then
capsulized the medicines once more, placing the small rounded cube back into
his pouch; finally letting go of his Super Saiyajin transformation.
Bulma was raring to speak up first. “Well, since we have that much information,
let’s just go find and blast Doctor Gero’s laboratory to hell before all this
can happen. We can even gather the Dragon Balls and wish for the location of
Candida’s home and a way to sense him when and if he does come around. That way
none of you have to die. What do you think?”
“Absolutely not onna! I will kill anyone that even attempts such. I will take
care of these supposed threats myself, whenever the hell they decide to show
their unworthy faces!” growled Vegeta heatedly.
“I have to agree with Vegeta on this one,” offered Goku. “I want to fight these
guys. And since I won’t have to worry about dying from some weird bug, what’s
the problem?”
“You all died in Mek’s vision of Earth’s future! That’s the problem! Are you
even listening to yourselves?” uttered Bulma flustered.
“If I die, it will just mean that was the best I could do as a warrior,”
admitted Tenshinhan resolutely. “Chaozu and I will train together alone until
the appointed times or something turns up.” With that, he and Chaozu took off
to some other portion of the earth.
Kuririn continued to observe everyone silently. He had already known the
Saiyajins—especially his best friend and comrade Goku—would want to fight. He
would just do his best to offer whatever support he could. He had no illusions,
already having reached the wall of what he was capable of as a fighter, and
hoped with his whole heart that they would all survive and be victorious when
the time arose. Though, he was curious about their visitors Mek and Tes. They
both seemed so familiar somehow, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it… But
he was happy they were there, glad they were kind enough to come to Earth to
help after all they must have been through themselves, losing their parents so
young, having no other family members; the hope that the future could be
changed and the joy of having new friends swelling in his heart.
Though Yamucha could sense like the rest that Mek and Tes were good
people—there being no real evil evident in their respective Kis—he did not know
just how to feel having more Saiyajin on the planet; opting to remain silent.
Vegeta was just about done. He was sick to death of their sickeningly happy-go-
lucky group, and the new half-Saiyajin brats only made his blood burn that much
more fiercely. It made no sense that they existed at all. Then again, he had
never heard of Antaijin or their weakling of a planet. And though part of him
wanted to ask more about the whelps’ mother, he decided to hold back. Though,
one thing was certain; those new brats did have Saiyajin blood running through
their veins. He would defeat them and any foolish enough to stand in his way!
Without any further acknowledgement to anyone, Vegeta took to sky in a
powerfully heated blast of Ki. He would do much better than survive. He would
fight, he would win, and he would claim his rightful place as the strongest in
the universe!
That left Piccolo, Yamucha, Kuririn, Gohan, Goku, Bulma, M. Gohan, and Trunks
standing around their Antaijin uchuusen. Though his face remained its usual
unreadable, Piccolo was beaming inside. Everything had gone according to plan
for once. Now they just needed to finish up, which he would help move along.
“So, Mek, Tes, you are staying on Earth to help us fight, which is commendable.
But I would recommend moving your spaceship somewhere safer. Humans can be
quite cruel and thoughtless to even their own, let alone outsiders. Though you
are more than capable of handling yourselves, it would be wise to be as
inconspicuous as possible.”
“You can stay with us!” blurted Goku excitedly, his large eyes beaming with
enthusiasm.
Young Gohan decided to chime in then too. Though no one had noticed, young
Gohan had been eyeing Trunks the entire time; as he had never been in the
presence of, let alone seen another demi-Saiyajin around his age or at all
before. It made him feel warm inside to know he wasn’t the only one, and he
wanted very much to become his friend, his own tail swishing to and fro in his
excited hope. “Yeah, stay with us, please. I am sure we can all help make each
other stronger. If… you want to,” he said bashfully, anxiously swirling the dry
dirt with the tip of his shoe.
Gohan gazed down at his younger self with guarded face but mixed emotions.
Though he wasn’t old, it seemed so long since he was that young and innocent.
It was sad and eerie at the same time. But it also encouraged hope. And as his
eyes turned to look at his deshi Trunks, he promised within himself that he
would not allow the hopes and dreams of this world to be lost. “What do you
say, Tes? Would you mind staying with these nice people, at least until we set
up our own place?”
Trunks peered up into his shishou’s eyes so profoundly then, M. Gohan’s breath
almost hitched. There was so much Trunks wanted to say to him, so much he felt,
so much that was unfair and completely out of his control. But he did want to
help save this world, did want to live and be part of it, so he did his best to
swallow away negative thoughts and emotions. “That would be fine Brother. Thank
you,” he said the last part to Goku and Gohan, politely bowing to them for
their generosity.
“Think nothin’ of it,” said Goku kindly, rubbing the back of his head in the
usual fashion. “I bet you boys could use a home cooked meal. How ‘bout we all
head back home to Chichi?”
After Kuririn’s polite but brief farewell and departure to the air, Yamucha was
trying to urge Bulma to go home with him, feeling like they were just a third
wheel there now, but she wasn’t budging. Her eyes kept peering back and forth
at the young lavender haired boy and strapping dark short-haired man his
brother. There was something about them that she knew if she had more time she
would figure out. And goodness if the strapping dark brunette young man wasn’t
attractive, certainly steps up from Yamucha and not as obnoxious as Vegeta.
Hmm, maybe…
“How about coming to stay at Capsule Corp. instead? You would be living in the
lap of luxury every day, anything at your disposal, surely furthering your
training along with more ease. I mean, you boys did not even have to come here,
but you did, because it was the right thing to do. The least I can do is make
sure your stay is as pleasant as possible,” urged Bulma, striving to sweeten
the pot, her piercing sapphire eyes eyeing them each strongly.
Both Trunks and Mirai Gohan bit their lips. A huge part of them wanted very
much to go there, to see a Capsule Corp. that wasn’t dishevelled and broken but
thriving; Trunks more than M. Gohan for obvious reasons. But they both knew
better. They could tell Trunks had yet to be conceived let alone born. It would
be best for them to steer clear of there as not to interfere. And once Trunks
laid eyes on young Gohan, seeing his bottom lip tremble despite his attempts to
remain strong; Trunks’ mind was made up.
“Thank you very much Ma’am, but I think it is best we accept our first offer,”
answered Trunks as politely as he could, striving with everything that was in
him to keep his face even and not cry.
Bulma frowned but gave in to the strange urge to gently pet the lavender haired
boy’s hair a short moment. “Alright. But know that the two of you are welcome
at my home anytime, okay?” Both Trunks and M. Gohan nodded, watching wistfully
as Yamucha flew with Bulma in his arms off into the distance.
Gohan gave in to the urge to pick up and hug Trunks then, letting him take
comfort in his arms for a rare few minutes before setting him back down and
squeezing his shoulder that way he did sometimes to show affection. The
discomfited ten-year-old had been quite the trooper, and he was immensely proud
of him.
After M. Gohan pushed a certain section on the spacecraft, it appeared to
shimmy until there was nothing in place but a small rounded silver hued cube,
which he picked up and placed in a pouch on his belt. He was relieved no one
had asked to take a look inside it. “I think we’ll take you up on that offer of
a home cooked meal,” said M. Gohan evenly then, his eyes tired though his face
remained its usual stern. Trunks nodded his head in agreement, diligently
wiping his face.
“Alright, let’s go!” shouted Goku, swiftly taking to the sky, Gohan, Piccolo,
his adult son from the future and Trunks all following after him.
Chichi had fussed at first, thinking it not at all appropriate to just invite
complete strangers to stay at their home. But once she laid a good eye on the
strapping Mek, she couldn’t help but find him uncannily familiar. And seeing
the little lavender haired boy called Tes, so close in age to her young son,
she just couldn’t find it in her heart to turn either of them away.
After the monstrous feast—grand enough to feed a great army—of well-roasted
dinosaur meat, tender rice, and very delectable arrays of mixed immaculately
steamed and seasoned vegetables was all but devoured; Chichi set up bathroom
and sleeping arrangements before bed, being the usual “shougun” in her home.  
 
Now that everything seemed to be in place, Piccolo was about to make his way
out. After all, the house was full enough without him in it. And they could
always change locations for training.
“Piccolo-san, you’re leaving?” asked M. Gohan, trying not to sound weak though
his voice was painted with disappointment.
“The first part of our mission has been successfully accomplished. Now we must
make ourselves stronger than ever in the years remaining… I do not usually stay
at the Son residence overnight. The two of you have chosen to stay here, which
is fine and probably for the best. Was there something more you needed?”
Gohan’s face hardened then, his sentou ryoku fluctuating with his anger and
frustration before he calmed himself. Though he held him in the highest revere,
Piccolo could certainly be exasperating, even dense at times. Yes, I need to
speak with you. But since you do not seem to realise why, I shall save it for
another day. “Goodnight Piccolo-san. Thank you, for everything.” And though M.
Gohan wished immensely to do much more than merely hug his dear shishou, he
settled for that for a long moment; relishing in the fact that Piccolo finally
gave in and embraced him back before taking off back to Kami’s Temple, M. Gohan
taking quickly to the guestroom of the Son residence to get some much needed
rest himself.
Goku had watched the whole thing with knowing eyes, silently wishing his adult
son luck for the next time. He had learned that he had been through so much at
such a young age and on. Most of his life had been completely harsh and unfair.
And Goku yearned immensely for both versions of his son to be happy.
“Son-san, he’s in love with him, isn’t he?” asked the precocious young lavender
haired boy with shimmering hurt blue eyes, coming up beside Goku outside.
“Yes, he is Trunks.” At Trunks’ bulging eyes at the using of his real name,
Goku elaborated. “Gohan passed a lot of knowledge to me today through that
touch. I think it’s a Saiyajin thing, as I have done the same before. Our
telepathy is not nearly as strong or natural as the Nameks’ is, but it’s there
and easily accessible through touch. You’ve both been through a lot. And don’t
worry, I didn’t tell young Gohan or anyone else. That will be entirely up to
you. And you may call me Goku. I don’t mind. I’ve never liked that hierarchy
stuff anyway. It only succeeds in dividing people, which is not a plus in any
life. When we truly respect someone, it shows in all that we do and choose,
don’t ya think?” Goku said with a warm smile so tender Trunks couldn’t help but
smile too.
“Yeah,” Trunks finally uttered, wiping at his eyes, his lilac tail curling
behind him past his blue pyjamas.
“Don’t be disheartened Trunks. My adult son loves you immensely as a dear
younger brother, pupil, comrade, and friend. I was able to feel that when he
passed things to me today. He feels so strongly for you, it’s truly
indescribable. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He just loves Piccolo in
other ways; ways you needn’t fret over at your age. And, well, my younger son
has already taken quite a liking to you too. I think he wants very much to get
to know you and really be your friend.
“Please, be a child while you are one Trunks. I won’t claim to always make the
right decisions or to always have the correct answers. But I promise you I’ll
do all in my power to see that the horrors that happened in your world do not
happen to this one, so you and all decent life on this planet can live safe,
happily and freely here,” promised Goku with conviction, his face suddenly
battle serious.
Trunks peered up at Goku in awe then, finally understanding why his mother had
always had so much faith and love for this mighty yet gentle Saiyajin. And as
he peered into those honest otherworldly black eyes, he truly believed him. It
was then he realised it was that same indomitable goodness and strong spirit to
fight which he loved in his sensei. Yes, he wanted him to be happy; he more
than deserved to be. Good luck Gohan-san.
“Thanks Goku-san. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight… Tes,” said Goku awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head nervously,
as little Gohan was in the doorway peering at them with wide eyes.
“Are you coming to bed Tes? Okaasan got the extra futons ready. We’re going to
pick you guys up some better ones tomorrow though,” said Gohan cutely, rubbing
at his tired eyes.
“Yes. A good sleep would be nice,” said Trunks softly, gingerly grasping hold
of Gohan’s hand—which fit his own—and giving him a warm smile.
Gohan grinned from ear to ear then, his sable tail swishing positively behind
him. “Goodnight Otousan!” he chirped happily, urging Trunks with him to his
bedroom beginning to tell him about interesting stories he had read about
during his studies.
Goku smiled lightly as he watched the younger ones go off to bed; though his
mind became more contemplative. There was much to do; there were fights he
could not afford to lose…
“What ya thinking about Dear?” suddenly asked Chichi, coming up beside him,
attempting to hug his brawny person.
“About a lot of things, but mostly about how much I care about you, our family,
our friends, this planet and all life on it. I won’t fail, zettai nai!” he said
strongly, his eyes peering up attentively at the stars.
“Goku-sa?”
“Don’t ya worry Chi. Everything is goin’ to be just fine.” And with that, Goku
took his wife into his arms and kissed her sweetly on the lips before embracing
her warmly. They stood like that for some time under the stars before he urged
her with him to bed. Tomorrow the real training would begin.
Tsudzuku…
Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.
***** FOUR *****
Though Trunks and Gohan wanted to participate; the violent kumite that had been
happening in the sky for hours above the desert they had all flown to, proved
to be too fierce for them to even attempt to join. Both young warriors could
easily feel it without seeing Piccolo’s, Goku’s or Mek’s faces—they were giving
their all, as much as they could without destroying the earth, anyway; the sky
lit with their immense power and thundering with each and every mighty landed
blow. Failure was not an option. And each adult senshis’ spirit was raring,
forcing the others to pull out more and more of their selves with every
precisely executed hit, kikoha and parry; every attack was saturated with
determination and laced with hope for the future; the earth shuddering some
under their continuous onslaught, the boys observing devotedly to learn as much
as they could for when it was their turn.
Though, Gohan did momentarily take his eyes off the battle to gaze avidly at
someone else. “Tes,” Gohan paused to make sure he was listening, his tail
curling with his feelings as he fidgeted nervously, “do you like fighting?”
Profound blue eyes did stop their devoted observing of the extraordinary battle
taking place above them then to peer at Gohan intently. “It is necessary to
ensure evil does not succeed.”
“That’s not what I asked,” probed Gohan further, his large dark eyes just as
precocious and imploring as Trunks’.
Trunks gazed at him intently for a long moment unmoving before answering, “No,
I do not particularly enjoy fighting. But I would rather fight and give my all
to see that the wicked and heartless fail in their cravenly foul schemes.”
Gohan nodded. “Yeah, that’s how I feel too. Though, I would much rather spend
my time studying and exploring new things and environments, and playing with
friends,” he paused a moment to gaze at Trunks affectionately, then blushing
embarrassedly before continuing, to which Trunks remained intently listening.
“But… I yearn so much for Tousan and Piccolo-san to be proud of me. I want so
much to be able to be strong and dependable like them; Piccolo-san in
particular.” Gohan paused a moment, blushing even deeper in a way that made
Trunks grin a little. “Piccolo-san is my shishou. My tousan is an alright
person and an extraordinary warrior, and I know he means well, but he isn’t
always the most dependable. Piccolo-san is a much better teacher and is almost
always around when I really need him, without coddling me. I wouldn’t be as
strong as I am now if not for him,” admitted Gohan sincerely, stars in his eyes
as he shifted them and his head back up towards the bout high above them, to
follow the adept movements of said person.
Trunks peered at Gohan for a long moment after that before returning his eyes
to observe his own shishou. If this young Gohan was anything like how his
shishou had been growing up, certain things made more sense now. No wonder his
own sensei felt such a powerful need to fight but never really took any real
joy in it; his face always taut or drawn. It had been the weightiest
obligation, which his sensei felt both honoured and overwhelmed to do—to fight
and defend to the last, as the last.
And tears filled Trunks eyes then as he realised then his dear shishou and
friend had probably reached a point where he was just as eager to die in battle
as to defeat the enemy. The change now was his shishou, in a way, had back all
he had lost; giving him the firmer will not only to fight on and continue, but
the desire to live once more. Thank goodness he had survived that last bout;
that his mother had somehow made sure they both made it out of that heinous
world.
Though, the realisation that he hadn’t been enough to make M. Gohan want to
stay alive hurt Trunks beyond words. But, he-
“Goodness Tes, what’s the matter? Do you have a tummy ache? Do you need-?”
“I am alright Gohan-san,” uttered Trunks quickly, rubbing at his eyes
embarrassedly. Though, he was taken completely off-guard when young Gohan took
his face in his hands and began rubbing his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs
in a soothing fashion.    
“Everything will get better now Tes; you’ll see. Things might not always be
easy, but it can still be good, as long we don’t give up and keep our minds
clear and our hearts pure,” said Gohan in a way that so reminded Trunks of the
elder one, but was somehow so much sweeter, that he almost choked. “Yoshi,
yoshi,” lulled Gohan, taking Trunks into his arms and petting his lavender
locks caringly. “It’s okay to cry sometimes. Sometimes that is the only way to
truly heal enough so that we can become stronger and move on.”
Trunks broke down entirely then; feeling great shame for breaking down in the
in arms of a child younger than him, but strangely comforted by the fact that
it was still, in a way, his shishou’s arms around him; taking much needed
comfort in his sweet scent and honest affection.
Neither youngster seemed to notice that the battle above had strangely halted;
each adult peering downward, their own distinct feelings roiling at the scene.
Goku was proud of his young son for being kind to a new friend. Though sad at
how the two had come to be in their world, he was happy M. Gohan and Trunks
were there; pleased to see his little son alight and able to be around one near
his own age for once. Piccolo’s face actual broke his usual stoic habit to
slightly frown as he observed how stern, possibly even angrily M. Gohan was
peering down at Trunks and the younger Gohan. There were immensely negative
vibes clicking from him. Hadn’t everything gone well thus far? What on Earth
was his problem?
“Mek, was there something you needed to say?” Piccolo finally probed sternly,
not at all liking the negative waves he felt emanating from his deshi from the
future.
Gohan turned to peer at him hard then a moment, before his face deflated
entirely of emotion. “I assure you I am fine, Piccolo-san. I just think I shall
take the rest of the day to train alone,” he uttered in a cold monotone, before
blasting away from the group entirely.
Piccolo actually did frown fully then for a short moment before making his face
return to its usual stoic. He had no idea what on Earth was wrong all of the
sudden, but he knew his adult deshi would come back around when he was ready.
Whatever the problem was, he wasn’t going to coddle him. M. Gohan was a young
man. If there was something he needed to speak, he’d better damn well do so or
be quiet about it altogether.
Goku frowned then too; a bit disappointed in and bemused of his son from the
future. Though, he knew his adult son would have to come to his own conclusions
as his own man, whatever they were. If he really wanted something bad enough,
it was up to him to make it so, which he believed he would eventually.
Trunks reluctantly pulled away from young Gohan then; his head turning in the
direction his shishou had flown. “What happened?” he asked both Piccolo and
Goku once they landed nearby him and Gohan.
He’s being a twenty-year-old brat; Piccolo thought to himself but refrained
from speaking.
“I think he just needs a moment Tr-, eh, Tes,” fumbled Goku with his words,
rubbing the back of his head sheepishly at his slip. It was so much more
natural to call him Trunks since he knew that was his real name. Young Gohan
was the only one in their odd little family who didn’t know now; well, him and
Chichi. M. Gohan hadn’t wanted his mother to know who he really was; thinking
all her affection should go to her little son who actually belonged in this
time. He had also left it up to Trunks whether or not he wanted to reveal his
own true name and origins to Gohan or anyone else.
Gohan peered up at his father curiously. This wasn’t the first time he had
heard his father slip while speaking with Tes. He was certain then there was a
greater secret about Tes and Mek than anyone was letting on about. And being
the inquisitive young soul he was, he was determined to find out.
“Well boys, whattaya say we head back for lunch now. Mek’ll come back when he’s
ready.” Both young boys nodded their heads in the affirmative, following Goku
back to the Son house; Piccolo deciding to follow. While solid food wasn’t a
necessity to Piccolo, Chichi could cook. And every now and then he did not mind
“sampling” some.   
I don’t belong here. This isn’t my world. I should have perished in battle.
Kuso! Trunks… He doesn’t need me now, and I… No. I mustn’t be so selfish. I
will do all I can do make sure this world never sees the hells we’ve been
through…
Gohan’s thoughts continued in the same direction as he precisely executed
advanced kata after kata; his own style painting his lonely, deadly dance as he
forced himself to train alone in a very inhospitable wasteland; intent to go
many hours more, though he was halted by an unexpected surprise.
He wasn’t surprised that Piccolo was coming to him—his dear shishou was usually
most observant and would no doubt want to know what was up with him—but the
grand boxes he flew on the sides of with him, utilising not Ki control, but his
extraordinary telekinesis to do so, did have M. Gohan somewhat baffled.
“Piccolo-san?”
“Your mother’s senses are more adept than your father’s sometimes, I swear… She
wouldn’t let me have a morsel, making sure I brought you your share,” grumbled
Piccolo, with a scowl.
“What?”
Unfolding and laying out the large red blanket he had carried and placing the
multiple huge Son family-sized bentos of food upon it neatly, Piccolo sat down
gracefully. “Whether intuition or spirit, I’d say your mother knows it’s you on
some level; her maternal instincts urging her to do that extra for a ‘stranger’
she normally wouldn’t. So, here’s lunch. Would you eat already so I can have
some?” urged Piccolo clearly exasperated.
Gohan’s eyes widened then before he burst up into a fit of honest laughter. In
all his days, he would have never thought he would witness such a look on his
shishou’s face; let alone for something so silly.
Piccolo appeared less than impressed with Gohan’s behaviour. “Mind telling me
what’s so hilarious, or better yet, what all that mess was earlier?” urged
Piccolo pressingly, folding his arms, his face returning to its usual stoic as
he gazed at Gohan seriously.
Gohan quickly wiped the laughter earned tears from his eyes, took a few deep
breaths and gazed at Piccolo just as utterly. He yearned greatly to open up to
him, but was afraid of what Piccolo would think of him.
“Well?” Piccolo had been going to let Gohan come to him on his own, but since
he was there, they may as well get the conversation over with.
Gohan bit his lip but began resolutely answering anyway after, “Today I… Well,
seeing Trunks and my younger self together—the way that he seemed to understand
and take better care of Trunks than myself—hurt my pride. It just seemed as if
I’m not really needed here. I…” Gohan stopped himself from relaying his darker
thoughts of earlier. He had been thinking selfish and foolishly, like a spoiled
adolescent. There was really no excuse for his behaviour. He ought to be much
smarter, wiser than that by now. And-
“Gohan,” Piccolo paused to bring a hand to Gohan’s shoulder, squeezing it
firmly before speaking further, “You’re actually jealous of your younger self,”
he said more than asked, pausing for a moment in disbelief. “I never would have
thought I would feel the need to call you silly Gohan… While you have been
through a lot, that is never an excuse to be a coward. I know you’re better
than that, which is how you became part of my heart.
“As for Trunks and your younger self, you of all persons ought to understand
what it’s like not to have someone near your age around. Neither of them has
had someone like them and close to the same age around before. It’s only
natural that they form bonds as such. But Trunks is strong and has made it this
far because of his stern but caring shishou. Do not ever regret doing the best
you could for him, as I know you have.” He paused then to sigh at Gohan’s
distraught countenance. “I for one, would be significantly saddened and at a
loss if you were gone Gohan. So too would Trunks, your father, mother and even
young Gohan.
“You are part of his world, this universe now. It is okay to live, Gohan,”
finished Piccolo with full conviction, his sagacious serious eyes not leaving
the widened and tearing up ones of his dear adult deshi.
In his wisdom he knew that Gohan had only been acting out today in frustration.
As he had pondered further on it, he realised Gohan was still having some
survivors’ guilt; it eating Gohan up with all the other negative thoughts his
complex mind could fester. And a huge part of him did yearn to help him move
on; his arms awkwardly going around Gohan, the dam of the young warrior’s
anguish breaking once more as he held him in his protective arms.
Reluctantly, Gohan cleared his throat and pulled away after a few moments;
beginning to wipe at his eyes religiously with the purple handkerchief Piccolo
proffered him, truly shamed at his own behaviour but ever grateful that Piccolo
was such an amazing person.
Once his eyes were clear again, he attempted speech once more, “You’ve changed
Piccolo-san,” he remarked honestly, his eyes still shimmering.
Piccolo actually broke his usual façade and flushed a deep purple in his
cheeks, before forcing his face to be hardened once more. “You’ve come a long
way too kid, so do not ever even think of throwing it away again, for any
reason. Don’t make me snap your neck,” said Piccolo sternly.
“Ah, Piccolo-san, I promise,” promised Gohan, smirking lightly, reminded of the
days when he was a small child and Piccolo had promised many times then to
“snap” his neck if he didn’t act right and persevere during their training. He
was truly thankful for all Piccolo had done for him, for all he still did. He
certainly wouldn’t be the person he was today otherwise.
“Then I know, as the brilliant young man you are, you’ll keep it.” I’ve always
believed you could do anything, Gohan. Always.
There was a short awkward silence as both senshi thought of the other, until
Gohan’s stomach growled rather loudly, causing him to chuckle nervously and
blush. “I guess we better get started on this nice meal my mother prepared.”
“Indeed,” conveyed Piccolo with a smirk, it turning to a real smile when Gohan
finally mirrored it.
Hashi and dishes clamoured as another Chichi-made hearty meal was being readily
ingested by her, two demi-Saiyajin and her husband at the dining table; the
last having of course the most monstrous appetite of all, enjoying every
frenzied bite with his usual lack of manners or restraint.
Chichi sighed after having chewed and swallowed a medium bite of tender rice
and meat; looking up thoughtfully as she pondered on their two guests. Both the
lavender-haired child and the strapping dark young man had such severity and
sorrow to them whenever she laid eyes on them, those forced smiles not fooling
her at all, which did tighten her chest in ways she could not explain.
No one had told her much about them, other than that they were half Saiyajin
who had lost their family, and were going to stay on Earth to help them fight
some supposed monsters they had no proof of knowing if and precisely when or
how they would come. And she did not at all believe the story that the two were
brothers. They might be close, but she could bet they had two different sets of
parents between them. And she could tell Goku felt guilty for lying to her, but
he refused to let up no matter how she pushed him for the full truth; not to
mention the strange familiarity she felt with the strapping dark young man. The
whole thing just made her hackles rise! She deserved to know the details of
what was really going on; especially since they were living in her house!
“Anou, Okaasan?” enquired Gohan softly.
“What is it sweetie?”  
“Are you alright?” asked Gohan worriedly.
“Sure honey, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, you broke your chopsticks between your fingers and have been growling
for the last two minutes,” he informed with wide eyes.
Chichi looked at her right hand, which still crushingly held broken in half
chopsticks, and then back at every person at the table; a vivid embarrassed
rose flush painting her face as she saw that even Goku had stopped eating,
everyone’s wide eyes solely on her.
“I am fine dear, just thinking,” she said matter-of-factly, waving it off
before excusing herself to get another pair of hashi.
Somehow she would get the answers she sought. Until then, she needed to remain
cool and collected. My goodness she ought to be more mindful than that!
Gohan rubbed his full belly, looked up thoughtfully at the seemingly slow
passing clouds and exuded a pleased sigh. He would never get sick of his
mother’s cooking or even her stern, stout-hearted nature; his eyes shimmering a
bit with emotion as he realised just how lucky he really was to get to live in
a world where she still lived and breathed.
Piccolo scrutinised Gohan intently as his face pointed toward the late
afternoon sky; truly yeaning to know what Gohan was contemplating. Although
with his powerful telepathic abilities Piccolo could find out precisely for
himself, he would not allow himself to impose on Gohan’s privacy. He hoped by
then Gohan would feel free enough to speak to him about anything he felt the
need to; that-
“Piccolo-san?”
“Hmm?”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
“You may. Though, I maintain every right to decline answering if I so see fit,”
answered Piccolo seriously, gazing at Gohan more profoundly than before, his
heart beginning to speed up for reasons he himself was uncertain of.
Gohan bit his lip then, closing his eyes once a moment before opening and
locking them on Piccolo’s. “Have you ever been in love?”
Piccolo almost choked on his own tongue then; his eyes narrowing after he
quickly straightened up his person. He had not been ready for that question.
But at least now a lot of the cold and imploring looks his adult deshi had been
giving him off and on made more sense. He would have never thought such a thing
could be possible. And quite frankly, it gave him mixed feelings to know such.
So, rather than concoct some extravagant lie, he told Gohan the truth.
“No, I have never been in romantic love before. But there are many types of
love… There are only two persons in the universe I care enough for that I would
give my very life for them without a moment’s hesitation; two who bear the same
name and parents, though they each have their own lives and destinies,”
answered Piccolo earnestly.     
Gohan peered at him for a long moment; striving with every shred of will within
him not to break down right there. Hadn’t he showed enough weakness in front of
his dear shishou? Goodness he ought to have more control than that! And yet,
the admission from Piccolo that he cared for both he and the Gohan who actually
belonged in this time, more than any other, did touch his heart.
Though he knew he had no right to ask, he could not stop his heart from
speaking further, “D-do you think it’s possible for you to fall in romantic
love?” he finally asked, swallowing thickly as a lump seemed to form in his
throat.
Piccolo looked away almost cutely before allowing his eyes to return to Gohan
and answered, “It is not impossible,” his cheeks colouring slightly purple and
majestic ears flapping against his skull in his odd bout of nervousness.
Neither had realised just how much closer in proximity their bodies had come to
each other on the blanket; their breaths ghosting over each other’s faces.
Though, Piccolo could feel the next question tickle the edges of his psyche
without Gohan having to say it. He knew they both cared for each other
immensely from what they thought they knew about each other. But the fact was
they were different people, from different times and universes. They really
needed to get to know one another again before promising anything to each
other.
Though, it was also then that Piccolo thought he would at least test their
physical chemistry; a rare wave of actually curiosity at what he had witnessed
others do on many occasions but had never experienced himself pushing him
forward; his eyes closing and lips tentatively pressing to Gohan’s, sealing the
gap between them.
The spark was instant; blissful fire coiling within each of their bellies and
shooting to their groins. Piccolo felt so discombobulated, so strangely
breathless for the first time in his life, that it took a moment for him to
realise Gohan had roughly forced him onto his back, wrapping around him closer,
possessively. But when a hot tongue and sharp canines harshly probed his lips,
seeking entrance and Gohan’s touches became aggressive enough for his nails to
break skin; Piccolo fought back, brusquely shoving Gohan off of him.
Yes, he should have known better. Piccolo had unwittingly witnessed how raunchy
Goku could get on the entire week of the full moon, every month since Dende had
returned it. If Chichi had been any other woman, she probably would not have
survived, let alone tolerated it; Goku’s Saiyajin instincts and propensities
the most powerful then. Yes, he probably ought not to have given in to his
curiosity, but even he let it get the best of him sometimes. And as he gazed
upon his hunched, panting, pupil-dilated, canine lengthened, tail-flicking
adult deshi; he did feel the need to stand and reclaim some dominance before
things went too far.
“Gohan! Control yourself better than that! What happened to all your
training?!” Piccolo yelled loudly.
Gohan’s movements stopped then; his nostrils twitching as he sniffed avidly at
the air around them. Eventually his breath slowed and realisation dawned on his
face. “Gods! Piccolo, I’m so sorry. I never meant to-”
“It’s alright. It was kind of my fault too, so let’s just move on from here...”
Piccolo paused a moment, slightly nervous about what he was to say next.
Though, if he was honest with himself, he did desire it too. “Are you sure I am
what you want in a life mate Gohan? Are you positive it’s the right time; that
you are not-?”
Gohan swiftly stopped him right there. “Piccolo-san I love you very much,
always have and I always will no matter what does or doesn’t happen between us.
But yes, I do desire a deep and romantic and physical relationship with you; as
long as you feel the same…
“Tomorrow is not promised to any of us. Is it such a crime to be happy today?”
Piccolo’s quickly looked away, begging his eyes to quit betraying him. No, he
absolutely would not cry! Just because he could feel the genuine love emanating
from Gohan for him—so profound and ardent unlike any other ever had for him—did
not mean he would lose all control of his body and functions like some weak
poorly conditioned Earthling. He was much better trained than that!
But as Gohan took him in his brawny arms, he immediately reciprocated said
embrace; sighing deeply as he truly savoured the real warmth and intimacy
shared between them then.
“Does this mean you’ll go out with me?” whispered Gohan earnestly by his ear,
making him shiver.
“Are you done with all the foolish thoughts?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never again have another foolish thought Piccolo-san; I
don’t think anyone can promise that honestly. But yes, I promise to quit
allowing myself to drown in thought and react foolishly instead of acting
wisely as I can.”
“And…you’re sure?”
“Yes Piccolo-sama,” answered Gohan with shimmering honest, yearning eyes;
Piccolo’s eyes bulging at the more respectful honorific used, wondering if
Gohan wasn’t playing with him or not, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t mind if I
call you that sometimes, do you?”
“I guess not Gohan, but it is not necessary-”
“I know Piccolo-san, I know.”
After gazing at one another for a long moment both quieted and sat back on the
large red blanket; both sets of eyes angled up at the sky as they sat back and
rested on their hands and elbows, each heart beating just a little stronger as
many hopes for the future rang true within them.
When Goku, Gohan and Trunks finally came out to meet Piccolo and M. Gohan to
continue their training from earlier; Goku smiled. Piccolo and his adult son
from the future were already sparring quite strongly, something profound very
changed between them in the right direction.
Trunks could not help the frown that came to his own face as he saw them
smiling together. And young Gohan mirrored his frown, yearning for his lavender
haired friend to be happy, displeased with his discomfiture, and a little
jealously of his own filling him for the first time at seeing Piccolo actually
fully smile around someone not himself.
Both young senshi immediately took a go at Goku together then, letting him know
they were serious and would not be left out like they had been earlier; the
need to release some of that angst certainly necessary for both.  
Tsudzuku…
Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading minna-san.
***** FIVE *****
Uhn! M. Gohan awoke with a start, a disquieted Trunks peering at him from his
bedside worriedly. “Gohan-san?”
“I’m fine. Just a bad dream, nothing to worry about.” He knew Trunks wasn’t
buying it, but he wasn’t going to go into detail about such a personal akumu
with his ten-year-old deshi; striving with his all to keep a straight face. “Go
back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”
Trunks frowned, but did as he was told, glancing at M. Gohan one last time on
his way back to the room he shared with young Gohan. He knew there were gaps
between him and his shishou that surpassed age, but it did not stop him from
yearning to be there for him and closer to him, from caring for him so. M.
Gohan and his mother had been the only two that he had known for most of his
young life. And he did care more for both of them than words could say; his
frustration mounting in this new world, even though he was grateful for all
that he had now.
Though he was young, he and M. Gohan had already been through a lot together;
Trunks wishing they were closer than they were. And though his young chest
ached once again, he swallowed thickly, stubbornly keeping any tears from
falling from his eyes; quietly returning to the room he and the Gohan belonging
to this timeline shared, and slipping back into his futon near him.
Gohan tentatively let his tail out from under the bedding to gently pet Tes
comfortingly, once he felt him come in. As the days went on, he was becoming
increasingly more jealous of Mek and Piccolo. Not only was Mek stealing the
attentions of his shishou Piccolo, but Tes was always more interested in what
Mek was doing too. And he would bet for sure—now that he had gotten to know and
scent each of them often—that Mek and Tes were certainly not brothers. He even
finally caught his father calling Tes by what was most certainly his real name,
letting it slide then, which he would not forget.
Though he cared for them all greatly with his young heart; he was feeling
closer to Tes, at least, he wanted to be. The more he thought of it, he was
actually happy to see Piccolo happy. His dear shishou deserved to be happy, to
not be alone so much. As long as Mek never hurt Piccolo, he supposed he
wouldn’t hate him.  
But… Why? Why was he so powerless? Why could he not help Tes smile, ease the
pain evident in his eyes the way Piccolo did for Mek? Why did he push him away?
Why…?
“Gohan. What is wrong? Are you alright?” suddenly enquired Trunks, real worry
shining in his dark blue eyes.  
Gohan’s lip began to tremble as he strived to grasp control of his feelings.
And after taking a few deep breaths, he finally steeled himself; turning to
gaze at Trunks seriously.
“Trunks, I know that is your real name. I just want you to know that I am here
for you. You can tell me anything. I promise it will stay between us. You do
not have to carry those burdens alone, whatever they are. I am your friend,
Trunks,” averred Gohan as earnestly as he could, his eyes shimmering with
honest emotion.
Trunks’ mouth opened and closed. He was at a loss for words for a few moments
before sighing heavily. “I am most grateful for your friendship Gohan. There is
so much I would not have been able to handle without you… But there are things
I must not share with you. I don’t want you to—”
“I am strong enough Trunks! Please. Tell me who you and Mek really are. I know
he’s not your brother. Please, let me really be your friend. You don’t have to
hide and suffer alone.”
Trunks bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He could not stand to see
such sorrow in Gohan’s eyes, his hand reaching out to gently tousle in his
thick dark spikes of hair affectionately. And the avid sincerity was enough to
steal the air from the room. But Trunks merely sighed once more, pulling Gohan
into an embrace needed by both.  
Once he was sure Trunks was back in bed, M. Gohan quickly and quietly got up,
dressed and took off out the window. There was no way he was going to be able
to sleep after that; he biting his lip as he strove to keep his emotions at
bay, horrid memories not allowing him any solace or hope of peaceful
meditation, despite his training. He knew not where he was going; only that he
needed to keep flying for however long it took to breath at least somewhat
peacefully again.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Piccolo’s ears twitched as a familiar pained voice reached his ears; he quickly
coming out of his meditative levitating pose and flying to his desired
destination as swiftly as he could.
Once he got there, he could not believe what he was seeing. His adult deshi was
curled up on the ground in the foetal position, moaning and shuddering in utter
abjection. Piccolo had to swallow to stop the horrified gasp from escaping his
throat. What on Earth?!
Sidling up as quietly as he could after landing, Piccolo carefully made his way
over to his dear adult deshi and new life partner; hoping with his whole heart
that he could somehow make it better.
“Gohan?” whispered Piccolo gently, gingerly placing a hand on M. Gohan’s
shuddering shoulder.
Gohan immediately stilled, an agonising and embarrassed keen emitting from him
right after; he quickly standing and haphazardly wiping his flushed face.
“H-hi Piccolo-san,” he finally said pitifully.
“Gohan, what—?”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Just forget it. I’ll go back home after I
settle some.”
“That’s not healthy Gohan, and you know it,” urged Piccolo more seriously,
grasping Gohan’s chin so he would look at him.
Gohan tried to pull out of his grasp, but as an extraordinary Super
Namekkuseijin; Piccolo was still currently the most powerful being on the
planet, easily holding him firm despite Gohan’s agitated struggling. He cared
for him too much to just allow him to drown in anguish alone. If they were
truly partners now, they both needed to be able to be there for the other when
needed.
“What could make youweep in such a way, Gohan? What troubles you so? Is that
not what part of being in a serious romantic relationship is about? Aren’t we
supposed to be able to share not only our ups but our downs with each other?
Suffering alone for nothing helps no one… Please Gohan, if I can help, let me.”
Gohan peered up into his eyes then with his own harried eyes widened in
incredulity and sorrow. He wanted so much to tell Piccolo the truth. But the
shame of what he had suddenly remembered that night—that horrible night terror,
no past memory—was truly more than he could bear. He could not put it into
words just then, so settled on allowing Piccolo into his mind; leaving himself
as wide open as his heart felt raw.
Piccolo actually gasped at the sudden slew of raw newly unburied memories that
began to deluge into his mind at Gohan’s will, he having to take controlled
breaths to steady himself. Haggard tears filled his eyes at years of Gohan’s
torment by the jinzou ningen; though one in particular stood out like lighting
to his skull—the one where Gohan had first been brutally… No. He had been a
child. He… No…!
His eyes finally opened with sheer horror coating them. “Gohan…” Piccolo really
did not know what else to say. Only Gohan could let him know what could
possibly be even a slight lenitive balm after enduring such anguish alone for
so long.
An agonised croak released from Gohan before he took some cleansing breaths and
began. “I gave my all Piccolo-san. I had felt all them die one after the other,
not long after my father was gone; all of them letting their pride stop them
from fighting together.
“You were the last Z Senshi alive aside from me. I know you always being the
astute, wondrous warrior you are knew you didn’t stand a chance against them
alone; knew we did not stand a chance against them even together, at least not
then. So, you made sure I was knocked unconscious, so that I could not fight
with you…”
Piccolo swallowed the lump in his throat, but remained silent as Gohan
continued to pour his heart out with weighty tears streaming down his face; his
own face not unmarred by tears of his own as he listened aptly.
“You no doubt fought them alone with your all, as the amazing warrior you’ve
always been. By the time I woke, your ki was too low to sense. I began weeping
immediately, searching frantically for your body, your scent, for the slight
chance that you just might pull through.
“When I finally found the decimated city you had fought them in—after they had
already murdered everyone there—it took nearly a day to carefully search
through all the debris and bloodied bodies, to finally find the mutilated
remains of yours... I-I didn’t even get to say goodbye!” croaked Gohan,
snuffling as he tried to continue.
“And… Then, as I still held what was left of your bloodied limbless torso and
head, I could hear that I was not alone. He and his rotten blonde sister, those
horrible jinzou ningen with dastardly ice blue eyes both took turns beating on
me. I powered up to my maximum; hatred and anger for what they had done to you
fuelling my power and still small and young person as much as I could.
“I held out for a little while before they both bashed me so hard in the head I
couldn’t see straight. The next moment I was conscious I felt an indescribable
agony lace my spine, insurmountable pressure and pain I didn’t understand then.
But when I looked up, that heinous face that peered down at me smugly, while
continuing to rape me in more ways than one, was indelibly burned into my mind.
“They were truly evil, cowardly; as vile as evil can be. No matter how hard I
trained, I was never strong enough. Every time after they won a fight against
me…they would both…again… And then years later Candida stole my revenge; for
you, for me…” whispered Gohan pitifully, trying to turn away.
Piccolo felt more profound and diverse emotions then than ever, but he forced
himself to push the more negative ones down, that he might deliver some level
of succour; pulling Gohan in to his person and holding firmly to him, his cape
wrapped protectively around both of them.
Words were thoroughly inadequate, so Piccolo said none; gently rocking and
holding his dearest continuously until he heard a sadly quiet aggrieved plea,
“Piccolo-san, please, give new memories not tainted. Make love to me now,
please?” pleaded Gohan wearily, his harried dark eyes causing Piccolo’s to
frown deeper.
“Gohan, you can’t really want that now.”
“Please Piccolo. There was so much I have been repressing without realising.
You are the only one who can change my hidoi akumu to utsukushii yume. I need
you now. Onegai, Piccolo-san?!”
Piccolo knew very well neither of them was ready to take that leap in their
relationship. And doing so for the wrong reasons would only doom them further
in the future. So to take Gohan’s attention away, he did move and osculate him
fully on the lips; putting as much passion and love into the kiss as he
possibly could, furtively using his long arm and ki charged claw tips to knock
Gohan unconscious from behind.
Piccolo sighed deeply as he held onto to Gohan’s limp form; tears streaming
down his face as he sent the most positive and happy dreams he could think of
to Gohan’s mind as he psychically made him really sleep soundly.
Though as an adept master of psychokinesis and the mind he easily could and
half of him yearned to, he would not attempt to cover or rebury Gohan’s
memories. They had finally surfaced on their own. If he was going to live a
full and healthy life, he needed to remember everything, without being
tormented by anything. He needed to fully accept the truth without allowing it
to dictate the rest of his life.
The journey to healing Gohan’s mind and heart would no doubt be difficult
beyond words. But Piccolo vowed then with his whole soul that he would be there
for him the entire way, whatever it took.   
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 “It’s okay Trunks. It’ll be okay,” lulled Gohan softly, after listening to the
boy’s honest woes; his own young face wrought with tears but his eyes
determined. He would not fail his new precious friend. They would make it
together.
“G-Gohan-san, doushite? Why did…?”
And Gohan remained silent as his friend from the future continued the necessary
purgative cry in his arms. They had both become much closer to each other once
Trunks finally confessed who he and Mek really were and where they were from.
Though, both young boys gasped, blushed and swiftly got up to wash and dress
once Chichi called everyone in for breakfast.
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When M. Gohan finally woke, it was to an extremely unfamiliar sight, but one
that made him smile. He was able to catch a glimpse of Piccolo through the
passageway as he was rummaging about an unfamiliar kitchen, adjacent the room
with the grand fluffy indigo clad bed he was currently in, trying to cook? It
was an amazing sight—Piccolo’s cape and turban traded for a plain white apron
over his usual purple gi. Gohan could not help but bite his lip and admire a
moment before slowly getting up.
Gohan remembered last night and opening up everything to Piccolo. But for some
reason he felt lighter than usual. The habitual severity that ruled his person
after many harsh years of growing up under heinous circumstances was not as
intense, the anguish of knowing not as sharp; making him sigh quietly as he
made his way to what he was sure was the lavatory. Wherever they were, the
place was small, yet still cosy, warm somehow; making M. Gohan’s tail curl
pleasantly as he moved about.
Piccolo paused a moment, his ears twitching as he easily caught the sound of M.
Gohan waking. But he remained silent; hoping the forced thorough slumber he had
given his adult deshi had helped heal him, at least somewhat. The rest would
take time, and he would do his best to aid his beloved as much as possible on
that journey.
Tsudzuku… 
***** SIX *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Now power up and remain in full control of it.”
“But Gohan-san!” griped Trunks.
“No ‘buts’.”
“You too Gohan,” Piccolo sternly urged his younger deshi.
“But Piccolo-san!”
“What’s this I hear? You’re actually going to let Earth be destroyed?!” sternly
pressed both M. Gohan and Piccolo stalwartly to their respective pupils in
powerful sync. Their fire was lit, and they refused to fail their precious
deshi or the earth. They could not afford to have shortcomings.
Both younger boys gazed at each other intently before looking back to their own
sensei earnestly. “No. We will protect Chikyuu and all the life we love which
she holds!” shouted Trunks and Gohan in unison, making both their shishou
slightly grin with pride as they fought to bring their sentou ryoku higher
through will.
Goku observed keenly on the side-lines, his eyes immensely more serious than
usual. Time had been passing swiftly, too swiftly for his liking, and though
each of them had become significantly stronger through diligent daily training,
something he could not quite put his finger on bothered him greatly. It was not
like him to lack optimism, but the insistent foreboding he felt had not let his
mind fully ease for a moment. He could only hope and pray that what had
happened in a certain universe would not happen to this one, that nothing worse
would come and that they could overcome what- and whoever did.
Cutting in on the developed kumite, Goku began going at Piccolo seriously;
leaving M. Gohan to go at the children. And he went hard; Piccolo feeling the
sheer determination in Goku’s spirit and ki, giving him all he could in return,
matching him powerful blow after blow and upping the ante when the time was
right, pushing forward to make them both stronger.
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“Gohan-san…”
“Hmm?”
“Are… Are you happy here?” Trunks asked his shishou tentatively as they rested
under the late afternoon sky with their arms behind their heads.
   1. Gohan turned to peer at his deshi intently then. “That is something I
      have been meaning to ask you Trunks. Our world is gone, but our lives are
      not over. We fight for this world now, just as our own. Do you dislike
      it? Have you not yet felt this place to be home?” What do you truly wish
      Trunks? If only you could understand how much I wish for only the best
      for you. If I could have saved our world…
“The Sons and you have made this place warm. Even Piccolo-san is pretty cool,
once you get used to him. I really am grateful for all I have here, and I want
to protect all of it...”
“But? Do you wish to see your mother here, get to know your father? They are
both living here and now. Do you wish to tell them the truth before the battles
begin? For, if you do I will go with you in full support. Bulma is pregnant
with your counterpart now, so there should be no harm in them knowing.”
Trunks’ eyes lit up for a short moment, his tail curling cutely, before he
tried to make his face serious again. “I would like that Gohan-san. But, even
more than that, I really wish for you to be happy,” confessed Trunks earnestly,
his dark piercing blue eyes imploring Gohan for honesty.
Gohan sighed then, his dark onyx eyes hardening and lingering back to the sky.
“I am content, for now,” he answered as calmly as possible. There were just
things he never wanted Trunks to know or have to understand. “But I will be
much better once we have defeated them,” he finished strongly; knowing nothing
else needed saying after that.
“Ah,” answered Trunks in agreement. Nothing would truly feel right until they
were sure this world was safe from the terrors they knew only too well.
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“Piccolo-san…”
“Yes Gohan?”
“Do you love me?”
Piccolo sat up swiftly then from his rarely resting pose; his keen dark eyes
gauging Gohan seriously. “I think you know by now I care for you a great deal
Gohan. You are my deshi…and precious friend,” rarely admitted Piccolo to his
young pupil, keeping his face trained, though purple dusted his exquisite
midoriiro cheeks.
Gohan giggled then, earning a questioning frown from his sensei. “I know. You
are such a great person Piccolo-san, and I feel the same. But, I meant the
other, bigger me,” probed Gohan again; his giggling beginning once more as he
caught the majestic sight of his shishou’s flushed cheeks, the pretty violet
hue climbing his ears.
Piccolo cleared his throat and looked away. “That is none of your business
Gohan,” he uttered curtly, clearly embarrassed and off put.
“I take that as a ‘yes’,” dared Gohan, his youthful giggle trickling up his
throat again despite his best efforts to calm it.
Piccolo just sighed quietly in rare defeat. Neither Gohan knew just how
immensely important they were to him, just how very much their presence eased
and lifted his soul, gave hope to it, despite all that was wrong with the
universe. And he would do all he could to make both of them stronger; hoping
they both learned to be holistically well and were able to find the veritable
joy within themselves, which he knew they each deserved, as they continued to
grow as the amazing people he knew they were.
“You just earned yourself some extra hard training kid.”
Gohan turned to peer at Piccolo attentively then. “I wouldn’t have it any other
way Piccolo-san.” The pure smile he gave Piccolo then made both hearts flutter
with pure warmth as they rose to begin training once more.
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“They’re beautiful, aren’t they Piccolo-san?”
“What?”
“The stars.”
“I suppose that is a matter of opinion; as terms like ‘beauty’ always depend on
the beholder.”
“You do not like them?”
“It is not a matter of like or dislike for me. Like any other celestial objects
in the universe, once they have formed, they are part of it regardless of
anyone’s desire or lack thereof for them. But, I think I understand what you
mean. I suppose looking up at the sky on a clear night like this could be
considered… lovely, pleasing. The universe is vast, holding so much more than
we could ever hope to fully comprehend or see in one lifetime. However, things
pleasing to the eye, to the mind, can be dangerous,” finished Piccolo
seriously, his eyes locked to the sky, a silent prayer in his heart.
“I guess you are right Piccolo-san. It was just rare that I ever got the chance
to just look up at the stars in peace, before,” admitted M. Gohan softly, his
eyes still trained to the sky. It is truly the first time you are letting me do
so with you Piccolo-san, without exhaustedly resting after battle or training
being the reason.
Piccolo bit his lip at that, turning over on the blanket they shared out in an
open wilderness to gaze at him intently. “Do you still regret surviving,
Gohan?” he implored seriously, his chest already tight in apprehension, though
his face maintained its trained stoicism.
Gohan was silent a long moment before turning to Piccolo, his dark battle-worn-
soul eyes peering at his with ultimate seriousness. “I had, for a long while
there. But your patience and love are giving me the chance to recover… I know
now that I wish to win the fight, the war—not for any ignorant folly as
revenge, for one life, especially a craven evil one could never possibly equal
or have even a fraction of as much worth as an actual honest decent worthwhile
one—but to protect those I love and continue living on with them, with you.” I
have real hope for the future for the first time in my life because of you,
Piccolo-san.
Warmth bloomed throughout Piccolo’s body and soul, his chest and cheeks
especially warm. He yearned so immensely to…
Many times since training for their imminent foes did the two end up pushing
each other away when these quiet yet pressing, intimate moments came about;
neither feeling fully ready to go forward in their relationship, though they
both increasingly felt the desire to. And as their eyes spoke the depths their
tongues often failed to, just for this moment did they allow one another a
short reprieve from terror, loneliness and regret; Gohan initiating their first
kiss since he had confessed to Piccolo what had been done to him as a child in
that universe he could never return to.
Piccolo surprised him in hungrily answering his kiss, his tongue slipping into
his mouth of its own accord and body shifting to lie on top of his own, deft
hands groping at him so near avidly, Gohan felt real initial unease. But he
knew first-hand just how thoroughly his dear shishou did everything; never
half-arsed, always solid. There had always been a unique and fiery passion in
him, even if others failed to see it through his perpetual protective mask. He
had always known there was this incredibly powerful yet delicate inferno within
his beloved shishou. Even if this was not precisely the one from the world
which he came, the soul resounded with the same authentic majesty. And he was
assuredly grateful for that; relieved beyond words that he could finally allow
touch outside of battle or training without feeling completely lost, helpless,
dirty or strange. In Piccolo’s arms he felt whole, protected, and ready to
drown in waves of ardent blissful warmth with him for as long as they could
together. Or so he thought.
Piccolo immediately stopped and pulled away as he tasted Gohan’s tears slip
into what had been a warm kiss, his stomach dropping. Had he been too
aggressive? Should he have gently pushed him away again? “Gohan? What—?”
“Do not stop Piccolo-san. I beg you, please don’t stop.” I must get through
this somehow: I must move forward or I’ll never be able to.
Lamenting anguish thoroughly permeated Piccolo’s face then. “Gohan, I do not
wish to hurt you. We do not have to do this if you are not ready. Please do not
feel as if you have to: that is never the right way to do this.” Forgive me for
being so insensitive. I thought you were ready. I thought we both felt…
Gohan cupped Piccolo’s concerned face in his hands, bringing their foreheads
together, opening a mental link.
I am sorry Piccolo-san. I want so much to be ready, to move on from this and
live my life the way I wish… I will probably cry every time… until… The agony
of haunting memories is impossible to overcome until you fill me with new ones;
until we have won.   Please don’t hate me. I am sorry I’m so weak.
Piccolo’s form trembled then, a new nervousness pervading him as Gohan’s
thoughts to him sunk in. Gohan was essentially begging him to fill him with
memories great enough to overpower every atrociously rancid one still cruelly
ailing his soul. That he had so much faith in him touched the depths of his
soul. That he believed that much in him gave him pause, the sheer weight of
such a responsibility and request making him doubt himself more than he ever
had; made him distrust his own ability to be good enough for his dear Gohan,
which only made things the more discomfiting. It wasn’t as if he were
experienced in such things any more than Gohan: he was merely listening to
novel developing feelings and sensations within himself. And if his own
feelings could be wrong, how would he be what Gohan actually needed?
“Gohan, what if I am not ready?” I really do not think I am now.
“You seemed ready enough.” I need…
“Only because I believed you were.” I could not bear giving you another
lamenting memory, Gohan. I just could not.
“Piccolo-san. Please…” Please don’t overthink this Piccolo-san. I know how you
are, how you think. Just feel. You were doing well moments ago. If I could have
stopped my tears I would have.
Still holding Piccolo’s face, Gohan began kissing him devotedly; letting his
tongue begin to taste the edges of Piccolo’s mouth until it slipped inside and
began to probe the surfaces there, striving to push them both forward.
Onegai, Piccolo-san.
Piccolo answered by pulling Gohan’s body closer to his once more, attempting to
kiss him just as earnestly as he had. But the moment was gone, and he no longer
had the confidence he had earlier, easing away from him.
“Gohan, please forgive me, but I am not ready,” hesitantly admitted Piccolo,
averting his eyes as he felt so severely he was failing Gohan.
“It’s alright Piccolo-san. Just hold me for now, please?” Please, give me that
much. Don’t let me crumble before we’ve won the war.
And Piccolo did hold M. Gohan closer and tighter and yet with more care than
ever before, the two of them spreading back out on their blanket under the
stars, silent relief and regret vying strongly within each of them.
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A little lavender-haired boy continued to fidget with a small raven-haired boy
and the young man his counterpart, outside the grand white dome of Capsule
Corporation, feeling just too nervous at meeting with and telling his parents
the truth and thoroughly embarrassed at the ridiculous suits Chichi demanded
they both wear once she was “enlightened” of the full scoop. How come the big
Gohan didn’t have to wear these ridiculous uncomfortable suits? He got to wear
his usual dogi, which was so unfair.
“Go on Trunks, ring in and let them know we’re here,” urged M. Gohan, striving
to contain the small smile that kept climbing his face. That was one thing he
did not miss—the embarrassing suits with bowties and glossed down hairdos his
mother would make him wear at “special” occasions. And as he gazed down at his
young counterpart and his deshi Trunks, he could not help but internally
chuckle some.
“Gohan-san, do we have to wear these? We look ridiculous! And look at my hair.
I did not need cream in my hair. It’s unnatural I tell you!” griped an
increasingly flustered Trunks.
“You promised Chichi-san you would, so you will Trunks. And Gohan, I know you
know how Okaasan can be. But you also know how wonderful of a person she is,
despite her quirks, so you will endure.”
Both young boys sighed heavily in defeat, Trunks reluctantly reaching to push
the intercom. “We are here to see Bulma Hakase and Vegeta-san, please,”
murmured Trunks timidly.
“Speak up boy. And just who the hell is ‘we’?” grumbled a familiar mean voice,
causing Trunks’ heart to speed up. His father answered the door?
“It is me Tes, Mek and Son Gohan. May we come in Vegeta-san? We would like to
speak with you and Bulma-san, please?”
It was quiet a long moment, and tears almost began to well in Trunks’ eyes, but
he patiently stood his ground.
In the next, the front door to Capsule Corporation opened; hard, earnest black
eyes peering down hard into similar dark blue eyes, Vegeta’s eye twitching as
he saw something there he hadn’t before. “The onna is in a meeting. You should
have known to make an appointment,” he informed nonchalantly, his perpetual
scowl in place.
“Actually,” offered M. Gohan, “we did make an appointment. We are early
though.” Of course Bulma would not allow being pregnant stop her from carrying
out certain tasks, not until the last month or two anyway.
Mean obsidian eyes moved to glare up at familiar dark eyes before narrowing.
“Learn to be on time brat,” Vegeta quipped, moving out of the way and urging
the odd trio to come in.   
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Vegeta’s fingers continued to rap irksomely on the fortified table as he
listened with patience he normally did not seem to possess. And once all three
were through alternately informing him of the truth, he swiftly knocked each
one over the head, causing all three sets of youthful eyes to widen.
“What do you take me for? A fool? I am not Kakarotto. You cannot fool a true
Saiyajin nose. I would know Kakarotto’s stench anywhere,” he groused, looking
harshly at M. Gohan. “And there is no way I would not know my own blood,”
Vegeta finished passionately, his keen onyx eyes landing solidly on Trunks.
And then he knocked all three demi-Saiyajin over the head once more. “You will
all come with me now. Do not tarry.” There was not a hint of leniency to his
voice, so all three quickly nodded, following him at once.
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   1. Gohan’s face became most serious upon entering the vast Gravity Room; he
      immediately taking an offensive kata in readiness for the “Prince”.
      Trunks and Gohan felt much better once they were able to walk around in
      freer clothing afforded them, but the thickened-in-more-ways-than-one
      atmosphere in the GR caused all innocent mirth to drain from them, their
      eyes glued to the two gladiators soon to commence battle before them.
Show me what you’ve got brat. For, I will not allow this world to be lost. And
if you are not legitimate help for the battles to come, you are hindrance.
Hopefully you are significantly more spiritually matured Vegeta. Your inflamed
arrogance will not save you or this world: only your diligence and warrior
heart might aid in its salvation, and perhaps your own. I hope for all our
sakes you are much more than the selfish haughty ouji I knew what seems so long
ago.
   1. Gohan and Vegeta did go at each other fiercely then, it far more than a
      mere spar to either of them as they challenged themselves and each other
      to the brink without destroying said room; Trunks and Gohan having
      difficulty keeping up with every single powerful blow and sharply
      executed move, but cheering each on just the same.
After half an hour of intense sparring—more honestly fierce brawling—Vegeta
halted the match, truly fed up. “Enough brat! You are definitely Kakarotto’s
spawn. You have the same disastrously exasperating habits. If you want to
defeat a craven murderer, you must be ready to kill. Neither power nor
intellect is enough to win the war. You must not be ready to die but be
unwilling to; ready to kill, even cruelly and most viciously if you must, doing
whatever you must to get the job done. There is no such thing as fair in war or
the world, as craven evil ones have no scruples, honour or shame: they are
spinelessly mendacious and wicked to their cores and have no qualms about being
the villains; thus that is all they will ever be. Anger is not enough.
Destruction is just that, and only you can make sure it happens in the right
places, at the most crucial moments. Fire bludgeoning fire, but you must be the
greater fire holistically, or you will not have a chance,” declared Vegeta
seriously; his deep Saiyajin eyes ardently piercing M. Gohan’s, making him look
away.
How can he say that to me with all he’s done? But damn I do want to kill those
heinous villains, absolutely annihilate them, so much it hurts! They stole
everyone important to me, and used me for their sick amusement. I want them to
suffer and die; not a trace left of them anywhere, so they can never ever
commit such heinous atrocities to anyone else. Even Jigoku is too good for
them: they should cease existing at all.
“And never show tears to the enemy. It’s the same as bowing to them,” growled
Vegeta with disgust, turning and beginning to walk out of the GR.
“Gohan-san, are you alright?” asked Trunks, peering up at his dear shishou
worriedly.
I really do not know. I thought I was ready. I really thought I was getting
better. Maybe I’m not… “I’m fine Trunks. Just remembering…”
“Gohan-san!”
“Go meet with your mother Trunks. Little Me, please be there for him and thank
you. I have another appointment I must attend to.” And without wiping the tears
from his face, M. Gohan flew out of the GR and Capsule Corporation and swiftly
took to the skies; deepening shame clawing at the already fragmentations of his
soul.
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“Fight me Piccolo-san, please!”
“Not while you are in this state: it would serve neither of us any good.”
“Then—”
“No. I will not do that either. You—”
“Dammit Piccolo-san! Are you my lover, my friend, my life’s mate and partner or
not?!” Please!
Something crumbled in Piccolo then; his face rarely breaking with honest lament
and saturated uncertainty; he rarely unsure of what to do next. But he stayed
himself, taking a cleansing breath and a battle stance right after. Grasping
his resolve, though he loathed it, he knew he had to move forward, so Gohan
could do the same.
Crash! The skies and very earth shuddered under the awesome onslaught of two of
the most extraordinary senshi ever. Much time passed, imperceptible to them as
their eyes only saw each other, with each fervent thrust, bombarding blow,
resilient hold, piercing blast and precise kick. Cells and fibres vibrated with
all the tenacity of each combatant until genuine fatigue from both fighters
urged the decisive blow—executed by Piccolo—a hard right to the solar plexus
and then swift following kick, knocking M. Gohan out of Super Saiyajin and onto
his back; the unrelenting storm their power and fight had caused settling from
near hurricane to a dark and soft but diligent falling rain, both senshi soaked
and breathing hard where they were.
Piccolo walked over to M. Gohan’s supine form slowly; every muscle throbbing
with the evidence of their battle, though none more so than his heart. He knew
without knowing what needed to follow for his dear Gohan, and he was not sure
if he could do it. And when he finally made it to him; their eyes locked for a
long and profound moment, conveying all that words too many times proved
inadequate to, the cold rain streaming down both their faces, reminiscent of
tears.
Please universe, let me do this right for him now. Onegai.
Serious to follow through now, Piccolo did Shunkan Idou them back to what had
become their little house; gingerly beginning to remove both his and Gohan’s
sopping wet gi.
Tsudzuku…
Gomen for taking so long to update, life is rough, especially with craven
mendacious hate criminal terrorists around, even harassing, belittling and
slandering innocent authors under various cowardly aliases on fan fiction
sites. Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading, those of you who remain honest, decent,
thoughtful, open, understanding, genuine worthwhile human beings—so unlike the
heinous, ignorant and cowardly other poor excuses for human beings who have
unfairly and unjustly attacked, assaulted, terrorised, slandered and harassed
me since fanfiction.net—as you read my stories: you are the ones I write for,
and I will continue to write and update as I can, despite the continued
severely foul undue treatment and cruelty from mendacious, dastardly,
shameless, spineless atrocious souls. I will continue to tell the truth about
those who attack me and other innocent aspiring authors now, as long they
continue to do so; regardless of the lies and false unscrupulous fabrications
they may put out there under multiple changing accounts and usernames like the
heinous dastards they keep choosing to be. For, I do not wish for other authors
to be continually unjustly attacked, assaulted, harassed and terrorised as I
have unfairly been for far too many months now.
Thank you for reading those of you who are decent worthwhile souls. I will keep
updating when I can.
Chapter End Notes
     SlanderMeAgainAndYou'llBeSorry: "How do you know I threatened other
     authors unless it is also your account? :) Gotcha, you big liar. (I
     am not a tattletale like you. Only you and the other author would
     have known that especially since BOTH your accounts don't accept
     public reviews and NO ONE ELSE SEES IT). HAH! Now I have confirmed it
     is you. Ha-ha-ha! (I will screencap your blunder.) Repent and change
     your ways and we will leave you alone. :)"
      
     Estsuryuu: Because they have contacted me after you foolishly gave
     them my name in accusing them of being me. So thank you that.
     Continue this evil, and I guess it will go on. Because the villain
     has most assuredly been you since fanfiction.net.
     The first is a comment from the cruel thieving hate criminal
     terrorist who just can't go to bed without doing evil to innocent
     others and my response. For this evil soul is has apparently been
     cruelly harassing other innocent authors in assuming them to be me.
     And if this coward continues to harass me, I will continue to upload
     their comments any I have to.
     Unlike you, miss SlanderMeAgainAndYou'llBeSorry, I do not take
     pleasure in bringing unfair punishment and harm to innocent people.
     You may continue to lie and screencap and harass as are your
     dastardly habits, but the cowardly evil one will remain you: the one
     in severe need of repentance is you. People can believe whoever they
     wish, as I am sure people can make up their own minds. But the
     thieving, slandering, hate criminal terrorist will continue to be you
     until you chose to stop committing atrocities against me and innocent
     authors; and anyone who sides with you, will be committing crimes
     with you. Now that you have harassed other innocent authors assuming
     them to be me, will fight together now that you have foolishly joined
     us with your atrocities against us. We have done none of the evil you
     fallaciously fabricate. And since we are innocent, we will not stop.
     It is truly disgusting how evil people smile when they commit their
     atrocities. I am glad I am not such a heinous soul. I do not
     understand people taking pleasure in others' pain.
     Thank you for reading honest, decent, worthwhile souls. I will keep
     telling the truth and updating when I can.
***** SEVEN *****
Piccolo’s heart trembled with sorrowful diligence while M. Gohan continued to
quaver tremulously in his arms as he took the utmost of care to thoroughly wash
and massage each and every portion of his beloved’s body. Every time Piccolo
rubbed, soaped or pressed over an area of skin or muscle, Gohan whimpered—not
because of the obvious contusions and wounds from their fight, but out of
terror and shame conditioned by his dastardly attackers from another
time—effectively chipping away at Piccolo’s heart with each deliberate and
ginger movement of his hands over Gohan’s body. But he knew he must continue.
He knew he must help Gohan not only learn to holistically trust him and himself
again, but feel natural and comfortable around him no matter what they did
together: nothing they did should ever force Gohan to relive the most cruel and
horrible moments of his life. Their time together ought to always be about
love, trust, peace, positive growth and hopefully genuine evolving mutual
happiness and wisdom. Somehow he had to begin concretely fortifying that bridge
for them both.
A quaint thought struck him then as his contemplative mind strived to find a
viable way to do this for Gohan; a thought though initially, not so absurd when
one fully realised all that his poor deshi had endured and held in alone for so
long, without any real aid or relief for his mind, for his soul. After they
were both washed well, he gingerly lifted Gohan’s thoroughly contused and
wearied body up and into the grand waiting sea green hued tub with him, holding
him protectively while sitting behind him in the pristine steaming mineral
softened waters. And there he began to sing, very intimately from his heart for
his dear Gohan, without embarrassment or chagrin; softly, yet earnestly from
his belly, a melody he had not heard in literal centuries; an old Namekku
lullaby the Son of Katattsu in him barely remembered from a time before the
poor Namekkuseijin child had come to Earth to remain a sad and lonely survivor.
Gohan gradually eased, his ears perking and his trembling beginning to abate as
he listened soundly, sinking deeper into the soothing water with Piccolo. As he
continued to listen to the minor chorded yet wholly beautiful and lyrical lowly
vibrating melody, weight on his heart and shoulders slowly began to dissipate,
anxiety gradually decreased, influencing Piccolo on.
When Piccolo’s otherworldly multi-timbre singing finally ceased, Gohan turned
around in Piccolo’s lap; his eyes imploring so earnestly without words. When he
believed the time right, Piccolo did heed, gingerly grasping Gohan’s chin,
beginning to press his mouth to Gohan’s slowly, meaningfully and sensually
until Gohan participated of his own accord with veritably increasing hunger.
Piccolo made sure to remain attentive, though sultry heat began warming them
both deeply; his fervent earnest kisses moving from Gohan’s mouth, to his neck,
to pert nipples; licking one until Gohan moaned and bringing the other into his
mouth to devoutly suck, simultaneously petting Gohan’s tail until he arched in
real pleasure. This was one place far from training, battle and hopefully any
type of pain. Here, in this intimate and enclosed sphere was the place Piccolo
wished with his whole being only to give Gohan the purest pleasure and
hopefully some real lenitive peace—pleasure so complete it would entirely
overwhelm whatever anguish or chaos still kept him prisoner in his own body and
mind.
“P-Piccolo-san…” uttered Gohan breathlessly, his dilated eyes closed, lips
plumped and mouth slightly agape as deepening arousal and hope and trust filled
his person, “yesss, please.” Free me.
Though still a bit apprehensive himself, Piccolo pulled Gohan even closer,
devotedly kissing his lips while his telekinesis began delicately moving to
prepare Gohan. Deft, gentle telekinetic fingers, lacking claws, unlike the
physical ones they represented, began to gingerly probe and prepare Gohan’s
lower entrance as delicately as possible; pushing inside him underwater, along
with Piccolo’s natural lubrication, beginning to stretch and lubricate him
inside. Gohan immediately bristled and pulled away from their sultry
osculation; Piccolo gauging him seriously, attentively. Terror and anxiety
crawled back up Gohan’s spine as Piccolo’s psychokinesis continued to probe and
prepare him thoroughly. But, he bit his lip and took many breaths; eventually
moving closer once more and kissing Piccolo again; slowly rocking atop his
larger form, trusting him with his entire being.
Part of Piccolo did not wish to do this. Though both were significantly
aroused, tears were streaming from his Gohan’s eyes, keeping Piccolo’s own
moist with immeasurable regret. And though he could feel him calming once more
through his gentle telekinetic inner massage to his flesh and telepathic
comforting to his mind, the absolute trust his dear deshi had for him, whom he
surely had for no other; it still tore something inside of Piccolo’s soul to
continue. Yet he knew he must. He loved Gohan too much to just keep allowing
him to suffer vainly. This gap had to be bridged. And though scars of the soul
never completely healed, he knew he must help his beloved begin the process, so
he could have a chance of moving on.
Grasping Gohan as gingerly as possible, Piccolo lifted Gohan up just enough to
begin real penetration. With his telekinesis, he began slowly rubbing Gohan’s
swelling member from head to base, hoping to give him sheer pleasure while he
eased his own actual prominent midoriiro organ up inside of him. Gohan’s head
shot back as he felt the plump well lubricated and rounded head breach him and
press further inside of him, his mouth opening partially as encompassing warmth
and pressure and pleasure overwhelmed him. Piccolo kept stroking Gohan’s member
to pleasure and pushing in until both were eerily silent and without movement;
holding Gohan close and biting his own lip to stay himself while Gohan
adjusted.
“Move Piccolo-san. Onegaishimasu,” finally whispered Gohan with conviction; he
beginning to rock slowly on Piccolo’s grand form then, his eyelids down and
plumped lips apart as he panted softly. And Piccolo did a testing thrust; his
eyes gauging Gohan intently. “Yes my Piccolo: move in love with me,” susurrated
Gohan, beginning to rock upon him a little faster, a bit harder, causing
Piccolo to groan as he was swallowed by more exquisite warmth and peculiar
pleasure than he had ever felt in his life; holding Gohan closer still.
Water in the bath sloshed in gentle waves with each of their gradually
increasing movements. There was plenty of warmth and pressured pleasure for
both, yet Piccolo could still feel the slight painful shadow of Gohan’s unease;
pausing to comfort him. “Gohan, look at me. I am not taking you or from you; I
am loving you, because I really do.” So much more than I could ever fully
express, but feel me now as I am please, I really do.
Some more tears spilled from Gohan’s eyes as they fully opened to truly behold
his Piccolo. Yes. This was his Piccolo. With him . Inside of him. Part of him.
He was being loved. Not broken. Loved. Not cravenly dominated or shattered.
Loved. Not heinously stolen or taken from. Loved. Not cruelly and brutally
raped by the most cowardly and inept. Loved by his most trusted and beloved.
Not used and abused and horribly demoralised and shamed. Just really and truly
and thoroughly loved; in body, mind and soul; his confidence accumulating once
more with that rising, unrelenting warmth of body and spirit he could feel from
his beloved.
After a few cleansing breathes, Gohan managed to blink the tears from his eyes,
nod his head in the affirmative and give a small smile; wrapping his arms and
tail around Piccolo in conviction and swelling need; moving to kiss Piccolo’s
mouth with all his kokoro. Here was his Piccolo with him. No enemy here: no
craven atrocious foe would ever get to breach this sacred and esoteric space
again. His Piccolo would never really hurt him or allow anyone else to. He
loved him probably even more so than his parents in a way, for his love held no
stipulations on how he “ought to” be, behave and live as an individual in the
world. Piccolo loved and appreciated him just for being him. And with this
moment Gohan pushed to return that love wholeheartedly; putting all his love,
hope and passion into this kiss.
Piccolo moaned and kissed him deeper, doing his best to reciprocate everything;
his long virile arms caressing him more gently than most would think him
capable, yet still protecting him like mystical mighty wings, his hips moving
up into Gohan’s to continue their lovemaking; each gentle yet firm and thorough
stroke punctuating his love for him; again and again, mutually throbbing
throughout their bodies and souls.
Gohan…
Piccolo…
The pace began to pick up and heat took them again, higher and higher. Gohan
began to writhe on Piccolo as pleasure fully warmed and pervaded him; his
movements speeding as Piccolo’s member and his continuous caressing and
massaging touches felt increasingly good to him. The pain, the shame, the fear,
the want—it had all finally melted into a pooling puddle of nothingness, which
allowed evolved blissful warmth he had never known before now to overcome it.
And Gohan began to relish the moment fully; hoping it was incredibly good for
his beloved too; beginning to rock so diligently atop Piccolo, his life partner
was practically pinned to the bathtub of still spilling water.
And then Gohan felt it, for the first time in his life—he had felt levels of
arousal several times before, but never had he been allowed the full zenith of
completion—the rising, crashing extraordinary beginning undulations of apex;
riding through their exquisite connection and through his entire being; making
him moan and rock much harder until he locked up and screamed Piccolo’s name,
holding to him for dear life; light and energy thrumming through them both
powerfully, lighting the room with gold and green magnificence.
A light smile lit Piccolo’s eyes as he watched his Gohan free himself from
inner bondage. Though the warmth and squeezing feel of Gohan around him was
considerably pleasurable, an uncanny novel to his flesh he would never be able
to forget if he tried—the fresh undulations of pleasure and heat and touch,
rising like power to an extraordinary zenith unlike anything he had ever
known—nothing felt better than feeling Gohan let his mind go, let his spirit
and being truly ease and free, captive no more to what he had never truly been
allowed to choose. And he kissed him then, holding him with genuine fondness,
not wishing to let go, even when the last energetic wave had ebbed off.
“Thank you Piccolo-san…I love you,” whispered Gohan tiredly after a while,
resting comfortably upon Piccolo’s masterful chest in the afterglow, feeling no
need to move whatsoever.
“It is mutual Gohan,” averred Piccolo soft yet still resolutely. I will not let
you suffer alone in vain ever again. We are in this together, always.
They held each other then for a long, tender moment; Piccolo smiling softly as
his Gohan had fallen asleep peacefully upon him.
After carefully washing and drying him and himself once more, Piccolo carried
his Gohan to their bedroom; delicately placing him under the comforter and
slipping in behind him; wrapping him with his arms protectively; his own
eyelids falling soon after.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
“I knew it! I knew something was suspicious about that story. Hm. You got some
harshness from your father, but you definitely have my good looks and smarts,”
excitedly proclaimed a certain cerulean-haired and eyed heiress. “And wow.
Gohan is really attractive all grown up; definitely more distinctive than
Goku.”
“Mama!” exclaimed Trunks, mortified at his mother’s antics.
Young Gohan just giggled under his breath. Though quite precocious and erudite,
he wasn’t quite at the age where he understood certain adult subjects yet, and
his mother always blocked certain facts of life from him; innocent giggles
trickling up his throat at both Bulma and Vegeta’s amusing expressions and
behaviour.
“But I think you all are being ridiculous. If you know what is coming and even
where and when it’s supposed to occur, you ought to take care of it now.”
“Onna, we’ll ‘take care of it’ when it’s time. Make yourself useful and get me
another serving of your mother’s chowder,” Vegeta urged haughtily, rudely
shoving his empty bowl in her face.
“You uncouth brute!”
“You crude vulgar onna. There. We’re even. Now get me my food woman,” pushed
Vegeta nonchalantly, though his eyes widened once he actually turned to see her
face.
If looks could kill…
“Spoiled Prince!”
“Obnoxious Heiress!”
“My room—now.”
Vegeta’s tail fluffed and faced twitched, his expression becoming unreadable,
though a bright ruddy flush bloomed in his tan cheeks and heat hit him hard as
had become conditioned response with her, much to his simultaneous chagrin and
delight; in the next moment he suddenly vanished from the dining table, heeding
Bulma’s demand, another type of hunger filling belly.
“Eat as much as you want honey,” crooned Bulma, her fingers running
affectionately through Trunks’ lavender locks, “you too Gohan. You know you are
always welcome here. Since you are staying the night, you two stay out of
trouble, alright? I’ve got a warrior prince to tame, so do not stay up too late
you two,” finished Bulma, moving quicker than they thought her capable of with
the still developing baby bump she wore and leaving the room.
Though he attempted to halt it, Gohan could not help the innocent giggle that
trickled up his young throat.
“It’s not funny Gohan. They’re both incorrigible in their own obnoxious ways.”
They could have exercised some restraint. I’ve never seen my mother act that
way before. Of course, I can’t recall ever seeing her and my father together
before. And she never said much about him…
“I think your parents are cool Trunks; weird but cool,” offered Gohan
sincerely, his tail patting Trunks on the shoulder comfortingly.
Tears brimmed Trunks’ eyes then without his say as the thought that he would
never get to see his actual mother ever again, had never gotten the chance to
really see his father that he could remember, filled his person. These were
this world’s Trunks’ parents. His own would never again…
Gohan frowned at Trunks’ suddenly distraught appearance. “Trunks, I am so sorry
you cannot return to the world and people you knew. I do not wish for you to be
distressed or unhappy. But I am so glad you are here. I know life would not be
the same without you,” whispered Gohan sincerely, empathetic tears in his own
eyes. “Please be happy my friend. I am happy you are alive and here.”
Trunks’ eyes widened, him wiping them quickly, shame filling him at his lack of
control. “Oh Gohan, I am content to be here. This is a wonderful world. And I
would not give up meeting you for anything,” affirmed Trunks honestly, wrapping
Gohan in a tender embrace that made both boys warm and flush.
“Well, want to go see my new room?” offered Trunks, after awkwardly parting
from Gohan’s person, attempting to clean his still flushing face.
“Yeah, I would like that,” replied Gohan, avidly wiping his own face as warmth
bloomed in his chest too.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
It was quiet and dark when Trunks got up some hours later for some milk, unable
to sleep. Though the urge was there to pet young Gohan’s dark locks before he
left for the kitchen, Trunks held back, not wishing to wake the soundly
sleeping child. Sometimes it was truly surreal to see Gohan so young, slightly
younger than himself even, but part of him was glad he was.
Moving as quietly as he could in the dark kitchen, Trunks grabbed a tall glass
and a plate from the kitchen cabinet, filling the glass with cool milk and the
plate with Obaachan’s wonderful homemade chocolate chip cookies before sitting
at the large dining table alone.
Trunks had eaten an entire cookie before he saw eyes glaring at him with
reflected light in the darkest corner of the kitchen, heard that uniquely soft
yet brusque and unrelenting voice through a short sigh, only one person he knew
possessed. “Otousama?!”
“I am disappointed. Your senses are dull if you did not know I have been in
here the entire time.” 
Trunks looked down into his plate in shame, not really seeing it, striving not
to cry.
“But, I am proud of you. You are stronger than I was around your age,” declared
Vegeta with veritable pride, coming to sit at the table near his son. “Hand me
a couple of those sweet treats. The onna can’t cook to save her life, but her
mother can make miracles in the kitchen… Once we’ve finished, come with me to
train, my son.”
Trunks looked up then in disbelief, tears brimming his eyes, he wiping
furiously at them, embarrassed to do so in front of his father. But he quickly
stayed himself, handing a handful of cookies to Vegeta before beginning to
finish what was left on his plate.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Trunks almost griped with the dark and secure blindfold over his eyes, but he
knew better. Vegeta was actually taking an interest in him and his development,
and even remained somewhat courteous while doing so; something Trunks hadn’t
even been able to properly dream of. So he yearned to make him proud.
“You must not only defeat your enemy, but find and accurately assess him so you
can well. While your eyes must be keen and ki can be quite revealing, those
ought not to be the only ways you see. Begin now.” And with that Vegeta took
off to another section of Earth, flying faster and with more grace than any
artificial machine ever could be designed to, before eventually diving and
masking his entire presence altogether in some off wilderness.
Trunks bit his lip, but made sure to keep the blindfold on. He could do this.
He would make his father proud. He would make himself stronger. And perhaps
even his dear shishou would be proud of him too.
Seated hovering above the ground in a Piccolo-reminiscent pose, Trunks took
slow and thorough cleansing breaths. Out thoroughly. In serenely. Out. In. Out.
In. Out. In… He calmed his spirit and gently spread out his awareness as far as
he could without passing out; listening with his entire being, seeing with all
his senses as his dear shishou had taught him.
It took a while and was faint at first, but Trunks could eventually feel the
beating of his shishou’s heart, eventually able to “travel” and see him without
at all moving from his current pose. He could not help but smile at the image
of M. Gohan’s peacefully slumbering face. He had never known his dear shishou’s
ki or being to be so serene. If Piccolo could do that for him, he would bear no
grudge; he could actually be happy for both of them now. And he did flush
brightly when Piccolo opened an eye and glared directly at him having felt
awareness upon him, he apologising as quietly as possible to him so not to
disturb his slumbering shishou, striving to find balance once more, so he could
once again search for Vegeta.
Maintaining significantly more precise focus and determination than most
children, Trunks continued to spread out his awareness; searching
wholeheartedly for Vegeta. When the proud and smirking face of his father came
into his mind’s eye, Trunks grinned; Vegeta signalling him to join him since
he’d successfully “found” him.
For a few hours they seriously sparred together, keeping their power contained
with a large mutual ki-shield around the both of them, so as not to bother
anyone or thing; Vegeta pushing Trunks to surpass his limits, and Trunks doing
his best to not only match but surpass his father with each powerful and
precise hit. The night was lit and rife with their power and pressure, even as
much as they contained it. Though his body ached from Vegeta’s unrelenting,
much heavier blows; Trunks’ heart felt lighter than it had in a while, he
seriously attempting to end the match with a powerful blow to Vegeta’s gut,
knocking more than the wind out of him. But of course, Vegeta would not allow
himself to fall; having to have the last hit, punching Trunks in the face and
knocking him into the dirt.
While he did not help Trunks up, he did turn his head to proudly smirk his
approval before flying off back to Capsule Corp.
Trunks wiped the blood from his mouth and stood slowly after; flying after
Vegeta.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
“Trunks?”
“Yes Gohan?”
“Are you alright? I woke up and you were gone, and I got worried,” admitted
Gohan nervously, biting his lip.
“I think I am going to be much better than alright,” actually said Trunks with
a smile, feeling extra good after a hot bath after training with his father.
“Thank you for really being my friend Gohan. I think everything is going to be
alright very soon.”
Gohan smiled then so warmly, Trunks chest swelled with warmth. Neither lad said
anything more as they returned to their respective beds; both sleeping more
soundly than they ever had. 
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
For the first time in a long while M. Gohan awoke well slept, not a nightmare
to remember; beginning to leisurely stretch.
“How are you feeling?” enquired Piccolo seriously. He was very anxious, for
Gohan’s sake. He hoped he had made the right choice, the right moves. How Gohan
was feeling now would let him know many things.
Gohan took a long and cleansing breath of air. “I am feeling much better
Piccolo-san. Thank you for being patient with me, for loving me instead of
pushing me away… I think I am going to be alright, eventually. Things aren’t
perfect, but we’ll make it. And somehow, we will win: we will defeat our
enemies entirely and set things right in this world.”
… “Breakfast?”
“I am unbelievably hungry right now,” admitted Gohan eagerly, actually
salivating at the thought of food, causing Piccolo to lightly grin.
“Well wash up then, and I’ll start getting on breakfast—or actually brunch at
this time of day,” offered Piccolo with a smirk, smiling into the kiss Gohan
gave him just before getting up. He had finally done something right. And he
would keep striving to give him better and better with his all, as he could.
Together they would get stronger; they would win. He would not allow his
beloved to lose anymore.
Tsudzuku…
Arigatou Gozaimasu for reading those of you who are genuinely decent worthwhile
souls. I will keep updating when I can, hopefully getting into the beginning of
the first real DBZ battle of this story in the next few chapters. It’s been far
too long again, but life’s responsibilities must always come first. Let’s all
have a much better year than the awful cowardly hateful unjust one that passed.
Let’s have the courage, intelligence and wisdom to become our greatest versions
and make this world a better place, while there is still minute hope left for
this crumbling world.
I hope the mendacious spineless dastards who just would not stop being vile,
cruel and untruthful about and to me and other innocent authors have either
finally grown up or moved on. Even after all their heinous deeds, they just had
to leave another untrue and hateful comment and then cowardly delete the
account used to do so. But that is their sin, their own burden to bear on their
own obviously conflicted soul. Until they give up being evil, they won't have a
chance to heal or evolve as beings, so I hope they do. No matter how one tries
to deceive oneself the truth will remain in actual reality. Cowardly hate
criminal terrorists fail to realise they make victims of themselves, being
atrocious, craven, assaulting slandering sad beings to others. Hopefully they
will learn to grow to become better beings. Evil truly is not worth it for
anyone. And I hope with my whole heart evil will soon be cleansed from all
hearts, from this and every world. I will continue to be an honest, creative,
positive beacon in this world; despite how small vile minds might loathe me.
Evil doesn't take days off, so I can’t either.
If anyone else is still being harassed, report it immediately: do not allow
yourself to be cyber bullied. Even if they cowardly delete their account or
change their name, at least what they did will be recorded by the nice people
keeping AO3 going.
May 2018 somehow become the year real magic finally happens to and for this
planet, this dimension, this universe; the year truth and love and peace and
generosity and understanding and courage and acceptance and wisdom and positive
abundance—the year authentic enlightenment and holistic worthwhile being on
every dimension of existence—is far more overwhelming and widespread all over
the world and reality than all the unnecessary and spineless evils and
cruelties and tragedies and greed and falsehoods and cowardice we’ve
encountered for far too long on this sad third rock from the sun. Here’s hoping
for what’s left of 2018: May it truly be a New Worthwhile Year for us all, with
things beginning to actually happen the way they veritably ought to all across
the world, in every fabric, being and particle of the Universe.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!