Chapter Text
Dende woke up early that morning, just as the sun had risen, the remnants of his dream from yesterday looping endlessly in his mind like a broken record. There was no point staying in bed any longer, he wouldn’t get any real rest, not when Cargo’s grief-stricken and confused face stared back at him every time he closed his eyes. Blinking groggily, Dende sat up and rubbed at his eyes and dressed himself quickly before stepping outside.
Looking out over the Lookout, Dende paused at the sight. The morning sky was a beautiful soft purple color, a sight that he never would’ve been able to experience on Namek, not with their fixed suns creating an eternal sunshine.
Speaking of sunshine, it would be a perfectly sunny day to get started on planting. Today was the day that Piccolo would come for whatever it was they would call this, but he realised that he never specified a time to meet. Walking over to one of the small corner rooms in the main building, Dende collected everything he needed and brought it out to the front of the Lookout in the shade of the front archway. Setting everything up would be easy, he could have everything potted in no time, but the young Kami couldn’t help but feel nervous about if Piccolo would gain anything from this.
It wasn’t like Piccolo to even agree to do something like this; in fact, the idea of planting flowers seemed like something the stoic Namekian might dismiss as a waste of time. The young Kami was also still curious about Piccolo’s first question, but he decided he probably shouldn’t pry, after all Piccolo could always go to Gohan. Dende’s fingers tightened around the edge of the pot, the soil shifting slightly as he tried to focus on the task at hand rather than the rising tide of nerves.
Sure, they were friends but more through obligations and shared bonds. With the Earth facing a looming threat every other moment of course they would be on friendly terms. The power of the Dragon Balls were in constant need, and if there was no Dende, then there was no Shenron. The only other reason they were also friendly was because of their shared friendship with Gohan and the part of Kami and Nail that lived inside Piccolo. However, Piccolo seemed to fully adopt his Earth nurture, being Namekian but not in the way Dende was. Dende felt the opposite, finding it hard in the beginning to adapt to being Guardian of Earth.
Dende’s thoughts then wandered back to Namek. No matter how long he lived here, the young Namekian always missed his home. The endless blue plains, the green sky, the gentle sound of the winds in the grass… It all felt like a distant memory now. He thought about the gardens that had been a part of their villages, Cargo, Moori, and Guru his mind supplied; they had been a part of what made Namek home.
Back then, Dende had spent hours walking through the flower-filled fields, listening to the hum of life in every blade of grass, every petal. He had learned from his elders that the crops they planted represented balance, and helped their planet flourish. His people took great pride in that, in creating a space where beauty could grow amid hardship, especially after the climate crisis. They believed that having a planet to live on was a blessing, and everyone should treat it with respect.
Dende grimaced. Humans didn’t seem to treat Earth the same way he believed in, and Piccolo grew up on Earth. Would Piccolo understand that feeling even though he wasn’t raised on Namek? Dende wondered.
A soft sigh escaped his lips as he looked down at the array of pots, soil, and seedlings. Piccolo and I... maybe we really aren't that similar. A soft rustling sound behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. There was Piccolo, his tall, imposing figure walking toward him with his usual steady stride.
"Good morning, Piccolo! You're up early," Dende said, trying to steady his voice, but the tremble was still there. He smiled faintly, though it felt a little forced.
Piccolo gave him a curt nod, his deep voice cut in the cool air. "You as well. It seems you're busy.”
Dende looked around at the vast array of garden tools bashfully, rubbing the back of his head. “Yes, well I-I didn't know what time you would arrive so-,”
Piccolo sighed and looked away just as bashfully. “R-right, sorry. Pan needed picking up from preschool. She’s with her mom this weekend, so I should be here around the same time if that’s fine with you?”
Dende waved his apology away, his smile relaxed. “It’s okay. I don’t think I’ve seen Pan for at least 6 months now. Preschool, huh. I know it might be a little odd to say this as Namekian typically grow faster than Saiyans, but she sure did grow up fast. I remember the day we all found out Videl was expecting,” Dende chuckled fondly, before grimacing as he remembered what else occurred that day. “How could I forget?”
A tiny smile graced Piccolo's face. “Yeah, it has been a few years. Still, the day she starts Kindergarten can’t come fast enough.”
The young Kami laughed at that. Maybe this whole “training” thing wouldn’t be as stressful as he dreaded.
Standing up, Dende grabbed a few seed packages and shifted nervously as he stood in front of the other. “I figured we could start with some basics and something more activity based that we do. On Namek, year round we plant crops, flowers, trees. Not for food, as you know, but it's just-”
“W-wait, you want me to plant flowers,” Piccolo croaked, completely dumbfounded. ‘Ah here we go,’ Dende thought, a smile still plastered on his face. “Yep!”
“B-but I don’t know anything about this… kind of stuff,” Piccolo’s astonishment turned to grumbling, the Namekians sharp ears turning a purple shade.
“That's the whole reason you’re here right,” Dende asked flatly, watching as Piccolo straightened up, resigning himself, though his face looked slightly pinched. Analyzing the older’s sour face, the young Kami couldn’t help but feel like his teaching already sucked, and they hadn’t even gotten started yet. How could he relate this to something that might be easier for him to understand.
“Think of it like training. I will tell you how to take care of them, but if you don’t do it everyday they won’t grow. It’s just like with muscles or ki!”
“I- guess you’re right.”
"Don't worry Piccolo," Dende said with a soft, encouraging smile. ‘Success,’ Dende thought, albeit a bit smugly.
“I figured I would let you choose what flowers you want to plant. I have erm… well the Agrimony are my own project, we have Marigolds, Begonias, Blazing Star-”
“Marigolds are fine,” Piccolo answered, and Dende couldn’t help but feel like he chose that because it was the first option. “Alright,” Dende replied, reaching for the package to show the older Namekian. There were many different colors, red, orange, and yellow. Maybe he would see a little more of Piccolo’s personality in the color. “Any color you’d prefer?”
“No,” Piccolo ground out, Dende sighed with a little internal irritation, but he supposed it was his fault to choose this activity. Then an idea suddenly sprung in his mind. “You know that on Namek color has meaning, so part of the process is choosing a color you like,” Dende lied, partially, mostly.
“Really?”
Piccolo scanned the options again, his eyes flicking over the words and the pictures before they stopped on one. He stared at it for a moment, before plucking it from Dende’s hands. Dende couldn’t help but crane his neck to look at the one he picked. They were the yellow ones.
“Good choice, yellow is one of my favorite colors,” Dende softly cheered. “Alright, let's begin.”
From where he was crouched, Dende opened the package and knocked a few seeds out onto his hands. "You just need to make a small hole in the dirt, like this..."
He demonstrated by using his fingers to create a hole in the middle of the soil. "And then you carefully place the seedling in, covering the top gently.” Beside him, Piccolo stood, arms crossed and watching with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. The younger Namekian was clearly at ease with the task, his movements fluid and practiced. For a moment, he said nothing, focusing on the task at hand.
“Do… do you wanna try now,” Dende asked, giving the other a hesitant look.
Piccolo bent down beside him, his large hands far more suited for battle than delicate gardening. His fingers hovered with uncertainty over the soil as Dende watched him. "I’m not sure I get the point of this," Piccolo muttered, looking at the flower seedling like it might jump out at him. "Isn’t it enough to just... leave the land alone? Doesn’t nature take care of itself?"
Dende laughed softly, shaking his head. "Nature does take care of itself, but this-" he gestured around them to the small area they had started, "is about more than just survival. It’s about appreciating the beauty around us."
Piccolo glanced at him, then back at the pot. He placed one of the seeds in the pot, covering it half-hazardly. "Beauty?"
Dende smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. "Back on Namek, we didn't just plant things for food or survival, obviously you know that we only need water to sustain our life. We planted flowers, trees, and other plants because they were an important part of nurturing the planet we lived on. It was the only thing that helped our planet, and it's also just really nice and colorful. It helped bring peace to our hearts." He paused for a moment, savoring the memories.
Piccolo looked down at his hands, his brow furrowing slightly. "I never knew Namekian culture had something like that." He glanced at the delicate flower seedlings they were planting. "I always thought of Namekians as being... focused on duty."
"We are," Dende agreed, and a small part wondered if that was Nail’s memories resurfacing inside Piccolo. "But there’s also a need for balance. You first asked me about parental relationships. This was something everyone did on Namek, and I knew Moori loved it. He especially loved when I was more interested in that sort of thing, though I found myself mostly glued to a book. The flowers... they help remind me of them, my family I mean.”
Piccolo just watched Dende as he explained, a softer look on his face.
“I guess it also makes me remember why I did what I did when I accepted the role as Kami. Even during the darkest times, there is beauty in life that is worth protecting." Even though Dende never really got to see much of the life he was now protecting as Earth’s guardian. He handed Piccolo another seedling, this time demonstrating how to do it to where soil wasn’t scattered everywhere.
"I think you’ll start to see it too, once the flowers bloom. They grow slowly, but their presence... it makes a difference,” Dende said chipperly, shrugging his arms. He lifted his head to look at the other, but Piccolo’s gaze had shifted back down to the colorful pot.
Piccolo hesitated, then, with more care than he’d ever shown before, he took the seedling and placed it in the soil. His fingers moved with a gentler touch now. "I guess I’ll have to take your word for it," he said, straightening up and looking at the small pot. "But I suppose if it brings peace... that’s not a bad thing."
Piccolo sat floating above the ground, the mountains near his home looming over him. His legs were firmly crossed and his hands folded across his lap as he meditated. The wind howled around him, but he remained unmoving, his mind sharp and focused. Opening his eyes, he glanced over at the potted Marigolds that sat in front of him. It had been weeks since that first day at the Lookout, when he started to search for answers, and the seeds were finally sprouting. The tiny flower buds, which hadn’t yet opened, peeked through thick green stems and leaves. To his surprise, this little assignment had a calming effect on him.
Dende had been very helpful in providing answers to all his questions, going above and beyond with how much he was teaching him about their homeland. They had never really gotten time to know each other at first, never running in the same group on missions and Dende hardly needed “Kami’s” help from inside Piccolo as Mr. Popo was more than knowledgeable. At the time when he was younger, he didn’t regret not ever getting to know Dende better, but things had changed.
Closing his eyes again, he tensed as he was reminded again of why he went to the Guardian’s Lookout in the first place. Piccolo knew himself, he knew that he wasn’t the most gentle, afterall he did not come gentle into this world but full of hatred. He had changed with time, but a new worry had begun to bloom in his mind and weigh on his chest. Had I changed too late?
The situation that had brought on his change of mind was that Gohan wasn’t on good speaking terms with anyone at the moment. While it affected Goku and Gohan’s friends, it stung to the old warrior in a way he was sure it didn’t with the rest. He knew Gohan from when he was just a child, and had realized much too late that he considered him to be something of a son to him. Gohan had stopped training, hardly spent time with his daughter and left most of the babysitting to Piccolo. He had never been angry or disappointed with the kid in his whole life, but now…
It was infuriating and he couldn’t help but blame himself.
If only he hadn't been so focused on training or saving the world, of being stronger than Goku and doing everything himself. Maybe he would’ve realized Gohan's sudden change sooner and been a better role model. Father figure his mind supplied readily.
Suddenly, he felt a disturbance, a faint energy signature approaching at high speed. Before he could react, a small blur crashed straight into his potted flowers, sending the Marigold plant tumbling over the rocky ground. The delicate flowers fell, and the pot shattered, splattering soil everywhere.
Piccolo stood up, his brow furrowed as he saw Pan, the young Saiyan girl struggling to regain her balance after the unintended crash. She looked up at him with wide eyes, guilt written all over her face.
“Pan…” Piccolo began, his voice carrying a strong tone of disapproval. “You’ve got to be more careful. This isn’t some place where you can just rush around.”
Pan's face flushed with embarrassment as she scrambled to her feet. “I’m really sorry, Piccolo! I didn’t mean to, I was just… trying to catch a bird. I didn’t see your plant!”
Piccolo let out a sigh, the anger quickly dissipating, replaced by a sense of resignation. It was clear she didn’t mean to destroy it. If it hadn’t ended in disaster, he would’ve been impressed with how far she had come with her training. With a soft grunt, he bent down to pick up the broken pieces of the pot, his eyes lingering on the wilted marigold stems that had been tossed about.
“Don’t worry about it. But next time, maybe keep an eye on where you’re going.”
Pan looked up at him with a sheepish grin. “I promise, I’ll be more careful next time! Do you want me to help you put it back together?”
For a brief moment, Piccolo felt a warmth in his chest, something akin to pride. He patted her on the head with a smile. To his surprise, Pan wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug, burying her face against his leg. The hug was unexpected, but after a moment, he patted her gently on the back.
“I don’t think you’d know anything about putting it back together.”
“We could use the Dragon Balls,” Pan supplied, her voice holding a tone of pride in herself for coming up with the idea. Piccolo sputtered, before sagging. “Your father and your grandfather are a bad influence,” Piccolo griped more to himself, a pang of sadness hitting him in fear that his flowers wouldn't recover, a thing he would have cared less about just a few months ago. Looking towards the sky, his mind drifted towards the Lookout, and to his previous musings.
‘You get so easily attached’, the thought whizzed by.
He hoped Dende would be able to fix it.
After dropping Pan off with her mother, Piccolo wasted no time shooting back into the sky. His cape flared like a banner behind him as he pierced through the thick cloudline, rising higher and higher until the blue of the sky began to shift into a darker, inkier hue. The wind howled around him, cold and biting against his skin, but it invigorated him rather than hindered him. There was always something so raw and exhilarating about flying into the upper atmosphere, the way the pressure tightened around his body, the way each breath stung slightly before settling in his chest.
Up here, above the noise and warmth of the Earth, he could think clearly. The calm chill, the endless sky, the way sunlight pressed against his skin like a familiar hand. Very much like Namek’s climate with it being eternally day on one side of the distant planet, he thought, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in the clean, thin air.
Squinting up through the sunlight’s glare, the Lookout gradually came into view. From this height, it shimmered against the atmosphere like its own tiny sun, hovering impossibly between Earth and the stars. Slowing his ascent, Piccolo adjusted his posture, hovering briefly just beyond the edge before gliding onto the pristine tiles with barely a sound.
Carefully, he reached under his cloak and peeled back the folds shielding the flowers he carried. Despite his efforts, the fragile blooms had fared poorly on the journey. Their stems drooped sadly, the once-bright petals bruised and sagging. Bits of broken pottery still clung to the tangled roots, and dirt had smudged into the fabric of his gi. He stared at them for a moment, his mouth tightening.
I should’ve been more careful.
He adjusted his grip and began scanning the Lookout for a familiar presence. He half-expected Dende to already be rushing out to meet him with that usual brightness in his step, but the courtyard remained still. Only Mr. Popo was present, standing at attention as if he sensed Piccolo coming.
“Are you looking for the Guardian?” Mr. Popo asked, his voice as warm and chipper as ever, though his eyes flicked toward the bundle in Piccolo’s arms with quiet curiosity.
Piccolo gave a small nod, his grip tightening slightly. “Yes, though…” he paused, glancing around again, “…he usually comes to greet me.”
Mr. Popo’s smile didn’t falter, but his gaze lingered with a subtle knowing. “You’ve been coming by more often lately.”
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” Piccolo replied gruffly, deflecting the observation.
Mr. Popo tilted his head slightly, like a parent humoring a child’s excuse, but made no comment. “He might be in his quarters,” he offered instead, gesturing to the far-right tower with a slight wave of his hand.
With a grunt of acknowledgment, Piccolo made his way past him, boots thudding softly against the smooth tile. As he approached the right wing of the Lookout, he tried to recall Kami’s old memories as he hadn’t ever been to this part before. My old living quarters, Kami’s old voice echoed. When Dende came to Earth, the thought never crossed his mind what he would’ve needed.
Another sickening wave of guilt washed over him suddenly. Just another way he had messed up. He’d have to remind himself to thank Mr. Popo later.
He could sense the Guardian’s ki, calm, a bit more sluggish than usual, but unmistakably there. It was coming from an open door, which he guessed was his room. Piccolo stepped silently closer and found the young Guardian inside, back to him, slowly sweeping the floor.
Dende was dragging the broom in tired, distracted strokes, the bristles whispering uselessly across the tiles. He seemed distracted, clearly as his mind didn’t recognize Piccolo’s ki as he approached.
Piccolo hesitated at the threshold, watching quietly. There was something unfamiliar about the sight. Dende, normally so attentive and cheerful, looked… tired.
“Dende.”
The reaction was immediate. Dende jolted with a loud, startled shriek, the broom clattering from his hands as he stumbled forward. He had clearly leaned too much of his weight on it and now flailed to catch himself. Piccolo instinctively stepped forward, his pulse jumping before Dende caught himself.
Dende whipped around, cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “Y-you scared me. W-when did you get here?”
Piccolo straightened, smoothing his cape with one hand to give them both a moment to settle. “Just now,” he said evenly. “You weren’t at the front, so Mr. Popo told me where to find you.”
Didn’t the Guardian have some special ability to see everything going on in the world?
Dende tried to collect himself, brushing off his robe and nudging the fallen broom aside with his foot. “I was just… cleaning,” he mumbled. “Sorry I didn’t greet you.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Piccolo said quickly, more gentle than usual. Dende nodded, but didn’t look reassured.
Piccolo glanced around the room. He had never seen the younger’s room before. He’d of course seen Gohan’s childhood room. The Son’s house was cozy and quaint, Gohan's room littered with crayon drawings of his friends, family, and animals. When Gohan was a teenager he added more photographs, a computer, and a telescope. It showed his character, his friendly and geeky nature. The good old days…
Piccolo’s fondness was cut short by what he saw in Dende’s room.
It was fairly empty, there were no pictures, there was only one crude drawing of what seemed to be of two tiny Namekians holding hands with a little boy who looked like Gohan back when he was younger. It sat propped up on an empty desk, his bedsheets were stark white except for a light blue blanket that looked too small for him now, something he remembered that Bulma picked out. The only other thing in his room was an extra pair of clothes hung up on a door further inside, and a few potted plants.
Piccolo’s heart tugged, uncomfortable. The warrior knew his home was no better, maybe it was just a Namekian thing to not want a lot of things unlike humans or Saiyans. This however felt like a snapshot in time of a different time.
“Oh no! What happened,” Dende exclaimed, snapping Piccolo out of his thoughts. He was now in front of Piccolo, leaning over to inspect the flowers cradled in his arms.
“Yeah… about that,” Piccolo muttered, unfolding the cloak to reveal the battered blooms. “The pot broke in an accident. I wasn’t sure if… if they could still be saved.”
The change in Dende’s expression was immediate. Concern softened his features, washing away the last traces of awkwardness. He stepped closer, reaching out carefully.
“I think I can help,” he said gently, reaching out to brush a finger across one of the more damaged blossoms. A faint green glow began to emanate from his fingertips. “They’re not gone yet. Just startled.”
Piccolo shifted, almost imperceptibly, watching the glow pass from Dende’s hand to the wilted flowers. It pulsed like a heartbeat, subtle and warm, until the flowers seemed to draw a breath themselves. Slowly, their petals began to lift, their color returning as though waking from a long sleep.
“You never cease to surprise me,” Piccolo muttered in awe, his voice barely above a hum.
Dende waved the complement off with a bashful smile, a purple blush dusting his cheeks before quickly disappearing. “Oh please, this is nothing.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Piccolo stood with his arms loosely folded, gaze shifting toward the window and then back again waiting for the other to say something. Dende, for his part, fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, the subtle crease between his brows suggesting he was working through a dozen half-formed thoughts, none of them quite making it to the surface. He noticed the other had been doing that a lot recently.
“So, how are you?”
“I’m good, been busy with Guardian duties and such.” It was a vague answer, but Piccolo didn’t pry. “I’m guessing by the way they are looking everything else is going good,” Dende asked, smiling politely.
“I think so. Pan was enthralled by them when I showed her, insisted that we research them in the library. Said they looked like stars right now.”
Dende blinked up at him, clearly touched. “That’s... that’s sweet.”
“Apparently now she’s convinced Janet, her teacher, to let everyone grow flowers for school.”
Piccolo huffed a low breath of amusement. “She gets this look when she’s excited about something. You can’t say no to it.”
Dende chuckled at that, a soft, airy sound that made Piccolo’s chest feel inexplicably lighter. “Of course she did. She sounds so much like Gohan, he was so eager too and curious. The world needs more people like her. Who see something beautiful and want to share it.”
There was a beat of silence then, not awkward, but thoughtful. Piccolo glanced down at the little blooms now gently swaying in Dende’s hands, breathing again in the soft temple light.
“Pan wanted to show you when her flowers are done,” he said after a moment.
Dende looked up, surprised. “She remembered me?”
“Of course she does,” Piccolo said. “She talks about you more than you think. Usually when she’s wondering how the ‘tiny green man in the sky’ is doing.”
Dende burst into laughter, genuine and bright, making Piccolo smirk slightly.
“She called me that?”
“She did,” Piccolo confirmed with a nod. “I didn’t correct her. It’s… accurate enough.”
“Well,” Dende said, eyes gleaming with humor and something gentler beneath it, “tell her I said thank you. And that she’s welcome to visit whenever she wants.”
He stood upright again, holding the now-revived stems with both hands. “Come on, I’ll get that spare pot from downstairs. Do you want to help me?”
“Yeah. I do,” he replied coolly, his agreement making Dende beam. As they moved together out of the room, Piccolo cast one more glance at the lone drawing on the desk of smiling, carefree children and shut the door, ignoring the ache in his chest.