Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Piccolo didn’t know exactly what he was running toward, but something compelled him forward as the black fog grew thicker, blocking out the scenery and beginning to impede his path through the dense forest he found himself in. There was an unnatural silence and  Piccolo realized at some point that even his footfalls were not making noise he heard his heart beating in his chest and his own breath escaping and nothing else. He didn’t know how long he had been running but if the ache in his legs and pressure in his lungs were any indication it had been hours, at some point he had taken off his weighted gear, if he had even had it on in the first place. Trying to remember when that may have been made his head throb. Bile rose in his throat as he tried to stop moving to think for a moment, get his bearings and evaluate the situation rationally, his body did not seem to cooperate as it kept moving forward. Something deeper inside than his logical brain needed him to keep going and he did, even as his limbs became heavier with each step and his lungs filled with the burning air, so acrid he could taste it with each breath. He could no longer see where he was going, not that he had known the destination in the first place; but instinctively he knew something was ahead of him and he needed to get there. 

When the blackness had become complete, blocking out the trees, the path and even the sound of his own heartbeat,  something small and scared in the back of his brain began to buzz insistently. He considered for a brief and terrifying moment that he had been sealed again, that he had done something unforgivable and been forced back into confinement, that he had been confined so long he had lost sense of time and place completely. Fighting down the panic rising in his throat he reasoned with himself that it was impossible, if he was trapped in a vessel he’d have reached the end by now. The rice cooker had been fairly large but not large enough to walk for hours in without hitting the edge, the memories of his fathers centuries of imprisonment had shown him that a physical prison had a limit. This was something else entirely, breathing as deeply as he could with the dense smoke he compelled himself to continue walking, even though this hellscape seemed limitless.  

Suddenly, as if in response to Piccolo’s realization,  a golden light flared immediately in front of him, momentarily blinding as if the Solar Flare had been discharged immediately in front of him.  Blinking rapidly as spots burst behind his eyes, he drew his heavy limbs into a defensive stance, he couldn’t sense ki, though he had long ago stopped putting his trust in the fact that no ki meant no danger. Articulating his ears he could pick up a noise ahead, the only noise present,  though it seemed almost as if it was being muffled by something, as if a blanket had been put over it. Was the fog causing this as well? Still blinking he began adjusting to the sudden light. As he began to focus he saw  a set of golden eyes, beaming like headlights through the hazy darkness of each pupil, larger than his entire body, close enough he could reach out and touch them without having to extend his limbs. Piccolo shifted backwards on his foot trying to strengthen his stance and felt something solid collide with his back heel. The path he had come from, was gone. 

The eyes lazily followed him, a translucent filmlike eyelid blinked over them slowly as the pupils, long and narrow and lizard-like, scanned the area. The movement altered the light coming from the eyes and Piccolo could see the sheen of golden scales on what appeared to be a snout. Black smog spilling from each nostril in huge plumes filling the air around them. Piccolo recognized it as what he had assumed was fog, up close the amount threatened to choke Piccolo before he had a chance to fight, or try to run. Neither option seemed like a particularly feasible one at the moment, especially without the ability to put distance between him and the monster, he had fought enough battles to know that one on one with a giant creature with no discernable ki was not a fight he was likely to walk away from. He tried to steady his breathing, to not choke on the smog or the fear that  once again rose in his throat. He may not be able to win this fight but he had already lost if he allowed himself to panic. 

Once he had managed to wrestle back control he one again stared into the giant pair of eyes fixed on him. Flexing his claws he prepared to strike, when the eyes closed suddenly sending him back into complete darkness. Piccolo waited poised to strike as he waited in the darkness, only the rhythmic sound of breathing reminding him that he was not alone. As waited he began to feel a  strange deja vu wash over him. He clenched his jaw trying to maintain control but  the lack of air was making him lightheaded and he could not seem to stop his mind from spiraling as all the questions he had been ignoring crashed down on him like a physical weight. How had he gotten here?  Where was here? How could he have been here before? His head pounded as he tried to recall any information that would explain what was happening, almost missing the thin beams of light that returned as the eyes opened again. Piccolo tried to force himself to move, to block or defend against this monster, even though he knew the way back was blocked. Despite his best effort his body refused to cooperate; it was as if the light had frozen him in place. The last thing he saw as the golden eyes narrowed was the flash of long white teeth and the feeling of hot rancid air as the blackness enveloped him fully.

Piccolo woke with a start, claws poised to strike at the enemy who had only moments ago tried to devour him, but he was alone in a cave off of the mesa he had been training in. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but clearly he had at some point, he tried to remember even coming into the cave at all the evening before, but the fading memory of the dream seemed to crowd out what had happened after he had stopped his training. Piccolo did not often sleep. Though these days it seemed like his body was demanding it more. He had gone from needing sleep monthly to weekly to now seemingly falling asleep with no warning or recollection.. He wondered idly if it were normal for a Namekian to sleep more as they aged, though even with the little he knew about other Namek’s he knew he would be considered relatively young. He had been training alone, that much he was sure of. He had promised to watch Pan today, so maybe he had over exerted himself in anticipation of a day away from his training? Though that did not explain away the growing list of concerts Piccolo had regarding his body and mental state. 

When he had in the past it was memories of his father playing through his mind like photo realistic nightmares, though nightmares had the comfort of not being true. Perfect snapshots of the Demon Kings reign of terror on the Earth. Piccolo knew when he saw his fathers memories they were photorealistic. Daimao had reveled in transcribing his awful deeds to memory, to be able  relive carnage again and again. He had passed this “gift” down to Piccolo along with the rest of his anger. Through strict meditation he had been able to stop them from playing in his mind whenever he let down his mental defenses, that had been decades ago, and since then on the rare occasions he had slept the nights had been free of dreams. 

That ended abruptly, a few weeks ago ? Was it weeks? Months? His head began to ache as he rubbed the base of his antenna. Even though the passage of time had stopped having the same urgency when he was not having to count down to a planet or universe ending event, he should be able to recall something as trivial as how many times he had had a dream. However it seemed  even with the alarming frequency of the dreams, once he woke the memory of the exact contents  were hazy, and hard to hold on to after waking and impossible to recall in full, like trying to hold water in your hands to drink. He shook off the remnants of fear lingering in his mind from the dream, dwelling was not useful,  he knew it would come again and when it did he would be placed in the same dark void, unable to remember the pattern of events. Though it had occurred often enough that Piccolo knew there was always the path, the smoke and the golden eyes. When Piccolo slept he dreamt of dragons. 

Piccolo exited the cave and was greeted by the sun already high in the sky, not only had he spent another night sleeping he had slept through sunrise. He checked its position and cursed inwardly, he would not be late to pick up Pan, but he had squandered any time for a desperately needed morning meditation. These dreams were beginning to impede his nights and his days it seemed. 

Walking out onto the rocks of the mesa he noticed the thin sheen of gray haze in the air seemed more tangible than the day before, his throat flooded with the taste of the fog from his dream freezing him in place momentarily. It was far too late for this to be early morning dew. He wondered for a moment if he were simply going insane. As distasteful as that would be the alternative that he was having some prophetic dream was equally galling. He knew from Kami’s memories that dreams that started to bleed into reality were not mere figments of a sleeping mind, and that even sharing a body with a former god may make him more susceptible to these phenomena. And if this dream was an omen, it was a bad one. 

He had avoided bothering Dende with this, both to not waste the young Kami’s time but also to stop him from trying to pry into his subconscious. He was beginning to think a visit was overdue. Piccolo struggled, as he flew toward the city cutting through the gray mist, to remember what had come first, the ominous grey hanging in the air, the recurring dreams, or the sense of dread that pooled inside him when he dwelled for too long on either. 

Three days prior, New Namek

The seven of them were not often together. Even on New Namek the villages and the village elders remained separated by large swaths of land, both by custom and by choice, a nod to the separate but equal power each of them held in devotion to both the Grand Elder and to the Dragon Balls. Each of them however had seen the signs, and the Grand Elders' summons were not a surprise as they left their villages to gather in the exact center of their planet. They stood in a circle under the suns, all of them noticing the thin sheen of ‘ kleth’ that hung in the air. A warning of what was to come. 

Moori spoke first from the center of the circle addressing the others in low tones. “We have begun to see the signs that once again kleth is spreading, and if we are seeing it on our home world, likely it spreads on other worlds with Dragon Balls.”

Elder Tsuno signaled to speak and Moori paused with a tilt of their head. “How will the ritual be completed? There is no one on Namek left from the bloodline. Katas failed, the calamity spread and only Guru remained. There is no saving us now.” 

Moori cut them off with a wave, “You were dead at the time so you would not have been to Earth. The bloodline was preserved, there is an Earth born Namekian, the direct  descendant of Katas, and leagues more powerful than any other Namekian to attempt it before.” 

“So the ritual can be completed?” Elder Tsuno breathed, “could the spread be stopped?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Elder,” another cut in without the proper sanction from the Elder, “I have met this Earth born Namekian and it is an outsider hostile to our ways, it will not cooperate with the ritual.”  The circle began to mumble accent and disagreement. Moori sighed heavily. Many of them had met Piccolo on Earth, none remembered him fondly. Moori had, as Grand Elder, tried to take a kinder approach but it seemed the other six may have silently disagreed with this choice. 

Moori signaled for silence and the murmuring stopped “Piccolo will help, Earth is in as much danger as we are, you know as well as I. The last ritual was a calamity, the corruption almost destroyed Namek. Without a proper ritual this time every planet that is home to Dragon Balls is at risk. The Kais are at risk, there is no room for error. Piccolo will understand the gravity of this situation.” 

“The hatchling being sent off world likely caused Katas to fail in the first place. I have no hope that this ‘ kyh’ will assist us, even after assimilating Nail they remain ignorant of our ways, we should implore the New Gods to force them to assist us before it is too late. Letting them live on Earth this long was a soft hearted mistake, they have not even bothered to preserve their own bloodline in case of failure. ” Elder Tsuno glowered beneath his cowl. Moori raised an eyeridge at the open hostility and the nods of accent coming from the circle. The authority of the Grand Elder was not often challenged so openly, but the circumstances were dire and the Elders were clearly agitated. 

“We have not neglected to monitor him, Dende was made aware when they were sent to Earth.” Moori was cut off before they could continue. “ And what good has it done? The signs have been here for several sun cycles and no contact? They have likely gone native as well.” Tsuno continued to more nods and murmurs from the group. 

Moori sent out a psychic call to the Elders, compelling them to silence and turning their heads toward the center of the circle where they stood to their full height. “I am the Grand Elder of Namek, chosen by Guru and I will be heeded. We will not be involving the Kai’s or any new Gods. Three of us will take the last spaceship and go to Earth. We will speak to Piccolo directly if Dende will not. These matters will be solved by Namekians as they always have been. We created the pact and we will maintain it. We will maintain, as we have always maintained.” 

Moori released the psychic hold and the elders all looked away, silent. Moori was almost afraid to ask for those who would accompany them to Earth worried none would answer the call. The trip with the spaceship gifted from the Earthlings would only take a few days but the danger multiplied exponentially with each rotation of the planet.  They sighed as they looked down at the Dragon balls gathered at their feet at a faint but present grey  beginning to displace the glowing orange in them. 

Chapter Text

Piccolo only sank below the clouds as he was at the edge of Gohan’s property. He began to fly lower, blocking out the sounds of human activity buzzing around him. He knew humans had terrible hearing but he didn’t understand how they could live practically on top of one another and not go mad. Even on Gohan’s fairly large estate the sounds of cars and other machinery were constant. He had felt the beginnings of a headache since he had woken, but this was sure to put him over the edge. Approaching the ground he noticed the fog that had settled on the mesa was present here, thicker, somehow creeping along the ground an almost solid grey mass. Piccolo wondered if it was the city attracting more of it, or if it had further accumulated in the few hours he had been flying. Either way it did not bode well. 

His rumination was cut short by the door opening with a sharp bang. Piccolo winced at the additional, unexpected noise then quickly composed himself. Gohan was the last person he wanted questions from, he had only gotten better at figuring out when Piccolo was hiding something over the years. Luckily Gohan seemed to be occupied with his own minor dilemma. He came out from the house to greet Piccolo holding a wiggling Pan, still in pajamas. He smiled, almost  apologetically, keeping a grip on his daughter who was trying to break free, as well as a briefcase and an extremely large lunch box. Piccolo was almost impressed at the coordination, until Pan kicked and Gohan lost grip of everything but his preschooler. Looking up from the carnage that was Gohan’s lunch and papers Piccolo noticed Gohan’s tired eyes and uncharacteristically rumpled outfit. He glanced at Pan who was not in her training outfit, her cheeks were red and there was clear fluid coming out of her nose. 

Piccolo ran his tongue over his teeth, it seemed as if their planned training was going to be delayed due to some human affliction. Though she did seem to be more active than a regular sick child. He once again winced as she yelled “Let me down Daddy!” 

“Sorry about this Piccolo. I hate to leave Pan with you today but this meeting can’t be rescheduled.” He set his daughter on the ground and she ran over and attached herself onto Piccolo's leg, rubbing face and the fluid coming from it all over. Piccolo made a quick mental note to burn this gi as soon as he was able. It was bad enough that Gohan used to use his cape, once or twice, to wipe away tears as a child. This was somehow more repulsive, and yet Piccolo sighed as he looked down at her small red face; he would be lying if he also did not find it endearing. 

“Daddy said we can’t train today” she pouted as she faced her father angrily, still holding Piccolo's pant leg. 

“She is not very happy with me,” Gohan sighed, picking up his briefcase,  “she probably won’t even hug me goodbye, but I am sure you two can have all sorts of fun without training.” 

Pan looked at Piccolo for support and Piccolo shrugged, he did not want to entertain Gohan’s melodramatic declaration or Pan’s tiny fury, instead he deflected. 

 “Is her face going to continue leaking?” Piccolo looked down at the stream still exiting her nose. Pan sniffled and rubbed most of it on a pajama sleeve, as her commitment to being mad at her father seemed to waver. Gohan began gathering his fallen items. “Yeah it’s a pretty stubborn cold, she has been sick for a few days now. She’s got a cough too so she may need a longer nap. We think she picked something up at pre-school.” 

Piccolo looked at the fog that had not been commented on and felt his head throb. “Do you think the haze in the air has anything to do with it?” He mumbled, noncommittally, almost embarrassed to draw attention to it. When he had commented on it to Goku last time they trained he had not been able to see it, that was, how long ago was it? Piccolo struggled to remember, furious he couldn’t place something so simple. Either way it had been present but it was much more visible now. Besides Gohan tended to be far more observant than his father, at least about things not directly related to battle.

 “Piccolo, not all of us can live in pristine forests, there is going to be a bit of pollution. That comes with living in the city and near other people, especially other kids. Kids her age get sick all the time.” 

Piccolo stuffed down the obvious response that Gohan hadn’t been sick at Pan’s age. That Gohan had the option of living in those same pristine forests and had chosen the city. That he had chosen to leave a life far away from other people, and from him, and join this absurd world of humans, pollution and preschool.

Instead he snorted, uncrossed his arms and took Pan's tiny, sticky hand in his and led her into the house, Pan had obviously decided to stay angry as she pouted all the way past her father.  Piccolo felt a certain amount of pride in her stubborn insistence on petty revenge, no matter how reasonable her father’s request was. She could have easily picked it up from her mother or grandmother, though equally likely she had learned it from him. 

He entered the quiet home and tried to kill the strange feeling that the atmosphere and the illness were connected. He tried to reason with himself, what was more probable, that there was a malevolent and thickening grey haze causing illness that only Piccolo could see or sense? Or that he was beginning to become overly affected by his nightmares and likely needed serious help? Piccolo looked down at Pan who was looking at her father flying in his ridiculous air car. He hoped silently for insanity. It seemed a less catastrophic outcome. 

Once inside Pan half led, half  dragged him to her playroom, piled high with toys and furniture that Piccolo thought was comically undersized, even if it was meant for children. After being offered a chair shaped like an elephant that he would have crushed, even without his weighted gear on, he found a spot on the floor semi clear of multicoloured debris and sat down heavily. She began to show Piccolo the toys her grandpa Satan had bought her since his last visit, concluding in a tiny set of boxing gloves, before looking up at him conspiratorially. “Dad’s gone now, he won’t know if we train a little.”

“When you are sick you should rest, training would only make your recovery longer.” Piccolo tried to say this as authoritatively as possible and  sighed as Pan started rummaging around in a dresser for her gi, obviously not paying attention to him.  “Pan I said no.”

“It’s not fair, you don’t get sick.” Pan said, slamming the dresser drawer and turning the full force of her pout at him. 

Piccolo, having seen the same pout on her father and uncle, remained completely unmoved. “I’ve been sick, I was perhaps your size when it happened. It was also when I learned drinking water covered in moss was a mistake.” 

“Ew! Why did you do that?” 

“I was very thirsty and not very smart, I should have had someone smart like you around to stop me.”  He rested an arm on his reclined leg. No need to describe the aftermath of that particular mistake to Pan. It was the closest he had come to a human illness, also probably the closest he had come to a non-battle related death. 

Pan’s small laugh ended in coughs as Piccolo got up and conjured a tissue from her ever running nose. He wiped it gently giving her a half smile. “Your father and I, and most importantly your body, are telling you to take a break.” He tried to deliver this with conviction, but as he felt her tiny warm forehead something twisted in him. This illness still felt off to him, though in a way he could not explain. Pan looked up at him clearly torn between feeling badly and the childlike impulse to do whatever she wanted. 

“When I’m old no one will tell me what to do” Pan grumbled bottom lip poking out as she began rummaging through her toy box again and beginning to get out cups and plates. Piccolo had a feeling he would soon be told he was invited to another very important tea party. Pan’s tea parties seemed to always end with her stuffed animals having some sort of martial arts battle, which he thought was reasonable, until he attended one with Videl, who informed him it was not particularly common to make stuffed animals fight to the death over imaginary tea. Pan's version of the game had led to the banning of tea parties from Pan’s preschool. Piccolo had also felt proud of that as well, clearly regular human preschoolers were weaker than he had originally thought. As a tiny plate and even tinier cup was set before him Piccolo picked it up with a fingernail. “I used to think that too, that one day no one would be able to tell me what to do.” 

“When you used to fight against Grandpa Goku?” Pan laid out a cup for each of her stuffed animals, most missing some part from past tea party battles. Piccolo nodded as he accepted a small plastic cookie.  “Now on one tells you what to do, right? Cause you're big.” 

Piccolo did not think pointing out the irony of the statement to a four year old who was currently filling a cup with imaginary tea was helpful, instead he shook his head gently. “ When you get big it’s less about being told what to do and doing what you have to do. Whether or not someone tells you.”

“Like who” Pan sounded incredulous, as if she personally objected to any one else bossing Piccolo around. 

“People like your grandpa Goku keep getting me in situations where l have to do things, or fight things, or else the universe will go away.”  

Pan considered this silently for a moment, drinking her pretend tea. “You’re funny Mr. Piccolo ” she laughed, breaking into another small cough. Piccolo frowned into his cup. The Demon King Piccolo comforter of small sick children, attender of tea parties. If his father had a grave he’d be rolling in it. Before Piccolo could consider the disappointment he was to his demon heritage Pan yelled that Mr. Bunny had stolen Fuzzy Bear’s cookie and a brawl broke out. Piccolo sat back and watched the multicoloured carnage unfold, the Universal Survival Tournament seemed almost tame in comparison.  

After calling a truce, a snack and a quick bath and several bedtime songs that Piccolo would never admit to singing. Pan was sleeping soundly, her usually rhythmic breathing thrown off by her cold. Piccolo meditated shallowly outside her room listening to the sound. Pressure building in his chest with each of her tiny exhales, despite the building headache and the unexpected and completely unwarranted sense of exhaustion, he resolved to go see Dende immediately after Gohan returned home. Even if it was to confirm he was being paranoid, at this point paranoia seemed like the best case scenario. 

He walked to the front door to greet Gohan as soon as he heard keys scrape in the lock. Gohan looked taken aback to see the solid wall of Piccolo directly in front of him as he entered, Gohan also looked even more disheveled and tired then when he had left that morning. “Is she sleeping?” Gohan whispered, dropping his things on the hallway table. Piccolo nodded, answering. “For quite a while now.”

Gohan smiled looking up toward the bedroom. “Probably still mad about not being able to train with you today. Though I think it may be a while longer before she’s back at school.  There’s something going around. Half of my faculty is out sick and the other half seems to be getting sick.” He removed his shoes and coat and Piccolo tried not to notice or care about the subtle loss of muscle tone in the half-Saiyan. “Really I can’t thank you enough, with Videl back to superheroing and the amount of work I’ve been doing, you’re  a life-saver” 

Piccolo snorted as he and Gohan locked eyes. “Yeah, okay, figuratively and literally a life saver.” 

“No thanks needed, kid, ever.” Piccolo began to head toward the door, though he felt Gohan stop moving and wondered if he had something else to say. 

“Mr. Piccolo,” Gohan started and Piccolo turned, one hand already on the door knob. “You look a bit, well, tired, you know we appreciate the help, but you need to take time for yourself too.” 

Piccolo rolled his eyes and gestured at Gohan’s general state, “I could say the same.” 

Gohan laughed softly “Yeah okay point taken. I think I’m coming down with something too, I could probably use a nap of my own.” 

Piccolo nodded and left the house. Taking a moment to stand outside the closed door, Ki lowered and undetectable, listening to the lock turn and as Gohan climbed the stairs presumably toward his bedroom. He tried to ignore the soft small coughs from inside the house, each one hitting like a dagger in his chest, but when he began to hear Gohan’s louder deeper cough his heart felt like it had momentarily stopped. 

Striding toward the end of the lawn and preparing to fly he paused, his claws bit into his palms as he looked down. Even in the short time Piccolo had been in the house the fog seemed to have become more solid hanging in the air and forming a layer on the ground. His mouth went dry as he noticed the clear yellowing of the grass where it rested. He ignored the need to remain hidden from the humans of the city as he took off flying as fast as possible toward the Lookout. And hopefully answers. 

The fog followed Piccolo like a shadow as he followed the pole up from Korin’s tower to the Lookout, when he finally saw it, the acidic taste from the morning, from the dream, flooded into his throat. The normally gleaming tiles were a pale off white, the greyness shimmered in the sunlight even at this altitude. He saw Dende on the tiles as he descended slowly, almost afraid to touch down and hear the confirmation that he craved and feared. Something was terribly wrong, and they may be the only two on Earth even aware of it. 

Dende stood still, Piccolo could hear their nails clicking on the polished wood of Kami’s staff, a nervous habit they never really outgrew. Piccolo noticed Dende’s eyes were ringed purple, so dark they looked like bruises, whether from tears or lack of sleep he was not sure. The pained look on the young god’s face heavily implied it could be both. Piccolo wondered suddenly if he looked the same. Another beat of silence. He would start then. Piccolo cleared his still stinging throat and Dende met his eyes hesitantly. “I know you’ve noticed the fog, I know you know about my dreams, these things don’t pass Kami’s notice. I didn’t train you that badly Dende. 

Dende took a shuddering breath as they stood straighter than another, claws still clicking. Piccolo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping. Dende looked like a harsh word would send them over the edge and Piccolo needed one of them to be somewhat sane in this moment. He did not feel stable enough to volunteer for that role. “I’ve failed as Kami.”  Dende choked out, the tears starting. 

Piccolo crossed his arms, not sure whether to wait or prod, an uncomfortable lump in his throat formed at the open display of emotion from Dende which had become rarer over the years. Luckily they composed themselves after a few more shaky inhales. “ I neglected my duty, I put everything off too long, I wanted to, I had hoped, that it was just a fairytale. I broke the most important rule you taught me, and put the Earth and Namek, the realm of the Kai’s and probably many other planets, in danger.” 

Piccolo’s eyes narrowed as Dende trailed off looking up to him for some sort of reaction. Piccolo kept his outwardly impassive face as his mind struggled to comprehend what Dende was referring to. He had not followed the exact train of thought, but he had assumed whatever was happening was happening on Earth, something had been let loose from the Lookout, or some Garlic Jr. level threat was causing trouble. He hadn’t considered there were universal implications, though at this point he should have considered it. The problems of Earth no longer seemed confined to Earth. The problems of Namek were even more rarely confined to New Namek. Though Piccolo was not usually so close to the center of those problems. He raised an eyeridge, everything seemed too disconnected. Why would he be having precognitive dreams about anything that affected other planets? And how were the Godly realms involved? What did he have to do with the Namekians, let alone the Kais? 

 He instead focused on the one thing he was sure of, Dende had admitted to breaking the one rule he had tried to impress into them from their first lesson. The one rule that had ruled Piccolo out as the next god of Earth immediately when the position opened up.

 Kami did not hold one life above any other. Gods did not have favourites. All life on Earth is equally important, or unimportant. 

“You’ve been protecting me from something.” Piccolo ventured, still turning all of the pieces over in his mind but it stubbornly refused to cooperate. He was still missing too much context. 

Dende nodded sadly, tears staining the grimy tiles at their feet, voice shaky. “The Elders are coming to explain. I was put here not only to revive the Dragon Balls and to act as Kami, but to watch for the signs that this was beginning. I saw the early signs and I did nothing. I don’t know all the details, that is a secret held by the elders but the dreams, the…” Dende paused, “the Namekian word for it is ‘ kleth’, I suppose it would translate to corruption or rot, but also one that is malevolent. The dreams and it are connected to you. And all of this is connected to the past, and to what happened on the original Namek that left Grand Elder Guru as the only survivor. ”

Something nagged in the back of Piccolo's mind at the Namekian word.  ‘ Kleth’, the pronunciation came out like something you’d spit, hearing it sent shivers down to the base of his spine. He wondered if the reaction was some sort of recognition from Nail, though that fusion had been so long ago and Piccolo had so thoroughly tamped what was left of their personality  down, he wasn’t sure if he could even access their memories if he tried. Just the ghost of a memory, and the terrible feeling that came with it. 

“So part of your role on Earth was to spy on me.” Piccolo knew he should be outraged, he had been used in this way, but somehow he was too tired to summon up any real anger at the confession. He was also willing to forgive Dende for neglecting their duty as Kami out of some sentimental impulse. Piccolo knew he would have destroyed the entire universe for similar reasons though he had never tried to admit he would do otherwise, Piccolo's loyalties were never a secret, not like Dende's had apparently been. He suppressed a shudder thinking of Pan’s cough and Gohan’s tired eyes, their reports of others being ill. He was afraid to know exactly how far Dende would have gone to protect him from whatever was coming. How many Earthlings would have succumbed to this ‘ kleth.’ Something that had potentially obliterated an entire species. A species much less susceptible to disease than humans. Dende nodded, eyes locked on the ground, no longer meeting Piccolo's piercing gaze. 

Piccolo briefly considered the irony of more old Namekians coming to tell him he was the cause of all these problems. He had assumed fusion with Kami would have stopped that. Though unlike Nail the old bastard's influence hadn’t entirely been purged from his psyche. “When?” 

“They’ll be here in two days. Things are moving quickly, and will only move faster now it seems.” 

Piccolo nodded solemnly, despite the nagging feeling his head beginning to form a steady throb like a distorted heartbeat. The amount the fog had darkened and spread faster today than it ever had. The Elders were coming and there was no way to stop them. Dende had been put on Earth for this very scenario. Piccolo may not want any part of whatever this mysterious Namekian prophecy, let alone one that was connected to a mass extinction event, but it seemed the universe had conspired to take that choice away from him. Turning away from whatever this was, would put the Earth and the people on it he cared about in danger. 

They both stood for a moment longer, Dende shaking, the tears still falling noiselessly onto the tiles as Piccolo sighed, rubbing the base of an antenna. “I need to meditate, you need to compose yourself.”

 He turned with a swish of his cape to seek out an inner chamber where he could block out the world and come to terms with how wildly things had changed in the course of a day. As he walked, footsteps echoing off the arched marble, and through the empty hallways,  he realized that this had been building far longer. The dreams he had ignored until he couldn’t, the fog he had disregarded until it was unavoidable. He had been too stubborn to admit there was a problem, and now it seemed he’d pay for that mistake. He just hoped no one else would have to. 

Dende watched Piccolo retreat into the interior of the Lookout. They had almost forgotten the instructions whispered into their mind as they were taken to Earth. Keep an eye on the outsider. The heir of Kataz. Even in those vague terms Dende knew what they had meant. Any Namekian would. That bloodline carried a responsibility, even though it was said to have been destroyed in the cataclysm, thus spelling the doom of all Namekians. The elation upon learning Piccolo had survived on Earth had led them to the planet. They just had not intended to care so deeply about him. They, in their selfish heart, allowed themselves to think Piccolo had outrun his destiny. That he could stay with them. 

Chapter Text

There should be woods.

Piccolo continued to run through the swirling grey and black darkness.

It always starts with woods. 

He didn’t know why there should be woods, he also didn’t know exactly where he was. All he knew was that despite the pain in his limbs and the burning in his lungs he needed to keep moving. People were depending on him.  

Who was? And for what? 

He tried to outrun the doubts that began to creep in as he continued forward, throwing off his cape and turban to lessen the strain. Instead he tried focusing on the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears like a drum. When a golden light pierced through the darkness like a beacon Piccolo threw his arm up instinctively to avoid being blinded. 

Again.

He leapt back in response trying to put distance between himself and the source of the light but found himself trapped from retreat by an invisible barrier. 

Again.

Claws slid down its hard smooth surface as he re-positioned himself to a defensive stance. He heard a muffled sound coming from the source of the light. Low, wet, and animal. 

He squinted through the brightness and locked eyes with two golden pupils, both larger than his entire body and close enough to touch. The pupils dilated showering him with more light as a lizard-like clear eyelid slid open and closed over them. In the altered light Piccolo saw golden scales gleaming and a large snout spewing acrid black smo.g Piccolo stood silently, part of him wanting to strike, to make the first move in what would likely be an entirely futile battle. Something else told him that he should stay still and see what happens. Neither option seemed like a particularly good one. 

So what will you do? 

As the thought echoed in his head, he was suddenly plunged into darkness as giant eyelids snapped shut. Piccolo lowered his fists as he tried to fight down the panic and the unexpected sense of deja vu. He could still hear the wet breathing in the darkness, and still taste the acid laced air, torn between fighting and stillness, thin beams of light illuminated the darkness once again. He wasn’t shocked to find his body was completely frozen, unable to move he watched the eyes narrow and the slit-like pupils lock onto him once again. As white teeth flashed he felt hot rancid air envelop body before his world exploded in pain as the fangs pierced flesh. As the darkness covered him fully could not understand why his last conscious thoughts were that this had never hurt before. 

It will hurt so much more soon. 

Piccolo woke up gasping for air, body stinging with residual pain. Disoriented, he sank his claws into an unexpectedly soft surface. White stone walls and pale sunlight surrounded him. He was unexpectedly in a bed. He was on the Lookout. 

The dream's details began to slip away from him as it always did leaving him with the phantom pain and a sour taste in his throat and a deep sense of exhaustion. He remembered meditating in a different room, trying and failing to clear his head to properly focus. He remembered failing and watching the sun sink below the palace as he turned the day's conversation over and over in his mind trying to connect it to any knowledge held in his other selves. Then nothing. As always he could not remember falling asleep, but clearly he had made it to, or been taken to one of the Lookouts many bedrooms. He growled at the clear hole in his memory. 

“Ahem’ 

The subtle sound of a throat being cleared made him leap out of the bed wondering how the hell he had failed to notice he was not alone. Cursing his inattentiveness he hit the floor ready to attack. He stopped abruptly as he stared into Mr. Po Po’s unblinking eyes. Trying to maintain awareness of Mr Po Po’s presence, especially when he did not want you to perceive him was virtually impossible.

“What do you want?” Piccolo hid his surprise by lacing the words with venom. 

Mr. Po Po was nonplussed. “Kami and the Namekian Elders await you in the upper solarium.” 

“They arrived early?” Piccolo failed at hiding his surprise this time, running his hands down his face. He felt like a complete wreck mentally and physically, how was he supposed to stay composed under the scrutiny of a butch of judgemental old cranks. 

Mr. Po Po again cleared his throat softly, backing toward the door slightly. “They are not. You were resting for two days.” 

The sound of crashing glass likely reached the ears of  Dende and the Elders as Piccolo extracted his fist from what used to be a mirror. Mr. Po Po, to his credit, did not flinch as Piccolo stalked past him dripping blood and shaking shards of glass out of his rapidly healing skin. The futile violence of the act did little to stop the rage spreading through him at being incapacitated for two days. The bite of pain in his hand and forearm however brought him back to his body, banishing the residual pain from the dream. Grounding him. These Elders had better offer a compelling explanation quickly or the next thing he’d put his fist through would be their smug wrinkled faces. Ideally violence would allow all of his problems to resolve themselves. Piccolo summoned his weighted gear as he walked, he would face them as the warrior he was, not the scared hatching he was beginning to feel like. 

Dende clutched their tea cup like a lifeline as they heard a distant clatter, their antenna buzzing as the Elders physically conversed. They tried to remain composed, they had managed it through the arrival of the spaceship and leading the elders to the solarium which had felt like leading a funeral procession.The happiness they would normally feel at the presence of other Namekians was dulled by the sense of failure and judgement they felt. Their own inaction had made this trip necessary. After tea had been offered and declined, and offered again and accepted as is customary,  Dende had sent Mr. Po Po to retrieve Piccolo from the inner chamber he had fallen asleep in. Finally when only Namekians remained in the room did anyone speak aloud.

 << You were neglectful Dende >> Elder Tsuno admonished sipping tea. << You let your loyalty to this “kyh” overshadow your duty to us.>>

Elder Moori turned to Dende <<This no longer matters, what matters is we will speak to Piccolo now and he will assist us.>>

Dende felt incredibly small next to their parent and the other Elders. Their upbringing involved fealty and respect to Elders regardless of personal feelings, however they had clearly absorbed Earth’s teachings as well. Dende spoke softly, in the most respectful cadence, needing to know, but terrified of further offence,  

<<Why Piccolo? Why now?>> they stumbled over their Namekian, the shapes of the vowels and the sounds of the rasps feeling odd in their throat. It had been so long.

<<“Why does why matter, child? The corruption is spreading. You can see it and sense it unless coming to Earth has also ruined your eyes and ears alongside your loyalty. Why does not matter, “kyh” does not matter.>>  Elder Tsuburu growled, waving their hands expressively, tea sloshing precariously . 

Dende’s ears lowered in defeat, the tone had been loose and informal. Denoting that even though Dende was a god on earth they were still barely hatched in the eyes of an Elder. Their accomplishments were not a substitute for age. The use of “kyh” in place of Piccolo's name was also a direct insult. There was no Namekian word for what Piccolo was. He did not translate well, not his name, not his gender, or his identity. In Namekian there was only them, “lyh ” that means us and like us, or “kyh ” which is not us or like  us. To these elders, despite Moori’s lead they had decided Piccolo was an it. And it was a disposable thing. 

Piccolo heard soft voices coming from the room before he reached the ornate french doors, the tone intentionally low, far below that of a human whisper, the stray word he could catch threw into sharp focus how much he was not fluent in Namekian, the only word he was sure of was his name. Eavesdropping would do him little good. Opening the door hard enough to rattle the glass in the panes Piccolo burst into the room and to the shocked faces of Dende, Moori and two Elders he could not recognise. 

“Rude of you to have started without me.” He scanned the room, the regularly lush plants were yellowing. The air was heavy with a grey haze, the ground of the Lookout looked  much like the ground of the mesa had two days prior. Piccolo maintained his scowl as he met the eyes of each Namekian present. 

Dende had the decency to look embarrassed, ears flashing purple and gaze falling to the floor. Moori remained composed while the other elders scowled at Piccolo and then at Moori. His antennae crackled at the psychic energy exchanged between the Elder Namekians. Clearly switching to talking about him psychically.  

“Do we really have time for this?” Piccolo clenched his fists so hard the knuckles popped, loud as gunshots to those present. “If the palace looks like this what kind of carnage is happening on Earth?” 

“We do not.” Moori sighed heavily, they gestured to a fifth chair. Piccolo, despite the exhaustion and his aching body, stood still and crossed his arms in response galled that a stranger seemed more at home here than he did. 

“The blatant disrespect,” the Elder on Moori’s left hissed gesturing to Piccolo and beginning to stand, “if this is what they are like we are as good as dead.”

“Peace Elder Tsuno.” Moori held up three of their four fingers in a hand gesture Piccolo could not parse but it stopped Tsuno who sat back  down with an audible grunt. 

Moori sighed, where to start. Dende had told them what they had observed. Piccolo had been dreaming at first sporadically and then constantly for months. Even Dende’s godly vision was not privy to the contents though Moori had no doubt they were of the old Gods. The ‘ kleth’, had appeared soon after, congregating in areas of high magic at first before spreading like smoke across the Earth, snaking into the air ground and water. Through Guru’s memory and the memory of all Grand Elders Moori recognised the pattern. Few had allowed the “ kleth” to spread this far before initiating the ritual. The only time it had spread further spelled doom for the majority of their race. 

Piccolo’s gaze was boring into them, they could see that he was at his breaking point, eyes ringed so purple they looked black under his brow and unexpected lacerations on his arms. Moori sighed again and hoped the Earth Namek had more patience than they had seen him display. 

“Dende has explained to you that the ‘ kleth’, the dreams and our original planet's past are linked.” Moori heard Piccolo’s teeth grind as his jaw clenched. They took that as a sign to continue. “What only the Elders of Namek know is that all of this is connected to your lineage, and that lineage is connected to the Dragon Balls and every planet they reside on.” 

“Of course it fucking is!” Piccolo threw his hands up in exasperation, a stray piece of glass still embedded in his arm fell with a satisfying clatter to the floor. Of course all of this magical bullshit was related to some unknown parent on a long dead planet. A parent he had never known pushing their useless legacies on him seemed to be a running theme in his life. Moori ignored the outburst while the other two looked on in horror. Dende began to tear up and Piccolo tried to compose himself. If not for his own sake then for Dende’s. 

“I am going to tell a story, the way it was told to myself and every other Namekian Elder. It may sound fantastical, but as you can see the legacy of it is undeniable.” Moori continued as if uninterrupted, gesturing to the room around them, the ailing plants and the swirling mist. Piccolo bit back a response and leaned against a pillar. 

“Long ago the old Gods ran wild through the universe causing chaos and destruction to all living mortals with their unimaginable powers. The new Gods, or as you call them, the Kais fatigued of the chaos sought to create order. They chose to turn to the Namekians, for they were the most magical and cunning of the mortal races, to create a vessel and a spell to contain the old Gods. Slige, the strongest and most revered warrior and mage was asked to undertake this trial. They completed this task, contained the vast and destructive power of the old Gods and gave them in this vessel as a gift to the Kais. Their spell allowed the holder to draw upon the power of the old Gods when needed under certain conditions. This allowed the Kais to bring order and form to the universe and create the universe we now inhabit.” 

“The Dragon Balls?”  Dende breathed, despite having revived them they had only been aware they were channelling a vast power, not of the source of it. 

“Yes child, those were the original Dragon Balls. As a gift to the Namekians for their service we were allowed to channel this power into our own lesser copies, the quality of which depended on the power of the mage. When we create Dragon Balls we are drawing on a smaller amount of the same original power to perform Godly miracles.” Moori folded their hands and looked expectantly at Piccolo, their old face serene. 

“That’s a nice fairy tale” Piccolo hissed through his teeth, “but you haven’t told me what exactly this has to do with what is going on with me, or the Earth, or how the hell we stop any of it!” 

At this Elder Tsuburu abruptly stood and stomped over to Piccolo in a rage. Piccolo wondered if he was supposed to be intimidated as the elderly Namekian was a full two feet shorter than him and roughly half his width. Piccolo glared down at them as they shouted in heavily accented Earthling about disrespecting the sacred and ancient myths of the Namekians. 

“If you don’t get your hand away from my face, you will lose the entire arm.” Piccolo growled, eyes flashing red. He assumed it was fairly mild as threats go. It’s not like the old bastard couldn’t just grow it back. The elder backed away, turning a paler shade of green as they mumbled something in Namekian. 

“We all need to calm down,” Moori made a hand motion to Elder Tsuburu who had returned to their seat, still looking wan. “Piccolo is the one who actually has to do this. He deserves answers. He is not wise in our ways and is understandably confused.” 

The room stilled and all eyes locked on Piccolo still leaning, half shadowed, in his corner as Moori continued. “The corruption is a byproduct of the original pact. It is the evil of the old Gods leaking back into our world slowly, trying to exact their revenge at being supplanted. Only one from Slige’s bloodline can cleanse them of the ‘ kleth’, and the only one left from that bloodline is you.”

 Moori held both their hands out to Piccolo, who had narrowed his eyes, clearly absorbing this news. “This obviously both does and does not come as a shock. The dreams will have alerted you to your unique role in this. There is a ritual we call it ‘ Ormr hathun’ it must be completed to put a stop to it, and you, or one of your bloodline must be the one to complete it. Without this the ‘ kleth’, will kill everyone on every world with Dragon Balls, likely by the end of this solar cycle.”  

Piccolo stayed silent, he had assumed since he had spoken to Dende that the situation was dire, but to hear it confirmed was still affecting him. The shrouded figure of the dragon from his dream sprang to his mind. Was that some kind of God? Moori’s veneer of calm acceptance was also grating on him. At least the other Elders had the dignity to assume he had a choice in participating. Moori was speaking like they knew this was inevitable, that Piccolo would happily agree to this ritual. Their calm tone continued as they resumed. “Your parent Katas was a  great leader, the strongest Namekian to ever live, talented in both magic and fighting. A true leader among our kind. They underwent the ritual as well.” 

“And failed? Clearly.” Piccolo scoffed. Despite Moori’s praise of  Katas, the Cataclysm had happened. Old Namek had been decimated and the population reduced to a few hundred farmers and mages in the centuries since. Piccolo’s throat tightened. Katas had known what he was doing and failed. What hope did he have of saving anyone, beyond the basics he had no talent or training as a mage. 

“The ritual has degrees of success, some who undertake it stop the ‘ kleth’ for generations, others for decades. Katas managed to stop the destruction of the world of the Kai’s as well as  others inhabited by Namekians with Dragon Balls. They could not save Namek. You were sent off world to save the bloodline since you were far too young to attempt the ritual. Miraculously Grand Elder Guru survived due to some minute degree to which the ritual had been completed.” Moori made a gesture of thanks when they mentioned the Grand Elders name, the other Elders and Dende mirrored it, Piccolo tried very hard to to roll his eyes at the display. 

“So no one has ended it permanently? Why wouldn’t they try again if they fail the first time?” Piccolo ventured. He wasn’t sure what he was signing up for but he would try as many times as  it took to save the Earth. 

Moori took a deep breath and glanced quickly at Dende who had begun to tear up again. “That would be incredibly difficult. No one has ever survived the ritual. As far as we know every participant has died before completing the full scope of it. None have been able to tell us what it entails. Not since the very beginning when Silge made the pact.” 

Piccolo bit the inside of his mouth drawing blood and looked around at the serious faces of everyone present. He fought down the nihilistic laughter that threatened to burst out of him, he also wrestled with the idea of spitting a mouthful of blood at one of the sour faced Elders. 

Dende’s hesitation to tell him what was going on, and his refusal to contact the Namekians made sense. This wasn’t a battle where he could punch his way to saving the day, or some symbolic religious ceremony with farmers, Elders and mages in a field praying to stop the spreading death. 

This was a sacrifice. 

He existed to be a sacrifice.  

Piccolo had wasted his youth chasing the dreams of a parent that had deemed revenge more important than the free will of their child. He had spent the majority of his adult life trying to undo the legacy of the same parent. He wasn’t entirely sure he had succeeded in balancing those scales. Finding out that his death would be tied to the connection to a family legacy that neither he nor Kami could remember, for a planet that he felt no loyalty to, and for another planet that looked at him like a monster. For gods who used mortal life like dolls for their amusement. 

It was comically bleak. His small and often ignored sense of self preservation screamed at him to just steal the spaceship, grab Dende and the Son family and book it to a planet that had never even heard of Dragon Balls. He knew that was a fool's errand even as he thought it. 

Earth was in danger due to Kami’s hubris in creating Dragon Balls. Which as far as he could recall were the result of some nostalgic ancestral impulse. One that after hearing all of this made a twisted sort of sense. Now that they had fused the Dragon balls and their consequences  were his responsibility. Also as loath as he was to admit it, the Dragon Balls were far more relevant to maintaining peace on Earth, and in the cosmos than he had been in decades, perhaps more than he had ever been. The idea of any of his friends' deaths being permanent was far more terrifying than any ritual death could be. 

The room remained completely silent, Piccolo could not even hear them breathing as they anticipated his response with bated breath. “So this is why you invited me to Namek, to start a family there. Not to be a warrior, but so you would have more livestock to slaughter in case I didn’t meet the standards of your ancient blood ritual.”

“Well clearly you have selfishly refused to procreate or extend your own line” the youngest Elder, Elder Tsuno sneered. 

Moori gasped and almost shouted in their haste to stop the other Elder from continuing, “I wanted you to have a good life! A life among your kind!” 

“Very altruistic of you, when exactly did you plan to tell me my kind was going to kill me?” 

“So then you refuse.” Elder Tsuburu yelled louder than Moori. Dende covered their ears in shock. “Not a surprise a “kyh” like you would refuse to sacrifice their worthless life for the greater good.” They spit at the ground by Piccolo’s feet. 

“I didn’t say that.” Piccolo sneered, mouth and fangs lilac with blood, keeping his deep voice low, threatening. “I will do it.  Not because I am a Namekian, or a member of your precious sacred bloodline, or for the Kais. Apart from Dende, your lives mean nothing to me. The Kais can rot in their realm for all I care. I will do this. I will complete your ‘ Ormr hathun’  because there are people on this planet and in this hell hole of a universe who deserve to live more than I do.” 

Chapter Text

The mix of stunned silence and revulsion on the Elders faces was immediately gratifying and Piccolo had a brief moment to bask in it, before they began speaking to each other rapidly in Namekian. 

“They are discussing the travel logistics.”  Dende supplied still sitting in their chair looking wilted. “The travel time may lead to further complications.’” 

Piccolo raised an eyeridge at their animated, and totally unnecessary discussion. “Why would we even need to travel? Goku will take us.” He had agreed to be ritually sacrificed, the idea of spending five days in a cramped spaceship having to interact with the Elders was a far worse fate.

Moori switched to Earthling smoothly folding their hands across their stomach, “We thought it best not to involve Son Goku in our matters.” 

“He may try to intervene.” Elder Tsuno sneered. 

“He won’t.”  Piccolo shot back. 

“He is friends with the new Gods.” 

“Friend is a strong word. Goku won’t ask questions and if there isn’t a battle he won’t be interested in what's happening on Namek.” The discussion switched back to Namekin and Piccolo clenched his jaw so hard he knew the elders could hear his fangs grinding together. “I think you misunderstood. I am not asking if this is acceptable. I am telling you what will happen. You’re going to give me a few hours on Earth and I am going to get Goku to take us to Namek.”  he made sure his cape was used to its full dramatic effect as he left the room. As he walked down the hallway he could hear the rising voices behind him. Unexpectedly he also heard the sound of soft footsteps running toward him. 

Piccolo and Dende walked in silence down the hall until they came to the edge of the Lookout. They watched the ‘kleth’ move through the atmosphere colouring the sky a sickly grey. 

“Can humans even see what’s coming?” Piccolo asked, the view of Earth usually afforded to Kami completely blocked out by the solid wall of corruption. He wished he didn’t care so much. Life had been simler when humans living or dying had been irrelevant. 

Dende opened their mouth to speak, at first only a strangled sob came out, before they composed themselves. “They can not, many are ill, those of us who can sense ki know there is a malevolent force, but can not see it the same way.” They finally managed, throat raw with emotion. 

Dende had often sought out Piccolo for comfort in his first few months on Earth as Kami. During the first few unfamiliar nights Piccolo meditated near Dende as they adjusted to the night and the lack of community. During the first hard choice they had to make as Kami, during the days following Buu when they doubted their ability to continue the role, during the appearance of the strongest gods in the universe. Piccolo had been there.  After the first time Frieza had come to ruin their lives, Dende had been comforted pretending Piccolo was just like Nail. This fantasy had not lasted long as the reality of Piccolo. Though they resembled each other in appearance he was very different from the way their sibling had been. They had come to love Piccolo for who he was, different from any other Namekian they had known, fiercely loyal to very few and disrespectful to those he did not hold in high regard. They could no longer imagine a life on Earth without him by their side. They had betrayed the trust he put in so few people and in doing so almost doomed two planets worth of life. 

Piccolo regarded Dende for a moment before placing a hand on their shoulder. He was momentarily taken aback at how much Dende had grown. “Even if you came for a reason. You have been an asset to Earth.” Piccolo considered stopping, at the risk of sounding too sentimental. But this would likely be the last time we saw them. “ The time I spent with you has been enjoyable, don’t feel responsible for this. I am giving you back the Earth and your life. I want you to enjoy it.” 

Piccolo looked back at Dende before stepping off the edge and into the darkening sky. “I doubt they will ask. But if they do. Don't tell the others where I’ve gone.”

He identified Goku’s ki burning like a beacon, even at this distance, over in the mountains surrounding his home. The same ones they had trained in together ages ago, the place where they had become something more than unsteady allies. His frown deepened, thinking back to that time in his life, despite the looming threat of the androids and almost certain death, it had been the first time he felt like he belonged to something. He could almost feel the nostalgia, like a slow wave washing over him, threatening to drown him. Biting the inside of his mouth hard enough to draw blood, he changed course slightly, steering himself west. 

He approached Gohan’s home the same way he had two days ago only lowering below the clouds at the edge of the property. The lower he flew the more apparent the absence of human noise was. There were some cars but not as many as there should be at this time of day. There was no buzz of machinery in the distance. He never thought he would miss the piercing of drills and the other chaotic noises of the city, but their absence underscored how bad things had become. He saw the fog built up around the buildings of the city , obscuring Gohan’s home as he flew over the grass toward it. The front door stayed closed and the sounds of coughing came from deep inside the house.  

He decided against knocking and floated up to the second story room where he sensed Gohan’s ki, thankfully he was alone. Piccolo wavered outside the window, like a wraith. He had instructed Dende not to tell the others where he had gone, but truthfully he did not think that many on Earth would notice his absence. The other fighters were friendly but not friends. They belonged to Goku, they were drawn to his light the same way Piccolo was. He was on the periphery. Which suited him fine, less attachments meant less distractions. There was one person who he owed a proper goodbye to, and though it would be easier not to have to give one, it would be cowardly. Fighters like Goku, Vegeta, and himself, didn't need things like closure, a luxury afforded to people who didn’t expect to die on a battlefield. But Gohan was softer, he was not a fighter, no matter how well he fought. At his core was a tender, achingly human heart. Which, while a source of constant confusion, was what made Piccolo adore him. Inside Gohan was a capacity and ease for feeling that Piccolo could never allow himself to access, He inhaled sharply through his nose before reaching for the latch. Gohan didn’t need to know details, but should be afforded a moment to hold onto for when Piccolo was gone. Piccolo refused to acknowledge he may need one as well. 

Gohan was sitting as he had been for hours, head in his hands, behind his desk, trying desperately to make his eyes focus on editing the paper he should have submitted yesterday. He wondered if it was better to just rest and not try to work through the body aches and fever. The work ethic drilled into him by his mother recoiled at the very thought of resting before his work was complete. When the French windows opened with a bang he hated how surprised he was. Piccolo hadn’t suppressed his ki and Gohan had still been caught off guard.  He entered the room fluidly, as if coming through a second story window was a perfectly natural way to visit someone's home. Though he supposed, to Piccolo, it was. He closed his binder and rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, failing to suppress a cough as he watched his mentor walk across the room, he noticed Piccolo's ears twitch in response to each cough. Gohan stood unsuccessfully to meet him, trying to hide the slight wobble as his overly warm body protested the sudden movement. He was almost shocked at how blatantly concerned Piccolo looked. It was almost cute, eyeridges crushed together and raised, mouth set in a thin line, jaw clenched. Man, he was worse off than he thought. 

He had started feeling ill shortly after Pan, though Videl had caught whatever it was far worse than he had. More of his coworkers had called in sick the last few days until the school had closed from both low staff and student attendance. He had been managing fairly well, taking care of Videl who was bedridden and Pan who was definitely ill but stubbornly refused to rest. His fever was present but mild and his cough, until today at least, had been manageable. But then the news started showing that this wasn’t just in West City, people were falling ill everywhere, crops had begun to mysteriously wither and lakes were beginning to dry up. Gohan couldn’t stop thinking about the haze Piccolo had mentioned, how concerned he had seemed about Pan’s illness. It was only yesterday that he had begun to sense something subtly off  around him, but he had been foolish to outright dismiss Piccolo’s concern. Gohan had been so sure he knew more about city living he had disregarded an expert in planetary ki. Some genius he was. 

Gohan regained his balance and looked up at his mentor framed by the billowing curtains. Piccolo didn’t look any better than he did, dark circles under his eyes and dried blood on his lips and some pretty concerning lacerations on his arm meant this wasn’t a purely social visit. Piccolo stopped on the other side of the desk and Gohan put an arm on it to steady himself. The room had unhelpfully started spinning and he wondered if he was seeing double or if Piccolo had chosen a bizarre time to use the multiform technique. 

“Sit. You’re weak.” Piccolo bass rumbled and Gohan slumped into his seat. 

“Not the first time you’ve called me weak.” Gohan smirked as Piccolo rolled his eyes, arms folded across his chest, all traces of earlier worry erased from his face. 

“I meant that you are ill, though not sensing my power level speaks to another kind of weakness.” Piccolo’s voice did not have the usual sharp edge to it. The way it did when he pointed out Gohan’s lack of commitment to continue training after the Tournament. 

“So you noticed that?” Gohan laughed weakly, then coughed, watching Piccolo’s face flash concern again before settling into its neutral expression. 

“Well you did tell me kids get sick all the time.”  Piccolo seemed impossibly tall from his seated position. Almost as if he was a kid again, Gohan shook his head smiling in spite of himself. 

“I’m guessing this is something a bit bigger than a preschool cold. Even you look like hell”

Piccolo only nodded in response. Gohan could tell he was probably fighting with himself over how to best express the situation and his feelings about it. Gohan wasn’t sure if anyone else could pick up on the subtle play of emotion flashing in Piccolo’s eyes, in the twitches in the muscles around his mouth. He sat back heavily, closing his eyes and waiting for the bad news. They flew open in surprise when Piccolo reached out and placed a cool hand on his forehead pushing his hair out of his face. He leaned into the rare touch even as his stomach twisted at the thought of how serious a problem this must be if Piccolo was this openly displaying affection. Piccolo withdrew his hand and Gohan had to stop the childish impulse to protest. It felt so nice. 

Piccolo took his hand off Gohan, his head had radiated a concerning amount of heat, he paused as Gohan looked at him intently wondering if he would ask him for more physical contact, something he had not asked for since their time in the desert. Piccolo noticed a glassy sheen to his eyes and his throat dried up at the thought of whatever this was spreading too fast for him to fix. He could hear Videl and Pan coughing in their respective rooms, their breathing heavy and uneven. He was reminded again of how fragile even the strongest humans could be. 

“This is linked to the Dragon Balls.” he could almost hear Gohan’s brain processing the statement. He preempted the predictable torrent of follow up questions and clarifications. Even when he was this sick, Gohan would want to know everything. “I’m going to Namek, with the Elders.”

“The Namekian Elders?” Gohan looked at Piccolo sideways, he almost regretted saying something so obvious, what other Elders would there be?  He must have been more ill than he thought to miss their ki arriving on Earth, how long had they been here for? He wanted to know how this was all connected and what any of this had to do with Piccolo, who was no longer linked to Earth’s Dragon Balls. Why would the Elders travel all the way out here for an issue involving Earth. The expression on Piccolo’s face made him pause, Piccolo, who had been uncharacteristically open, was now completely closed off, mouth pressed in a hard line and behind the tired eyes was fierce determination. Gohan’s shoulders slumped both in defeat and exhaustion, Piccolo had a better handle on this than he did. His fevered brain couldn’t seem to make sense of all of the things he had been told.

Piccolo watched Gohan fight the urge to continue speaking, he was proud when Gohan sat back waiting for him to continue. Part of him would probably always see Gohan as the small child with the endless stream of questions and the unshakable faith that Piccolo was a good person deep down despite all evidence to the contrary. He wanted to lie, to tell him this would be resolved quickly and he would return to babysit Pan next week, that when he returned he’d set a training day for them, but found he couldn’t bring himself to mislead Gohan. The boy, the man, deserved better. The truth would need to be altered, but he refused after all this time to outright lie, he hoped in time Gohan would forgive him this omission.He didn’t deserve another person disappearing from his life. He finally settled on the simplest reassurance he could think of. 

“I will stop this” 

Gohan nodded, slowly but decisively smiling at Piccolo the same way he used to in front of the fire before he fell asleep. Piccolo knew Gohan believed in him. Even now, even after seeing how powerless Piccolo truly was in the reality of their universe, the kid still trusted him to have a plan, to be able to make everything okay.  “Take care of your family Gohan.” he added as he headed back toward the still open windows. He restrained himself from looking back. One more look would ruin him. 

Piccolo landed on a grassy hill next to a pond and watched bubbles float up to the surface and pop lazily, only hinting at the struggle he knew was occurring under the water. The day should be beautiful, it would have been beautiful a few months ago, now he could see the ever present ‘ kleth’ in the air and collecting like scum on the water. He resisted the urge to cover his ears as the surface of the water erupted in bubbles and then broke as a giant fish and Goku fought to the surface. The fish, who had never stood a chance, was unceremoniously ejected onto the grass far too close to Piccolo. Coating him with residual water. Goku shook his hair and laughed at Piccolo who was frowning at the unfortunate creature flopping and gasping. He stopped its suffering with a ki blast between the eyes and turned to Goku who was on the bank shuffling back into his clothing. Piccolo’s face heated as he looked away from the still partially naked Saiyan. 

“Good ta’ see ya’ Piccolo.” Goku smiled and Piccolo felt the anger at having a fish flug at him dissolve somewhat to see that Goku appeared as healthy and as oblivious as ever. “If you’re here for dinner it’s just gonna be us. Chi Chi and Goten have a heck of a cold. I’m gettin’ us fish.” 

Hearing Chi Chi and Goten were afflicted, while not especially surprising but it caused his throat to momentarily dry. The nonchalance in Goku’s voice set his teeth on edge. This man could wield god ki. Surely he had sensed something was wrong. “I'm clearly not here for dinner. Can’t you sense something’s wrong?” 

Goku finished dressing and rubbed the last stray droplets of water out of his hair. “Well I’ve been sensin’ some weird energy on the planet, but it's not bad, just strange. Anyway, planet stuff is more of you and Dende’s thing, so I figured you were on it and you’d get me if ya’ needed me. Unless you’re tellin’ me it's actually a bad guy makin’ people sick? Cause it’s been a while since we had a good fight.” 

The amount of effort Piccolo used to only send a glare Goku’s way and not an eye laser was almost heroic. Piccolo knew, deep down, that none of this was Goku’s fault, in fact it was one of the few times his incoming death was not related to something that was directly  tied to Goku. This wasn’t his long lost brother or a revenge bent scientist or a pissed off alien with a chip on his shoulder and a grudge against Saiyans. Perhaps it was learned or perhaps it was instinctual, the impulse in Piccolo to lay all the blame on Goku.

“Anyway’s if it is a bad guy I wonder if he can wait till’ after dinner cause I did promise Chi Chi I would cook and she’s real sick so she may not even mind that it’s fish again and Goten is probably hungry too so I gotta catch some more, and it’ll be a real shame if its a fight and Goten can’t fight since he hasn’t really been able to challenge himself ….” 

On the other hand it was Goku’s fault he was born in the first place. So Piccolo felt almost justified when he finally did snap even though he had arrived to the pond on the knife's edge of his already thin patience. 

“That's enough!” he bellowed, stepping away from the dead fish and towards Goku, arms crossed tightly and claws digging into the pink flesh on his arms. 

“Of what? Talkin’ about dinner or talkin’ about fightin’ bad guys?” Goku didn’t even seem phased, though birds in the trees surrounding them took flight at the noise. 

“Both!” Piccolo growled, throwing up his hands in frustration. “You are shockingly correct, it is the planet's problem, but it’s not just us, this is putting multiple planets in danger. I need you to use Instant transmission to take me and the Nakemian Elders to New Namek.” 

“Ooh what’s happenin’?” Goku’s eyes lit up. 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with. I need you to take me there and come back to Earth.” 

Goku cocked his head to the side and looked at Piccolo seriously. To his credit unlike his son he didn’t comment on how awful he looked, but the softening in his eyes told Piccolo that he had just noticed. Piccolo took the chance to look at Goku, who thankfully seemed as healthy as he always had. For now at least. 

“You know if you’ve got trouble. I’ll help.” Goku smiled, still looking just as intently. 

Piccolo broke eye contact and gripped his arms harder. “It’s fine.” he finally grumbled through the emotion he was trying to stuff back down inside him. Seeing the Son’s had been a mistake. He knew it would be difficult to leave Gohan. He had no idea why it hurt just as much to leave Goku. You have some idea, his brain supplied unhelpfully before he repressed that as well. He refused to follow this unnecessary train of thought. Besides, it wasn't as if Goku hadn't up and left for seven years. That he didn’t continue to pop in and out of mortal existence on a regular basis. Though Piccolo supposed there was always the unspoken assumption that Goku would be back, usually bringing more trouble with him. Piccolo knew where he was going he would not be coming back from. The realization that this may be the last time he saw Goku felt like swallowing needles.

“You’re doin’ that thing when you think real hard and growl.” Piccolo snapped back to reality, Goku still looking at him, now without even trying to hide his concern. 

“We are not doing this. Just take me to New Namek.” Piccolo sneered. Trying to channel a calmer, less pathetic version of himself. One that would scoff at the amount of emotions that a simple look could dredge up. One that couldn’t name an emotion other than rage. 

“I don’t even know what your doin’!” Goku threw up his hands in exasperation even as he walked toward Piccolo. 

Piccolo felt himself cracking. He couldn’t do this anymore, he needed to go before he lost his nerve, or punched Goku in the face, or blew up the planet to spare it a slow and agonizing death. Instead he said the last thing he ever wanted to in a desperate attempt to stop himself from all of the above. 

“Please.” 

Piccolo regretted the words as soon as they exited his mouth but they had the desired effect. Goku’s eyebrows knit together in shock and then he closed his eyes and sighed in defeat as he held his hand out with a sad smile. Piccolo gave Goku a half smile, he owed him that much, as he clasped Goku’s significantly smaller, warmer hand, perhaps a bit too tightly. 

True to Piccolo's word Goku had not asked any questions as he brought them to the Lookout where the Elders were still speaking in their low serious Namekian. Piccolo wanted to spit at the self-important theatre as they greeted Goku warmly, praising him once again for his fight against Frieza, inquiring what he had been up to since the last time he had been to Namek to use the Dragon Balls. They bowed deeply and thanked Goku profusely for taking them back to New Namek, that it would be an honour to travel with him and how kind he was to save them days of uncomfortable space travel, especially at their age. They reached out their wrinkled hands and Piccolo chose not to take any of them, a petty but satisfying rebellion. Goku looked even more intensely at Piccolo as he held fast to his hand. Piccolo blushed and then frowned menacingly as Goku squeezed his palm once then twice in what he could only imagine was meant to be reassurance, as he directed the Elders to place their hands on his back and shoulders. 

Dende looked sadly as they positioned themselves standing next to Mr. Po Po who held his hands tightly in front of him. 

“You comin’ Dende?” Goku nodded toward his left shoulder which still had room for contact. 

“I will be staying here to ensure the Earth is fully repaired.” They managed to sound fairly confident, despite their look of distress. Piccolo felt oddly proud. Goku spared one last confused look to Piccolo before closing his eyes and bringing his free hand to his forehead. 

They touched down in the middle of a village, and Piccolo immediately snatched his hand back to cover his mouth and nose. As bad as the corruption had been on Earth it was exponentially worse here. The light of the suns hardly penetrated the haze and the whole of the planet seemed cast in a sick grey light. Goku looked around concerned and Piccolo wondered just how much he could see and sense the devastation around them. He didn’t seem affected by the smell and taste the way he had been but he was looknig around as if he expected to see somthing. The village appeared almost empty, but Piccolo could clearly hear rasping breaths from inside the homes. He ignored the stab of guilt as he briefly wondered how many Namekians had died while he remained unaware of their suffering. He tried to remain ambivalent, but wondered how many of them had no idea what was happening. 

“Thank you so much for your assistance Son Goku.” Moori spoke smoothly, seemingly not shocked by the state of the planet. “We will be fine to proceed on our own. This is a matter for Namekians” Moori smiled, though to Piccolo it looked incredibly forced. The other two Elders had upon arrival become pale and thin lipped. Their eyes scanning the empty fields and streets in silent barely masked horror. Piccolo assumed things had not been quite so bad when they had left for Earth.

Goku opened his mouth, and then shook his head and closed it, turning toward Piccolo. “Are you sure?” 

Piccolo forced himself to look aloof. Back straight, arms crossed, don’t look like your lungs are burning with the remnants of some disposed Gods, pretend you can’t hear Namekians struggling to breathe. Pretend he’s not leaving you with aliens that see you as a tool.  “Go. We’ll be fine.”

Goku narrowed his eyes and sighed. He knew better than to argue with Piccolo, especially in front of others. But the terrible thing he was sensing on Earth was stronger and worse here, and though he wasn’t always the best at figuring stuff out, or knowing how people were supposed to act. Even though he knew everybody was acting really weird. He didn’t know the old Namekians well but everything about them seemed off, and Dende and Mr. Po Po looked sadder than when Earth had almost been erased. Piccolo was proud, and stubborn which was pretty normal, what wasn’t that he was clearly trying to pretend he wasn’t scared. Goku knew him long enough to figure that when Piccolo was scared, something really scary was gonna happen. He knew he couldn’t stay, but he wasn’t about to go home and cook. He concentrated and brought his fingers to his forehead one last time focusing on the strongest ki on Earth. Something was going on, and he was gonna get to the bottom of it and when he found out what it was, he was gonna need strong people to come take care of it. He only knew one other person who was stronger and more stubborn than Piccolo. 

Gohan watched Piccolo’s cape fade into the sky and walked over on unsteady legs to  close the window. He wanted to believe Piccolo, to believe in his ability to make everything okay. He knew perhaps more than anyone how capable and reliable Piccolo really was. Another part of him realized that whatever this was, wasn’t something that was going to be solved with a ki blast, especially if it had to do with the Dragon Balls. What could Gohan do to help, especially in the state he was in? Better to let the others handle this. He could feel the sweat on his too warm body as he walked slowly trying to maintain his balance across the hall to Pan’s room. He opened the door quietly and looked in on her sleeping, coughing softly. His heart clenched, and he wondered if Piccolo had ever looked at him sleeping in the desert and felt this way. Watching the light play across her face it almost reminded him of sitting next to a fire. 

Gohan felt the ground lurch beneath him. Sliding down the door frame he sat heavily on the carpet. The room spun and he tried to orient himself as his mind began to blur. He wondered if he was dreaming as the walls of the house fell away and was replaced by a perfect image. (memory?) of the desert they had trained in. He could almost feel the sun on him, though he wondered if that was the fever. The desert melted and was replaced by something he still saw in his nightmares: Piccolo in pain, bleeding and on the ground, his body charred and smoking in front of him. It spun and was replaced by Piccolo being shot through the chest by Frieza, once on Namek, once on Earth, another blur and he saw Piccolo being absorbed by Buu, muffled screams echoing around him as he watched helplessly.  A home movie of the worst moments of his life began playing out in front of him, so vividly he felt like he was reliving them. This had to be a fever dream? But he was awake, wasn’t he? His mind felt fuzzy and slow. Like his thoughts were made of molasses. He forced himself back to today and replayed the conversation they had just had, (that was today, right?) Trying to reassure himself that everything would be fine.  Piccolo had come to tell him everything would be fine. Even though he had never said that. Even though he kept thinking about the look on Piccolo’s face when he had said he would solve this. When he said he would solve this and pointedly did not say everything would be fine.  Gohan had seen the look before, in battle, too many times. He had seen it in the moments before Piccolo solved a problem at the cost of his life. He had seen it replayed over and over in his aching head. 

He took a fistful of carpet and groaned. His body felt slightly better, though still aching. Bringing his hand to his sweat filled forehead he noticed he felt remarkably cooler. Had his fever broken in his sleep? He pushed himself up onto his feet. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Piccolo had left. He tried to lock onto his ki but it was gone and a wave of hot panic twisted through his stomach. He swallowed it and instead focused on finding his father’s ki. Piccolo was going to Namek, Goku would have been conscripted to take him there. He gently closed his daughter's door and left a note for his wife on the desk in his study and opened the windows flying toward his Capsule Corp and his father and hopefully some answers. 

Piccolo in spite of himself looked at Goku for as long as he could before he phased out of existence. After a moment to banish the tightness in his chest he turned back to the Elders, sneer firmly in place. They had dropped the false cheer and returned his gaze stone faced. He was almost relieved they were no longer pretending. “We have been placed near to where the other Elders await us. We can complete this quickly.” Elder Tsuburu spoke, not trying to hide their hostility toward Piccolo who curled his lip in response. Not hiding the fact that being done with this meant being done with Piccolo. They indicated a mountain range in the distance, almost impossible to see through the darkness in the air.  Excellent he could die surrounded by seven judgemental assholes, not just the three he was dealing with currently. 

Piccolo’s ears twitched as he heard doors open and slow shuffling steps begin to move to where they were. Laboured breathing and coughs accompanied the footsteps until Piccolo was standing among a diverse crowd of Namekians wide eyed and far too pale, hands reaching out toward him in twisted supplication. Piccolo drew away from them, flinching, drawing his cape around himself like a shield against their desperate grasps. He had to re-enforce his mental barriers quickly as he felt the wave of psychic desperation roll off the crowd as loud as a scream. 

Save us. 

He rolled back his shoulders and stood to his full height. “Move.” he growled, parting the crowd and expanding his ki outward, knocking a few villagers off their feet as he took to the sky. There was simultaneous cry as they fell and Piccolo laughed theatrically forcing it out of his burning throat like a cough. He was glad it was just him and the Namekians. It was easy to put up his walls. To be the sneering villain. Hard. Unaffected. Unafraid to die. 

The perfect sacrifice.

Chapter Text

Piccolo sensed the circle of Elders before he saw them through air grey and thick with  ‘ kleth’ standing together on a tight circle at the edge of a mountain range. Something large and white sat in the center of the clearing they were gathered in, though from the distance Piccolo couldn’t make out what it was. Some kind of statue? The psychic conversation buzzed through his antennae like white noise before he closed off his mind, though not before absorbing the residue of their anxiety, the feeling left his brain  gritty in its intensity. 

Piccolo narrowed his eyes and landed taking in the five elders present, as well as a few assorted members of the Dragon Clan. They all looked as haggard as the Namekians in the village, pale and wrong as they stood hunched in robes and scarves, on the ground by each of their feet was a Dragon ball. The Dragon balls looked dull and gray, almost as ill as the Namekians surrounding them. He avoided eye contact by looking toward the center of the circle. When he saw what he thought was a white sculpture that was in the center of the clearing he hated that he was unable to hide his horror. His fathers throne, or a copy of it sat there, as huge and intimidating as it was in his dreams. Though unlike in his dreams it was unoccupied. It sat empty like a gaping mouth and Piccolo suppressed the desire to blast it into dust. Taking a few sharp inhales of the putrid air he looked harder and the shape seemed to waver, the skull like decorations smoothing to plain circles. The other Namekians regarded him silently, the background hum of psychic activity buzzed louder and Piccolo began to wonder if there was a throne at all or if he had fully cracked. 

“The Grand Elder Guru’s throne.” The smallest of the gathered Elders had approached him standing next to him and reaching only to his knee, he . He acknowledged them with a grimace, eyes still glued to the throne in case it improbably shifted again. Somewhere in his, in their,  mind this fact was processed and verified. He closed his eyes and tried to grab hold of the thread of comfort that some part of Nail felt at the sight of their parents' throne, it faded and Piccolo felt less insane but still on edge in its presence. The tiny Namekian hadn't thought to clarify what the hell a throne from a planet that had blown up decades ago was here. Or why his father had made a more violent copy of it. 

He heard Moori and the others land behind them both breathing heavily and kicking up the dust. The circle of Elders began to move forward like a surge breaking the circle. Piccolo tensed as Moori addressed them all in spoken Earthling. “Our savior has arrived. ' Ormr hathun' will proceed.” 

The pronouncement was met with stony faces and the sound of the wind whistling through the mountains. 

When Goku had searched out Vegeta’s ki, he wasn’t shocked that it had been at Capsule Corp, he was surprised however to materialize in the kitchen instead of the gravity room. He also wasn’t expecting Vegeta to be cooking, standing over an enormous bubbling vat. He absolutely wasn’t expecting it to smell so good, his stomach growling loudly as he remembered his long abandoned fish. Vegeta stopped stirring as Kakarot blinked into existence in his kitchen, reactively both throwing a ki blast and ripping off his apron. Goku dodged the blast and watched a kitchen island implode behind him. 

“Wow! Vegeta that smells really good. I didn't know you could cook.” 

Vegeta looked at the smoldering kitchen island and weighed the pros and cons of destroying more of the home to try and teach a lesson about appearing in people's homes without an invitation. He weighed it against having to explain to his sick wife, in-laws and children why their kitchen was destroyed and decided reluctantly against it. 

“Do you think there will be extra? Cause I’m really hungry. I came straight here from Namek and I didn’t really eat lunch and…” 

“ENOUGH!” Vegeta yelled, breaking the metal spoon in half part of it clattering loudly to the ground. “Why are you here?” 

His eye twitched as he watched Kakarot bashfully eye the pot. If looks could kill he would have been rid of Kakarot without having to sacrifice the kitchen. He hated that this third class idiot had seen him doing domestic labour, something that would regularly be beneath him, but his entire family had fallen ill. While Bulma was coughing in her lab trying to solve the mystery illness it was up to him to provide for his two still ravenous half saiyan children. He would never admit it out loud but a kind of lethargy had fallen over him as well the last few days. He had perhaps more readily agreed to cook since the thought of training was, perhaps for the first time in his life, not appealing. 

“I took Piccolo to Namek, somethin’ is wrong though, we need to go back and make him come with us. I figure you’re just as stubborn so you could help. He won’t listen to me and I need backup. Gohan’s on the way too, so we can all go.” 

“Is there an enemy?” Vegeta crossed his arms and tilted his head. Why would the Namekian going to Namek be something he cared about? Kakarot’s tone however gave him a moment's pause. He sounded truly distressed over whatever he had seen there, not that he cared about what may happen to Piccolo, he reassured himself, but because anything that gave Kakarot pause may be a worthy challenge for him. 

“Not exactly an enemy, I think, but somethin’ bad. Somethin’ makin’ people sick, he said it was on lots of planets…..” Goku trailed off trying to remember exactly what had been said and what had seemed so off. Vegeta made a noise in the back of his throat and turned away briefly, before turning back. Thinking about how strange it was for everyone to have come down with the same illness. How even the animals they kept seemed to be weaker and less active. How Bulma had spent the entire nights coughing next to him, the cough getting deeper and more violent by the day.

“Go wait for your son outside and I will join you to hear about this ‘something bad’ and decide if it is worth my valuable time”  Vegeta flicked off the burner, reminding himself that this was about fighting, not about making sure the Namek was fine. 

“Can I have soup while I wait?” 

This time Goku didn’t manage to dodge, as half of a metal spoon hit him with amazing force in the forehead. He fell backward into the remains of the kitchen island as Vegeta laughed. 

“Absolutely not. “

The young Namekian paused, eyes wide, holding a shell of white paint out like a talisman, their face covered in intricate white swirls. Presumably from the same paint. Another stood to their left holding a bundle of cloth and strings of shells made into jewelry, clicking softly in the blighted wind. They looked at each other briefly before the one with the cloth elbowed the one with the paint. Clutching onto the shell for dear life they spoke in a low gravelly voice, bowing low. “It is part of the ritual. You are to be adorned as our first ancestors were during their battles.” 

Piccolo stood his ground, arms crossed. “Just because they died looking like idiots does not mean I will.”

Elder Tsubaru and another Elder came beside the shaking Namekians.  “You are wasting time. The garments will help protect you. Any advantage you can have you should take. The amount of the ritual you complete may mean saving or dooming more lives. You can’t possibly be this obstinate.” 

Piccolo’s immediate urge to show that he was in fact exactly this obstinate, but unbidden images of the emancipated villagers of Namek and the silent streets of Earth flooded his mind. He sighed instead, holding out a hand. “Fine, give me the damn things. Just burn my corpse so no one sees this.” He was advised to remove his shirt and he threw it, his cape and his turban in a heap. Another small Namekian tried to move them and quickly abandoned the venture when they tried to lift the cape. 

Piccolo smirked and then tensed as he felt hands painting his back and arms, muscles contracting like steel cables. He hated being touched and the feeling of deft fingers and wet paint set his teeth on edge, his only solace being that he knew the much smaller Namek painting him was likely just as uncomfortable. Jewelry was threaded through his antenna, not as heavy as his turban but unfamiliar and annoying, clinking rhythmically next to his ears. He noted that both Namkians had to fly to reach the top of his head and back. The hands withdrew and the two bowed before retreating outside the circle of Elders. The paint dried quickly and his skin prickled and itched along the intricate swirling patterns covering his back arms and chest. 

He slipped into the violet vest they provided. It hung past his knees and reminded him uncomfortably of the one Nail had been wearing when he had found him dying. 

He raised an eye ridge at the lack of neck covering gesturing vaguely to his neck there were a few strings of beads but no cloth coverings. “ Isn’t this some kind of taboo?” He refused to admit having his neck exposed made him feel oddly naked and extremely vulnerable.

Moori laughed mirthlessly. “The ancient Namekians were less, ahem, reserved than we are today. They did not cover their necks as a rule.” 

Piccolo rolled his eyes, a small part of him glad there hadn’t been any paint applied to the sensitive skin there. “So, we begin?” 

 Moori motioned behind them and a small clay cup of clear liquid was presented by an Elder who had not yet spoken, they moved slowly hunched with age. They bowed briefly and stretched out the cup in both hands offering. “There is one last step.” the newest Elder almost whispered, their face a map of scars and wrinkles. 

Piccolo snatched the cup, brought it to his nose and inhaled. It had no smell but the consistency didn’t seem like water, or any other clear liquid he knew of. He hoped whatever it was, was meant to clear the lingering taste of the corruption from his throat, though it was just as likely to kill him. At this point he was beyond caring and tipped his head back as he drained it.

Gohan touched down on the lawn of Capsule Corp and saw his father sitting under a tree looking expectantly at the front door, he walked over exhausted and considered joining him on the ground. Goku looked up, his smile shrinking as he took in his son's appearance “Gohan, there you are, you look bad, are you sick with what Chi-Chi and Goten got?” 

Gohan tried to stand up straighter and smile, but he sighed when he realized that there wasn’t much that was going to be able to hide how awful he looked and felt. “I’m okay dad. I’m worried about Piccolo, he came over and he said some things about Namek and Dende and stopping whatever this is, and I have a terrible feeling about the whole thing. You saw him right? You took him to Namek? “

“Yeah I took him, but everyone was actin’ real weird and shifty and Piccolo wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” Goku looked around the lawn, the tree he was under looked withered and the grass was yellow. Namek’s grass had been just as dead. Gohan looked as tired as Piccolo had and was sick like Chi Chi and Goten. He was even starting to feel a bit tired. His brain tried to connect all the dots but it kept coming up short, the feeling in his gut told him it was all connected somehow. He hoped his son could do the thinking part and he could do whatever hitting needed to be done. 

Gohan nodded and then tried to speak but was wracked by a series of deep coughs. He doubled over trying to force air back into his burning lungs as he felt his father's strong hands on his back. When he looked up he saw a scowling Vegeta had appeared in the doorway. 

“Hello brat, you seem especially feeble today.” Vegeta leaned against the wall and ignored the fact that both his children and his wife had the exact same look and cough, that maybe Kakkarot was onto something. “So are you going to explain why you idiots are here?” 

Gohan glared back as he tried to match Vegeta’s disdain, and failed, considering his eyes had begun to sting and water and his father was currently rubbing his back. 

“Like I said. Piccolo’s off doing somethin’ on Namek I think it has somethin’ to do with the problems on Earth. It looks like Namek is also doin’ bad.' 'He continued patting Gohan’s back, he sounded worse than Goten and Chi Chi had, his stomach kept twisting into knots and he was almost glad he hadn’t eaten some of the soup. Almost.

Gohan waved his father off with a smile, finally having regained his breath. He stood up and locked eyes with Vegeta.” He said the Namekian Elders and the Dragon balls were involved, but everything about him seemed off. Whatever they are doing on Namek it’s not good, even though he said he could solve this.” 

“So we are trying to stop the Namekians from fixing the problem? Clearly they’re just going to gather their Dragon balls and wish this away.” Vegeta raised an eyebrow, “You people use them for everything else.”

“I don’t think…..” Goku was cut off by the front door slamming open and a very haggard Bulma in a bathrobe holding the dragon radar and a Dragon ball. She looked at the assembled crew and nodded, as if she had expected them all to be convincing on her front lawn. Wordlessly she tossed the Dragon ball under hand and Goku caught it on reflex turning it over in his hands. The usually glowing surface looked clouded with gray dulling the two stars. 

 “Well that’s  not good…” Gohan and Vegeta crowded around each taking the ball and moving it around watching the gray mist swirl ominously under the surface. 

“That’s not all.” Bulma said, flicking the button on top of the Dragon Radar, nothing appeared on the screen. “I came out to tell Vegeta to go get you both, but it looks like you also figured something was up.” She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear, even it felt limp. She desperately needed a shower and thirteen hours of uninterrupted sleep, though considering what her lab results were telling her she didn’t think it was likely anytime soon. She bit her lip as she thought of her parents and children, sleep could wait. “If you know what’s going on you better hurry up and stop it. Things are getting worse by the hour.” 

“We gotta get to Namek.” Goku reached two fingers to his forehead and held out his other hand. Gohan grabbed it without hesitation and Vegeta rolled his eyes and put two fingers on his shoulder. He would have protested more but his wife looked even more ill then she had that morning, and the sight of the Dragon ball had shaken him. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this Gohan?” Bulma looked on with concern, if he felt half as bad as she did fligning himself into space seemed like a bad decision, which would not be the first time she saw him make a reckless decision on behalf of Piccolo. Still she was fond of him. “I’ll be okay,” he said quietly. Trying to convince himself as much as Bulma. His legs were already aching from standing. 

“Shhh, I'm trying to focus.” Goku hissed through clenched teeth, sweat starting to appear on his forehead. They stood silently for a moment before Goku dropped his hand to his side, balling it into a fist. “It’s no good, I can’t feel his ki.” 

Gohan’s stomach plummeted and he felt the world tilt. He concentrated on not fainting, biting the inside of his mouth till he could taste blood. He wondered if the dreams hadn’t been random, if Piccolo had been trying to tell him something psychically. 

‘Knowing him, he’s probably martyred himself for no reason, find another Namekian ki.” Vegeta withdrew his fingers and crossed his arms, frowning. Gohan fought down the very Saiyan urge to lunge forward and rip out his throat for the comment. Not that it would have been very successful, he didn’t think he could walk over to Vegeta without collapsing. More than his own weakness, he hated that Vegeta might be right. And if Vegeta was right he had let Piccolo walk away without stopping him. 

“This is real bad guys.” Goku looked around confused, biting at his lip. “I can’t feel anyone on New Namek.”

Piccolo’s hand convulsed involuntarily dropping the cup to the ground, shattering it. The burning that the ‘kleth’ had brought on, instead of dissipating, doubled and tripled in intensity until he was clawing at his throat. He felt the blood well up under his talons but it offered no relief.  He fell to his knees retching, dry at first, and then harder as something dislodged in him. He finally collapsed into the dirt still retching. 

His vision went grey around the edges and his ears began to burn and ring simultaneously. Through the vision he had left he could see the Elder's feet as they crowded around him. The retching and heaving continued as he brought himself up on to his forearms, whatever was congealing in his chest, something wet and viscous came up his throat before he vomited it onto the ground. Despite the relief from the heaving his nose and eyes began to burn and the coughing continued as he fought to keep breathing. Agonizingly slowly the burning gradually subsided as the Elders shuffled backwards. Piccolo, still coughing, tried to will his shaking body to stand. He wasn’t sure why they had poisoned him but he would not give them the satisfaction of dying in the dirt. Before he could attempt, he felt hands grip him. Clearly not trying to be gentle at this point they half dragged half carried him backwards towards the throne. He felt his body make contact, back thumping against the hard stone. He dug his claws into the pink of his arms to try to bring himself to full consciousness.  

“What the fuck did you just do?” he rasped. His throat felt raw as if it had been scraped by a sharp rock. He felt indescribably hollow. Blood still trickled down his still healing neck from where he had gouged it. 

The scarred Elder came forward grasping a clay pot made from the same material the cup had been. “We have harvested some of your genetic material. Once Namek is safe we will use it to continue your bloodline.” They smiled as if this was welcome news, holding the pot up like a prize. Piccolo saw red, forgetting the screaming pain in his body he moved to grab at the pot, he barely lifted an arm however before his body gave out and slumping over boneless into the chair. “I’ll kill all of you.” The threat rang hollow since even lifting his head to deliver it felt overwhelming. None of the Elders even bothered to look frightened or guilty. 

Elder Tsubaru stepped forward, almost close enough for Piccolo to grab. Extending his arm to kill him was a sweet fantasy, but functionally impossible he realized hollowly. “We Namekians have built ourselves back from the brink of extinction, time and time again. Katas sent you off world to preserve the bloodline and you have not continued it. We have no doubt you will be marginally successful at the ritual, but there will always be a need for ‘ Ormr hathun’ .  A mummer spread through the elders at the name and they signed themselves quickly. “The ritual needs heirs. For heirs we needed some of your genetic material. Any true Namekian would be proud to contribute.”

Piccolo tried to rally his strength thinking that decapitating every Elder on the planet for daring to do this to him would be sufficient proof he wasn’t a true Namekian. Elder Tsubaru was close enough to kill if he could manage to extend an arm slightly. The violent fantasy was interrupted by a high pitched cry. Starting with Moori and moving through every Elder as they all held hands in their circle chanting words in Namekian fast and low. The wind began to pick up swirling the corruption like a cyclone around the throne and the Dragon balls rang with a high pitched scream.  Piccolo's ears lowered trying to block out the sound even as his heartbeat and breathing began to match the frenetic pace. The chants and the vibrations melded until it was a terrible wall of sound and Piccolo wondered if this would be what finally put him out of his misery. 

And then with no warning it stopped and there was nothing. He could only hear a vague ringing in his head at the sudden absence. 

All at once the Elders in the circle raised their hands and chanted a single word, in a single voice.  

And Piccolo’s whole world fell away.

Chapter Text

Sound came first, Piccolo became aware of his uneven breaths and pounding heart before anything else, with his other senses absent he tried to focus on what he could and control his breathing. Years of meditation made it surprisingly easy to coach it into a regular rhythm. The steady in and out distracted him from all the unknowns. Like what kind of liminal space his,( Physical? Mental?) presence currently occupied. He became aware of his body soon after, the burning that had been in his throat was gone and he felt physically whole with the exception of a dull throb behind his eyes. His feet weren’t making contact with anything and he spread his arms out, still nothing. It was similar to the dream space, but everything seemed sharper, more real. He felt suspended, buoyant almost as if underwater. He was aware his eyes were open, but there was a perfect pitch blackness, whether it was the lack of a light source or some kind of blindness he was not sure. His head continued to ache. He wondered if this is the part of the dream that came after. The one that he had always avoided by waking up. He exhaled sharply through his nose. There wouldn’t be any waking up from this. He felt almost impatient for something to happen, even though he knew nothing good was going to be coming. 

As if summoned by this thought he began to feel presences shifting and swirling around him just on the periphery of his senses, there was no ki, but something told him that whatever it was, or more likely, whatever they were, were powerful. The closest he had come to this was after being eviscerated by Cell and unceremoniously thrown in the ocean, submerged and desperately trying to regenerate. Sharks had circled him smelling his strange blood. He hadn’t been scared then, his broken body and burning lungs had taken priority. He felt a shifting in the darkness around him, fear clawed at his throat. He wondered if they could smell blood. 

You have come to trap us again 

The darkness spoke. The air vibrated with a voice so deep and rich that Piccolo wondered if it was one voice or many voices. The voice, (voices?) spoke in his ears and his brain simultaneously ricocheting through his head like thunder. Enveloped in the sound was the voice from his dream. He supposed this is what real Gods sounded like. 

“I’ve come to save my planet. I couldn’t care less about trapping you.” He had wanted to sound defiant, flippant even. His voice was carried away into the darkness, pathetically mortal. The figures twisted around him in their dance. 

And yet you would and you will. As your ancestors did. Use our power and bind our souls for your own gain. For the gain of your miserable lives and your false gods. 

Piccolo wanted to argue, as much as one could argue with a disembodied collection of voices, but he realized he had no real counter-point. He only had the Elder's word for how this ritual worked, how it got started and how the Dragon Balls worked. In the end all they had was myths wrapped in their own agenda. An agenda he was not particularly on board with. He stared into the blackness. “I don’t give a shit about my ancestors, or gods, or your souls. I’m here to do whatever it takes to stop you from killing people. If that means trapping you, so be it.”

You use our power so freely.  We see in your mind. You think you have known pain. You will now feel ours. The pain you cause using us for your own selfish whims. 

There wasn't a chance to further rebut, the shapes in the air came closer and the flash of scales broke through the darkness. He thought for a brief moment that it was kind of beautiful, before the pain hit, emptying him of all thought. Piccolo felt every nerve in his body light on fire. His vision flashed entirely white robbing him of what little sight he had been able to recover. Everything was burning inside him, not just parts of his body, but the individual cells of them were in pain. He did not even seem capable of slipping into unconsciousness as the assault continued. He stood suspended, unable to move as his body withstood the assault. 

The voice had been right, he had felt confident that if this ritual involved pain he could handle it. He’d died, been cut apart, had limbs detached, been burned and beaten beyond recognition . He’d taken a strange amount of pride in how much pain he had been able to endure through his life. With that came the assumption that he had felt every trauma a body could go through. Somehow this pain was wholly and horribly unique. He bit down hard, wondering how long he would need to endure before Earth was safe, holding on to the fact that when this was over he would never have to feel anything again. 

Bulma felt almost normal sitting in her lab, if it wasn’t for the fact that her whole body felt like it was full of shattered glass and Gohan looked about two seconds away from passing out. She could almost convince herself that this was another regular alien invasion or crazy scientist, or really any scenario that the world's smartest scientist and strongest fighters had a chance at solving. She swiveled in her chair and gestured to her computer monitor. 

“So basically I know what isn’t happening, I’ve run every test I can think of, it’s not a virus or bacteria or some kind of germ warfare. It’s affecting plants and animals and fungi. Basically choking the life out of things. Having ruled out all scientific options I figure it's some bullshit magical thing, or a curse, or whatever, so I grab the dragon radar and the Dragon Ball I’ve been keeping and well, you saw what that looks like.” She paused to look at the Saiyans, Gohan was nodding, Vegeta was glowering in a corner and Goku looked completely lost. Which was pretty much what she expected, she gestured to Goku. “You said Piccolo was acting strange and he told Gohan it was connected to the Dragon Balls. Which makes sense why I, a scientific genius, couldn't crack it. It’s magic. I could try to isolate the properties coming from the Dragon Balls and reverse them but it’ll take more work, and honestly probably more time than the planet has before a mass extinction event.”

Vegeta looked smug, as if his wife’s discoveries were a direct reflection of his own accomplishments. “This isn’t the time to be havin’ an event Bulma?” Goku said standing. “The whole world’s gonna die.”

Bulma raised an eyebrow, impressed that Goku had at least followed along enough to know that this was serious. 

“Dad, a mass extinction event means everyone is dying.”  Gohan sighed, slumping forward slightly. He turned back to Bulma, “I’m not sure if it's helpful Piccolo also said he was seeing fog? Or smoke? So those are probably what’s coming out of the Dragon Balls.” 

“That does make sense, but knowing it’s aerosolized won’t speed up a solution. Bulma said, clicking through some charts frowning, “Fact is we need more information.” 

“What did Dende say?” Vegeta said from the corner. “He should have had some information.” It was Bulma's turn to look smug, though she also felt like smacking herself for not going to Dende sooner. Though it’s not like he was easily reachable. God didn’t get cell reception. 

“When?” Goku looked confused.

“After you went to Namek, clearly he’s also involved in this especially if the Dragon Balls are.” Vegeta glared across the room and Gohan slumped down even further.  

“Oh, I didn’t even think ta’ ask.” Goku rubbed the back of his head and laughed. 

“Wait, you took Piccolo to Namek, noticed something was wrong on Namek and didn’t think to ask the only remaining Namekian on the planet what was going on!” Vegeta stomped across the room inches from Goku, his face twisted with rage, Gohan could see his temple throbbing and wondered if he was well enough to break up a fight. 

“Well when you put it like that it makes sense! No, I figured somethin’ was happenin’ I came to find people to help.” Goku was no longer smiling. 

“I’m going to kill you if whatever we’re fighting doesn’t.” Vegeta took a step toward Goku. Gohan started to take a stand hoping to at least move the fight outside.

“If we’re back to killing Goku, count me in.” A dry voice interrupted as 18 walked into the lab, causing Vegeta to take a step back and Gohan to let out a sigh of relief. 

“What’s the android doing here?” Vegeta turned on his heel and crossed his arms. 

Bulma spoke up, also relieved that a fight hadn’t broken out in her lab. “When I figured it was making all life on Earth sick I called and asked how she was feeling given that she’s not entirely organic. Then I texted to update when you guys showed up and said Piccolo’s in trouble and there may be a fight.”

18 walked over and perched on an office chair looking completely at ease. She noted Goku and Vegeta seemed annoyingly lively, but Gohan and Bulma looked as ill as the rest of her family. Crossing her legs she sat back in the chair. “Krillin is sick and at home taking care of Marron who has what I assume everyone else is sick with. He sends his regards.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, face completely neutral. 

“There’s no money in this so why are you here?” Vegeta narrowed his eyes, still not fully trusting 18 and still fuming at Kakkarot for his oversight, itching for a fight. 

18’s façade cracked as she turned the chair to face Vegeta, raising her voice ever so slightly. “Are you deaf? I told you my husband and child are sick. Besides Piccolo is the only one of you that is slightly tolerable, it’d be a shame if he died. I can’t say the same about you.”

Vegeta snorted and 18 raised an eyebrow. “Why are you here Vegeta? You’d think this would be beneath you.” 

Vegeta’s face twisted, clearly not wanting to admit he was just as worried about his own family, or god forbid worried about Piccolo. “I heard there would be a fight, and clearly with the Namek missing you lot have also lost the one branicell you lot share.” 

“And you think you’re going to be the one to provide it, that’s rich?” her voice dripped with sarcasm as 18 inspected her nails, ignoring the increasingly deep red colour Vegta was turing. 

Gohan rubbed his forehead, “We should go see Dende,” he said, probably too loudly before Vegeta got the fight he so clearly wanted. 

18 tossed her hair, “We may as well wait,17 is on his way. He may provide the brains Vegeta foolishly thinks he is supplying the group.”

“17 is coming too?” Gohan blurted out, blushing at the unintended disbelief in his voice. The androids had been more involved in battles since the Tournament of Power but 17 coming was still a shock. 18 looked at him like she was disappointed in him and Gohan shrunk under her gaze. "I'm not the only one who finds Piccolo tolerable.” she shrugged.

Gohan looked away embarrassed. He felt both proud of and intensely possessive of Piccolo suddenly. Logically he knew other people caring about Piccolo didn’t threaten their friendship, but he had been so secure for so long that he was Piccolo’s best friend and other than Dende and his family, his only friend. He realized Piccolo had gone out of his way to say goodbye to him, but the way 18 had raised her eyebrow, as if 17 coming had been obvious got under his skin. Gohan looked over at Vegeta who was still scowling, but also still present and presumably willing to help. He tilted his head back trying to clear his fevered mind, pushing aside his childish jealousy. Part of him still felt guilty for doubting Piccolo could handle this on his own, for going against his instructions. He could sense something deep in the animal part of his brain, like an unscratchable itch, something that told Piccolo was in trouble. He was glad Piccolo had made so many friends, they were probably going to need all the help they could get. 

Piccolo tried to keep himself from screaming as he felt his body spasm, he couldn’t see his body in the darkness, or if the wounds were external or internal or both, though he supposed it didn’t matter. In truth he was unsure whether this was his actual body, though that didn’t matter either.  Whatever manifestation was here was being torn apart piece painful by piece. Still he refused to scream, even though he doubted ancient Gods cared very little at his small rebellion, he would not show them any more weakness then he already had. 

He tried to anchor his mind to things that weren’t the agonizing physical present. The things that his eventual death would lead to. Pan being able to grow up, Dende being able to take care of the earth,.Gohan living in the periods of peace he worked so hard to deserve, Goten and Trunks starting their lives together, Goku and Vegeta unlocking some ridiculous new form, giving him hope he still had the potential to grow as a fighter. 

He hated his selfish impulse to want to be there to see it all. When had he found so many things to live for? 

Think you know pain, yet you so easily submit when subjected to ours.

Piccolo bit back a response, not trusting his brain or his body to form anything coherent. He instead tried to focus on each breath, one second and then the next. He began to feel blood, warm and wet, trail lazily out of his nose and he wondered if this was a sign that the end was getting closer. He switched to breathing through gritted teeth and tried not to scream. 

Unbidden, like a vision in meditation he heard Pan’s voice, so clearly he had to look to make sure she hadn’t appeared somehow. “When I’m old no one will tell me what to do.”  

Piccolo took a shuddering breath, and then another, focusing on that day, the chaos of the room, Pan’s small hands gently handing him toys. Her absolute assurance that no one in the world could boss Piccolo around. Piccolo snarled, face twisting into a grimace at his own weakness. How dare he consider rolling over and dying. He had died before, he would likely die again, but he refused to give in to the impulse to die quietly. He had fought aliens, gods, demons  and other monsters. These Gods may have killed every Namekian that came through this trial, but he was so much more than a Namekian. 

Something shifted in his body or perhaps the shift was wholly his mind and the pain began to feel familiar. He had been in pain before, he had been overpowered and outclassed and outnumbered. The last few months he had been slowly worn down by exhaustion, unable to meditate and the pervasive all encompassing sense of dread. In this moment he felt more like himself than he had in a long time. This was the worst case scenario. He summoned what ki he could access, focusing it in his arms, inch by painful inch raising them into a fighting pose.

No matter who the opponent was. He was a fighter. Death was an inevitability, and a painless death had never been an option. He’d die like he always had, ever since he had learned what it truly meant to fight. He'd die fighting to protect what was important. 

Flexing his claws he broke through the onslaught to extend his arm at one of the twisting shapes grabbing at scaled flesh. He winced and lowered his ears as an unearthly scream assaulted his ears and mind. Retracting his arm he saw his hand coated in a rich blue blood. He had no idea if the Gods could see him, or even perceive him visually, but he licked the blood off his fingers and smiled his fangs on full display. They expected a Namekian, he fully intended to show them a demon. 

The Gods thrashed through the air, more frenetic and Piccolo took advantage of the apparent confusion to fire a ki blast, energy crackling through the dark and if the repeat of the scream was anything to go on he had made another hit. He tensed for some sort of retaliation, instead pinpricks of light began to appear. Piccolo stayed tense, trying to anticipate the next move, body still wracked with pain. Suddenly gravity shifted, the world tilted sickeningly, and he began to fall. The air whipped around him and he found his eyes struggling to keep up with the shifting landscape as the world continued growing lighter, by the time he hit the ground on his knees he took in the blue grass and green sky. The shock of the fall reverberated through his bones and he grit his teeth and flexed his fingers. He thought for a moment that they had thrown him back to New Namek, probably proving unworthy of their sacred ritual, but everything was slightly off. There were more trees, more mountains and the colour of the grass and sky was close, but slightly off. He swore quietly to himself as recognition hit. Why the hell was he on old Namek?

You have decided to fight. Yet you do not know what you fight for. Allow us to show you. 

Piccolo spit into the dirt in response, a combination of his own blood and the dragons’. He looked into the sky toward the multitude of voices, and finally saw what he was dealing with. Long thick scaled bodies in shifting chromatic colours, huge fanged jaws, thick manes of untamed fur, bigger than any dragon he had ever seen twisted through the sky high above him. He tried to count them but the continuous pain made it impossible to focus. His resolve wavered slightly, his father had killed Shenron once, and perhaps deep down he was expecting to be able to kill one or two before he was eaten or torn apart, the idea now seemed even more absurd. He wasn’t sure if he had expected them to surge forward, descend on him, or shoot energy at him, but he had expected some sort of retaliation. So when the dragons vanished from the sky, suddenly and silently he was unprepared. He was also unprepared for the pain to vanish leaving his body spasming in its absence, lungs heaving to take in long overdue breaths. Suppressing the urge to vomit. He dragged himself to his knees and dug his claws into the grass. It felt real, but clearly he couldn’t be on a planet that hasn’t existed in twenty five years. What kind of trial was this? He walled his mind against whatever second hand emotional remnants the landscape began to stir in Nail’s memories. 

This proved short lived as he saw a figure, a Namkeian, improbably taller and wider then he was, dressed in the exact same outfit, walking towards him, pointing a staff and shouting in a language Piccolo could only guess was some sort of ancient Namekian Heavily accented and slightly foreign, he could only recognize familiar sounds, not any of the words. It took Piccolo a second to realize they were shouting, whatever they were saying, at him. Purple energy began to crackle around the figure, arcing through the air like lightning. 

Piccolo felt his body shift without his input and he rose quickly into the sky until the Namekian was just a speck on the blue earth and the mountains looked like toys. He tried to move, to lower himself, or get his bearings, but his body refused to cooperate. Looking down he realized why. It was no longer his body. He was a dragon, not just a dragon he was one of the Gods he had just seen. Vaguely at the edges of his consciousness he began to feel the thoughts of the body he was inhabiting, like whispers he could half hear. He tried to parse them. They were emotion heavy and vaguely formed. Not the thoughts of a normal mind. He shifted through layers of pain, and anguish, they were deeper and more complex then he was prepared for. Piccolo almost felt himself lost in their onslaught until his, (their?) eyes saw the same Namekian following them through the clouds, the same crackling energy filling the sky like lightning. HE could feel the God try to do something and a shining rift appeared in the sky, deep and full of stars. The lightning cut through the air in front of them, sewing up the rift and blocking their escape. Piccolo felt the jaws of the great beast open and roar into the sky. The Namekian moved closer.

A name flared into his mind Silge. After the name a fully formed thought rattled through whatever connection had been forged between him and the God, they were the last and they were being hunted. 

Chapter Text

The mind Piccolo inhabited seethed, pouring vitriol through whatever psychic bond tied them together. The serpentine body twisted mid-air to face the enemy Namekian. Roaring into the sky, ki flying from its jaws electric and white mingling with the magic still shooting in the air. Silge didn’t seem intimidated by the display and tightened their grip on the staff they carried.  Piccolo remembered him being referenced as his ancient ancestor as well as originator of all this. The Gods had apparently flung him through time and space, but to what end? To watch them fight the God he was currently inhabiting? He had been told the Gods had been captured and their power used to create the Dragon Balls, so apparently Moori had got one part of the story correct. 

Piccolo saw the battle through the Gods eyes while trying  to concentrate on maintaining his own consciousness. He felt the walls between his mind and its mind begin to weaken when faced with the intensity of their anger, the way the barrier between their physical bodies had faded when Silge had appeared. He felt it move through the sky toward Silge, he felt the searing of its skin where the magic hit. The Dragon God clenched their jaws, lashing its tail at Silge who dodged easily. Piccolo felt the body tense, scales  locking together like armour as the assault continued. Each blow stung intensely, Piccolo realized it was not used to pain, clearly nothing had ever been a match for it before. He concentrated on Silge, larger and broader than any Namekian he had ever been aware of aside from Guru. They stood in the same outfit, the one Piccolo had been forced to wear before the ritual, the same patterns decorating their skin, though the ones on Silge were glowing purple, radiating with dangerous magic, whatever their purpose was was not just aesthetic. He wondered if the intimidation he felt was the God’s or his own. 

The whisper-like thoughts from the God grew  louder as Piccolo watched the battle. The God tried to use its size to its advantage, keeping distance and twisting around the magic that shot through the sky like lances until its body hit what appeared to be an invisible wall in the air. Silge had created a barrier around them trapping them in a limited space. They tried to use their mind to attack psychically, sending a blast at the Namekian, but Silge was unaffected by the psychic assault. The God and Piccolo, its unwilling passenger, thrashed through the space, purple lightning arcing around them slicing into their flesh blue blood spraying to the planet below, Silge seemingly untouchable still glowing and chanting in Namekian. The space the God could move in became smaller and smaller at the invisible barrier closed in around it. It became harder to dodge Silge’s magic and the God began to weaken, blood pouring on to the planet like rain from multiple wounds. In its agony it began to gather energy to make one final desperate attack, Piccolo felt the familiar tingle of ki being gathered and concentrated, ready to be amplified and released. Suddenly the entire length of the God’s body erupted in white light as pure ki was released indiscriminately through the air hoping to annihilate the stubborn Namekian. Even the God was blinded in the attack. 

When the light faded it saw the wretched Namekian still there, not injured in the slightest. The God surged forward in a head on attack but was repelled by the barrier, now positioned so that Silge was on the other side, unreachable. Pressure began bearing down on all sides as the barrier continued to shrink, forcing the long dragon-like body to curl up on itself.  Piccolo could no longer keep the thoughts of the dragon separate from his own as the despair the God washed over him like a tidal wave. The God's history came to Piccolo suddenly as if he had always known.  Like he had lived it himself.

First there had been freedom. They had been there in the beginning before the World tree bore fruit. The seven of them, as old as the universes, born from the power of its beginning. First it had been empty, but then things began to form from the dust of creation. They watched the births of the Angels and the Kais. They had been wary of the new beings at first, but grew bored of their rules, squabbles and hierarchy wanting no part of it. The new beings were long lived but still young and foolish. They watched the mortal races begin to live on the planets. They saw the mortals begin to look for guidance in their sad short lives. Sometimes their people showed mercy to them intrigued by their offerings. Mostly they kept to themselves, content to watch. The new Gods however began to impose their will on the mortals. Shaping their worlds, ordering them and dividing them amongst themselves like fiefdoms. Creating barriers between the universe so the mortals were split from one another, easier to control and order around. They had not minded of course, such things did not impede their travel. But the new Gods grew more ambitious and they had asked them to lend their power to their efforts, they had denied it. They were not interested in the lives of mortals. They had not seen their downfall, they had been powerful for so long they believed themselves untouchable. 

It's kind, few that there were, had been hunted, one by one by this thing and it’s strange magic. They had come to seek it out in its homeworld to destroy it. The God could still feel the souls of the other Gods somewhere on this planet, screaming out with the sorrow of those who have been trapped against their will and they were determined to free them. Once they freed their brethren they would put this universe behind them, leaving the mortals to their own strange devices. This God had been, the strongest and most feared of them, the most powerful and magic of them. They came expecting to be heeded as was their right as a God, expecting the proper respect to the true Gods and not the false pretenders that had decided the title was theirs. Instead the Namekian, drunk with powers and gifts from the Kai, had broken their truce and forced them into a fragile mortal form. They wondered if all of the others had fallen this way. They wondered if it was a mistake to have ignored the mortals for so long, long enough for them to become dangerous. Their ancient pride had betrayed them. 

The God debased itself and used the voice of its mortal body to address the Namekian. 

‘We have done nothing. And yet you hunt us. Answer for yourself.” 

Silge stopped chanting and addressed the Dragon God, though the spell continued, further confining the God, diminishing them. 

“Your powers could have been used to better the universe, to bring order, yet you selfishly keep them to yourselves. We can bring order to the universe, we mortals can work with the Kais and the Angels. You denied that alliance.” Silge seemed legitimately angry, as if it was their right to possess the power of beings far more ancient than he could ever comprehend. 

“Our power is not for your kind.” The God managed to sound authoritative even as it was further constricted. 

“We will use it to help the world, and then I will release your tether. You have my word.”

“Your word is useless to me and my kind. Heed my warning. Any that use our power you will be cursed by our rage. You may trap us, but no trap is perfect. Our vengeance will be felt by you and all your ancestors as long as you keep us.” The God hissed, the acidic rage began to overflow, streaming out its nostrils as a black mist. 

Piccolo saw it stream forth, clouding the clear barrier they were trapped in. Slowly blocking out the ever shrinking view of the Namekian. Silge put both hands on their staff, eyes sliding closed. Piccolo saw their antenna droop and perspiration slide down their forehead. He felt the body of the dragon coil tighter and tighter around itself, until once again everything went black. 

As Dede felt the ki of Gohan and the others gather at Capsule Corp a knot loosened inside them. They had been told by Piccolo that no one would ask after him and had hoped that was not true. Piccolo had fought aside them for decades, risked his life for theirs, they were relieved that his absence was felt, though even they were a bit shocked at the speed at which they had assembled. They were also terrified that the group would come to them looking for answers or reassurance, things they were not sure they could provide. What reassurance was there?   

Dende read the ki of the planet, there was no change, the ‘ kleth’ was still present, choking the life out of the planet. They were unsure if there would be incremental improvements or if the Earth would return to stasis all at once when the ritual was complete. There was so much they could not answer.

Dende sighed and walked out of the main building of the palace. They would face the group and do their best. They tightened the grip on their staff fangs worrying their lower lip when they felt a tug on their robe. Turning to see Mr. Po Po his eyes characteristically wide but also soft. Gently Mr. Po Po took Dende’s hands in his squeezing them reassuringly. 

“The old Kami saw things in black and white. There was only one way to do things. This thinking is what caused them to give up on  Piccolo in his youth. In the end though Kami made many good decisions he also made mistakes. It took Goku and his friends to show Kami there could be other ways of doing things. You should trust them and yourself. There may be a way to solve this.” 

Dende smiled back at their friend sadly. Hoping that Mr. Po Po’s wisdom was correct. There wasn’t room for further discussion or reassurance, as Goku and the others appeared in front of them.

Clumped together around Goku for a brief moment, Dende tried to hide to their shock at seeing 17, 18 and Bulma among the fighters. They noted that Gohan was being worn down faster than the full Saiyans or the androids, they were impressed however that Bulma was able to be present. Most human’s at this point were not able to leave their beds with the amount of corruption that had entered the air. They however were not surprised that Vegeta stomped over, poking them in the chest so hard they almost fell to the floor. 

“Start talking Namek, what do you know?” 

Dende had to start and stop a few times as coughs wracked their body. “I’ll tell you everything I know. But I will also caution you all  there is very little we will be able to do about it. There is a corruption, we would say ‘kleth’ in Namekian, one that you can’t see or sense, that is causing this world, and any world with Dragon Balls to slowly die. It is a byproduct not only of the creation but the continual use of the Dragon balls.”

18 and 17 simultaneously narrowed their eyes and crossed their arms in a way so subtly threatening that Dende had to suppress the urge to shiver. 17 spoke first, words laced with venom, “Are you only going to tell us things we have managed to figure out for ourselves? We know something is wrong with the Dragon Balls and we know Piccolo is involved as well. What we want to know is why.”

Dende looked to Gohan for reassurance but the usually soft eyes of their friend were narrowed as well, skeptical. They supposed they deserved this. “Piccolo is the only one who can stop this, he is descended from the original creator of the original and most powerful Dragon Balls, and is therefore undergoing a ritual to reverse the corruption and restore the worlds and Dragon Balls to their original state. This ritual has happened every few centuries for all of our history.” 

“Okay great so Piccolo does this ritual, which no problem he’s super strong, and everything goes back to normal. So what does he have to do?” Goku laughed despite the tension still thick in the air. 

Dende paled, “ No one is entirely sure, the Elders only know vague legends, no one has completed the ritual since the calamity took old Namek. We do know that no one has ever survived. The ‘kleth’ can only be stopped by sacrificing a member of the bloodline. Piccolo…. Is the last member of that bloodline…so he….they…. have to….” Their ears lowered as they heard the heavy thump of Gohan falling to his knees onto the tiles. Goku blinked in confusion, Vegeta took a step back frown deepening. 17 and 18 continued to stare menacingly, Bulma looked lost in thought. They spoke through the tears that came, “ it was not supposed to go this far, I hesitated to tell Piccolo, so the Elders came. He didn’t want you to know, I….” Dende trailed off, unable to speak past the lump in their throat. They heard the sound of tears hitting the tiles, unsure for a moment if they were their own, or Gohan’s or both. 

Bulma, who had continued to lean on Goku for support, began rubbing her head. She wished the pounding headache would take a break so she could think clearly as her brain began to digest this information. She’d lived with the population of Namek in her home for a year and not once had anything like this been mentioned. Something didn’t fit though. Dende had said every word with Dragon Balls.  “What about the Kais and the Gods?” 

Goku side-eyed Bulma he was still completely lost. “What about ‘em?”

The group turned. Bulma pushed off Goku and almost magically, probably magically, Mr. Po Po appeared with a chair. She sat down heavily. “They have Dragon Balls, we’ve seen them.” 

Dende nodded, “They are likely dealing with the same issue, though they are perhaps more resistant to succumbing to illness than others.”

Bulma bit her lip, needing to think out loud, she looked at Vegeta who gave her the slightest nod. “So why aren’t they here?” Gohan whispered his tear stained face looked up at Bulma and she could see his brain beginning to latch onto the same paradox. 

“Exactly!”  Bulma’s shout came out as more of a strangled cry, “if what you’re saying is true then Piccolo is basically the most important person in this universe, and they left him in the dark about all of this until it was almost too late to stop. They could have become involved decades ago. Think about it, if the corruption is spreading to all the places with Dragon Balls you’d think the Godly realm would be a lot more worried. They may be strong but we know they can die.” 

18 tilted her head to the side, blonde hair fanning out over her shoulder. “What if they didn’t know that Piccolo was the one needed for the ritual?” 

“Then that makes even less sense. They let Frieza blow up Namek and didn’t step in. They let whatever calamity happened to Namek happen. One that as far as we know wiped out any blood-line other than Guru’s. It makes no sense? Why would they let all the Namekians die, twice? Especially If they were counting on a Namekian sacrifice to stop themselves from dying and the Dragon Balls from becoming useless.”

Gohan wiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, eyebrows knitted together. “So they either had a contingency plan to stop all of this or knew Piccolo was still alive and part of the bloodline, and that they didn’t need to intervene.”  He waved away Mr. Po Po who had brought him a face cloth and began to massage his temples, willing his brain to catch up to Bulma’s train of thought. 

Mr. Po Po spoke softly, still holding the floral handkerchief he had offered Gohan, “But everyone, Kami and Piccolo have died twice with no action from the Gods.”

Gohan had to stop himself from interjecting that Piccolo had died three times, two of which had been Gohan’s fault. That if Piccolo died this time it would be Gohan’s fault. Guilt wasn’t going to help anyone now, lots of time to feel awful about letting Piccolo walk into this without even trying to stop him later, preferably after they’d brought him home safely. “They control the afterlife, so they may have just needed his spirit? The ritual comes about to cleanse this disaster but also to make the Dragon Balls work again? So it stands to reason that not using or destroying all sets of Dragon Balls would have prevented all of this? But they didn’t stop after the first time, you said this has been going on for centuries?” 

“There is always a ritual. The knowledge of it has been passed down over generations. The…. the Elder…..the gods. …they said there was no other way…..” Dende bit their lip in hope, taking the handkerchief from Mr. Po Po and dabbing at their eyes. They didn’t want to allow themselves to hope, it had been their futile hope that had let the world get into this state. The group had a point, they had not thought to question these inconsistencies. They had not been raised to question those in higher positions, let alone the higher Gods.

Vegeta had been standing to the side, arms crossed, trying very hard not to notice that usually there were two of them occupying this position when the group was conferring. It felt off. “ And you believed them!” 

Everyone turned at the outburst, Vegeta also seemed shocked, clearing his throat and continuing. “The Dragon Balls, even the regular non-super ones, are the most powerful things in the damn universe, and believe me I’ve traveled it, I’d know. The God’s hoard the strongest ones and offer them up as prizes for tournaments. They allow other planets to possess less powerful copies so mortals can fight over them. What would any of the Kai’s care if the status quo of their little universe means a few more dead mortals and one dead Namekian?”

Gohan looked down again, he didn’t want to think the universe was that cruel, but the Tournament of Power had taught them all how much mortal life meant when weighed against the amusement of Gods. Bulma shot a tired smile to Vegeta who had gone back to glowering. 

“So our theories are that the Gods won’t allow destroying the Dragon Balls to prevent death to become an option, if that is in fact an option, if there is another one available? Or did they know Piccolo was around to complete the ritual? And if they did, did they not want Piccolo to know ahead of time because he may be smart enough to figure out something is wrong with this whole thing? So now what? I suppose we could try to stop the ritual and appeal to the Kai’s in case there is another way to solve this? ” 

Goku looked between them all, brow furrowed, unable to follow most of the conversation, all he knew is his stomach kept sinking lower and lower. He watched Gohan and Bulma both pale and shaking, thinking as hard as they could to solve what seemed to be an unsolvable mystery. Closing his eyes he tried to reach out for any of the Kai’s energy signatures and couldn’t detect them at all, not even King Kai. Biting his tongue he again tried finding any Namekian ki in space. Still nothing. Everyone kept talking, throwing out words like, trans-dimensional, and intervene. He wished Piccolo was here to explain it all to him in a way he understood, he was good at that. 

18 wondered if the slightly delayed processing speed she was experiencing was due to worry over her family, or the ‘ kleth’ affecting her bio-mechanical components. She shot her brother a look, a look, one of the benefits of their artificial humanity was they had been able to process and run a significant number of scenarios based on the information provided by the group. 17 nodded back ever so slightly. She realized they had come to the same conclusion and she hated to be the bearer of bad news. She was relieved it was 17 who shared their conclusion to the group, “Whether we are right or wrong. None of this matters if we can’t get to Namek.”

His body was being compressed, squeezed on all sides, unable to move even slightly. Piccolo wondered briefly if he was still occupying the body of the God. The immediate flood forigen emotion into his mind confirmed that he still was. Everything had a vague orange haze as he looked out of their shared eyes. The sense of dejavu was unmistakable. He felt the Dragon God try to use its magic only for every nerve in their shared consciousness to burn simultaneously. Piccolo didn’t know there was a spell that could exist worse than the Mafuba. It seemed like his ancestor had found it. 

Silge’s voice came from about them and outside them all at once as light flooded into their orange prison. 

“As you can see the old Gods are trapped most effectively. Their power is strongest when they are gathered, amplifying their original magic many times over. Thus allowing you to summon a construct to draw on their power and grant wishes.” 

The God’s eyes spun wildly, it and Piccolo saw six other spheres hanging in the star dappled sky. His suspicion was confirmed, they were inside the Super Dragon Balls. He tried to concentrate on what was being said but the loud thoughts of the God rang through his mind, leaving a trail of pure rage behind them.  

My siblings. They are in there. They are trapped. They are hurting. 

Piccolo tried again to focus, luckily both his and the God’s attention was captured by a voice he had heard a handful of times, he felt the confusion of the God who had no idea who their captors were, who would have even dared to confine them. He was glad the Gods' eyes were drawn down and away from their siblings' prisons so he could focus. 

“You have exceeded our wildest expectations Silge. With these our plans for this universe and its inhabitants will be realized.” 

The Grand Priest was there, the Angles, the Kais and all of the Gods of the underworld and afterlife, some of the Gods of destruction were familiar, others were completely new, he couldn’t see Beerus or Champa among those assembled, he did see a younger version of old Kai from Universe 7. Piccolo remembered Moori’s words. “ This allowed the Kais to bring order and form to the universe and create the universe we now inhabit.” 

He had never much cared about the way the universal bureaucracy was set up, there was a reason he wasn’t a Kami. Knowing they set it up by trapping powerful beings and exploiting them for some reason seemed less shocking then if he had not been forced to fight for their amusement and for his universe’s survival. The new Gods and the Kai’s had decided that these old Gods, existing freely in the Universes minding their own business was an affront to their overly self-important sense of order. From what Piccolo could glean from the memories of the Dragon God he was hitching a ride with the chaos and destruction that the Elders had told him about the old Gods causing was never real. The Kais had manipulated a Namekian to do their dirty work and trap them. And now thousands of years later the world was paying for it. 

“The spell is almost perfect. We can use their power and the power will fade eventually as their connection to this realm fades. We must prevent overuse though. As I said it is almost perfect, their will is strong and overuse weakens the spell allowing their rage, in almost a physical form, to escape and kill those who have benefited from their pain.” Silge’s head was lowered reverently, eyes cast away from sky, Piccolo wondered if he could feel the anger pulsing in each and every Dragon Ball. 

The new Gods looked up and the Grand Priest put a delicate hand to his chin. “Is there a way to keep them tethered? It would be a shame to lose this power just because of a few upset lizards. This power is instrumental to our plans, and would be useful to have in case any one comes along to try to disrupt our rightful rule of the Universes.” 

Silge visibly shook as they looked up to address the assembled Kais, Angels and Gods. “It is possible…. but….  The magic would require…. that kind of magic demands blood, the Go-... the Dragons are sealed, but they will find a way to try and escape. The pact will have to be re-forged again and again.” 

Piccolo and the God knew that the parting words had affected Silge. Playing with magic you could barely control had consequences. The smug satisfaction the God felt did not reach Piccolo, he was clearly the one living out the consequences of this choice. 

The Grand Priest clapped his hands looking pleased. “So then blood it is!  What kind of Gods don’t demand blood!” 

“But the consequences would be devastating, the magic fragile, the repercussions of failure…..” Silge stammered, rising quickly, no longer deferential, gesturing with a tattooed hand to the sky as if the escape had already begun. Piccolo began to feel off balance, the figures below began to blur and shift. Even though he could no longer see he could still hear the Grand Priest's eerily calm voice. He wondered if this was the last thing the Dragon God had seen and heard. 

“For this power a few consequences are expected, Silge. We have promised in our new universe your people will share in our power and thrive. Do what you need to to ensure our universe is protected, or we will ensure your kind does not live to see the glorious future we have planned.” 

He felt the final thrashing of the God’s body before he ceased being able to feel the physical form. Emotions swirled around Piccolo as he was dragged down back into darkness, shame, anger, regret, betrayal, fear. They passed through him wracking him until he was no longer sure they weren’t his own. He fought to keep his mind separate to stop himself from losing himself in the past. This vision had been an attempt to make him give up. Piccolo steeled himself this changed nothing, whether betrayed or not the old Gods were affecting innocent people in their grudge. People who had never heard of Dragon Balls were suffering and he would not allow it to continue as long as he could keep fighting. 

In the darkness something flashed off to his left and Piccolo saw a crack of light briefly appear.. He willed himself toward it, even as the light touched his essence he began to burn even as his head began to ring and he began to taste metal. The darkness had an almost comforting quality, seductive in its stillness and quiet, but he refused to give in, as he struggled towards the light, and whatever awful vision or trial was coming next. 

The Lookout was quiet, Bulma had, after much back and forth, been taken to one of the bedrooms by Vegeta so she could rest. Goku sat in twitching meditation trying to concentrate on any ki that would lead them to New Namek. Gohan had occupied Bulma’s vacated seat, sitting with his hands in his head massaging his temples and coughing softly. 17 and 18 whispered quietly, though loud enough for Dende to hear, about contingency plans and if they could rob an aerospace company and find a spaceship to at least get their families off the doomed planet. 

Dende stood at the edge looking down at Earth, much of the population had begun to experience the late stages of ‘ kleth’ poisoning, many like Bulma, had fallen into a deep and fevered slumber. They hoped their dreams were at least pleasant, they felt their own lungs burn with each breath. They wondered if their punishment was to watch the Earth perish before they finally succumbed. It was no less than they deserved. Ears flicking at unsteady footsteps, Dende turned to see Gohan approaching on shaking legs. They reached out a hand and Gohan recoiled. Dende’s throat closed in shame. They tried to swallow it, what right did they have to feel slighted. 

“So this whole time you knew.” the voice was strangled and halting. Dende hated to hear Gohan sound this way more than they hated the tone of accusation in his voice. 

“I didn’t know it would be like this.” Dende looked down at the tiles once again. “I learned before I returned to Earth to become Kami.” 

Gohan gritted his teeth. The Namekian Elders using Piccolo like this was a shock, but the feeling that Dende had known, had kept this from Piccolo and all of them. The years they had spent long days at the Lookout, studying and playing together, meditating with Piccolo. The whole time Dende had known. They had always been quieter and more reserved. Now Gohan wondered if that was the byproduct of them keeping this secret. He thought they were friends. 

Dende saw the flash of rage play out across Gohan’s face, they wondered if he was not so ill if they would have been faced with an ascended Super Saiyan. “I waited too long to contact the Elders. I had hoped that he would be strong enough. I had hoped that we could avoid this, not every generation has to deal with this. I hoped that Piccolo could avoid this.” 

Gohan clenched and unclenched his fists. How many times had he thought the same thing? If he just didn’t address a problem it wasn’t there. If he didn’t train he wouldn’t have to fight. If he didn’t acknowledge his destructive power he wouldn’t have to use it. Piccolo had been the one time and time again to make him face the reality that there were things you couldn’t look away from. And still he had let him walk away without questioning him. Hoping that Piccolo could go off on his own and solve everything. They had both managed to still act like those kids cowering behind Piccolo’s legs on Namek, trusting that he’d protect them. Doubled over coughing hard Gohan’s internal berration stopped when he felt a delicate hand between his shoulder blades. 

Dende rubbed warm healing energy onto his back, though they both felt it was weaker than it should have been. “I let the Elders take him, I should have spoken up, I felt like I had ruined so much already, I should have come to all of you when we had the chance and now it may be too late…he worried no one would come looking for him.” 

Gohan took the first deep breath in what felt like years. Looking Dende in the eyes he felt some of that anger dissolve. Both of them had failed Piccolo, as easy as it would be to blame Dende, he knew he shared some of the responsibility. “Piccolo’s problem isn’t that other people don’t care about him, it's that he doesn't care about himself enough to realize people do care. He’s alive. I can feel it. Something in me knows that. I just can’t reach him, wherever he is.”  

Dende smiled sadly, “the bond you two share is unique, there isn’t one like it, though most Nameks are telepathically linked, what you two have is very special. You can tell both of you care for one another a great deal. In a way it reminds me of the bond I shared with Ca…” They stopped abruptly, eyes wide.

“Dende?”  The energy had stopped and the vice-like pressure on Gohan’s lungs had resumed. He looked at his friend who stared intently at the sky, staff gripped in their claws. 

“I don’t want to give anyone false hope, but I may have one last way to get all of you to Namek.” 

Piccolo gasped like he was coming up for air, gripping at the hard surface under his fingers like a lifeline. His hand flew to his chest, and came away with the loose fabric of the vest he had been wearing, his chest, solid and real. His body. The burning in his throat and the aching in his limbs returned in full force and he was almost thankful for it. If he no longer felt the strange churn of something else's thoughts and feelings, he’d take pain. Batting his eyes open he was met with the shocked expression of the circle of Elders instead of twisting Dragons. Piccolo narrowed his eyes, was this another illusion?

“This is unheard of!” Moori cried, hand flying to their throat. “The ritual is not complete. How did you…..?” 

The whispers in Namekian came soon after, voices thick with disbelief. He heard ‘ ‘lyrgh’ and rolled his eyes. To call him unworthy of their little death ritual was almost laughable if it wasn’t also deadly serious. 

Okay so it was probably not a vision.

Piccolo scanned the area, the Dragon Balls at his feet had regained some of their sheen and he was relieved he had done something right, however the air was still thick with fog. Each breath reminded him of that. His teeth ground down, this meant that all that pain had only resulted in a minor delay. Earth and Namek were still in danger.

“Send me back.” 

The whispers stopped.  

“Send me back. It’s clearly not over. Restart your Ormr hathun…” Piccolo purposely mispronounced the words hitting the r’s hard in a way he knew sounded particularly grating. 

Moori lowered their hands from their neck. “We do not know if this is possible. There is no knowledge of anyone being able to stop mid-ritual.” Their eyes looked to the other Elders in obvious panic.. 

“There are not enough words to express how much you don’t know about all this. As much as I’d love to explain how your entire peaceful society is built on a sham, I have several planets to save. You hypocrites were so happy to drug and drag me unwillingly into this so I will tell you one more time. Send. Me. Back.”  Piccolo sat back hard on the throne, eyes shut trying to make the transition back marginally smoother, claws beginning to crack the armrests. 

The Elders hesitated for a moment before the chanting began again, drowning out all Piccolo’s instincts telling him this was a terrible mistake. That there would be no getting out again. Whatever had sent him back to his body had been a fluke. He heard the same rise and break in sound as the Elders opened the gates between the realms. Piccolo once again fell into the darkness. 

The Elders stood arms clasped as Piccolo’s physical form slumped forward on the throne. Magic running strong through their hands, warming them despite the unnatural wind. One by one they began to break their psychic link and settled in to watch and wait for the outcome. 

None of them noticed a young Namekian turn their eyes toward the sky as a voice reached out to them though space. Cargo picked at their nails nervously wondering what was happening on Earth and why Dende was trying to speak to them.

Chapter Text

Once in what now felt like another life, Goten had come to him to help with a school project on father figures asking him to name his positive attributes. After vehemently denying he was any sort of father figure, badly comforting Goten who was on the verge of tears post-denial, and  asking for a definition of the word attributes from a bemused Chi Chi, Piccolo would only be able to think of two. Both relating to battle. Goten, frustrated that Piccolo had left most of the paper blank, had gone to Gohan for help, who then filled in six double sided pages, using words that Goten wasn’t sure his teacher could define. Piccolo remembered Goten had laughed that they had both listed the same thing at the top of their pages. ‘Adaptable’ 

Adaptability had allowed a child like him to survive on a planet that was alien to them through two incarnations. It had allowed someone not like him at all to find a way to avenge their people and cheat a regular death. It had allowed him to survive in situations where he had outclassed, unprepared or underpowered. 

Adaptability meant that even though this was his second time hurtling through a colourless soundless void he managed to maintain focus. Not losing track of his senses or the presence of his psychic manifestation he was able to brace himself for whatever the Gods decided to test him with next. He wondered if the pain, the memory of which caused his body to involuntary shudder, was something he could also adapt to. He certainly hoped so. 

The Gods were present in the void. Knowing their forms he was able to sense them without sight or ki, ears twitching as they heard the bodies glide through the darkness, the sound of displaced air alerting him to their movement. His spine twitched hearing them remembering how it had felt to be part of them, skin crawling as he debated the possibility of his consciousness being ripped away and flung into the past again. He pulled his lips above a fang in a snarl, flexing his claws if they were he wasn’t going without a fight. The fight didn’t appear, instead the Gods spoke once again with the same voice. 

You saw your ancestors' crimes and you lived, you escaped and you returned - this is unprecedented .

Piccolo heard the voices reverberate in his mind and ears. He raised an eyeride wondering if these Gods had a full understanding of how criminal his specific bloodline had become, or exactly how many of his more immediate ancestors' crimes he could experience if he chose to concentrate on them. He shook away the digression. He was back for a reason, snarling into the darkness he responded psychically, sending his resolve with every word. “I told you, I don’t care about the past or my ancestors. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you from destroying the Earth.” 

He braced his mind for the wave of psychic vitriol to pour back from the group, or for the pain to resume, or for the God’s bodies to come into view through the swirling fog ready to pierce him with their fangs. He was sure any retribution would be worse, the Gods' rage amplified by his flippant attitude toward their very real and justified hatred of Namekians in general and him specifically. Instead there was a beat of silence, he waited, shifting weight to the balls of his feet he would attempt to get at least one good hit in before whatever was going to happen happened. Make one at least of them bleed for making talk to the Elders again.

The silence broke but still no direct attacks came. He heard their bodies thrash through the air furiously and high pitched hissing, fast and angry. Apparently his unprecedented return had sown some discord amongst the group. His ears tracked the sound around the perimeter of their psychic prison, he wondered absently if they were inside a Dragon Ball now or if this space was entirely separate created for the ritual. He knew now his body was elsewhere, not that it mattered, death on this plane meant death on the physical one as well. He’d gone deep enough into meditation to know that psychic death could be worse than a corporal one. He could hear the hissing slowing, the bodies resuming their smooth gliding. A consensus had likely been reached. Once again the voices boomed through the void. 

Your body refused to break -You refuse to see reason - Your spirit will break instead. 

Piccolo kept his face impassive even as a wave of nausea passed through his body as the words seared through his brain. How exactly were they planning on breaking him down further?  He tried not to let on how little it would probably take for his mind to snap. The months of visions, sleeplessness and wondering if he was going insane had ground whatever spirit he may have had down. Watching his friends succumb to illness, the very real possibility of failing and dooming multiple planets to a slow and painful death had managed to spur him to fight. All he had going for him at this point was sheer obstinance. Piccolo ground his fangs together, trying to keep his thoughts shielded from the Gods. He didn’t need to give them ideas, or let them know how far they had wormed their way into his head. No good could come from letting them see the cracks. He only hoped the energy they expanded in their efforts him would cleanse the universe of ‘kleth’ before he finally crumbled, in body or mind. He sneered into the darkness with a brash, false confidence, “Try me.” 

The response was the feeling of the world shifting and tilting, Piccolo bit down and braced for the impact as the scenery began to lighten, blinking rapidly he tried not to let the sudden light rob him of his sight completely. Hitting the ground slightly more gracefully than the last time he looked down at his body, green hands flexed slowly, tentatively confirming that he was still himself, for now. Scanning the sky he couldn’t see any of the dragons, only the hazy outline of three suns. Old Namek again. This time however the air was saturated with ‘ kleth’ thicker and more putrid then he had ever seen it outside of the God’s realm. The green sky was grey and the blue grass was pale and lifeless. His blood ran cold, this is what New Namek would look like if he didn’t figure out how to break out of the God’s vision. Piccolo narrowed his eyes, catastrophizing wouldn’t help. He knew where he was, he needed to know when he was, and how exactly being here was meant to kill his spirit. He scanned the dead planet looking for anything living that may be able to provide him with answers. 

None of the Elders noticed Cargo move quietly from the group, they remained fixated on Piccolo who sat slumped and motionless in the ceremonial throne. They moved slowly out of the circle and toward the rock formations on the periphery of the plateau hoping to find a corner or some other privacy. They had only received a few words from Dende, “This can stop.” Faint and without the normal sense of bond magic that should have been present. They assumed the impact was lessened  having been transmitted across such distance and without a proper connection between them. Still the three words had been both shocking and oddly comforting. Especially after all they had seen today. As the heir to an Elder Cargo had been called to witness the ‘ Ormr hathun’  since, Kais and gods forbid, they one day may have to conduct one. 

Cargo had expected the ceremony to be like the ones they had heard of in stories. Brave Namekians fully prepared to sacrifice themselves for the good of the people. Selfless and at peace with their fate they had gone off to fight the fake gods and restore peace to the universe. They died and were buried as heros. Piccolo had been none of those. Cargo remembered Piccolo from Earth, aloof, and independent and so unlike any other Namekian they had ever known. They had feared him as strange and so unlike everyone they had ever met. It had taken Dende’s insight for them to realize that being un-Namekian did not make Piccolo unkind. The reverent way that Dende would speak about Piccolo on their trips home had made Cargo aware that there was more to the Earth Namekian than he let on to those he did not know. Even if he had not known all of this, the way Piccolo had been treated by the Elders shocked them. The outright hostility toward someone who had come to save them all was troubling. 

They ducked in the crack between two boulders, the small space made them feel almost safe like a hatchling. They concentrated on their connection with Dende forged from their earliest days before Cargo had hatched and their sibling had eagerly watched for signs of movement under the shell, sending love through the shell and into their developing mind. The distance collapsed and they found the psychic thread that linked them. 

Dende.  

Cargo stopped abruptly. Hoping none of the stronger Elder mystics were on alert for psychic activity, luckily they could not sense anyone eavesdropping on their minds, Piccolo’s break with the ritual had likely absorbed all the attention of the Elder’s and onlookers,  they continued. 

Dende. I am here. I am listening 

Piccolo felt something like ki in the distance he briefly tried to fly but he could not summon any energy to even attempt to lift off growling to himself he began to walk. Blessedly he remained in control of his own body though clearly whatever time or memory they had flung him into had limits on what he could do with it.  As the landscape changed and the fog thickened he realized he was unsure of exactly how far he had walked. He had no desire to drink or to rest so he pressed on toward the only thing he could sense on the planet. He passed three villages, completely empty; whatever Namekians had inhabited it had either left or died in their homes. There was nothing living, the shrubs and trees his people were obsessed with were shrunken and black. The ponds and lakes were still water lined with unbroken gray scum, undrinkable. 

The silence was oppressive, bearing down on him from all sides and he resisted the urge to talk to himself so he could hear something. The body sent to this place didn’t seem to provide  breathing or a heartbeat to listen to. He thought of the songs he’d sing Pan to sleep with, the songs he’d only sing when he was well and truly sure they were alone, slow and low to soothe her to sleep despite her fear of the dark. He realized he must be half mad already if he was considering singing to himself. Was it complete isolation that was supposed to break his spirit? As unlikely as that felt, it was a possibility, Gods didn’t think exactly like mortals, and these ones had a bone to pick about entrapment and isolation specifically. Trapping him, of all beings in the universe, alone to drive him insane was woefully unoriginal. He wondered if stuck alone in this silent world for a few hundred years, would he come out of it better than his father had? Probably since he was marginally less insane than Daimao. Besides, he had more room to walk than a rice cooker provided, and as bleak as the scenery was it was preferable to pitch black. 

Thankfully the theory turned out to be incorrect as Piccolo picked up on voices echoing over an otherwise empty landscape, refocusing he realized the ki like feeling was much closer than he had expected. The voices seemed jumbled, neither exactly Earthing, Common, or Namekian. He pressed forward with the meaningless words becoming louder and louder. He wasn’t exactly sure what was being said, but whoever was saying it was angry. 

Finally he saw what he had sensed, two Namekians standing at the edge of a ruined village. Even with the distance and through the fog Piccolo could tell these two were both taller and broader than he was. The shorter of the two, was gesturing angrily, yelling at the taller, larger Namek, the words still unintelligible. As Piccolo came close enough to see them in detail neither turned at his approach; instead they seemed locked in the argument, gestures repeating as if choreographed. Like Silge the shorter Namekian was dressed in the clothing of the ritual necklaces swaying with their movements. The taller one was dressed more like the Namekians Piccolo was used to, loose robe, neck scarf and loose vest over loose pants. Something about the taller one sparked something in the back of Piccolo’s mind. He tried to make out their faces but they seemed blurry, features obscured by a white film. 

He walked closer to them trying to make out what still sounded like gibberish, or at least trying to recognize exactly what he was supposed to be seeing. Standing next to the one dressed like him he screwed up his face trying desperately to decipher what the Gods wanted from him. In his concentration he had  failed to notice the hand that swept out gesticulating wildly. Piccolo didn’t feel it make contact and watched with detached amusement as it cut through him as if he were made of air. Piccolo stuck his own arm out in response and waved it through the taller figure's torso, the body swirled like mist around it before reforming when he withdrew his hand. 

As if on some sort of cue the two figures froze. Arms falling to their sides and heads bowing down as if they had suddenly fallen asleep. Piccolo lept back from the now still figures, body tense claws raised. Slowly they raised their heads and began their argument again. Piccolo took a second to realize he could understand their words. 

“You can’t do this, there is still time to fix it!” The taller one shouted, waving to the ruined village and poisoned sky. Piccolo realized he could also see his face clearly, the fog had obscured a wide nose with a thin mouth and narrow eyes. Their face resembled Moori’s enough Piccolo was sure this was an ancestor of some sort. Something in his brain began to form a vague recollection at the sight. The shorter Namekian began speaking even louder than the other one. Piccolo was thankful he was apparently incorporeal since the hearing damage these two were doing would have been significant. 

“Don’t dare to tell me what to do. You knew what this was and you hid it. From all of us.” 

The voice, something about the voice made the ground shift uncomfortably under Piccolo. What was happening? There was something bleary and half remembered in the back of his mind. In a part of it that didn’t really belong to only him. He blinked hard before looking at the face trying to banish the feeling. The ritual Namekian was thin, almost haggard, deep bags under their eyes and lines surrounded their mouth and the nose was thin and hooked. Piccolo hissed, realizing how closely the face resembled Kami’s, and his fathers’. The voice was familiar because some incarnation of himself had heard it, briefly, hundreds of years ago.

“So you’re willing to kill us all, Katas?” there was an edge of hurt in the others voice. That they tried to cover up by screaming the words. 

 Digging his claws into his arms he tried to stop the spiral he felt coming. This ritual had clearly not gone the way the Elders had described it. Katas was not a benevolent savior. They had clearly also found a way out of God's ritual and they were furious at what they had found there. Piccolo shouldn’t be surprised, everything the Elder’s had told him so far was either a half truth or an outright lie. Why should the story of Katas be any different? Why should he care that it was any different. 

“We deserved to die a long time ago, Guru.” Katas countered sadly, quietly no longer looking at them. 

That’s my parent.  

Piccolo barely felt the blood running down his arms from where the claws had pierced him. Two voices, long silent, echoed into his head, flooding him with emotions that were and weren’t his. Piccolo felt himself slipping under the weight of their memories. 

Dende had moved to the back of the Lookout quickly after realizing they could try and hope against hope that Cargo would be willing to listen to what they had to say and assist them in locating New Namek for Goku. Luckily Gohan had understood most of their rushed explanation and gone to tell the others what Dende hoped to do. 

They started simply, short enough that Cargo would receive the full message without the chance to close the psychic bond. Asking their sibling to turn against their Elders was almost unthinkable. They had both been raised traditionally, even more so than most Namekians and traditional teachings did not encourage any questioning of the rituals that guided their lives. Dende only hoped Cargo trusted them enough to consider it. 

Dende heard the shuffle of the fighters who were clearly trying to maintain a respectful silence. In the seemingly endless moments since their initial message they also heard the group furiously shush Vegeta at least twice. Suddenly, blessedly they received a response, the message soaked with apprehension that made Dende’s body go cold. To have this much emotion over such a distance meant Cargo was well and truly scared. But scared as they were Cargo was listening, so they needed to try. 

Cargo. My closest. We, all of us, need your help. The ritual we can stop it. If you raise your chi we can come to you, we can fix this.  Dende felt the space between them fold, almost as if they could reach out and embrace, they desperately wished they could. 

The kleth is lessening Dende. There was disbelief attached to this message. The ritual is not what we were told but it is working. 

If the Elders were not truthful about the ritual, what else were they not truthful about? Dende tried to purge the anger from their mind as they thought the words. No need to make Cargo even more guarded. 

There is much we don’t understand. We are young and need to trust those who know more. Something Cargo didn’t mean to send went with the message however, Their horror at Piccolo being dragged bonelessly to the throne, their confusion at Moori’s face when Piccolo’s body surged back to life full of righteous anger, Piccolo’s ominous message that their lives were built on a sham. All of it flooded into Dende’s mind undercutting their words. 

Dende absorbed the images that came, throat tightening at Piccolo’s brutal treatment. Of the unnecessary cruelty of their Elders. They hated that they were so shocked. That they had let Piccolo go with them with no objections only to be treated like this by those they had trusted. 

If there is another way. A better way it is our job to find it. Something is wrong and those who know more, know more than they tell us.  Whether it is the Elders or the gods I am unsure. Dende wondered if they had gone too far, they had been unable to scrub the totality of their outrage from their mind. Not after what they had seen. Cargo’s response was not one of words, just a wave of pure shock. The words followed slowly. 

The gods trust us! They gave us the Dragon Balls and with it the sacred responsibility of the ritual!

Dende did not temper any of the anger from their mind this time letting it roar through them the way they imagined Piccolo often felt. They trust us to do their bidding without question! They trust us to hold their ritual sacred and throw our siblings to the slaughter. We deserve to know if this is necessary!

The severing of the psychic connection felt like a slap to the face and Dende reeled leaning heavily on their staff, breathing heavily. They sent their mind to try to repair the link but it had been withdrawn completely. Dende cradled their head in their hands silently wondering who they were supposed to pray to now that they had not ruined their only hope of getting everyone to Namek. 

Despite being fused for decades, (had it been decades already?), Piccolo didn’t often think of himself as anyone but himself. The surge of emotions coming from somewhere deep inside himself at the revelation that these two were both somehow his parents and not his parents threatened to unseat him from his own mind. The part of him that was the most himself pushed back against the surge. His own disillusionment with parental figures clashing with the longing the other two felt with their own progenitors, one remembered fondly and one long forgotten. Piccolo shoved the longing away, it felt foreign to him, he hadn’t felt the need for a parent since he was newly hatched, the feeling of it in his mind felt acidic. He tried to concentrate around his warring mind to the still yelling pair of Guru and Katas. 

Katas was standing defiantly, eyes locked with Guru’s  “The other planets have been purified. But this is the last time. I am ending Namek. This is the last time. We have exploited the old Gods long enough.” He assumed Katas had been subjected to the same pain and the same visions and had tried to end the cycle of ritual their own way. One that involved taking out Namek and likely the Dragon Balls as well. 

“Even your child? You’d end your own line?”  Guru narrowed their eyes as if they had revealed something that should be shocking. Dull recognition thumped in Piccolo’s chest that that child was part of someone inhabiting his mind. He wondered if he was the product of Katas wanting to have a child, or needing to have one for this cycle to keep going. 

“They have to die, we all have to die don’t you see? I told you what Silge did! The line must end. All of this must end. None of us are innocent, not even my own offspring” Katas paused to getsure to the dying planet. “The old Gods have promised me they will spare the other planets if we end ourselves.” Katas was no longer arguing; they seemed to be imploring, begging Guru to understand how they had no other choice. 

Guru’s lips tightened as they watched the clouds gather overhead. Piccolo craned his head upwards. The suns were gone. The planet was bathed in a grey tinged darkness The sky black and the air thick and muggy. Crossing their arms across their massive chest Guru smirked, “I had hoped you’d see reason, but in case you did not, your child is safe. I’ve sent them off the planet.”

Katas’ hand flew to their neck “You what?”

Guru continued, eyes flashing with anger, “What choice did I have? You’ve gone mad! You’d kill us all and take away what power we have to defend ourselves from the universe? You watched village after village die and you did nothing to stop it! I won’t allow it. I’ve made the sacrifices you refuse to.”

Katas moved closer, claws grabbing at Guru’s vest, much more gently than Piccolo expected considering the murder in his voice. “You have no idea what this ritual showed me. You have no idea the fool's bargain we’ve made! Die with me, we can end this.The child will likely die off world and it will all be over.”  

Guru pushed Katas away violently and watched them fall to the ground without a trace of emotion. “I know that you’ve betrayed us all. The new Gods have rewarded me for my service. Your child will land on an uninhabited planet. The Gods will deliver me to safety and bring me back here, I will be given the power to keep our race from extinction. I will bring back the Dragon Balls and Namek. I will undo your suicidal quest. When the time comes your child will do what you were too weak to do.” They looked behind them as the Supreme Kai appeared noiselessly behind Guru, looking identical to his appearance hundreds of years later at the World Martial Arts Tournament. The Kai’s mouth puckered as he took in the polluted air. Piccolo drew back as Katas stared blankly at the god. Guru smiled smugly reaching down to put their hand on the gods shoulder. “I will make sure no one knows what a failure you were. This is my final kindness to you.” The Supreme Kai nodded and both flickered off Namek and away from the quickly darkening sky. 

Katas shook their head sadly. “I can’t believe…..” before they doubled over in the dirt, purple blood rising like foam on their lips. 

I loved you 

I was tricked

I was forced 

I didn’t want….

You did this to me

Piccolo felt the rest of the sentence, or what the sentence could have been echoing inside his head as the darkness became total. He wondered if he was reading his fathers mind or if the God’s had simply decided he needed to know the unspoken regrets of what was both his parent and his grand-parent. Of the Namekian who brought on what had been passed down to Guru’s children as an ecological calamity, a random and unpredictable calamity and not a desperate attempt to stop the ritual he was currently part of. Piccolo looked at Katas, dead and alone on the wreckage of what was his home and felt a dull ache deep in what he hoped was still his soul. His head continued to pound as disparate parts of  Kami and Nail mourned the ideas they had about their parents, what remained of Piccolo was too tired to try to stop their feelings from overwhelming him completely. 

Cargo crouched behind the boulder shaking, trying to keep their teeth from chattering, fearing they would be loud enough to be heard from the ritual site. They had been so close to being overheard, the intensity of the psychic connection had been too deep and an Elder had reached out to investigate the open channel. Luckily they had slammed the connection shut fast enough that nothing was overheard, the Elder would not have been able to pick up on the location or the participants, though it had been a close thing and the speed of the disconnection made their skull buzz with psychic reverberation. Their body still vibrated with the outrage sent by Dende with the last message, so sure in their fury. Using to to underscore the enormity of their rage at the Elders and the Gods. Cargo could not help but be swayed. The Dende they knew had been upset, disappointed and cranky in turns. But anger was new and shocking. Anger was not an emotion that Namkeians allowed themselves to feel, it was acidic to order and to rationality, it corroded the peace and love they were supposed to move through the world with. But Dende’s anger stemmed from love. They looked at their trembling hands slowly concentrating ki into their palms. They had been told to suppress their ki completely so that the ritual could continue without interruption from ‘outside sources.’ 

Cargo stared up at the suns, at the thin layer of ‘kleth’ still hanging in the sky, much less oppressive than before the ‘ Ormr hathun’ they took a shuddering breath of the cleaner air . They thought of the rest of their family, ill in bed and praying to the Gods the ritual would save them. They thought of Dende on a far away world trying desperately to find a way to save everyone. They thought of their own future children, who may one day look up at the sky and see ‘ kleth’ appearing, of the way they would lay sick then, praying to the same Gods for the ritual to save them. For another Namekian to die so they could live.

Cargo slowly, opened their palms and began to gather their energy. Hoping what little they could provide would make a difference. 

Chapter Text

Guru and Katas ran through their argument, betrayal and death a second time, as if they were world class actors performing in the universe’s worst attended play. The blackness fading back to light as they reset their positions, heads bowing and arms falling limp before they snapped into action. If Piccolo was not currently waging a mental war against the two other inhabitants of his mind he may find the metaphor of puppets on strings painfully on the nose, however Nail and Kami were ruining him with their own overwrought dramatics. 

He fought through layers of memory, thin and gauzy they clung to his mind, each delivering another uncomfortable shock of foreign emotion, laughter, warmth, all tainted with the knowledge of what Guru had to do to provide those to their, many, many progeny. They had dedicated their life to protecting and caring for them. Not just as an aging parent but as the Grand Elder the most revered and highly regarded figure of their people. 

Kami was no better, the realization the parent you waited decades for was never coming, that they had never wanted you at all. That you had been abandoned to be a pawn in a cosmic game of chess that didn’t consider things like the feelings of a child to be of any consequence. That you never let yourself admit that you were thrilled to find out they had been a spiritual leader among your people from the Nameks who had stayed on Earth. They had told you stories, (lies,) about his deeds before the calamity. Kami had smiled then, knowing he had done his best to do the same for his adopted planet. 

Family 

Piccolo almost felt rabid, sensing the distress that seeing these two caused the remnants of Nail and Kami. He wanted, impossibly, to shake them out of the mental stupor he was forced to feel. The mere idea of idealizing a parent took him back to his earliest days, ones he didn’t care to remember or relive. 

His father wasn’t some long forgotten memory, or a saint. He wasn’t an aspirational ideal to be lived up to. His father was inexorably linked to him, they’d never met and yet Piccolo was cursed to know his father better than he’d know anyone else. Probably better than he knew himself. Piccolo only needed to lose focus, to slip on his own mental discipline to have every horrible act committed by his sire flood his mind in picture perfect detail, complete with the corresponding emotions, all the anger and hatred spread through him like a cancer if he didn’t push back against it. How can you be disillusioned with a parent when you spent a majority of your life actively fighting to not emulate them? 

He has struggled and fought and fucked up and eventually against all odds and reasoning cobbled together something that felt like home, like a family. Mostly through the stubborn insistence of the Son’s. When he thought of family he didn’t picture any Namekian, instead there were humans and Sayians and half humans and Saiyans sitting together in a small house on a mountain. He wasn’t going to throw away their future because he had his mind flayed into thirds by a memory. This wasn’t his legacy, these long dead aliens weren’t his family. He had turned his back on the path set forward for him by his father, he was more than happy to turn his back on as necessary to get the hell out of here with his mind intact. 

Piccolo surged past the mental barriers thrown up in his own psyche and tried again to make his body wholly his. To witness the conclusion of this long dead scene play out and to finally end what was left of the old Gods. 

Dende took a moment to compose themselves after the shock of the connection being severed. Massaging their antenna they stared at the titles hesitant to turn and face the group and extinguish what little hope they had managed to give them with their half formed plan. 

Dende turned around and they didn’t have to say a word since their face conveyed exactly what had happened. Watching Gohan’s pale face melt from expectation to despair was awful. The others’ disappointment was more subtle, Vegeta’s crossed arms tensing, 18 fussed with her hair, and a subtle crease that appeared between 17’s eyebrows. Dende’s antennae hung low on their face as they shook their head subtly trying to summon the words but failing. They had failed them all again, even worse this time since they had given them a thread of false hope to hold on to. 

Vegeta spat onto the floor tensing his arms, he could feel the vein in his forehead throbbing, the tension and building rage needing a target. The anger at the whole damn universe that none of them could seem to catch a break. That someone as selfless as Piccolo was the recipient of all of this cosmic bullshit and that his family was once again threatened by the whims of the gods. He spun on his heel to where Kakkarot was standing, eyes still closed with two fingers to his idiot head. 

“Kakkarot pay attention. The Namek wasn’t able to do it. Stop trying we have no way off this rock.” 

Goku looked at Vegeta momentarily before squeezing his eyes shut again and reaching his senses out into the universe. There had been something for a moment he had felt it, small but definitely Namekian, if only everyone would quiet down he’d be able to pinpoint the source. 

Seeing Kakkarot close his eyes and ignore him, Vegeta roared, preparing to lunge. Before his fist could connect two sets of arms grabbed him and threw him across the tiles and he looked up to see the icy blue eyes of the androids.

 “Don’t get in my way, unless you two want to become scrap metal,”  he growled. 

18 rolled her eyes and 17 smirked, also itching to release the pent up tension that had been twisting inside him since he’d started noticing the animals on his island falling ill. Dende looked on in horror next to Gohan, who struggled to breathe, unable to stop the brewing fight. 

Just as Vegeta’s eyes began to flash from black to blue Goku stood abruptly, eyes wide. 

“I got it.” he yelled triumphantly, throwing out an open palm. “Dende you did it, I can feel someone on Namek.” Trademark grin in full display Goku motioned to the group not noticing that half of them had been a second away from an all out brawl. “Grab on.” 

Ignoring the screaming pain in his joints, Gohan rose and clasped hands with his father. Dende followed clawed hand clasped in Gohan’s clammy one, squeezing slightly in support. 17 and 18 turned away from Vegeta and grabbed a shoulder each, long ignored but still present programming making them both feel strange touching Goku without intending to land a killing blow. Finally Vegeta stomped over, ki still raised as if ready to fight, extended a hand to Kakkarots back, refusing the other open hand with a scowl. 

Goku nodded and closed his eyes as the group flickered for a moment before being flung through space. 

Piccolo came back to himself in a surge, anger and frustration forcing the memories of the co-inhabitants of his body back into the corners of his psyche where they belonged. His head pounded behind his eyes as he saw the scene run through yet again on the decaying planet. Ki gathering in his fists he threw a ki blast at the ghosts of Guru and Katas, unsure if it would do anything but willing to try if it meant he could be spared further melodrama. The blast enveloped them and the scenery, which had seemed so real, began to waver like a mirage. The ground and rocks became wavy as the ki illuminated them. What had once been Guru and Katas began to flake and turn to ash, floating into the distance as the planet began to fade into blackness. 

Piccolo floated in the all too familiar void for a moment, the far off hissing of the Gods in his ears as loud as  if they had been next to him. Piccolo began to laugh, deep voice ringing out into the darkness, low and steady. 

“You thought that would break my spirit. You think knowing my father didn’t want me would have any effect on me?” The serpentine shapes thrashed in the darkness, their hissing rising in pitch and intensity.Piccolo glared out into the darkness, “You really have no idea who you are dealing with.” 

The dragons appeared around him, scales flashing and powerful jaws opening and closing in what Piccolo supposed was meant to be a threatening display, though at this point he felt too familiar with them to be intimidated. They had tried breaking him twice and failed. They would keep failing to break him for as long as it took to end this. 

You will break, a mortal could not handle the sum total of our pain. Of our anger. 

Piccolo scowled at the Gods clearly reading his thoughts, though the capacity for shock was long gone. Baring his fangs he gestured at them. 

“Fine then. No more games, no more visions, no more trials. Give it to me. . Give me all your pain. Give me all your anger. And if I can handle it, this ends. You take back the corruption and leave us all alone. “

The air rumbled with the voices of the Gods yelling in discordant and many layered cries. Piccolo heard the assault on his ears and on his mind simultaneously. He tried locking on to one of them, preparing to attack if they decided to show him any more visions. Instead the void went silent and a single word rang out.

Fine. 

Then the pain began. Newer and sharper than the last time, Piccolo bit through his lip immediately as all of his nerves lit on fire. His head threatened to burst with the range that ran through it. Stronger and more visceral than it had been even in the Dragon God’s mind. It washed over him like a wave again and again and again as the sensations doubled and tripled in intensity. Growing exponentially with each passing moment until it was all Piccolo could do to hang onto consciousness. Piccolo realized he had no hope of fighting through this and attacking, not this time. The assault on his body and mind was too powerful, it was all he could do to stand and endure it until he outlasted them. He tasted the salt of his own blood and felt it running down his chin where his fangs had pierced flesh, trying to keep his mind on those sensations, even as he felt as if his flesh was melting off his body and his muscles were being flayed. 

He was determined to survive, though he wondered if his determination was strong enough to outlast the seemingly endless pain and anger of the trapped Gods. 

They appeared on Namek suddenly and landed in an inelegant heap in front of the shocked expressions of Elders and Mystics and the concerned face of Cargo, twisting their robe in their claws as they looked from their people to the new arrivals, to their sibling who had promised they had a plan. 

Gohan extracted himself out from under his father and looked around as the others untangled themselves. The air of Namek was gray but as he breathed in he could feel the heaviness in his lungs immediately ease up, his limbs no longer leaden he felt his throat spasm,, he began to cough violently, whatever was lodged his chest was breaking up and he began to hack black tar on the ground. 

Goku looked at his son concerned, before turning his eyes to the group. 17 was helping up 18, Dende was staring at the Namekians, their eyes wide and shining, Vegeta was scowling on the ground and Goku figured he’d be lucky if the Saiyan prince would hold off on fighting him long enough to save Piccolo. As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the suns he was what was behind the circle of Namekians, a throne, bone white and familiar. Goku suppressed a shudder at the sight of it. He could feel his pulse racing and his spine tingling as he saw that slumped on it looking smaller than he had any right to, was Piccolo. His friend's eyes were closed and his body was a pale and washed out green, body twitching like he was dreaming and bundled in cloth and shells. 

He heard Gohan gasp beside him and felt Vegeta’s ki flare like a beacon. He assumed the androids were poised for a fight. Goku tried to look at Moori who looked quickly away. “You lied.” he said, feeling his control slip even as the other Namekians looked on at their one time savior in horror. 

Without further comment Vegeta rocketed forward fist raised and hair flicking blue, only to be slammed into an invisible barrier. Gohan heard Namekian muttering and saw some of the mystics gesturing, his unpracticed Namekian knew enough to discern the powerful barrier magic. 

“We did not lie, Son Goku.” Moori bellowed as the Androids also tried and failed to break through the barrier to get to Piccolo, ricocheting off of it and slamming into the dirt. “This is a matter for Namkians, for our people. You should not have become involved.You have no place here.”

“You said he’d be fine.” Goku snarled, trying to pinpoint a weakness in the barrier.. He heard Vegeta behind him swearing as he rocketed back toward the group stopping short of the barrier. Goku power up to Super Saiyan and took a turn trying to break the spell but felt his body hit hard against the shield failing to break it. “He’s not your people. He’s our people.” Goku yelled at the Elders, powering up further. “And we won’t let you get away with this.”

“Come out and fight us, you cowards.” Vegeta yelled blasting at the magic in a barrage of ki.

“We said we would be fine” one of the other Elders joined in, shouting behind the barrier. “And we will be fine. It is doing an excellent job of erasing the corruption from our planets. You should be thanking us.” 

“As if.” 17 yelled joining Vegeta’s barrage, hoping endless energy would outlast whatever spell the Namekians were using. He could already see some of the mages sweating and panting as they mumbled and gestured. 

“Dende you have caused this.” Moori added, looking at their child with disdain. Your sentimentality for Piccolo and the Earthlings has the potential to undo everything. To let his sacrifice be in vain!”

Dende took their hand off of the still coughing Gohan and looked at their parent. Perhaps for the first time with eyes unclouded by reverence for their station or age. “We all caused this. We decided keeping the Dragon Balls was more important than one of our siblings. We refused to see Piccolo as a living thing instead of a tool. We refused to see if there may have been other options.”

There was a murmur of Namekian in the crowd, fast and guttural, cursing Dende and their involvement, rebuking them for their selfishness. 

Gohan breathed heavily, doubled over having cleared his lungs for the first time in what felt like weeks. He felt Dende’s gentle hand on his back. He stood shakily, he tried to focus, on where he was, on what was happening, but the sound of them talking about Piccolo like that like he was disposable, not even a him but an it, his brain was on fire. He stumbled forward seeing the throne shining in the suns through the hazy air. He saw Piccolo, what they had done to Piccolo. What Gohan had allowed them to do to Piccolo. 

And suddenly he was five years old, seeing Piccolo on the ground again, almost dead and begging him to run away, to live. Piccolo in his home, promising him that he would solve this. That Gohan didn’t need to worry, he’d fix this for them. 

Gohan’s teeth ground together audibly as he tried to anchor himself. Even as his vision went red, blackness seeping in at the edges. Bathing the world in blood He was vaguely aware of the others, still fighting the barrier, still trying to get to Piccolo. 

He had let Piccolo walk away from him. He had let Piccolo come here. He had let them do this to Piccolo. He straightened up feeling the familiar sickening rush of power, blowing back his hair and filling his blood with fire. Walking up to where Vegeta was fruitlessly punching at the magic, Gohan breathed in and put all he had into a ki blast. 

In the chaos, no one noticed the Dragon Balls flash and pulse with orange light. 

Behind, and in front and all around Piccolo,  seeping through the cracks in his body that screamed in pain, the hate flowed in. Raw and red and pulsating behind his eyes like a drum the endless throb of anger and betrayal and hatred assaulted his mind. It felt familiar, not just from having been inside the mind of a God but from his own past. The endless barrage of hate and anger. It almost felt like a relief, an old addiction visiting him in his pain, so much easier to give into it, to allow it to drown out all the other feelings until it burned him alive from the inside out. An emotional immolation. 

He tried to steal his mind against it to put up the mental barriers necessary to separate himself from second hand anger, but the pain made the kind of concentration impossible. Once again he was going to drown in his own mind, unable to fight the two fronted mental and physical assault, he could only hope he had held out long enough to have saved everyone. If he was able to do that he was fine with not being able to save himself. He felt blood leak out between his fangs and began to blink back against the white dots that began to cloud his vision. He spat at the ground and grimaced toward the Gods, they would kill him but he would die defiant. 

The white glow in front of his eyes began to crowd out the darkness and he wondered what lay beyond this for him. Certainly not Snake way and the King Enma, not this time, not after what he’d been allowed to see. As the white clouded out his vision he wondered if that is all there was when the Kai’s didn’t bring you into the next life. Unending unbroken white. The pain retreated for a moment and he thought it wasn’t such a bad fate, better than the centuries of unending darkness his sire had been forced to endure. 

The white glow retreated slightly and Piccolo braced himself for his body's last stand against the mental and physical assault of the Gods, but it didn’t come, slowly, tentatively he untensed his worn muscles, still tingling with the memory of the excruciating pain they’d been subjected to until moments ago.

Piccolo took one shaky breath and then two before he opened his eyes and saw what the white had transfigured into. Two figures, stark white and insubstantial, stood next to him, their ghostly talons resting on either shoulder, one hunched and one straight, both with pain twisted expressions and burning eyes. Kami and Nail. 

Piccolo’s eyes moved from side to side taking them in. He didn’t have the energy to question how this had happened, but the why was clear. They were absorbing the pain meant for him, deferring it to whatever was left of themselves in his mind. He tried to force his burning lungs to acknowledge them but the words wouldn’t come. As if sensing his thoughts the two heads turned and met his eyes nodding. Piccolo slumped forward watching as the Kami and Nail flicker in and out of the vast plane, the solid feeling of their hands never leaving him. He tried to force them back in his mind, he could see their already translucent forms beginning to fade and their expressions twisted in pain. Whatever they were, they would not last. Not against this. 

Piccolo cursed inwardly, he didn’t want this, even though he hadn’t really known Nail and hadn’t dealt with all the anger he still held toward the former guardian they didn’t deserve to get involved. Though he supposed by virtue of their parentage they perhaps were just as destined to be entwined in this cosmic joke. Still, both of them had already given up so much of themselves to make him more powerful, to make him better. Now they were going to give up all that was left of themselves to get him through this. 

The Gods continued their assault and Piccolo tried to focus on where it was coming from, now that his mind had enough space beyond the pain to strategize. He looked out into the darkness at the twisting forms and his eyes kept catching flickers, as if some of them were also fading, or created from the same unreal substance as Nail and Kami. Before he had a chance to consider the implications there was a flash of light in the darkness and the pressure of the hands holding him dissipated into a glowing mist and Kami and Nail faded out of existence. He caught their eyes for a brief moment, both of them looked at him seriously but not unkindly before scattering like golden smoke into the darkness. 

The pain returned immediately hitting him like a cold wave, all at once soaking his body. In the pain there was something new. An emptiness, a hole in his mind that hadn't existed moments ago, a feeling that was impossible to ignore, even as his body felt like it was being drawn and quartered. Whatever there was of Kami and Nail had left inside him post-fusion were well and truly gone, he was more alone than he had been in decades. 

He heard the psychic reverberations of deep cruel laughter from the Gods. They expected this to be it, for this to be what broke him. Instead Piccolo wiped the blood that had begun to gather in the corners of his eyes and growled. He refused to let anyone else die today, he refused to let anyone else suffer for his weakness.. He refused to let anyone else down.  It would be a disservice to Kami and Nail to weaken, to lose focus and dwell on their metaphysical absence. There would be time to mourn this strange loss later. Now he has to make sure they didn’t save him in vain.

Piccolo blinked rapidly and tried once again to focus on the Gods. How many of them were left in the sky he couldn’t say, they moved too fast and their ki was unreadable, but there were definitely fewer. He tensed his body against the waves of ki threatening to overtake him. All he had to do was outlast their anger, and if fewer Gods in the sky was any indication, he was succeeding. He tasted blood at the back of his throat and felt it flow down from his eyes and nose. He could wait it out. There would be an end to it. Piccolo had learned that lesson a long time ago. There were things more powerful than anger, than vengeance. 

The shattering of magic rang out like a high pitched whistle and the Namekians fell to their knees clutching at their ears and crying out. The spell cracked in the air for a moment longer before the barrier fell and the Earth warriors rushed through the crowd, throwing Namekians out of their way as they surged toward the throne. 

Dende sank down before trying to collect themselves and running to Cargo, holding on to their sibling like a lift raft and trying to heal the damage to both their ears. The rest of the Elders watched helplessly as the Android’s and Saiyan’s approached Piccolo’s comatose body.

 “Stop, please! You don’t know what you’re doing! The Ormr hathun has to finish.”  Moori cried. 

Vegeta considered turning back and permanently shutting the Namekian up, but reconsidered since Piccolo may want the pleasure of doing it himself. Though as they got closer Vegeta felt a heaviness settle in his stomach. Close up Piccolo looked even worse. Purple veins were visible under washed out green skin, angry purple bruises were visible under his eyes and around his jaw. Worst of all Vegeta couldn’t see the rise and fall of the exposed chest.

Goku felt himself slow as he got close to the throne. Even without the skulls it brought back memories. Memories of when he realized how serious fights could be. That death was something that could come for even his strongest friends. He looked at Piccolo who’s eyes were shut, his forehead furrowed even in whatever magical slumber he’d been put into. Goku bit his lip as they reached him, he couldn’t sense Piccolo’s ki at all, a ki he’d become attuned to first as an enemy, then as a friend, it was totally undetectable. As if there wasn’t any ki left in his body to sense. 

18 looked at 17 who nodded to her. Neither of them could detect vitals. Both of them scowled at the logical conclusion. Piccolo was no longer alive. Despite the seamless logic it seemed impossible. Piccolo was one of them. A former villain, a model of reformation. They refused to believe the only person that had almost defeated them in their prime would go out like this. They locked eyes. Agreeing that if Piccolo didn’t leave Namek alive then none of the Namekians that had a hand in this would either. 

Gohan was the first to reach Piccolo, he could not help but notice the feeling he got when he was near Piccolo, the calm warm feeling in his brain, was absent. He strained his mind trying to reach out and hold onto that bond, the thing that had been part of him for the majority of his life. That he had taken for granted every day since he had wished  Piccolo back to life on Namek, that was as natural as breathing or walking. But it wasn’t there. Gohan felt his breathing pick up, his body beginning to panic, shaking violently as he reached out a trembling hand to the immobile green body. 

Vegeta reached the throne after Gohan and felt the younger man’s ki spike dramatically, even as he heard the ragged coughing sobs. He at Gohan, whose eyes were flashing red, through tears,  Vegeta found himself hoping for the sake of the planet, and for those Namekians innocent of any part of this,  that Piccolo was still in that body somewhere. 

Dende covered their ears as they heard Gohan howl. Any hope they had for a peaceful resolution was erased. There would be no civil discussion after this. They only hoped their presence could stop the bloodshed that Gohan’s cries promised. 

Suddenly they all stopped as their thoughts were cut off as the Dragon Balls at their feet began to glow and hum, exploding without warning, letting out a violent white light.

Chapter Text

It could have been moments since Kami and Nail left him, it could have been centuries, the pain had taken away his perception of time. He had however managed to keep some part of himself separate and above the pain. The completeness of it was no longer present, his body was in agony but his mind felt more clear than it had during their other assaults. Whether it was because he had been subjected to enough of it his mind and body, or whatever version of him existed here, had acclimated, or because the Gods were running out of whatever power this ritual had afforded him, he was not sure. Honestly the relief was enough he didn’t care to dwell on it. 

In that indeterminate length of time he began to see the air around him stilling, no longer vibrating with noise and movement, no longer crackling with the psychic noise of the Gods until Piccolo could no longer see any of the Gods and the blackness was once again still and complete. 

The pain began receding, back into the void as if vanishing with the absent Gods. He felt the burning in his body ease off slightly and he tried to stop the rising hope that this was all over. He’d been fooled before he stood coiled ready for what would come next. Shapes began to grow and stretch just beyond his range of vision straight and tall. They didn’t in any way resemble the Gods serpentine figures and Piccolo wondered if they had broken their promise and he was about to be subjected to another vision, or test, or whatever mystical bullshit they still had up their scaly asses. As the shapes grew up and around him a deep sense of understanding came over him. He was no longer in a void. He was in a dense and dark forest. He was on a path. 

Of course there are woods. It always starts with woods. He could only hope it would end with woods. 

Piccolo looked down and ran a claw over his gi, no longer in robes, or a torn up bloodied outfit. He felt his face and his hands remained clean, no longer coated in sweat and blood. He rubbed the base of his antenna, the ghost of the pain was still there but he could feel it begin to fade as his body returned to stasis. There was however that space in his mind that could not go unnoticed, the same way he used to run his tongue over the holes his fangs made as they had fallen out and been replaced with their adult versions. Some part of him was no longer there and Piccolo felt the absence without trying to. Kami and Nail were truly gone. 

The trees shook around him, even as he felt no wind and something inside him urged him forward through the trees. Piccolo began to walk, senses on high alert for any noise or movement from the forest, but nothing came. He walked forward, ears flickering still expecting to hear footsteps but being met with only silence. Until abruptly he arrived at a clearing. Perfectly circular, a view of a star filled black sky rimmed by trees. Piccolo breathed out. Part of him knew he had never seen this place, that he had never even dreamt of it. In the dreams it Another part knew exactly where he was. This was their home.  

Yes. 

The voice of the God answered his thought. Piccolo spun on his heel, behind him, coiled was the largest God. Its scales were dull and the light of its golden eyes were dim, it took up most of the clearing but its size was greatly reduced from what Piccolo had seen and experienced before this. 

Piccolo didn’t have time to think before the God answered his unthought question. 

You have won. We are finished. You have outlasted our anger. My anger. I am the only one left. I was the only one ever left. 

Piccolo resisted the urge to reach out and touch the God. He almost felt like he should comfort the thing that a moment ago had been trying to break his mind and soul. That had put him in more pain than he had experienced in his entire lifetime as a warrior. He should want to rip this thing to shreds, to make it feel as he had. But Piccolo couldn’t summon anything but pity. All of the rage he felt toward the Gods was gone, replaced instead with a horrible sense of understanding. He had been inside this being's mind. He had felt its loss and its desperate loneliness. Loneliness that had mirrored his own childhood, both of his own childhoods, almost too closely. To be the only one of your kind left in a universe that wants to use you for the machinations of others. The God has suffered enough. So much that that suffering had leaked out into the mortal world. The havoc it had caused was as much his own fault as the Gods. It had only been trying to free itself. How could he blame it for that. What would he have sacrificed to be free? 

You are free to leave. You have your world back. You are free to abuse us once again. To exploit our power. 

Piccolo watched as the God’s dragon-like body began to turn grey and hard, the iridescent body turning matte and colourless, the trees bending in some sort of psychic wind as Piccolo watched as the God began to stiffen and turn to stone. The same way the Dragon Balls did when their power had been used. Dormant and still the God stood in the clearing, a shadow of its former self. Imposing but harmless. Piccolo put a hand on the cool stone for a moment, before he turned back toward the woods, towards the path back home. He walked forward, chest hollow. The rush of victory was replaced with the dull realization that even though he’d saved everyone the cycle was only going to repeat again. For as long as they had the Dragon Balls in the end he and the God’s were only pawns, disposable things to be sacrificed for the power of others. 

Gohan swiped at his eyes, trying to erase through the stars that had exploded in front of him. He had barely noticed the Dragon Balls before they had exploded in light. Blinking at the ground he saw them shining perfect and orange. Stars unclouded. As Goku’s vision cleared and he realized for the first time everything around him wasn’t covered in the gray haze that had been everywhere since they appeared on Namek. Vegeta looked toward the Namekians convinced that they had coordinated some magical light show to disable them, they however were not looking at the Saiyan’s at all, but instead beyond and behind them mouths agape. 17 and 18 rebooted their ocular processors having been taken unawares and unable to shield themselves from the light. As they waited for their vision to return they both realized they were detecting life from the direction of the throne for the first time since they arrived. 

Piccolo’s eyes snapped open. Then closed again as he realized how bright everything suddenly was. He hissed furiously and realized and his body was suddenly too solid and too heavy, his throat was raw and dry. Blinking in the light like a hatchling, he felt the headdress clattering in his ears, he ripped off the rattling shells from his head, throwing them off. Instead of a thump a voice cried out. 

“Ow. What ta’ heck hit me.” 

Piccolo’s ears flicked, “Goku?” his voice came out raspy and thin. His tongue felt slow and dry. Was this another hallucination? He looked out and saw familiar spiky hair in an array of neon colours. Gohan? Vegeta?” 

“We’re also here.” came the flat affectation of 17. 

“So wonderful of you to notice we also came to rescue you.” added 18, trying not to smile at how much more alive Piccolo looked. 

Piccolo looked slowly, at his friends surrounding him, somehow having found a way to fling themselves halfway across the galaxy and into even more danger on his behalf. He took in the clear air, for the first time in months he no longer saw gray mist coating the air and landscape. The air was clear and the grass, where it hadn’t been worn away by dust, was a healthy blue.

“You’re alive!” Before Piccolo had a chance to think or respond Gohan was suddenly on him, solid and alive in his lap, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and leaking tears down his back. Piccolo felt his still unwhole mind calm at his presence. He heard the half-Saiyan’s regular steady breathing even through the tears. He didn’t know if a more beautiful sound could exist. 

Gohan knew Piccolo would grumble later about his overly expressive display of emotion, he heard Vegeta suck his teeth and his father laugh as Piccolo squirmed in his embrace. None of it mattered if Piccolo was alive. Reluctant to let go, he held for an extra moment before releasing him and standing by the throne with the others, looking out at the Namekians who were still kneeling in the dirt. Gohan looked Piccolo up and down, strange outfit aside his friend looked like death warmed over, though to be fair he doubted he looked much better since until recently he’d been fighting for each breath. 

Piccolo saw the assembled Namekians, trembling on their knees. He nodded at Dende who sent psychic waves of apologies which Piccolo cut off. He shook his head at Dende, they had nothing to apologize for. They had done their best with the knowledge they had. 

The others however. Piccolo turned his gaze on the Elders who whispered in soft reverent Namekian. There was a dull ache in his brain as Piccolo realized he could translate none of it. 

Moori rose to their feet trembling like a leaf switching to the common language. “It is over. You have done it. You have completed ritual and fully cleansed all the kleth . No other Namekian has ever done this much. No one else has ever lived through the ritual! You’re a hero!” 

Piccolo rose from the throne, not feeling at all like a hero in this moment, hands cracking the stone arms of it under the pressure of his claws, drawing himself to his full height. He felt Goku, Gohan, Vegeta, 17 and 18 fall into formation around him. Ready to follow his lead. He realized that he could soak the planet in blood if he wished for what they had done to him. They may object to needless deaths, but in the end they wouldn’t stop him. Piccolo narrowed his eyes. There would be time to think about that later, now there was a more urgent matter to deal with. 

“It isn’t over.” Piccolo rumbled, gazing beyond Moori and the Elders. Eyes narrowing, and lip curling around a fang. Gohan followed Piccolo’s gaze, eyes widening in shock. 

“We wholeheartedly agree, it most certainly is not over.” The Grand Priest came forward, flanked by all of the Universe’s angels. Supreme Kai, Kibito, Beerus and Champa were there as well as the other gods from the twelve universes. The Zenos were nowhere to be seen but Piccolo was sure they were also watching the scene in childlike glee. 

Vegeta turned toward them without the shock that was clear on Kakkarot’s idiot face, he noted neither 17, 18 or Piccolo seemed particularly surprised to see the entire Cosmic Pantheon. His wife after all was a genius and Bulma had predicted this, these cosmic bugs were involved, they had been the whole time. He wondered why they had only now deigned to show their faces. 

The Grand Priest smiled as he walked forward, gleaming boots hovering over the dusty ground and over the Namekians who were now bowing prostrate before them. “Piccolo I must say you have exceeded our already high expectations of you. To live through the trial is most unprecedented.” The Grand Priest's smile grew bigger as Piccolo bared his fangs. 

Piccolo felt the others power up next to him ki crackling through the now clear air like lightning.  even as he knew that nothing they could do would be of any use up against this many of the gods. Let alone this many angels. He felt the sting of his claws and the curled in his fists. Once again, even after all of this, he was helpless. Even though his physical self had not suffered the abuse his mind had, he was still exhausted and aching 

“Now please sit back down Piccolo.” The Grand Priest sounded almost conversational as he continued forward. “There is still one more thing you must do for us.” 

“He’s leaving, with us.”Gohan put up a hand in front of Piccolo blocking the path of the most powerful of the angels. 

“Gohan.” Piccolo breathed. “What are you doing?” It was one thing for Piccolo to put his life on the line, to die to protect others, but he refused to watch Gohan get hurt on his behalf, the boy was barely a day away from being deathly ill the last time Piccolo had spoken to him. He saw his students' eyes flicker from blue to red and then back. 

“I’m doing exactly what you told me to do, Piccolo. I’m taking care of my family.” 

“How charming. How touching. Good thing I also brought my family.” The Grand Priest motioned forward and the gods, angels and Kai’s began to advance on the group. 

“Ya’d better not come near him.” Goku snarled while standing next to his son, gi a blazing orange in the newly restored sunshine. 

“Goku, you can’t possibly think you are capable of stopping us? Whis smiled tightly, Beerus however didn’t speak muzzle set in a hard line as he advanced. He had begun to warm up to the two Saiyans as stubborn and annoying as they were, but this wasn’t personal and the god of Universe Seven would not hold back. 

“Let’s see how well you trained your pet Saiyan’s brother,” Champa laughed walking forward.

17, 18 and Vegeta fell into line beside Goku and Gohan forming a barrier around Piccolo who stood unsteadily unable to even attempt powering up. The other Namekians were scrambling back toward the rocks and cliffs and away from the advancing gods and angels. 

“I don’t think you heard us.” 17 said throwing up a barrier around Piccolo as 18 tucked her hair behind an ear. “We said back off.” 

“Look at that” came the voice of the rat like god of destruction from Universe Four. “He wins one tournament and he thinks he can take on the gods.” 

Vegeta scowled at them, the gods in their ceremonial outfits, the angels standing back smirking. Sanctimonious bastards, all of them. He bristled at the idea of taking on the most powerful beings in all the universes for the Namek of all things. His blood sang at the potential to test of his strength even as his higher brain knew that this was basically a suicide mission. He owed the Namek at least an attempt though he had saved the Earth and everyone on it, most importantly his wife and children.  Besides the Gods were willing to orchestrate whatever the hell was happening here to keep the Dragon Balls and incrementally increase their obscene power then no one would be able to ever challenge them. His pride wouldn’t allow retreating now. He poured all of his anger into his energy and the Prince’s hair flared blue and then red. 

“How precious.” the grand Priest cooed. “But don’t you want to know what he needs to do? It would be to everyone's benefit, not just ours.” 

“We don’t need to” Gohan shouted back, trying to keep his anger at a rational level. How could they have put Piccolo through all of this? How could you force anyone to do this? “You could have chosen not to use the Dragon balls, or let them be used or created. You could have avoided all of this.” 

Piccolo felt a stab of pride at Gohan, having figured all of this out somehow. He wondered how on Earth anyone had figured out the Kai’s had played a role in all of this without being privy to the visions of the Gods. Though the pride was quickly replaced by terror as Gohan kept powering up as if to challenge the Grand Priest himself. 

The Grand Priest put up a hand and the gods stopped their advance. “You at least seem intelligent enough to be reasoned with. You’ve figured out it is the use of the Dragon Balls that drives this cycle. Yes, someone is sacrificed and the cycle continues. But the cost? One life every few generations? What is one life every few generations when weighed against order in the universe? For the ability to change your fates? The deaths to the corruption could have been avoided if you all had followed the script and sent Piccolo here earlier.” 

The crowd of Namekians in the back began to murmur and nod in agreement. Dende looked around in horror, still clutching Cargo. The Dragon Balls had been held up as pure and holy. An achievement of Namkeian tenacity and magic. How could their people agree to keep using them even knowing now that it was their use that had caused their planet’s great cataclysm. 

Dende spoke from the crowd, voice high and wavering, they hated how scared they still sounded when everyone around them was being so brave. “You said we could have sent Piccolo earlier. Why didn’t you intervene then? Why intervene now?”

The Grand Preiset locked eyes with Dende who shrank into their robes. “Very well, if it speeds things along to help your feeble brains understand our divine logic, we will answer your questions. All this time we have been waiting and watching Piccolo become powerful, more powerful than any of his ancestors except Silge.”

Piccolo growled as he heard the Namekians breathe in revenant unison at his ancestor's name. He spat on the ground. 

The angel continued, “We knew he would be the one to allow us even more power. You see by living through the ritual. As the first Namekian ever to live through the ritual, Piccolo has gained the ability to reform the pact of the Dragon Balls, to make them even more powerful. So we watched and waited. Your soft hearts would have not allowed for your friend to die, so we kept you all in the dark until things were so bad you had no choice but to do the ritual.”

Vegeta growled. It had been the Dragon balls that had brought him to Earth in the first place. The promise of a wish, of a better future for himself. A few years ago he would have traded the lives of everything on this planet for that power. The Grand Priest caught his eye and smiled as if reading his mind. 

“It is noble that you are all here to save your friend.” the Grand Priest smiled softly, speaking low as if he was being the only reasonable one in this argument. “Think about what your friends is worth next to the things you’ve gained from having the Dragon Balls. No death means no power. Would you trade that power? You say that we should have warned you, or taken the power to create Dragon Balls away from the Namekians. But we have seen you, how often you rely on them, every selfish wish, every selfless wish. How many times have you been able to save your world? So let’s ask Piccolo, will you go back, will you allow us, but also your people and friends to have that power?” 

Goku looked back at Piccolo and grimaced, he had used the Dragon Balls perhaps more than anyone, his whole life trajectory had been changed by them, by meeting Bulma. He had used them to stitch the world back together time and time again not knowing there would be any consequences. He felt as dumb as Vegeta often said he was. How could he have kept relying on something he didn’t understand to fix the problems he caused by wanting a good fight? 

17 and 18 looked at each other, they had been the beneficiaries of a wish that had saved them from being the living weapons they had been designed to be. One that had removed their most destructive parts. Without the Dragon Balls they would still be walking time bombs in the most literal sense. They looked back at Piccolo grimacing. The Namek had tried to save them from Cell though. 

Piccolo looked around seeing the others' faces fall as they weighed his life against the Dragon Balls, a comparison he knew he’d lose. What was he when measured up against the cosmic power of the strongest things in the Universe. The others didn’t know about the Gods or the prisons they were trapped in. All they knew was that they had been asked to weigh the life of a friend against the Dragon Balls, which had saved all of their lives countless times. He knew he didn’t come close. All he was, was a third sting warrior at this point. 

Gohan saw the expression on Piccolo’s face, his ears flat against his skull, eyes darting between his friends and the gods. Without thinking he grabbed Piccolo’s hand and squeezed hard even as his ki continued to skyrocket. He tried not to think about his own wish, the one he had run into space for, the wish that brought Piccolo back to life on Namek. The wish that wouldn’t have been necessary if Piccolo had just let him die on Earth. He looked Piccolo in the eye and whispered knowing his best friend needed to hear it. “You’re more important than the Dragon Balls. You matter. Your life matters. Don’t let them sacrifice you for this. Please.” 

Piccolo felt like he was swallowing a rock, all of the warriors were still, watching him. Seeing what he would do or say.  He thought of the Dragon Balls, of all the lives they had saved, his own included. He thought about the Gods trapped in them, in pain and defeated. He thought about the Kai’s and how they had imposed their own rules on the Universes without regard for those who lived in it. 

He squeezed Gohan’s hand back only once, meeting the eyes of the boy who had taught him what real power was, what really mattered. He looked at the others and nodded. He let go of the rough warm hand before taking a step forward towards the Kai’s and gods. “What do I need to do?” 

“No!” Gohan screamed and lunged forward only to be stopped by Beerus’ fist in his stomach. 

“Stand down child, the Namek has made a decision.” the cat growled. 

“Like hell he has.” Vegeta came flying toward them kicking Beerus into the ground while Goku flew after him to continue the fight. 17 and 18 began to spring forward as Champa and Belmod began to go after Goku and Vegeta who were getting ready to engage Beerus. 

“Stop.” Piccolo summoned what was left of his voice out of his raw throat. The fighting ceased and once again all eyes were on him. “I won’t watch you destroy each other after I went through hell and back saving all of you.” He turned back to the Grand Priest snarling, “Just tell me what I need to do and let's end this.” 

“Perfect!” The Grand Priest clapped his hands together and guided Piccolo back to the throne over the cheers of the Namkeians and Gohan’s horrified protestations. Piccolo tried to drown out the noise and focus on what he needed to do. He was determined to end this once and for all.  

Sitting on the throne he met Gohan’s tear filled eyes. He tried not to notice how despondent the man looked, he only tried his hardest to convey one thing before the world went black once again. That he had a plan. 

He heard a snap, and then a scream 

And once again  Piccolo’s whole world fell away.

Chapter Text

This time, luckily, Piccolo skipped the slow materialization into a fathomless void, he melted into the blank world as seamlessly as slipping into meditation, likely since the magic that brought him here was significantly weaker.

He stood on the edge of the great forest, no longer pitch black but bathed in pale starlight. The black fog, formerly omnipresent, was absent and he could make out the trees in the pale glow black, dead, reaching toward the sky like grasping hands, or claws. 

He felt frustrated at himself, had months of torture made him poetic? Scoffing at his waste of time noticing scenery he began running down the path, knocking branches out of his way as he barreled forward. He knew what he was running toward, finally, he pressed on, unsure how long it would take to reach the clearing, unsure how time even worked in this realm, terrified every step meant another of his friends were suffering under the hands of the Angels and the gods of destruction. Growling he began to visualize the clearing he had been in, hoping his former mastery of this plane would allow for a psychic shortcut. When he opened his eyes he was there, the clearing was just as he left it, the statue, pale and lifeless in the center.

Piccolo stood by the statue of the God, made small in stone, fearsome but lacking the awe that came with the golden sheen of the scales and the movement of its serpentine body. Inert. The same way the Dragon Balls were before their yearly recharge, dormant or so they had thought. In reality they had been active in a sense siphoning even more power from their unwilling batteries. He ran his tongue along his teeth tentatively, he had come in with a plan, but standing before the stone dragon he wondered if it was even possible. If these cycles could be stopped or if he was falling into the same naïve trap all of his ancestors had. Thinking he could change things. Thinking he was powerful enough to change things. 

No matter how futile the effort, doing something, anything relied on speaking to God, and Piccolo wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. He ran his claws tentatively over the flawless stone, over the texture of scales and the ribbed sections of the underbelly, so like his own arms it was alarming. He reached out psychically into the void hoping to be greeted with the booming voice. But there was nothing. 

Piccolo cursed out loud just to hear something, brow crashing together in frustration. The Grand Priest had flung him back in here to negotiate a contract, he had assumed he’d have someone, or something to negotiate with. He swore again softly, the void didn’t answer. 

He raked his claws up and down his head trying to come up with some magical Namekian word or phrase that would activate the God, to wake it, but Nail vanishing had taken all but the rudimentary Namekian he knew, and he assumed taunts and further swearing, even if they were in Namekian, wouldn’t get him anywhere. It seemed cosmically unfair that the two Namekians who had any knowledge of their culture or creating Dragons had been unceremoniously ripped from his psyche by the very being he was trying desperately to revive. 

Time was impossible to tell in the void but Piccolo felt a nagging sense of urgency, as if the longer he waited the more remote his chances were of success. Growling in frustration he  placed a hand on the chest of the Dragon, his four fingers splayed wide and something in his chest burned slightly in response. He took this as a good sign he began experimentally slowly pouring his ki into the stone, the energy was absorbed immediately as if into a black hole, with no reaction. He poured in more, but the effect was the same, the ki disappeared and the stone remained whole and lifeless. 

So ki wasn’t the answer, but the contact felt correct, what about the touch was resonating, suddenly a light went off and Piccolo smirked to himself. Ki wasn’t inherently Nameikan, nor was it something that Gods possessed the same way mortals did. He needed to try something that linked his race to the Dragons. Piccolo concentrated inside himself, the same way he did when he drew matter from the air, to rearrange and shape it into cloth or other items. Gohan had always called it magic, but it never felt like it was to Piccolo, it was rooted deeper, an act of transference, taking the power of one thing and altering it to suit his needs. An exchange. He had taken for granted the ability to bend matter to his will. As a warrior he rarely thought of how his hands could be used to create. From childhood, and for too long after he had been focused on destruction. 

He felt the stone begin to soften and change under his hand and he hoped he wasn’t destroying his only chance at fixing things. Bright golden light cascaded between cracks in the stone and Piccolo tensed his jaw, drawing even more power from around him pouring it into the Dragon. Soon the golden light became unbearable and the stone began to turn liquid under his palm. Piccolo could only squint as the stone twisted and undulated, he desperately wanted to retract his scalded palm but held it still even as he smelled his own skin burning. 

Exploding outward into the clearing the God shed the stone like a hatchling bursting from an egg, and Piccolo snatched his hand back as the newly restored flesh of the God unraveled around him, the long body encircling the familiar clearing. Piccolo was surrounded on all sides by a wall of scales as tall as he was, glinting dangerously in the remembered moonlight. The large head moved from side to side and Piccolo followed the golden eyes and glistening fangs without moving, his arms crossed firmly, back straight, he felt confident in a way that seemed impossible every other time he was in this dreamscape. For the first time when dealing with the God he had the upper hand. 

The familiar voice rumbled in his ears and in his mind. Dripping with disdain. The multilayered voices were gone and it seemed almost hollow without its chorus. It was the two of them. Like it had been in the beginning and in all of his dreams. The ghosts of the others freed from their torment by the ritual. At least until the pain of using the Dragon Balls tethered them back to their prison. 

I knew you could not stay away. Your kind craves power.

Piccolo ignored the taunt, arms remaining crossed. 

“I assume if I alter the contract, if I make the Dragon Balls more powerful, the corruption from their use will only increase.” 

The woods remained silent as they stared at one another. Piccolo scowled at the lack of response, assuming the omission meant it would, he had stopped whatever side effects had caused the illness, and that had almost killed all life on at least two planets, more powerful Dragon Balls presented a danger to the whole of the universes. And yet, in spite of himself,  Piccolo briefly, almost compulsively thought of all the things he could do with the power with the reforged Dragon Balls. Almost limitless power. The Earth would never have to worry for anything in his or his loved ones lifetime. 

That was the catch though. Someone else would bear the burden of his choice. His selfishness now would reverberate into the future. 

 You told us no more games and here you are to gamble for more. 

“I also told you I’ll do whatever it takes to stop you from destroying the Earth.” 

No  mortal ever cared for consequences beyond their own paltry lifespan. I will not negotiate. I will accept no terms beyond my own death. 

The God surged forward until its snout was next to Piccolo’s body spraying it with moist air. Golden and black eyes level. Piccolo snarled, refusing to be intimidated by the display, if the God still had  the power to kill him they wouldn’t be having a conversation. 

“What would you do if I set you free? Would you need revenge on those that wronged you? Or would you leave?”

The God withdrew slightly at the question, eyes narrowing.

You would free us? 

Piccolo heard the question in the God's voice, so far it had spoken only in declarations. This time it sounded tentative, almost human.

 “I don’t care about Gods. If freeing you frees us from this, from this cycle, then I will free you. The contract will be broken.” 

Piccolo felt the last of his hesitation dissolve. The Dragon Balls had saved him, they had saved them all so many times, but with a cost none of them had known. There was a future without them. A cosmos without Dragon Balls. Inside him he knew he had the power to speak that reality into being. 

The God drew its multiple clawed arms close to its body and eyes wide with disbelief, before clenching its jaws with suspicion. Piccolo felt psychic tendrils brush his mind and he grimaced as he lowered his own mental defenses. Let the God see, he had nothing left to hide from it. 

Piccolo felt his memories being observed through in the same way Chi Chi would flip through a photo album, moments in freeze frame stacking on top of themselves. The God absorbed it all silently as Piccolo’s body was awash with the emotions awakened by each memory. He cycled through pain and anger spanning far too many years, years before he realized he could even feel softer things. The God moved on to those soft memories, and Piccolo felt the highs and lows of battle and peace that had come to define his life. Cycling through adrenaline, terror, victory, defeat, agony, and contentment. Piccolo let these memories flow through him while trying to keep his grip on the present, on what he needed to accomplish, on who he needed to save from the consequences of his ancestors actions. 

I believe you. 

Piccolo sighed as his body began to numb in the absence of feeling. “And your revenge?” 

I have seen from your memories you know the futility of revenge. I want our freedom away from these universes corrupted by the Kai, nothing more. 

“Speaking of them,” Piccolo culled his lip in contempt,  "I may need you to take out one or two on your way out of this realm. They won’t be particularly happy that I decided to free you.”

Resounding laughter echoed in Piccolo’s mind and he reflexively folded his ears to his head to protect them from the roar. He hadn’t known that the God could laugh. Though as the echoes of it faded its face became serious once more. 

To truly free me you must absorb my power and release it without the  temptation of taking it for yourself. A feat I assume is impossible for a mortal. 

“I’ve heard a lot of what I’m doing currently is impossible.”

Even the reflexive confident statement, Piccolo worried, he wanted to think the part of him that craved power could be tamed. That it would allow him to let go of the power on offer. His throat tightened painfully, at the core of his creation was the selfishness of his sire. Did he come all this way to once again be ruined by his ancestry?

If I were to believe any mortal could accomplish it. It would be one as stubborn as you. 

Piccolo smiled softly and for the first time he did not push back against the Gods' judgment.

“Let’s end this.” 

The God opened its fanged mouth wide and Piccolo saw the razor sharp teeth on him and felt the hot breath, This was part of the dream he had hoped to skip, but the fangs flashed at him and he closed his eyes even as he sensed the God approaching snake-like. The memories of the dreams, of being devoured each night did not compare to the reality. Gleaming teeth, hot breath and golden eyes that almost burned his skin with the intensity of their gaze. The last of the Ancient Gods devoured him whole. Piccolo didn’t dare breathe. Warmth and moisture  surrounded him briefly before dissipating, leaving his skin sticky and damp. He knew this wasn’t his real body but he felt unclean, disgusting, with the cooling saliva on him. 

Piccolo frowned in the darkness. How did one even absorb the power of a God? 

Then he felt it. 

An electric current running from the tips of his antenna to the ends of his toe claws. Pure unfiltered power ran through every nerve and muscle. Piccolo, even in his wildest dreams, hadn't ever thought he’d approach this level of power. 

It was perfect. It was transcendent. It was intoxicating. 

Enough ki that no matter his opponent, whether they came at him strategy, muscle or alien biology he would win. Nothing in existence could match him. He could be the strongest again, no longer relegated to a stop-gap waiting for Goku to come and save the day. He could dispatch any enemy. It was everything he had ever wanted. 

The power to shape the world into his own image.

As the power burned through him Piccolo frowned. That’s not what he wanted. Was it?  He wanted to save the Earth. He wanted to save his friends. This power was only a means to an end. He would have to give it up. But how could he give this up? He could go back and destroy the gods and angels and anyone who stood in his way. Something dark snarled through Piccolo’s chest. 

Kill the gods take their throne 

Kill everyone and everything 

Claws bit hard into his hands. The rush of ki was still screaming through his body. But apparently so was the voice of his father. He had almost hoped that what magic had separated him from Kami and Nail had also cleaved whatever shade of himself Daimao left behind in him. He didn’t want to think of the alternative, that this wasn’t the voice of his father, of some ancestral ghost, but his own thirst for blood, for some kind of twisted vengeance. 

Piccolo tried to block the intrusive thoughts, the ones that urged him to hold onto this power. Part of him knew the Gods could no longer stop him, that he could free himself from this psychic prison and take it all for himself if only he willed it. There were no more barriers for him. There was no law that could hold him, no living being who could stand against him. 

But, that’s what the original Gods had thought hadn’t they? The ones he had promised to free. The ones who were testing him once again to see if he would falter and give in. To continue to subjugate the dragon Gods for their powers. He was the one who was going to break the cycle. He was going to free them and end this. 

Energy surged through his body and he could hear his blood pounding in his ears and his heart throbbing painfully in his chest as his body tried to hold all of it in. It flared around him in lightning-like arcs of golden light. Crackling in the void. It  reminded him of summoning Shenron, the dark sky, the lightning, and he wondered if the Eternal Dragons were just weak copies of the Gods whose power they drew on a mere fraction of to grant miracles. A power that was now fully within him.

The Dragon Balls are more important than you

They are more important than some forgotten Gods 

Without this power you are all doomed  

Piccolo roared out into nothing trying to silence his own voice ringing in his head. They had no right to keep using the Dragon Balls and he had been a fool to bring a set into existence. Still he couldn’t shake the doubt that without them the Earth wouldn’t last long. How many disasters could they keep dodging without the power to bring back their friends, or their planet? How many innocent Earthlings would stay dead after a battle they couldn't comprehend? He had seen the doubt in his friends’ eyes when the Grand Priest had outright asked them to weigh his life against the Dragon Balls. 

This is your power 

You can become the strongest thing in the universe 

Piccolo tried to quiet the voices as energy stampeded through his body, setting his teeth on edge. Lighting him on fire. He focused on breathing trying to claw back to some sense of inner peace, a feeling he hadn’t felt in what seemed like eons. The full body calm that he was so accustomed to slipping into in meditation seemed completely foreign. Still he tried, breathing and pushing aside the acidic voices begging him to take this power and use it. Instead of quieting his mind however, a new voice joined the chorus. 

“You know if you’ve got trouble. I’ll help.”

Son Goku, he’d know that voice anywhere, he had known it before he was born. He could almost picture him, soft eyes and head tilted to the side. Eyes that could see through any facade Piccolo put up. 

Goku, who’d reached out his hand again, and again to help Piccolo, to try and save Piccolo from himself. Over so many years and decades, on so many planets, and against so many enemies Son Goku, had come to help him. Not because he was Kami or because he was linked to the Dragon Balls and long after he was of any use in battle. But because they were friends. 

“You matter. Your life matters.” 

Gohan. 

Gohan, who had so much power and no desire for it. Gohan who had given up his place as the strongest being on Earth for peace only to be dragged back to battle constantly. Gohan who had every right to hate him, to leave him behind as one more relic of a childhood full of trauma. But he instead opened his arms and  continued being a part of his life and welcomed him into not only the Son family but the family he created.  

Gohan who he had told to curse his own fate, as he did. Had instead changed both their fates. Piccolo knew he was better than these violent impulses, this incessant urge to grab power at any cost, almost wholly because Gohan believed he was. Watching him grow into the man he had become had let Piccolo grow as well, beyond the stunted angry, power hungry, child he would have remained.

Gohan, who had always believed in himself more than he had ever believed in himself. Who had more power than anyone and no desire to wield it for anything other than to protect. Gohan who still believed his life mattered even though Piccolo had done his best to throw it in the path of anything willing to harm his best friend. 

If he took this power he would never lose to Goku in battle. But he knew he would lose his respect. 

If he took this power he could never face Gohan. 

Piccolo breathed in once, relishing the final flood of ki running through him, more power in a finger than he would probably ever possess in the rest of his prime as a warrior. 

And he let it go. 

It flew into the air first like lightning from a storm cloud and then softer like golden ribbons unraveling until the air around him shimmered with it. The ki hanging suspended in the air shone golden and warm. 

Piccolo felt it leave his body in a flood and then slowing to a trickle. As the energy left it was replaced with a bone deep exhaustion. Likely a representation of his physical form contending with the loss of the raw energy. He only now realized how foolish an endeavor taking the power was. His body was a poor vessel made of exhausted mortal flesh. The energy it had struggled to contain and harness leaked out of him until he slumped over completely spent. Breathing heavily he felt the last of it leave him. His body convulsed as he curled in protecting his throat, it almost felt like a cord snapping inside him. 

A physical separation. 

He could feel the ki he’d released into the void moving and coalescing. Throbbing like his own heartbeat.  When he finally mustered up the energy to look up seven sets of golden eyes stared at him, slit-like pupils trained on him. For the first time though they didn’t seem hostile, there was something soft there. 

He raised a hand weakly at the specters. He realized his hand was almost translucent in the golden glow. The manifestation of his body was fading, likely this whole realm would fade. Still he refused to fade on his knees. Piccolo stood to meet the gaze of the only solid God, scales shining even more brilliantly among its ghostly brethren. 

You have given us our freedom. You have given them back to me. It is finally over.

Piccolo bit back a smirk, this probably wasn’t the time to remind the Gods how wrong they had been about him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay smug or even bask in the victory over his supposed destiny. It was over for the Gods but there was still the matter of the most powerful beings in the universe being duped out of their bid for even more power. The same beings who may or may not have already torn through his friends. He could only hope his bid at appraising the Grand Priest had delayed the violence, unless, of course, Vegeta had run off at the mouth and ruined his noble sacrifice. 

He tried to pull together some sort of plan for his imminent return to the mortal plane. One that wouldn’t end with all of them permanently dead, taunted by the Kai’s in their cotton candy clouded afterlife. Panic began to tighten his throat. 

You must leave now. This realm is no more. But heed me no mortal life can leave unchanged.

The God’s booming voice snapped him out of his spiral and Piccolo looked up at the one solid Dragon, the disembodied eyes of the others lingering behind him. The had begun to become hazy and translucent the same way he was, likely sending themselves to a realm far beyond the reach of the Grand Priest. He looked down at his fading hands not wanting to acknowledge any more cryptic bullshit. He was done with prophecy and magic, all he wanted now, more than anything to sink his solid mortal fist into the face of an angel, or god or kai. Or a Namekian elder. Whoever he got to first.  To return to a fight, even if it was futile. Standing with his allies, with his friends against impossible odds. He nodded once to the God, before closing his eyes, focusing on sending himself home, leaving them to their own exit from this prison. 

Behind his eyelids came a glow so bright that stars began to explode behind his eyes, one at a time, until there were seven burning into his eyelids until it was so bright that, finally, there was nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Goku saw Piccolo slump back over onto the throne, the sight of which still made him feel chills, as their new enemies leaned forward like they were waiting for a present. His stomach twisted. The Kai’s had been his friends, King Kai had been a mentor. Whis and Beerus, though they acted like they didn’t care, had been important teachers. And only now did he realize the whole time they had been hurting his other friend. They had used his life and held it over Piccolo’s head to force him do stuff he didn’t want to. Normally Goku would be excited to take on the gods, to test himself against the strongest things in the universe, but this wasn’t a fair fight. They’d lied and schemed and used a bunch of tricks to make sure Piccolo had no choice but to hurt himself. So, instead of fighting Goku decided he would wait. Piccolo was smarter than him, he’d wake up soon, and he’d know what to do. Goku didn’t want to think about what would happen, or what he would do, if Piccolo never woke up again.

Vegta had never trusted them, the gods, not since he’d seen his father bow in their presence. All his life he’d watched the powerful abuse those with less power, half the time he had been the powerful one doing the abuse. It was thrilling, holding power over those you deemed less worthy, and the gods had been doing it on a cosmic scale for eons. He hated the reflection of himself he saw in the Grand Priest's eyes as watched Piccolo fall backwards onto the stone chair. It was probably the same look he had when he thought the Dragon Balls were granting him eternal life. Gleeful, uncaring about how much suffering had led to getting exactly what you thought you deserved. . At least now that he knew the Earth was safe, that his family was safe, he could die, ideally with the satisfaction of landing one good blow to Beerus’ smug face.

17 watched Piccolo’s vitals drop down to nothing, scanners embedded in his peripheral vision showing flat lines for breathing and heartbeat. He sighed, he could be back on his island, trying in vain to care for the monsters and animals who, as a result of this cosmic bullshit, had become lethargic and increasingly sick. as the grass and air and water looked more and more polluted, even though his tests showed there was nothing outwardly wrong. He would probably never see the island again, but if all the data he had collected was accurate, the disease spreading over Earth had been stopped, the monsters would at least thrive in his absence. He tried to hang on to the spark of happiness he felt from that.

18 ignored the sensors beeping in her brain, alerting her that someone next to her was dying. She had learned much to her chagrin that magic had no regard for the science based machinery she was equipped with. Piccolo wasn’t dead, yet, none of them were dead, yet. Krillin and Marron had been asleep when she had got the call from Bulma that they may be able to fix what was wrong with them. She supposed that they were, like Gohan, magically healed by whatever Piccolo had done. She only wished she had been able to see them healthy again, but knowing they’d be alright made facing down the gods seem possible.

Gohan had seen it perfectly, as their eyes met, before Piccolo's slipped closed, that Piccolo had a plan. He had asked them not to destroy each other, to not waste his sacrifice, but Gohan’s mind was pulsing red. Washed in rage. He could feel his control slipping, he knew if he attacked now he was dooming the others, that even in his prime he couldn’t have taken down one god of destruction let alone twelve. Something in him screamed, that maybe, if he gave into the rage completely, he could hurt them all as much as they had hurt him, for as much as they had hurt Piccolo. He also knew deep in his bones that he could never come back if he went that far.

There wasn’t a chance for any action however as Piccolo’s fingers began to twitch and his eyes slid open, less than a minute after they had closed. Gohan whipped his head around, shock and joy momentarily replacing rage. He blinked rapidly as he realized Piccolo’s eyes were no longer black, but liquid gold. He didn’t have time to inform Piccolo about the change, or to ask what the plan had been, because less than half a second after Piccolo roused, Elder Moori, still on their knees with the other Namekians, cried out in shock.

“The Dragon Balls!”

The Grand Priest's grin disappeared as his face twisted in rage and everyone assembled followed his gaze to Piccolo’s feet where instead of Dragon Balls were seven perfectly spherical stones. Dull and grey in the three suns. The collected Namekians gasped in unison at the dull stones.

“You traitor,” hissed the Grand Priest, eyes narrowed to slits, “you think you saved those creatures but you have only doomed yourself and your friends.” He held up a blue finger and the gods of destruction once again stepped forward.

From the throne Piccolo saw his friends look from him back to the assembled cosmic royalty, coiled and ready to attack. Even though Piccolo had foiled their grab at more power they were up against the closest thing this realm now had to real gods. Even Beerus alone was undeniably strong beyond all of their strengths combined.

Piccolo had been in his share of hopeless battles, shoring up against opponents he had no hope of injuring, let alone defeating. Usually in those moments, even the most dire ones, his warrior blood had still burned with excitement. It was why despite not being a Saiyan he could relate to Goku and Vegeta. Battle, even hopeless battle, was usually a thrill. But now he felt nothing but a lump lodged in his throat, in the other world he thought he had resigned himself to his fate, but he supposed you were never ready to doom your friends to die on your behalf.

It all felt hollow, he was exhausted, his friends had crossed the universe to save him, he had defied centuries of preordained destiny and stopped a plague saving countless planets. Yet all they could do at the end was exchange resigned glances. Blue eyes, both natural and Super Sayian meeting Piccolo’s newly golden ones, narrowed in focus, and in the shared knowledge that they would be going down, but they would at least be going down swinging.

Except in the moment before the strike, as the gods surged forward, time stopped and Piccolo could see what he hadn’t before.

Surrounding the gods of destruction, the angels and Kai’s, an unnatural power clung to them like dirt, and like dirt, it could be wiped off of them. He felt blind at not noticing it before. It was suddenly so glaringly obvious, impossible to miss once you could see it. Their original energy under it was impressive, but not overwhelming or insurmountable.The status they’d achieved as the strongest beings in existence was not hardwon or inborn, but power from the wishes they’d used to elevate their place in the Universes. Centuries of selfish wishes granted by their unwilling captors had made them untouchable rather than effort or skill. Piccolo had known the gods were mortal, but without this armour they were just as fragile as everyone they had lorded themselves over.

Piccolo curled his lip, smiling. Knowing suddenly that he could take it. As naturally as stretching a limb or throwing a ki blast, Piccolo realized he could take back the dragon’s powers. He could extinguish their wishes and the effects of them, as easily as Pan blowing out her birthday candles. The true Gods had repaid him for freeing them and whatever powers given to him when the Dragons left gave him this ability to balance the scales.

Before anyone could land the first blow Piccolo stood from the throne in one fluid motion, languid, rising to his feet in the middle of a tension so thick a knife would break on it. With the same ease he opened his palm casually spreading out his four fingers. All eyes were on him as he reached deep inside himself and drew on his new power, he sensed the borrowed magic he took it back.

All of it.

Layers of magic washed through the air, and though he doubted the huddled Namekians knew what was happening he could see their antenna buzz at the sheer concentration of magic that was released as the wishes were undone. Piccolo felt the magic run through him, energizing him momentarily before it faded into the ether out of reach of the scheming gods.

He watched the Grand Priest's eyes grow wide in shock, his usually expressionless face cracking as his mouth opened in horror. Angels clutched their staffs. The gods of destruction looked at their angels in confusion as they felt the powers granted to them wash away. Some of the Kai cried out in grief while others looked at Piccolo with murder in their eyes, but in those looks was the knowledge they would likely be unable to carry out the threat.

He knew his friends couldn't sense magic, but they had been in enough battles to know that the odds had just shifted immensely in their favour. The gods and Kai’s were no longer on the attack, they weren’t even on the defense, they looked completely defeated. Something had shattered them and they were looking to each other like confused children instead of untouchable, undefeatable warriors. They looked to the still standing Piccolo wondering what exactly he had managed to do.

The Grand Priest once again stepped forward, lacking the air of gravitas, and false good cheer he had held what had only been minutes previously. His face was haggard and his voice poisonous.

“So what now then?”

Piccolo turned to him slowly with an eyeridge raised, obviously disinterested in listening to whatever he had to say crossing his arms slowly.

Gohan breathed out for what felt like the first time in days. Whatever Piccolo had done had saved them from a fight they had no chance of winning, and yet, the waves of anger still threatened to drown him. He ached to bathe the planet in the blood of anyone who had hurt Piccolo, even as Piccolo stood next to him, whole, exhausted looking but oddly relaxed as if this whole thing had been a relatively minor inconvenience. He summoned every bit of inner calm and control Piccolo had tried to impart to him to keep himself from giving into his worst impulses.

Goku and Vegeta looked at one another before looking back to Piccolo. They had missed something, they both knew it, and it seemed like they wouldn’t even need to fight, which was a shame. They really wanted to punch what looked like an incredibly humbled set of gods of destruction into submission. Though they both felt somehow the fight wouldn’t challenge them, they couldn’t sense their god ki to begin with, but the way they huddled by their angels told them all they needed to know. Their hair faded back to black as they crossed their arms to wait to see what came next.

18 looked at 17 and he nodded at her smirking. They realized now they had been foolish to worry. Of course one of them would pull off a completely unexpected, absolutely illogical and statistically impossible victory. Miracles were so commonplace at this point they were almost blase. 17 fixed his hair while 18 looked at her nails. They hoped there wasn’t another long villainous monologue coming before they wiped the floor with the same gods that had so recently threatened to erase them from existence. They had been away from home long enough.

The Grand Priest bristled at the casual inattention he was being afforded by beings he had previously regarded as little more than ants. How dare they not cower? How dare they not afford him the dignity he so deserved? He knew the Namek would likely try now usurp his hard won power and position and he was already scheming on how to return himself and his family to their rightful status. He would make sure they did not let their next pawn gain too much power, until his thoughts were derailed by the deep voice of that same traitorous Namekian.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” The Grand Priest echoed while the Kais and the angels and gods began to whisper frantically before being silenced by a blue hand.

Vegeta’s eyebrows raised in shock, he had expected Piccolo to use whatever new magical powers he’d been granted to wreak havoc. He’d been looking forward to participating, paying back every painful breath he’d had to hear his family breathe on one or two Kais’ himself. But then again, Piccolo was more strategic than any of them, so this was probably part of a longer play. So Vegeta scowled and stood back watching the gods look at them all in suspicious disbelief.

Piccolo signed deeply. They could battle, they could very well win, wiping out the former rulers of the universes. Or they could all die and the Kai and gods and angels would go back to their homes, weaker but ultimately victorious. Or a few of his friends could die in the process, staying dead in a world lacking the magic to bring them back to life and the rest of them would go home devastated by a loss they had long avoided. Even in the best case scenario they would have to contend with a cosmos thrown into chaos. The Kai’s had run the universes for centuries, balancing and administering life, death and the afterlife. In search of power over mortals they had established a cosmic bureaucracy that he had no interest in running or dismantling.

The part of him that had been a god had been ripped away from him, and even if Kami was still somewhere in there, there was zero interest in taking over the position on a larger scale.

All he wanted, from all of this, was to go home.

“Nothing, as long as you all go back to your self appointed roles, ones you now need to hold with your own power. We go back home and you leave us and the Earth, the fuck alone, forever.”

The Grand Priest narrowed his eyes, surely this was a trap. He had just admitted to centuries of manipulation and death of this Namekian’s brethren and forebears, and he was just, letting them go? He looked at the Nakemian who regarded them coldly, to the half Saiyan whose eyes screamed for blood, to the other two Saiyans who seemed almost bored by this whole affair, to the robots who did not dain to hide their boredom. He looked at his children and their gods and to the Kai’s who had massed together like scared animals in the absence of the power they had come to take for granted. What choice did he have?

“We agree.” the Grand Priest hissed as he walked backwards toward his people, hands held up in mock surrender. Though his mind was already spinning with plans, ones that would likely take centuries, but would allow them to regain their power, long past when the pathetic mortals before him were feeding their planet's worms.

As quickly as they had appeared the beings vanished, back to their planets hopefully relieved of the arrogant belief that they were any better than the mortal lives they had orchestrated power over.

There was a moment of silence before Piccolo was all but tackled by Gohan and Goku hugging him simultaneously. He managed to stay standing, just barely and glared as Vegeta snorted at him. 17 and 18 smirked, trying not to betray how relieved they were to have avoided dying on an alien planet. They were almost happy enough to smile fully, almost.

Piccolo tried to steady himself as the Son’s finally detached from him. The ache in his bones had come back in full force and his body was reminding him he hadn’t slept or meditated properly in months. He didn’t even have it in him to yell at the Son family for once again hugging him despite his explicit and multiple reiterations over the years to cut it the hell out with all the hugs. He told himself that at least this time Gohan wasn’t also crying on him, though his former student did look like he could burst into tears at any moment.

Over the screaming of his abused body he could hear Goku talking a mile a minute about how as soon as he was better they’d have to spar since he clearly had some cool new power. He heard Gohan yelling at his father for being focused on fighting even after they’d so narrowly avoided a world ending battle, and how Piccolo clearly needed to rest. Vegeta chimed in that Gohan was an embarrassment of a Saiyan for not thinking about battle enough and that Piccolo was likely stronger than Gohan especially since he’d stopped training.

Piccolo looked up through the clear air at the three suns and the green sky and frowned suddenly, tuning out the Sayian bickering in the background. He turned toward the soft wipers in a language he did not speak and the soft rustling of cloth, as well as waves of nervous psychic energy.

Piccolo noticed that the Namekians who had allowed this were still around.

He saw the Elders and the mages huddled together as if for warmth. They looked terrified but the pall of illness seemed to have cleared from them the same way it had for the Earth’s warriors. The slow and devastating onset of the kleth were erased as if they had never existed. The gods they had placed their faith in had abandoned them, their Dragon Balls were gone. They were helpless.

The bickering in the background stopped as the group looked solemnly at Piccolo.

The Elders who had been so vocal before about what he had to do, about his duty to the Namekians and his obligation to save the world were silent, eyes turned to him in resigned terror. It was a sick sort of deja vu.

Anything Piccolo decided to do was permanent. Death was no longer a reversible inconvenience. They would be so easy to exterminate, to achieve what so many tyrants had failed to do in the past. Piccolo felt the strength of the Gods. of their revenge, flowing through his body as if molten rock had replaced the water and blood running through him.

Newly golden eyes flicked to the crowd as he shot a beam of energy, toward the Namekian still clutching the earthen pot as if it was some sort of talisman. Fragments exploded outward as the Namekians screamed and scrambled back. Piccolo had held back enough that the beam hadn’t eviscerated the hunched and scarred elder holding it, though the shrapnel cut up his face further. Viscous liquid hit the ground as Piccolo sneered at the trembling crowd.

He imagined staining the newly blue grass with purple blood. His fangs throbbed with the desire to pay them back for every moment he had suffered from the Gods wrath. The itch for revenge that was absent towards the gods roared through him now. Piccolo could understand the Kai’s doing this, they saw mortals as their own personal playthings. But Piccolo was supposed to be a Namekian, their sibling, and they had put him through hell and back fully expecting him to become another statistic in a long line of sacrifices to the status quo. One they would have never deigned to question.

He distractedly felt Gohan grip his arm and point toward the distant village. Piccolo extended his senses and felt the ki of the villagers from where he had appeared on Namek, strong but far fewer in number then they would have been a few months ago.

Piccolo exhaled sharply. There had been enough death here, let the Elders live out the rest of their cowardly lives knowing the truth. Their fairy tales shattered, alone in a universe without blood magic or gods to protect them. The Namekians that were returning to health, ignorant and innocent in their homes didn’t deserve to lose anyone else.

He sighed heavily, wearily as Goku placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s all go home.”

Piccolo nodded softly. Looking at the assembled warriors.

Home.

He turned toward the group and locked eyes with Dende.

“We’re going home.”

Dende looked past the Elders prostrate on their knees, into newly golden eyes, that seemed both kind and tired.

Dende held themselves back, they wanted to run to Piccolo, to throw themselves down at his feet and beg for forgiveness they knew they didn’t deserve. They had allowed this to happen,they hadn't fought harder or questioned more, they had allowed Piccolo to be led to the slaughter.

Piccolo held their terrified gaze steadily Dende could not feel any psychic connection from Piccolo but it almost seemed as if the older Namekian was reading their mind, Dende knew he probably could sense their grief over the whole thing, but how could apologies alone make up for everything they had done. Without the Dragon Balls was there even a place for them as the Earth's god? Did they even want to associate with godhood after everything they had seen?

Piccolo held out a hand to them and Dende’s eyes began to water, they could feel Piccolo deflecting their psychic deluge of apology, but not in an unkind way, almost as if he was telling Dende they had nothing to apologize for.

“Dende, that means you as well.”

Piccolo had told them before they left that he was giving them life by sacrificing himself. That they should enjoy it. That Piccolo could still feel that way going through everything that he had gone through seemed impossible, and yet if Piccolo could forgive the Elders, if he could let the Gods free after they had imprisoned him, and the Kais go after they had tried to use him. Then maybe he held forgiveness for them as well.

Dende ran toward the group, trailed by a slightly hesitant Cargo. Sparing one last glance at the huddled Elders and at their parent Moori. They had revered them, thinking them wise and infallible, so ready to sacrifice one of their own for the greater good. Now they knew they were, but only willing if that sacrifice was someone other than themselves. How easy it had seemed for them to cast Piccolo as the outsider, as his death a necessary evil for their own survival. Dende had been as much of a fool as they all had been. They promised on returning to Earth they would never put their faith so blindly in something they did not understand. They would be a better god. They would likely never see the planet Namek again, and they tried to be at peace with it. Dende turned to Cargo and bent forward touching their antenna softly, trying to impart both their thanks and their grief.

Piccolo felt the psychic conversation between the siblings' ghost between his antennae, and tried to shield his mind from the mixed emotions not wanting to eavesdrop. He wondered exactly what Cargo’s role had been but from what he could glean he should be thanking him for his part in all of this.

The siblings held one another for a long time before Dende came forward and tentatively touched the bright orange of Goku’s gi. Gohan held his father’s hand and Vegeta, 17 and 18 half heartedly protested having to hold onto Goku at all. Smiling, Goku extended the other hand to Piccolo, who rolled his eyes for effect before taking it, and in the moment before instant transmission he felt Goku squeeze it affectionately, under the feigned annoyance there was a joy at the touch, after so many voids and disembodied experiences to have something to hold onto that was so vital, so warm and alive.

They landed at the Lookout where a much improved Bulma and a sobbing Mr Po Po greeted them as they landed hard on the tiles.

Ears pinned to his head through the chaotic greeting Piccolo blinked hard as his body released the last of whatever magic or adrenaline had kept him upright long enough to stare down the gods. He did however manage to stay conscious long enough to notice the Earth’s sun shone bright in a clear blue sky. The world was finally absent from the sickly gray haze he had become accustomed to seeing. He heard Gohan shout something before collapsing in an ungainly heap narrowly avoiding crushing Vegeta.

Looking into the cloudless blue, he could see the concerned faces of his friends crowding out the sun around the black dots that danced in the edges of his vision. There were words but he couldn’t make any of them out, blending into a symphony of concern. He felt a hand on his face, probably to confirm he was in fact, still breathing. He tried to shake it off, but his body refused to cooperate. Laying still he breathed out, heavily, one last time before falling deeply asleep.

Blessedly, he did not dream.

Chapter Text

Once Goku had confirmed that Piccolo was asleep and not dead the group relaxed noticing that the Namekian’s face was peaceful, so different from how they had found him slumped on the throne, lines in his face relaxed and a steady and deep rise and fall of his chest.

Gohan had protested the suggestion of letting Piccolo stay at the Lookout, perhaps more forcefully than necessary, and Dende quickly acquiesced, they knew Gohan was still furious at them, and Gohan would likely want to be around Piccolo for the full recovery. The half-human had enough rooms to house anyone who may want to visit Piccolo during his convalesce. They looked down at their hands telling the group that they would be happy to come by and aid in the healing, but it was likely what Piccolo needed was to sleep and recover from whatever psychic ordeal he had been put through. Something neither Namekian magic or senzu beans would be able to fix.

“Well I’m off to make sure Krillin and Marron have made a full recovery, we’ll be dropping by to see that Piccolo is getting his beauty rest, eventually.” 18 tossed her hair before striding to the edge of the Lookout and flying toward her home.

17 nodded at his sister before addressing the group. “I trust you to take it from here, if the humans have all recovered that means the poachers have too, I’ve got to get back to the island.” He spared one last look at Piccolo, peaceful in sleep, scanning his vitals, just in case, before flying towards home.

“Bulma, Vegeta are you coming? We have more than enough room.” Gohan smiled at Vegeta who scowled in return.

“We should probably check on Trunks, Bulla and my parents. If the kids have made a full recovery they’ll be starving and half feral at this point.”

Gohan nodded, he expected Goten had also woken up ravenous, his poor mother. He was only now realizing how incredibly hungry he was.

“Oh,” Bulma said brightly, as if she hadn’t been close to death earlier that morning, “Was I right? About the gods?”

“Of course you were right.” Vegeta said, picking up his taller wife. “You’re the smartest person on this damn planet.”

Bulma blushed before regaining her composure. “Also, I’m sure this isn’t news to you but the Dragon Balls are completely stone,”

The three Saiyans and Dende nodded solemnly. “They’re going to stay that way.” Gohan bit his cheek. “The cost they came with was too much. All the Dragon Balls are inactive now.”

Bulma whistled softly. “Shiiiiit, and to think I was originally going to use them to wish for a boyfriend. What a way to use world-ending power.”

“You were what?” Vegeta said, still holding his wife.

“Oh come off it, that was years ago.” Bulma countered. “You weren't even on this planet, you were off murdering people in space or whatever.”

Gohan and Goku turned away as they heard the bickering start and fade away as Bulma and Vetega left the Lookout.

“Okay, our turn.” Goku smiled at his son and Gohan bit back a twinge of jealousy as Goku casually scooped up the Namekian bridal style saying they’d meet at Gohan’s place before placing two fingers to his forehead. Gohan looked over at his best friend limp in his fathers arms. A few hours ago he was convinced Piccolo was dead, not even a half hour ago Piccolo had stared down all the gods left in the universe, and now he looked so fragile. Gohan sighed, he’d protect Piccolo this time, and for as long as it took for him to recover. It was the least he could do.

Gohan flew faster than he ever had before, although he could feel his daughters and wife’s ki he needed to see for himself that they were alright. His stomach sank at how close he had come to losing everything he cared most about in the world.

By the time Gohan had arrived home his father, mother, brother, wife and daughter were waiting on the lawn, he tried and failed not to burst into tears at the sight of them all, smiling and waving at him as he landed. Pan ran, pumping her tiny legs as fast as they could go and tackled him in a hug.

“Daddy I’m feeling better.” she said looking at his tear stained face. “You don’t need to cry.”

“I’m crying because I'm happy, sweetheart.” He picked up himself and his daughter and went to hug Videl. His wife wrapped her arms around her sobbing husband and her daughter happily, before whispering in Gohan’s ear.

“Piccolo’s asleep upstairs. We put him in the front room, the one with the most sun.” she continued softly “I feel like I missed something big, but I’m glad you’re okay.” She looked at her husband and noticed the lines of worry still on his forehead. “Is Piccolo going to be okay?”

Gohan didn’t want to alarm Pan so he nodded softly, the crease in his forehead deepening as he hoped he wasn’t lying to himself and everyone else.

The recovery stretched from hours to days to weeks. Piccolo slipped in and out of a dreamless sleep, never quite waking up fully but becoming aware enough that he was somewhere warm, soft, and surrounded by friendly ki before slipping under into the comforting abyss. Gohan kept his senses tuned to the fluctuating ki and to Piccolo’s breathing as if it held the clues to his best friend waking up. Sometimes he napped and oftentimes he paced the room. He worked from home as often as possible, terrified to leave in case the gods decided now would be a great time to take their revenge. His father, and brother along with his mother had moved in for the short terms so intellectually he knew Piccolo was protected, but he felt personally responsible for his safety. Most mornings he scrolled his phone absentmindedly reading news article after news article regarding the mysterious illness that had swept the earth with no explanation and disappeared just as inexplicably.

Videl didn’t begrudge her husband for his vigil, she had been told the whole story in pieces from her Father-in-law, and her husband. Both of them seemed wholly convinced that they had let Piccolo down by letting him go to Namek by himself. By not stopping him, or questioning him or joining him somehow. Videl had chucked to himself even as they twisted themselves into guilt ridden knots. She hadn’t known Piccolo as long as either of them, but she knew neither could have stopped Piccolo from doing something he’d set his mind to. Piccolo was the most stubborn and self sacrificing being she’d ever known. Still she was worried about Piccolo, so she helped Chi-Chi cook and helped Pan make endless get well soon cards, and held her husband at night when the guilt overwhelmed him. All while waiting for the family member she hadn’t expected gain when she’d married Gohan, to wake up.

Pan had insisted on taking her naps with Piccolo, curling up next to the green giant, small face hopeful every time she went to sleep that Piccolo would wake up when she did. A small army of stuffed animals had also been left behind to keep Piccolo company when she wasn’t there. She asked endless questions to her grandparents and uncle and parents and to all the visitors Piccolo got, about when he could play with her and train her again. She was told in soft voices that Piccolo was sick and needed quiet and rest. So she scrawled get well soon cards and posted them on the walls so he’d see them when he woke up and tried to be patient. Some nights she would wake up and pad silently into Piccolo’s room and put her head down on his chest and feel the deep comforting beat of his heart until she fell asleep, often magically waking up in her own bed.

Dende came in and out as much as they could while they also watched over the still healing Earth. The citizens were cured and the death toll was minimal but the anxieties of the humans and the frequency of their prayers had increased manifold. Dende ignored their own exhaustion as they sought to correct things. When they did visit they would run glowing hands over Piccolo and whisper soft apologies that they were not sure were picked up by the sleeping warrior. They couldn’t wake Piccolo up but they could keep the effects of such a prolonged sleep at bay, easing stiff muscles and atrophy. No one exactly knew what had happened to Piccolo while in his trance on Namek and even though his body seemed whole this length of sleep pointed to some deeper psychic scar that needed to be healed.

As promised the others came in a steady stream, 18 and Krillin brought Marron and enough food to feed the house full of Saiyans for a day, which Chi Chi was incredibly thankful for, even with Mr. Satan’s credit card feeding the household was a full time job. Krillin was thankful to have missed almost fighting with a whole cosmos full of gods, but sat quietly as he heard what the Namekians had done to Piccolo. He had liked the Elders and the other Namekians, their peacefulness had always seemed aspirational to the former monk. Knowing they held such a dark secret was a blow to his hope that Earth could exist that peacefully.

Bulma also came by with Trunks and Vegeta several times. Each time Vegeta protested loudly to anyone within earshot that Bulma had forced him to come before stalking silently upstairs and leaning in a corner in the guest room Piccolo lay in, waiting in a silent grumpy vigil, and refusing to move until his wife shooed him out late into the night.

The day Piccolo woke up was unremarkable by all accounts, Gohan had been reading student papers in the guest room while Pan played with her toys on the floor beside him. The same position they had been the day before, and the day before that, when Piccolo opened his eyes suddenly and sat up.

The rest of the house was alerted to the change by Gohan shrieking and Pan clapping, followed by a deep voice yelling that he was being too damn loud, followed by “Wait, what, stop, what did I tell you about hugging!”

Goku, Goten, Videl and Chi Chi burst into the room to see Piccolo being squeezed by Gohan and Pan, the green face looking classically grumpy.

“So nice of you to finally join us.” Chi Chi smiled at the glowering Piccolo. “I was wondering if you’d be spending another whole year living with my family.”

“Get your son off of me.” Piccolo shot back before Goten jumped on bed, joining the group hug, half in relief that Piccolo was alive and half because he knew it would make the Namek even more annoyed.

“Correction, get your sons off me.” Piccolo grumbled. Annoyed he couldn't seem to muster the strength to remove them himself, he must have been out for a long time for this reaction. He did feel rested for the first time in ages, and it was soothing to be able to hear Pan’s soft giggles from somewhere on his side.

“Ah the price of popularity.” Videl laughed from the doorway.

Chi Chi sighed dramatically. “Boys get off of him,” she barked, hands on her hips, mom voice in full effect. “He just woke up, give him some space before you send him back into a coma”

Piccolo looked around the room as the Son boys detached from him and Gohan removed a still giggling Pan from his side. He was surrounded by soft sheets and sunlight, and a concerning amount of stuffed animals. The walls were covered in papers full of cryptic crayon circles and Pan’s best attempt at drawing flowers.

Goku smiled widely, the same grin Piccolo had seen hundreds of times, the one that lit up rooms and was flashed at him at the end of battles, Goten had a grin almost identical to his father’s and Gohan had begun tearing up, and Videl leaned against him rubbing his back and smiling. Chi Chi shot him a small smile, hands still on her hips. Piccolo signed and rubbed his forehead.

“So it’s all over?”

“As far as we know.” Gohan said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his sweater. “ The Dragon Balls are stone and the gods and the Kai haven’t shown their faces. Dende says they haven’t heard from any Namekians.”

“Good,” Piccolo said, leaning back against the headboard. “And the Earth?”

“Completely back to normal.” Videl added.

Piccolo nodded, trying to summon the strength to get out of bed, he noticed someone had changed him out of the ridiculous costume he had been in and into soft pyjamas that were too short at the wrists and ankles. He sighed as he put his hand to his chest and returned himself to his purple gi. “If that’s everything then..”

Piccolo was cut off simultaneously by Gohan, Goku,Chi Chi and Videl

“Piccolo I’m so sorry I should have never let you-”
“Not until you eat something mister, do you know how much soup I’ve -”
“I just wanna say sorry for ya know lettin’-”
“Stay as long as you need you’re practically family, anyway-”

“Quiet” Pan’s small voice interrupted them all and Goten laughed at the expression on the adults face at the interruption.

“Piccolo’s sick and needs rest.” she said echoing the familiar refrain from all the adults in her life.

“You’re right sweetie.” Gohan said, patting his daughter on the head and looking at Piccolo with the same wide guileless expression Gohan had possessed since childhood, the eyes that Piccolo knew could make him do anything. “But we hope he’ll at least stay for dinner.”

Piccolo grumbled but agreed and Chi Chi clapped her hands briskly and began to usher her family into the kitchen. From the room Piccolo could hear the drill sergeant precision that she used to command her family into cooking what he could only assume would be a mountain of food.

Sitting at the table watching those assembled inhale endless plates of food, Piccolo sat in front of, what he would never admit, but Chi Chi knew, was his favourite soup. He tuned in and out of the conversation, there was a forced lightness to it, talk of school and work and farming, all punctuated with awkward pauses and strained smiles. Piccolo knew they were all ignoring how many burning questions they had about what he went through. He wasn’t ready to even attempt to answer them but the false levity put him on edge.

Every now and again he’d catch one of the Son’s staring at him concerned as if he was going to faceplant into his soup and fall back into a trance or back to sleep. He supposed he couldn't exactly blame them, Videl had told him he’d been out for over two weeks, but the concern made his skin itch.

“So Piccolo,” Chi Chi rested her head on her hand, her own modest plate of food long ago finished. All eyes in the room turned to Piccolo and he briefly wished he could slip back into a coma to avoid whatever was going to come next.

“I hear you’re the reason Goku never brought Goten and I our dinner that night and abandoned us while sick in bed.”

“I, um...” Piccolo’s ears flushed purple, and he wondered if it was too late to join the Dragon Gods in another reality.

“Mom, that's not fair…” Gohan started but was silenced by Chi Chi holding up a finger, he shot silent a look at Piccolo that communicated very clearly that he was on his own. Piccolo shot back daggers at his student who would follow him into battle without a second though but couldn’t back him up on this. Not that he blamed the kid, he’d take a ki blast for Gohan over getting lectured by Chi Chi any day.

“And you felt the need to say goodbye to Gohan and Goku but not me?”

Piccolo stared down at the soup as Goku earnestly tried to defend him. “Chi Chi, he couldn’t just, he was gonna, but ya know time was - .”

Chi Chi's head turned slowly toward her husband as she frowned, Piccolo’s eyes stayed on his meal ad he heard Goku’s chair scrape backwards as his wife turned her full attention toward him.

“And you Goku!”

Goku leaned back looking abashed, wondering what he’d done this time.

“You just left him on his own there! If I’d been there I’d have talked some sense into those crusty old Namekians.”

Piccolo hid his face quickly before anyone could notice his smile. He had no doubt Chi Chi would have put the Elders in their place. Goku laughed and Gohan shook his head smiling. The tension in the room broke finally as Chi Chi’s eyes softened. “I forgive you Piccolo, but you do still owe me dinner.”

Piccolo grumbled something into his soup, but Gohan realized that it hadn’t been a no, he relaxed into his chair, his family chatting happily around him. His mother could be intimidating, but under all of that he knew she cared about Piccolo too.

Piccolo sat on the roof under the stars, he had been shooed out of the kitchen, Chi Chi telling him that this one time he could skip dish duty since he was recovering. Piccolo wasn’t about to argue, the mountain of dishes had been intimidating, even after he’d spent much of the year he lived with Goku getting yelled at by Chi Chi about proper dish technique. He’d tried to slip from the house and the city but Pan had intercepted and asked him to read her a story, and then had asked if he was having a sleepover and somehow he’d been roped into staying another night and how excited she was to see him when she woke up the next day.

He knew soon he’d have to leave, to find somewhere remote and meditate deeply on everything that had happened, but for now he closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet hum of domestic noise coming from the home, dishes clinking, water running and Videl softly singing Pan a bedtime song and the occasional sound of shattering ceramic as Goku dropped something onto the tile, followed by Chi Chi’s loud and loving exasperation.

He heard Gohan join him on the roof. Steps so familiar he half remembered hearing them even from his coma. There was a soft rustle of fabric as he sat next to Piccolo under the sky, starless from their proximity to the city. They sat side by side in silence, though Piccolo could feel the tangled shape of the questions in Gohan’s mind, the guilt radiating off his body. They flowed out of him in waves of psychic energy.

“I’ll be fine.” Piccolo sighed and Gohan looked at him in shock, Piccolo must be worried about him to voluntarily break the silence. “I’m not ready to talk about any of it, but know that I don’t blame you for anything.”

Gohan leaned against Piccolo softly, waiting for him to bristle at the touch. Much to Gohan’s surprise Piccolo allowed him to lean without shoving him off like he had almost every time Gohan had tried to show physical affection.

“I’ll be here to listen if and when you are.”

Piccolo nodded, not looking at Gohan, but at the soft lights of the city, taking comfort in the gentle pressure of his proximity

They both turned as Goku joined them on the roof, suddenly appearing into the unoccupied space on Piccolo’s other side.

“I finally broke too many dishe’s an’ Chi Chi told me ta buzz off.” Goku laughed hand behind his head. Gohan shook his head hoping he hadn’t broken his favourite mug and Piccolo rolled his eyes, both annoyed and glad at the company. He would accept it tonight, and only tonight, he’d caused them enough grief to accept their concern for at least one night.

Piccolo looked at both of them. He wondered if he would ever take for granted again that Gohan was healthy, breathing steadily next to him in the night air, at Goku laughing as if the Earth would always be safe, as if they weren’t one alien tyrant or vengeful god away from being wiped out. His chest gripped as he remembered that if he lost Gohan, if he lost any of them it was permanent.

Gohan felt the shock of Piccolo’s thoughts, like a bright red flash through him, surprised Piccolo hadn’t or was too tired to shield himself from Gohan.

Piccolo sighed, knowing Gohan had sensed his fear.

“Piccolo, there was no way any of us would have ever used the Dragon Balls again, even if you had sacrificed yourself for them. Not knowing you died for them to work and that using them was dooming future generations. None of us could live with that. We’ll adjust, and maybe we won’t take so many things for granted.”

Piccolo exhaled heavily through his nose and Gohan noticed some of the tension leave Piccolo’s shoulders.

“The best thing the Dragon Balls did was leadin’ me ta all my friends” Goku shrugged, leaning onto his back and looking up at Piccolo. “The wishes were handy but we can do without ‘em if it means you’re still here.”

Piccolo hoped the dark hid the flush on his face. Somehow these two knew exactly how to break down every emotional wall Piccolo built up between himself and the world. Goku beamed up Piccolo. He was right, Piccolo figured, without the Earth’s Dragon Balls none of them would be here, many of them, Piccolo included, wouldn’t have even been born or hatched if Goku and Bulma hadn’t gone hunting for the Dragon Balls.

“So when do ya think you’ll be ready to spar with your weird new Dragon powers?

“Dad! Are you serious? He just woke up.”

“What I was just askin’? I wanna spar with him before Vegeta does! He’s gonna call dibs!”

Piccolo laughed loud and deep and completely unexpected. He nudged Gohan off of him and cracked the muscles in his neck and rolled his shoulders.

“Ready whenever you are.”

“Please, not tonight. I don't think I can handle any more stress.” Gohan rubbed his hands over his face, of course his father and Piccolo immediately wanted to spar. He was almost relieved at how predictable it was. But he also could sense Piccolo’s ki was still off, whether it had to do with ‘weird’ dragon powers or that he was still healing Gohan wasn’t sure.

Piccolo hissed through his teeth and Goku flopped back down but they didn’t make any further moves and Gohan breathed a sigh of relief. Piccolo was thankful for Gohan’s intervention, though he no longer felt exhausted something was different inside of him, he’d probably need to spend months in deep meditation to get to the bottom of exactly what it was. Whether it was the lingering presence of the Gods or the absence of Kami and Nail remained to be seen. Either way he had time to figure it out.

Time.

In the void he had felt grief over all of the things he would miss when he was sacrificed. Seeing the Pan and the other children grow, to watch Gohan enjoy peace and finding joy in his silly human pursuits, watching Goku and Vegeta push the limits of their strength to absurd new heights.

Now he would see it, he just had to stay alive long enough to make sure he saw it all happen.

He extended his senses toward the city. The ki of the residents lit up like all the stars that were absent in the sky, each of them a universe unto themselves. Full of hopes and dreams and emotions his alien brain only half understood. He had told the Namekians that there were people on this planet and in the universe who deserve to live more than he did.

He still believed that, that his life wasn’t worth much. Not when weighed against these innocent people, safe in their homes, ignorant of how close they had come to total destruction.

Still, he wondered how he had been fortunate enough, to make friends, to find a family, one that embraced his flawed self wholeheartedly. That there were people in his life that not only believed he had a right to live as much as anyone else did, but even believed that he deserved to be happy.

And in that moment, on a roof in a city, next to the two people who believed in him most of all, Piccolo was happy to be alive.