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The Guardian of Earth had a little diary.
Well, “diary” was perhaps a stretch; the first cluster of entries was more akin to a log, ranging from formal “nothing of note” entries to detailed descriptions of events and incidents to befall the surface. Gradually the little reports were followed by chore lists and personal thoughts in neat text, more indicative of a proper journal. Some crude drawings even lined the margins, depicting himself and his friends. For someone with the title and power of almighty Kami, it was downright adorable.
Which only made Piccolo feel a LITTLE guilty for perusing.
A voice in the back of his head discouraged his reading into Dende’s private writings— two voices, specifically—but Piccolo’s curiosity got the best of him when he saw the book splayed out by one of the Mr. Popo’s flower beds. He halfheartedly rationalized that it had just been a while since he read Namekian, which is to say he was bored out of his mind. Not to mention even a mild-mannered kid like Dende was still cagey when it came to his thought process at times. As he quickly flipped through the booklet, while it started like an employee filling out a daily report, it gradually turned into long, uninterrupted strings of “nothing to report'' entries with longer and longer personal notes inbetween.
Noticing his fangs have started to grow in.
Musings about his various responsibilities on the Lookout.
Vivid and strange dreams he’s had since leaving Namek.
Missing everyone on the surface.
Especially Gohan.
A particular entry piqued his interest, though.
It was a day he remembered well, from just a few months ago; a gang of shady characters had managed to make it up to the Lookout, taken Dende hostage to negotiate the Dragon Balls as ransom, and left a battered Piccolo as they hid down on Earth. It wasn’t their most perilous adventure, but it was the most notable thing that happened in the past year, especially for Dende. The particulars of that day didn’t interest him, however. Rather, it was the LACK of info about that page; long paragraphs of supposed description were blotted out with dark ink, making most of the passage unreadable save for an unceremonious last line:
“How embarrassing.”
Piccolo clicked his tongue. He knew it.
The young Guardian was listless as of late, currently sitting on the edge of the Lookout with his legs dangling over the edge, wooden staff abandoned behind him. While he was already a bit of the shy type, this was clearly different; he was still far more social than most Namekians Piccolo encountered. After Cell, Piccolo had to keep Dende from leaving his post too much to see the gang, or catch him touring through the entirety of the facilities. Nowadays Dende would only give him and Mr. Popo cursory greetings during the day before he went off to be with himself. It’s obvious that he was still thinking about that day, and the two other Namekian souls within him made sure to voice their shared concerns.
“He is NOT doing alright,” the voice of Nail noted, echoing through Piccolo’s head.
“It’s been about a year since he’s actually gone to the surface,” Kami’s voice chimed, “and it’s only become worse since he was captured. Lately, he’s just been staring down at the Earth or wandering around here. He even tried to claim he was meditating the other day.” Piccolo scratched his head, irritated.
“…He’s a smart kid. Introspective, kind, and humble. Which can be the worst traits for loneliness.”
Nail chuckled wryly. “You think he’s feeling lonely? With YOU around?”
“Haha.” Piccolo sneered. “I’m saying this has gone beyond just missing everyone and needing to schedule a visit. He’s holding himself back for a reason. I've even gone down there a couple of times myself to visit, and he refused to join me. He’s turning into a proper Kami.”
Kami sighed. “He just needs a light push in the right direction.”
“Yeah yeah, I’ll go talk to him, just quiet down.” Piccolo stepped out of the shade, the voices of his fused souls hushing as he made his way towards the Lookout edge. Dende’s posture indicated his mind was far away, barely even moving to breathe, but Piccolo could see him wake up as the tap of his shoes approached.
“Oh, hello Piccolo,” Dende greeted, barely turning his head with a polite smile plastered on his face. “Just keeping watch, though you’re welcome to stay here if you’d like.”
“Thanks, Kami.” Piccolo bowed his head briefly, crouching down to sit on the ledge.
Dende chuckled. “You’re such a stickler for that sort of thing.”
“Just because you feel like you don’t deserve the title,” Piccolo replied, “doesn’t mean it ceases to be important.”
“Did you read that out of my journal?” Dende’s ears flicked. “That’s quite a slight against your ‘Kami’.”
Piccolo clicked his tongue; caught red-handed. He handed the book over to the Guardian, who took it as calmly as he could muster despite his clearly foul mood. From Gohan’s description, he’d always been fairly level-headed, even before becoming the Guardian, yet Piccolo couldn’t help but see the child underneath at times like these.
“I don’t recall diaries being a big cultural thing on Namek.”
“It wasn’t a common practice, no,” Dende sighed, flipping through the pages for some superficial inspection. “There are written accounts and texts, but diaries like these are pretty rare. Gohan had shown me how to write one when I first arrived here on Earth, and I picked it back up when I was chosen as Kami. He laughed at how methodical it was at first.” A wry smile crept onto his face. “It feels like all I can do is observe and write nowadays.”
“Does being up here bother you that much?”
“No, not at all. I mean, I feel like there are things I’m missing out on, just watching everything from afar. But I don’t regret my decision either.”
“I’m sure everyone would jump at the chance to give you tours of Earthling places and customs.”
“No, I mean…” Dende tentatively rubbed his right shoulder. “It’s not that simple. I belong here, and I know my duty to this planet.”
Piccolo could feel his antennae twitch slightly.
Yeah, this was about THAT time.
In a ruined hideout, a fierce fight had broken out.
Struggling to stand amongst all the cracked stone, Gohan, Krillin, and Piccolo took deep, heavy breaths. While they were pretty confident there would be no need to pay the ransom, the gang of ruffians that desired the Dragon Balls proved tougher than anticipated. They were all a bit bruised already, taken off-guard a couple of times by the sheer maze of concrete that made up the brute’s base, and they hadn’t even managed to locate Dende still. Yet Piccolo knew it was only a matter of time as Gohan’s Super Saiyan form glowed brightly in the darkness.
Both sides roared their battle cries and a barrage of ki blasts followed, lighting up the ruins in a blinding light and kicking up a thick cloud of dust. Even as he felt himself get hit, Piccolo could hear a distinct yell of pain over the commotion! Yes! Perhaps this scuffle would end even sooner! As the debris finally settled, revealing everyone still tentatively on their feet, he couldn't help but search for the weak link in the opposing group.
Yet, when he took stock, there was one extra person opposite them.
Dende, his face sweating and twisted in pain, stood beside the arch of a collapsed hallway holding his right shoulder. Huffing out labored breaths, the Guardian tried to keep out of the way while the fighters did their work. Piccolo mentally chastised himself for not getting to him sooner; they must have roughed him up pretty bad before he managed to escape whatever prison they trapped him in. But it was going to be okay; if Dende was here and well, Piccolo was confident these guys wouldn’t stand a chance.
But the side of Dende’s robe had caught his eye.
It was stained violet.
His arm must’ve been hit in the scuffle.
His arm…?
Where…
Where was Dende’s arm?
Sure enough, Dende was holding where his shoulder would attach to his bicep, either trying to stop the bleeding or trying to hide it. He had gotten caught in the crossfires of the fight, and the limb was gone . The logical part of Piccolo’s brain knew Dende was fine; he was inexperienced in this sort of regeneration, but it’d be okay in the end. Dende’s pained expression was likely just him concentrating on the process, or keeping himself from getting harmed further. He was fine. He was going to be fine, and he was safe, and alive.
He heard a watery, choked gasp beside him.
And in the span of a blink, the room lit up in a blast of pure energy, with the abductors sprawled battered and bleeding across the stone.
“Dende…” a voice whimpered. “Dende, I’m sorry...!!”
Gohan was suddenly next to Dende, clutching his left shoulder in support, face obscured yet clearly in pain as well. Even with his bulky body crackling with Saiyan energy, he looked so small and meek. Dende couldn’t unclench his teeth, simply shaking his head to deny the need for apologies, still struggling with tears in his eyes.
The flight back to the Lookout was quiet.
Piccolo sighed; while he anticipated that it would’ve upset Dende, he still failed to nip the problem sooner. He could blame it on inexperience with nurturing and connecting with his own kind, but it was more he just ended up turning a blind eye. He could hear distant echoes of Kami chewing him out.
“Is your arm giving you trouble?”
Dende shook his head. “It just feels weird sometimes. Not really uncomfortable, just wrong. At first it just felt really raw, and I keep thinking I messed it up somehow.”
“Nah, it’s just not something everyone has to end up doing,” Piccolo said, looking off into the clouds. “It’s not even that common among our kind, during peaceful times. You weren’t meant to get in the middle of all that, and to have some difficulty adjusting is expected. No need to be embarrassed.”
“If I’m so important, I could’ve learned to not rely so much on others,” Dende retorted, flexing his fingers. “Instead, I’m like this. I’m too aware of my own weaknesses.”
“That’s an easy way to drive yourself crazy up here,” Piccolo pointed out, smirking to himself. “You’re always going to see your strengths as weaknesses if you just compare yourself to one type of person. Of course, people like Gohan and Goku have incredible physical strength and stamina. Partially through the adversaries they’ve faced, partially because of their race and culture. You don’t necessarily have to be like them.
“Well, you’re like them. You’re as strong as they are.”
“I was trained from birth to kill. And in the process, the only way I’ve been able to keep up was fusions and training in ways that were a burden on my body. It’s not something I would recommend if you could avoid it. Plus, even I’m not up to their level. That’s why I’m here with you.” Piccolo punctuated the sentence by putting his hand on Dende’s head. “Your support is more than enough for everyone, and they would rush here to protect you in a heartbeat because they care about you.”
Dende’s face screws into a grimace. “That’s the problem.”
“Ah, so that’s what it is,” Piccolo affirmed, crossing his arms. “It’s not just about that incident with your arm, it’s about Gohan.”
Dende’s antennae twitched, clearly bristling. “I didn’t say anything about Gohan.”
“He’s the only one who could get you in such a twist,” Piccolo chuckled, a gentle breeze tugging at his cape. “What, is it because he hasn’t been visiting? You could easily go down and—”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It never is.”
Dende finally turns his head properly, locking eyes with Piccolo. His gaze looked intense; if Piccolo didn’t know any better, he’d say the small God was challenging him to a fight. But he knew it was more desperate; Dende had been backed into a corner, and didn’t know what to do. All he could do was give him his space. And sure enough, he let out a deep sigh as the words came tumbling out.
“I don’t want to monopolize his time,” Dende bemoaned, “or have to be protected during every disaster. I feel like a God shouldn’t have to ask those he watches over for help constantly. I’d love nothing more than to see him fly up here for a visit and just tell me about the daily trappings of Earth life. Yet I fear I’m growing selfish. He has his own life down there.
“And the last few times… I could feel the distance growing.” He started to idly kick his feet, looking more like a kid than before. Small, shy, and frustrated at something out of his control. “But I don’t have any courage to face it. So I just sit here, twiddling my thumbs, imagining him flying up to the Lookout when I least expect it. Maybe the lonely guardian is a fit role for me.”
Piccolo cracked a grin. Talking about feelings was usually not his strong suit, compared to technique and strategy. However, he actually had an answer for this particular situation.
“Alright Dende, I’m gonna let you in on something.”
Dende started to shake his head. “Oh, Piccolo, you don’t—”
“Shut up and listen.”
Dende’s jaw audibly clacked shut.
“Gohan is far smarter than his father,” Piccolo stated, tapping his index finger to his temple, “and they’re different in most aspects. But one thing he shares with him is he’s still a bit oblivious.”
“What??” Dende’s expression was nothing short of incredulous.
“For all his intellect, he’s so self-sacrificing that he has blind spots in picking up on feelings, especially when they regard himself. He’ll need things spelled out for him for him to get it. If you need your feelings to reach him, you could wait and hope he gets the hint… But that could be forever. You’ll have to say it plainly.”
Dende stared at his lap, clearly hesitant on the idea. Piccolo couldn’t keep back his chuckle this time, the little Guardian’s head snapping up.
“He’s also a lot like someone else I know, in that regard.”
Dende scoffs, turning away.
Just in time to see something flying through the sky, approaching fast from below.
The Namekians are both quick to stand up at the ready, Dende scrambling to grab Kami’s wooden staff. Piccolo highly doubted it was a threat, but still concentrated on the dark dot in the distance to try and make out exactly who it was.
Speak of the devil.
Son Gohan, fitted in a little sweater vest and khakis, was soaring up the tower straight to the Lookout. Dende dusted his robe off and tried to adjust his posture to look a bit more professional. Though, even from this distance, Piccolo could tell that the reason for this visit wasn’t for leisure, nor in the wake of catastrophe. As Gohan’s feet finally tapped on the white marble floor, they approached, Dende immediately fretting. “What a surprise, Son Gohan! What’s wrong? Did something happen?? Is the Earth in peril?!”
“What? No, no, nothing like that. I just…” Gohan looked off, almost dazed. “I needed somewhere to be for a minute. Would it be okay if I stayed up here for awhile?”
“Oh, oh of course Gohan.” Dende nodded fervently, still gripping the staff like it was all keeping him upright. Piccolo had to keep himself from snickering at the mauve hue creeping upon Dende’s face; he got almost exactly what he wanted and still didn’t know what to do with himself. Even if Dende misinterpreted Gohan’s reaction, Piccolo knew that look; something was weighing on Gohan’s mind, on his heart. He needed space, but he knew Gohan would approach one of them at some point in the day, when he was ready.
Piccolo was the last person to purposefully meddle with something like this, but to hell with it.
“I’m sorry, Gohan,” Piccolo announced, “but I actually need to head down to the surface to check out a report that came just earlier. Will you be okay on your own?”
Dende whipped his head around, stunned at the blatant lie. Gohan remained quiet for a moment, then jerked his head up, as if he was suddenly woken up. “Oh! Oh of course Mr. Piccolo, you don’t have to stay on my account, I’ll just hang out here.”
Piccolo bowed his head in farewell, took one last glance at Dende, then took off.
For all his insecurities, Piccolo was sure that Dende was up to the task.
He’d pray to God right now if it wasn’t technically sorta himself.
Dende considered praying to the Kai’s, but he wasn’t sure if anything in the cosmos could help him at this moment as a downtrodden Gohan sat beside him.
After Piccolo had flown off the tower, Gohan wandered aimlessly while Dende tried not to watch him the whole time. Dende mentally admonished himself, feeling helpless yet again; he tried to muster all his courage to ask what troubled Gohan, but his heart got caught in his throat in every attempt. Yet after a few minutes, the half-Saiyan had made his way towards Dende’s edge of the Lookout anyway, planting himself as discreetly as he could.
“Hi, Gohan,” Dende whispered. He winced, already feeling foolish.
“Hi Dende,” Gohan replied, nodding slightly in repeated greeting.
The two kicked their feet over the ledge, silence hanging in the air. It was now or never.
“What… what’s on your mind?” Dende asked.
Gohan was dead silent, not turning his head, not even bothering to shrug or grunt a noncommittal answer. His gaze was far away from here, way past the blue sky before them, his black hair rustling in the breeze providing the only movement from him. Dende mentally berated himself; he’d already messed it up! Maybe that was prying too much, too soon?? Gohan sat next to Dende as opposed to some other ledge on the Lookout, maybe he just wanted some shared silence. He’d just have to wait until Piccolo returned, or until Gohan decided to leave for better company. Or, rather, he would have waited, until Dende heard a distinct sniffle.
The strongest person on the planet Earth— someone who faced horrors beyond the cosmos and lived to tell the tale— had tears running down his face in this quiet moment, desperately wiping them away. Dende couldn’t help but gape.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Gohan choked out, his face flushed.
“Oh, no no, it’s okay!” Dende blurted, shaking his head quickly. His hand hovered over Gohan’s shoulder, unsure of what to do. But before he could decide, Gohan rested his head against his shoulder, eliciting the little God to freeze up.
“I’m sorry, Dende,” Gohan repeated. “You’re Kami, no doubt busy with stuff already, I don’t mean to intrude.”
“You could never intrude, Gohan,” Dende asserted.
“I just… freaked out.” Gohan sighed, his breath stuttering as tears slid off his cheek onto Dende’s shoulder. “Today was mostly normal. I just helped Mom get groceries, thought about flying over to Kame House to visit everyone, but on the flight there it suddenly felt like I was having a panic attack. I was just thinking about everything that’s happened, how people keep suggesting training together, and what I need to do since Dad’s gone, and suddenly it felt like I was only half-here.”
Dende nodded, listening intently. “I can, uh, somewhat relate to what that feels like.”
“And I… I don’t know. I felt lost. I couldn’t go to Kame House or back home, I just wanted to be somewhere far away, to get my bearings again. This is a place I felt safest, despite it all.”
Dende’s heart skipped a beat. “You’ll always have a place here.”
“I just feel ridiculous,” Gohan mumbled. “I should be ready for all this. Everything I’ve done, everyone I’ve fought, I've been through it all before… I should have some confidence in my ability, yet a dark cloud of doubt always looms over. When will it go away?”
“Gohan, there’s never any set path or schedule to getting strong. You’re already the strongest on Earth.”
“Then what’s the point in all this power if I’m just stuck hesitating? When I can’t actually protect people when it matters?!” Suddenly, Gohan sat up, his face red and scrunched-up. “I me-mean, even after all my training, I hurt you, Dende…!”
Dende blinked. “Wh… What?”
“When they were asking for the Dragon Balls,” Gohan cried, “and you got hurt, I thought surely it must have been my fault! One of the blasts probably came from our way, or collided with another! Just the fact that-that my own ego kept me from getting to you in time, and put you in a position to get hurt..! What kind of protector lets that happen?! What if my recklessness had killed you?! Dende, I’m so so sorry…!”
Dende looked at his lap, embarrassed all over again. “It would’ve certainly put the planet in a tight spot without any Dragon Balls, but you didn’t—”
“Never mind all that!” Gohan interrupted, snapping his head up to reveal red, puffy eyes. “I almost killed one of my best friends…! Even if-if you could be brought back, if I was the one responsible, I’d—” He clenched his teeth, unable to finish the sentence.
Something in the Guardian’s mind clicked.
Oh gosh.
As he stared at Gohan, desperate and guilty, Dende remembered all of the things Piccolo had said. He was spiraling down a familiar path, burdened with so much, and he came to Dende to apologize. To apologize for Dende getting hurt and not preventing it, even convincing himself that he might’ve hit him. To Gohan, that was his greatest weakness. It was like looking into a mirror: the self-imposed shame, responsibility, and sacrifice.
With sudden, stark clarity, Dende spoke up.
“I thought about learning to fight, you know.” Dende revealed, looking down at the expanse of the Earth’s surface. He could see Gohan’s eyes widen in his peripheral vision as he elaborated. “Thought about having Piccolo train me, so I could protect myself. After all, Piccolo told me of some of the things that you all went through on Earth, before you came to Namek. He told me about Kami, about their complicated history and the threats he would face. The threats I would face. And we’ve already seen what that can amount to.”
“Oh, Dende—”
“I know it’s your nature to come to the rescue; it’s incredibly admirable, with your power. But you’ve also been on the other side, the side of weakness. It’s tough.” Dende turned his head to look Gohan in the eyes as best he could. “If I wasn’t Kami, or didn’t have healing powers, or never learned to fight, would you still care about me? Some kid you saved on Namek?”
Gohan gasped. “Why would— Of course I would! You’re one of my dearest friends! No matter what, I’d care about you.”
Dende smiled, almost sagely, and nodded. “It’s the same for you. And I know you would never hurt me either. You only use your strength to protect. And even if I don’t have the same strength, I…” He puts a hand over his chest. “I’ll use it to protect, as best I can.” Gohan sniffles again, trying to wipe his eyes faster.
“You make it sound so simple,” Gohan warbles, his lips tugging into a watery smile. “You remind me a bit of Mr. Piccolo.”
“I doubt I completely nail his more direct styling,” Dende jokes, kicking his leg out as emphasis. “But I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing. As would Krillin, and Bulma, and everyone who’s ever known you. Because we all love you.”
While a smile brighter than the sun bloomed on Gohan’s face, Dende gulped, suddenly feeling like a fish baking in that sunlight.
“I… love you.”
Gohan startled momentarily, a shy blush dusting his cheeks. Dende could sense he was flattered, taking his words to heart, yet there was still uncertainty. “Like, uhm, platonically?”
Shivers traveled all up Dende’s body, every nerve suddenly going on high alert, and he quickly turned his head away. He could eject right now, just say something noncommittal or even just lie, ANYTHING to keep things as they are, yet Piccolo’s words rang in his ears.
“Oh Son Gohan,” Dende mumbled, flushing to the tip of his ears, “are you REALLY going to make me have to spell it out…?”
His attuned ears could hear the stutter of Gohan’s breath, and he couldn’t make out what it meant if he tried; Dende was too busy trying to calm down his own beating heart. He scrunched his shoulders up a bit, his body bracing for any sort of impact while his mouth started spilling words without his permission.
“I mean, of course, that’s just the truth, but it doesn’t— I’m the Guardian of Earth, I would never pressure you to— no, what I mean is that you don’t need to worry about such feelings, I have my job and I know that—”
Dende suddenly felt a soft touch on his right shoulder, interrupting his ramblings. For a second, he was expecting a hug, some gesture out of pity or apology. Instead, Gohan leaned in, staring into Dende’s eyes with a warm expression, still a bit puffy from crying, as his hand slid down to grasp Dende’s hand. Gohan shifted off the edge of the Lookout, floating just in front of Dende with his arm outstretched.
“G-Gohan?!”
“Dende… We really are alike, in a lot of ways.” Gohan smiled, leaving the statement to hang in the air. His arm was still outstretched, still intertwined with Dende’s, and he felt the slightest tug on his wrist. Dende gulped, feeling a little delirious; he’d chalk it up to the high altitude instead of the rapid drum of his heart. That’s also how he rationalized taking the jump off the edge, quickly floating to properly join Gohan in the air.
For a while, no words were spoken between them, Dende struggling not to avert his eyes. He didn’t want to have false hope, trying desperately to tether his heart to solid ground. But Gohan grabbed his waist, eliciting a small surprised sound from the Namekian as he pulled them closer together, speaking so quietly as if not to break the spell.
“I love you too, Dende.”
Gohan leaned in close enough to rest his forehead against Dende’s.
Despite all his strength and power, Gohan’s touch was always so light and gentle.
If he wasn’t already flying, Dende would feel weightless.
Their worries, their insecurities, and their responsibilities all fell and became as distant as the Earth beneath them.
God took a deep breath.
Unable to hear anything but his own heartbeat, Dende leaned in too.
The Guardian of Earth had a little diary.
Today’s entry was simply “Nothing to report,” written in neat Namekian script, no different than hundreds of his previous entries.
Yet today was also marked with little hearts and a careful drawing of God with his favorite Earthling, holding hands together.