Disclaimer: I don't own Dragonball Z or any of its characters.

One-shot. Though I am considering this for a prequel to another story.

Piccolo faces off Gohan in the twilight, and even though it's like old times, they're older now.

Young Hearts and Old Bones

The world was pulled from his feet, or so it felt, and his heels dragged in the damp soil as he fell backwards. Shards of broken rock dug ungracefully into his back and he bit at the pain that tried so hard to make itself known. Gohan might not train much these days, but the inherited strength of his forefathers felt like knives of fury as he reigned down his fists upon Piccolo. Damp soil and broken grass flew as they moved, releasing the fresh scent of a prospering land in the darkening sky. With each hit, jade skin broke, and with each kick, long legs buckled. Blonde hair burred past his vision and he wondered if Gohan went Super Saiyan because he needed to, or out of a long held, unwavering respect.

He didn't want to know the answer.

His mind wouldn't have much time to contemplate that grim thought as a dirt covered fist came through the air towards him, he fazed out and re-appeared behind Gohan, delivering a swift and rib breaking kick into the half Saiyan's kidney. The other man twisted unnaturally, air exhaling fast as the internal damage shifted his innards. Piccolo's countenance flickered, It was a little below the belt, but he was having to dig deep. Losing this match so quickly was as unacceptable as turning it down in the first place. No sooner had his foot landed though, did a fist drive through the muscles of his abdomen, and into his stomach. Any sense of remorse he briefly felt was now absent as blood gurgled in his throat and he tried not to gag, grimacing at the metallic taste on his tongue and the harrowing pain in his stomach. His head automatically went back as the pain hit and somehow, underneath the sensation of his body breaking, he could see the stars faintly in the twilight. He thought of Namek.

Back then, and now.

Back when they had adventure, and he was strong enough to make a difference. He pushed the thought down and whirled around, raising an elbow to the other man's face. It didn't collide. Instead, his momentum carried him too far and he stumbled, feet sinking in the damp dirt. His face then met the ground in undignified surprise, and the dirt tasted like everything and nothing all at once as it rammed into his teeth. The blow to his back had been significant, and the crunching of bone must have made Gohan falter because he left Piccolo to lie there for a moment. The Namek's reserves were now as unreachable as his youth and his thighs and arms burned in an acid protest. Now his teeth were ringing. It started to rain.

The cold water felt sharp on the back of his head, the skin tingling as it fell more rapidly. His chest was bleeding now, he could feel the sting of the dirt meeting and mingling with open wounds. He even feel the slow drip of cooling violet blood as it pooled in the curve of his ear. Yet all he could hear was the rain as it poured down. The moment was over, and Piccolo picked himself up, wet gi clinging to his frame. The mixture of water, sweat, blood and soil made him feel like he was back on Namek, fighting Frieza and pulling Goku's ridiculously heavy frame out of the water. Gohan had been so small and innocent with his bowl cut hair and relentless determination. Now he stood, orange gi and blonde hair soaked through, all happiness drained. Piccolo could see that the other man was done, but Piccolo wasn't. Red blood had snaked its way down the half Saiyan's collar bone and was darkening the blue undershirt.

He had lost Videl last year, and Piccolo could see her wedding ring on a chain around his neck

Gohan's boot flashed in Piccolo's dark eyes and he just avoided the kick, craning his neck backwards. He brought his hand up, emerald fingers going around the other man's ankle, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that he dug his talons in. Gohan lost his perch and sailed through the air as the Namek through him, not gently, and straight into the trunk of an old acer tree. His Saiyan boy went through the bark, and the old structure groaned as it toppled over. Whatever brave birds had remained beneath the leaves during their fight, now flew off in uncoordinated panic. The great red tree had probably been there for an age already, it had seen so much and now it just fell, like at the end it was nothing at all. Gohan's skin smelled like sap now as his fists came in a flurry. The rain was falling heavier, and the Namek found it impossible to keep his eyes open long enough to track the onslaught. He tried to blink but every time he did, he was hit. And each hit felt like the last one.

He briefly wondered if he would be the last one.

Gohan had little lines written in the corners of his eyes, and Piccolo knew that there was grey sitting at the temples under that shock of blonde hair. The boyish handsomeness though, that remained, no doubt still breaking hearts. He let the fists come, and the pink of his arms was starting to go red from the abuse, lining with violet as the skin tore. It was too much, but he wouldn't say, Gohan had always thought him stronger than he really was. A hero worship that he never really grew out of. Even when the Saiyan's surpassed him in strength, and he became back up, and then when he became a bystander. The pain of that had lasted a long time, and even now he would wake up and forget. For a moment when he opened his eyes, he forgot how useless he had become. He couldn't even recall now when that moment had come, and passed. But now it was done.

His days of fighting the enemy were now a fantasy story to tell children at bedtime.

Gohan must have noticed the bruising build up on Piccolo's arms and he pulled back, instead choosing to kick those long legs from under the Namek. For the third time, Piccolo's back hit the ground and old scratches screamed in protest. His arms fell to the side and throbbed in a numbness that told of terrible pain to come. He didn't heal as well as he did when he was young. The gi felt clingy and cold against his skin as it continued to soak up the rain. The beat of the drops echoed in the valley all around him. His eyes were half closed, he knew that Gohan might see it and stop soon, but it was dark. The air was chilled in that damp way and the heavens pelted his face without remorse. He hadn't won a match against Gohan in so long it was almost pointless to remember it. But it still hurt like a hollowing of his insides, every time.

It would hurt more when he did finally win, when Gohan was too old to fight well anymore.

That time would come sooner than they'd realise. He could already hear the faltering heartbeat sometimes, and the quick breaths that came with age. The half Saiyan's heart seemed healthy now as it thumped furiously, in the heat of battle, and Piccolo fancied that he could hear the blood rushing through the younger man's veins. His body was aching fiercely, now so filled with acid that when he moved the limbs they were seizing up. A clawed hand slipped in the wet ground, and he felt the grit moving to lodge itself under his talons. An urge to vomit crawled in the top of his stomach but he ignored it. He stumbled to stand and Gohan was incredulous, but not entirely surprised. The half Saiyan came at him, and Piccolo tried to raise his hands but they wouldn't move any higher than his chest. Gohan realised too late as his fist crashed into the side of Piccolo's face and he heard the cheek bone crush.

Piccolo fell to the ground for the last time, his body thudding in a wet slap. Gohan pulled back in shock and his golden hair fell, now black and wet against his face. His dark brown eyes went wide. Piccolo caught the panicked look as he fell but he couldn't keep his eyes open now as he lay in the disrupted earth. It was so cold. The water was now sitting atop the soil like a little river and he was almost breathing it in through one nostril. The pain in his face and skull was incredible and the blood was running freely down the curve of his nose and dripping into the puddle of rain. If it weren't so dark, the water would be violet now. Through the pain lacing in the fibres of his body and the deep ache, even through incredible sense of defeat, he knew that he would recover. The sickness was back.

He would live.

Gohan knelt down, one orange clothed knee sinking as he did. He knew that Piccolo would be alright but the concern was still overwhelming. The thought of losing his friend felt unbearable. The weren't just friends, it was like he was in love, the same uncompromising, unconditional love he felt for his daughter. And maybe at one time, something more. The only solace he took from the knowledge that old age was fast approaching, was that the Namek would naturally outlive him.

He never once considered that Piccolo didn't want to.

Finish.