Disclaimer: Pango is a character of Namco, and I have no copyrights over him whatsoever.

Author's Note: This is a piece I wrote about one unexplored character in Klonoa Heroes. Pango doesn't have enough love. I like him, but nobody seems to focus on him too much. I might start a saga like this one, dealing with pains of the Klonoa characters, but I'm settling for this one as of now.

This is the piece that came out.

-------------------------------------------

There were times when I was harsh to him.

Every boy has to be scolded by his father once in a while, and have their mischievious behaviour corrected by their elders; but now, as I rest below this large canopy of trees alongside my two companions, I would personally give anything to see my boy again. Being naughty. Or playing around. Or getting up to all sorts of mischief. Something - anything would do, anything would suffice to keep my hopes alive.

Alas, I'm afraid now that it is too late for that - how can I leave him and stay here any longer? How can I believe now that after all this time, he is alive? I cannot believe my own foolishness; I should have known that it would be difficult. I should have made more preparations. I just embarked on this journey while I was rescuing the prisoners at the Moon's, nothing more, and came hopelessly unprepared. I believe that I have not bidden my son goodbye; I just kissed his forehead and left him with Suiryu. He understands. He's always around Volk City, and cares for children well. I do not wish to burden him, but there is nowhere for my son if not his house.

Poor, poor Boris... my boy, what will become of you?

I'm sorry, Boris. I'm no saint. I'm being a terrible father to you. How could I ever have left you behind, with no guarantee of a cure for your illness or even my own life? This isn't right. I shouldn't be enjoying myself, or travelling around like this, when you are so ill. You're in a state of deathly sleep, and you're not going to awake unless I find a cure.

Or is it not worth it? Do you want me back, my son? Shall I come back to you? I miss you sorely, I long to see you again. I want to see you smile. I want to do so many things with you, the kind of things all fathers do with their children. I wonder if you still remember how to make that bomb. I taught you, on a bright summer's day, just a few weeks before you fell into that deep, loathing sleep. I still remember that moment. You were laughing, Boris, and you hugged me. You told me that you loved me.

What would I not give to see you again?

What would I not give to hear your voice one more time?

My son is in a grievious state at the moment. I'm not sure when he would awake, or whether he even will. His life shortens every single day he spends in that deathly sleep. It has been five months since he fell asleep, and to my knowledge, he isn't going to wake up anytime soon.

Shall I go back and forget about all this, all the while caring for my son?

Or shall I stay; and do I dare to stay here?

I can still take a chance, one might say, for there is still hope. I have two companions. They are teenagers, one almost as young as my Boris, but surprisingly mature in their moments. There's Guntz - the poor boy, he is troubled so. As a father myself, I should say that I'm experienced in looking out for signs in children and teenagers. Guntz is tall, thin with black hair, gold-and-black fur and blue eyes, and rather handsome; however there are subtle signs, little hints that show he is not all he seems. The most noticeable one - and even that is almost invisible - is the look of his eyes. One might just find his gaze intimidating and unnerving at times; but look closer and one will find that his stare is mostly blank. There is no emotion, no feeling in those eyes of his, and that is highly unusual considering his age and potential emotional quotinent associated with such. Anyone would expect him to be outgoing and just like an average teenager. But Guntz is not an average teenager, as he is very unique in most matters. He won't reveal anything in his past, but I know much, merely my observation. I consider him like my second son, almost. I want to protect him, shield him from harm. There is so much of the horrors of this world he has experienced. He is merely sixteen. It is not too late.

Who else is there? There is also Klonoa. He's a couple of years older than Boris. He is the polar opposite of Guntz - I have never seen such a happy child before. Sure, Boris is a cheerful one, but Klonoa's so happy most of the time. Unlike Guntz he has many friends, like the young priestess we're so close to rescuing, and very outgoing. Klonoa is much smaller than Guntz in physique, and slightly thinner with black-and-white-fur, amber eyes and long, soft, floppy ears. The boy is - as I said before - a happy one, but nonetheless he has his moments of seriousness at times. I believe that he is a child on the exterior, but approaching full maturity on the inside. At thirteen years old, he's a wonderful example of a preteen. There are many qualities he has, such as loyalty and determination. Of course, being still mostly a child, he has his faults - I find him rather obsessive in his objectives. But that is hardly anything compared to his pure, beautiful mind. I would like my son to be as courageous as he, virtuous and loyal to his friends. They are qualities one cannot help but admire. Klonoa is like a third son to me, one who I can most closely identify with, and he reminds me very much indeed of Boris. Dear, dear Boris.

Can I really leave my two 'sons' behind, when they are so vulnerable to this world?

They cannot compare to my Boris. But I have grown to care for them very much, and I dread what will happen when I leave. I'm older, and considerably more experienced at life than them; they will manage fine without me, but I fear their shared weakness - lack of peace of mind - will drive them both into madness and force them apart, losing all objectives. I do not wish that to happen. I care for them too much for anything of that sort to happen.

How long has it been since I've been travelling with them? A full month, I daresay. Have I really grown to care for them that much in that kind of time? Surprising how parental love extends to others. Guntz and Klonoa are no longer just companions to me. They are my sons, my children, and I feel that I have a large responsibility over them. It makes me feel less guilty if I'm looking after them. But they look through me - I care for them because I genuinely do, but they seem to notice that caring for them lessens the pain of ignorance also. Both Guntz and Klonoa have confronted me about the issue, and I've answered as honestly as I can. I know they're worried about me.

"Pango, you can't do this to yourself," Guntz said to me one rainy evening, when Klonoa was keeping guard. "We're not your children. What about Boris? Do you care for us more than him? Pango, Boris is your true son, one who you are a true parent of. Please, think about him."

"I do." I answered softly. "I love Boris, Guntz. That's why I came along. I want to cure him. Do you think I care none for my own son? What would that make of me, what kind of a parent does that make myself? Will it not be disgraceful?"

Guntz stayed quiet, but came and held my arm. "It's not good for both of you to be away from each other for such a long time." He said quietly. "Believe me. I know."

I had nothing to say for that.

Klonoa has said things also. "Pango, this isn't right." He cried one day. "You said that Boris was ill! You can't stay here, Pango, what will become of your son?"

"We're in a quest to cure the people fallen ill with sleeping sickness, Klonoa, and my son is one of them." I answered.

Klonoa said nothing for a while. "I didn't have a father." He said after a while. "You're like my father, Pango, but Boris..." He trailed off, looking so sad and melancholy that I felt a pang of guilt inside me. He came over and hugged me, just like Boris used to, and it was soothing. For a while.

I am restless tonight. I can see the stars above. It looks like another sleepless night for me.

I remember that night, when Boris came to me. It was a clear sky so we could see all the stars.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Boris?"

"Why do stars twinkle?" He looked up to me, his eyes shining expectantly, his blue worksuit new and fresh. I chuckled, heaved him up to my lap and looked out the window.

"You see those stars, Boris?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Stars twinkle because they're spirits of deceased Lunateans who wish to look upon their loved ones." Boris looked confused, so I explained further. "When Lunateans go to heaven, they make a wish to watch upon their loved ones for eternity. The spirits of those people turn into stars, and they always shine brightest where there loved ones are." I pointed. "Look, Boris darling. To the west. That star's the brightest in the entire sky. That's what it looks like to us."

"Wow..." He exclaimed, looking closely at the sky. "It's really pretty."

"I should think that star's the spirit of your mother." I smiled, cradling him gently. He was silent for a while, watching with bright eyes, before he shifted slightly to look at me.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"When I go to heaven will I be with Mummy?" He asked innocently, but it brought sudden tears to my eyes. I turned away slightly to hide the tears, and swallowed before replying to him.

"I'm sure a lovely child like you will definitely join the stars later." I stroked his head. "When the spirits are happy, and they finish watching over their loved ones, they stop twinkling." A star, as if on cue, died down and blinked once before going out. "But do not be sad, Boris, they're happy. When a star stops twinkling, a new one takes its place."

"When does a new star appear?" He asked curiously. He was still looking out of the window. "Mummy won't stop, will she?"

"A new star will appear soon," I replied. "And your mother's still got a long way to go before she stops twinkling. Don't worry. She wants to watch over you for always." I tickled him, and he laughed, squirming. We had a tickling fight for a few minutes, before collapsing on the chair, breathless with laughter. He asked me something, I answered briefly, and there was silence. I have a vague memory of what he asked me, but nothing more than that.

"I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, Boris."

Oh, Boris, please don't give up. It's too early for you to join your mother. I'm coming for you, Boris, and I swear to the stars that I will find a cure. Don't give up, don't lose the fight, and please wait for me. Don't leave me behind, Boris, I can't live without you.

I love you, Boris.

Please hold on.

-----

"You do know everything, don't you, Daddy?"

"Of course I do, my son."

------------------------------------

This piece was a exploration of Pango. I write heaps of crud about Klonoa, Guntz, and occasionally Lolo, but I've never really written about Pango. Properly, at least. I gave him dialogue, I've written his perspective in a drabble, but nothing more. He really is a fascinating character - his objective, which in my opinion was the most pure in the game, really got to me.

I personally liked this piece. It had Boris in it. And Pango, I think, I've managed quite nicely.

Did you like it?