Hero
This first chapter is a little like an introduction, and although this chapter is a little dark and obscure, it will get better! Hope you enjoy it.
I do not own Dragon ball Z or any of its characters or contents
Chapter One – My consequence
The world needs a hero; it doesn't always deserve one, but it needs one nonetheless. The surreal reflection in the mirror however, was not the hero Piccolo expected to see. The obsidian eyes lacked that lustre for life; that grasp on reality and determination to survive.
His long fingers buttoned the shirt with ease as he looked just past the mirror, and to the side, his dark eyes settling on the scene beyond his window. It was raining, the gentle patter of water as it pooled in the grooves of leaves reaching his ears as he listened, straining to hear the storm.
After a few seconds, he allowed his eyes to return to the mirror but the fluid movement only made his stomach lurch in protest. Unable to muster the desire to move, he simply glared at his reflection, occasionally trying to quell his body's shivering at the intense cold. As he stood, gazing absently into his own eyes, his right hand absently traced the length of his elongated ear before pulling at the lobe, in what an onlooker might assume to be nervousness.
Gohan knew however, that anxiety was not something Piccolo outwardly suffered from, neither was it anticipation. As he watched his friend fiddle with his ear, he knew that Piccolo was dwelling on the past and, considering the forward thinking Namek, he was probably contemplating what should have been.
The room was small but large enough that Piccolo didn't notice Gohan quietly sneak in, although Gohan mused; it was more likely that the Namek was simply ignoring him. Watching his tall friend stand lifelessly before the mirror made Gohan tip his head back and to the side in thought, catching Piccolo's attention.
The Namek whipped his head round and quickly snatched his hand from tracing the length of his ear. Dressed in a blue shirt and long black cargo pants Piccolo, to Gohan's amusement, looked comfortable. Although considering that it that the temperature was abnormally low and Gohan himself was wearing two jumpers and a blanket, he wondered if Piccolo even felt the cold. 'Probably not.'
Beneath his layers of course, Gohan was wearing a black suit and white shirt, in an effort to remind himself that one he was a scholar, a teacher, a learned Professor. He scowled at himself when he realised just how pitiful he must look, a poor imitation of the man he once was.
Sometimes he found it amusing that at the age of twenty three he was confined to a wheelchair, but, more often than not, he found it devastating.
He was disturbed from his reverie by Piccolo's movement as the Namek moved towards him. Gohan took this opportunity to speak to his friend, suddenly finding himself full of conversation.
"Aren't you cold Piccolo?"
The Namek stopped just short of Gohan, gesturing that they were leaving the room before answering.
"Yes, quite"
Gohan skilfully span the wheelchair around and began to shift his hands, spinning the wheels in the right direction.
"Why aren't you wearing some more layers? You can borrow a jumper if you'd like?"
His baritone voice rumbled from his lips as he spoke, and his tone carried an abrupt quality.
"I'm fine"
--- Six months Previous ---
Gohan's voice was barely a whisper.
"Piccolo"
Numbing. The heavy ache, scathing deep in his chest, was slowly gripping his lungs. His eyes were dry, his expression empty and his features still. It was out of his hands, out of his control, and it took a long time for that to register in his stunned mind. Each second was a deliberate torment, orchestrated by time to extend the moment, the moment he wanted so desperately to end.
The sharp temperature of the wind scratched his cheeks as it whipped by, cooling the wounds that were not healing. He could not turn his head, and as much as he wanted to see Gohan, to make sure he was alive, the muscles in his neck were frozen. His student's voice had cracked with pain and he knew that if he did not move, Gohan would die.
Still, as much as he desired to look in his friend's direction, Piccolo was compelled to stare forward.
Goku's hand lay protruding from the dirt, so obviously lifeless and slightly clenched as if in sleep. As his gaze lingered, he realised that if he listened intently, he could almost imagine he was underwater; every sound dull and slow. Yet despite how long he waited, Goku's hand lay still.
His staring was interrupted when he felt the sudden shove of a hand on his leg. His reverie came to a grinding halt, and for a moment he felt nauseous. He forced his head to turn and slowly his gaze followed his movement.
Gohan, with his hand wrapped securely around Piccolo's ankle, was lying awkwardly in what seemed to be his own blood. It was red, and before Piccolo could reason with himself, he briefly wondered why Gohan was drenched in red when blood was so obviously violet in colour. His gaze drifted back to Gohan's face, but the numb he felt prevented any emotive response. He watched on as Gohan mouthed words in his direction, in time with some gentle hum Piccolo couldn't distinguish. He tried to read his student's lips, but his attention was limited and his patience non existent.
He looked back towards Goku's buried form, and noticed that just ahead of the Saiyan lay Goten.
Just as lifeless as his father.
Allowing his gaze to fall to his right, the aching of his joints becoming more apparent as his head moved, he saw Vegeta. His observation however, was cut short as his skin registered warmth. He raised his tired hand to his face and touched the warmth, his fingers slipping in front of his eyes. He was bleeding, and the purple made his eyes cross. Before he had time to contemplate the severity of the wound however, his vision went blank.
--- Present ---
Piccolo had walked slowly down the hallway before turning left, into the lounge. Gohan had followed at the same pace, his hands shifting the wheels gently, grateful for Piccolo's casual steps. Turning into the room, he moved his hand along the wheels in a deliberate push, sending him, in one smooth motion, into the wall at far side of the room.
Bulma couldn't help a giggle at Gohan's haste, and burst into a loud laugh once he collided with the wall. Even Piccolo smirked at the half-Saiyan, knowing that his student often over compensated for his lack of speed.
The Namek stood well above Bulma's height, and as a result, had to lower his head before speaking.
"How long do we have?"
Her smile faded when he spoke, his deep voice betraying no amusement. She looked down before answering, her usual light hearted tone replaced with a monotone.
"A few hours, but I can't be sure"
He nodded and looked at Gohan, seeing that the younger man had composed himself he walked towards the kitchen. His destination was just beyond the living room and he reached the small room in a few seconds. Closing the door behind him, he moved to the cupboard and grabbed a glass.
As he moved, the speckled marble of the worktop sparkled slightly as the sunlight shone through the window above the sink, and for a moment Piccolo thought of the stars.
Scoffing at himself, he moved to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. His slim fingers reached for the tap but his claws preventing him turning it comfortably. Looking curiously at his hands, he realised that his nails had grown. 'Have I not looked at my hands in so long?' Ignoring them, he turned the tap with more aggression and quickly filled his glass.
He raised the glass to his lips, but when the cool water touched his lips, he flung the glass back down. He couldn't prevent the contents of his stomach from travelling up his throat and he leaned over the steel sink in front of him. When his chest lurched he closed his eyes, he found it was more unpleasant than painful and, to his humiliation, grimaced when he realised that he wasn't even vomiting. There was simply nothing to throw up, his stomach was empty.
"That's because you haven't eaten in days"
Chi chi's voice was stern, but beneath it was an almost undetectable hint of concern. Her words shocked Piccolo from his contemplation, and he looked round, wiping his mouth despite there being nothing there. He just stared at her, willing her to leave but she continued.
"You need to look after yourself Piccolo, if not for your own sake, for ours"
With that said she walked towards him, but before Piccolo could recoil she moved swiftly by him. He moved to the side awkwardly, but found himself walking back into the kitchen units, banging his head on the cupboard which had he not been so tall, would have been above him. He raised his right hand to his temple, and stood still while looking around, not knowing where to put himself. Chi chi smiled with her face turned away from him, 'he's so nervous, is he so out of touch with humanity?'
She discreetly observed his clothing, silently approving of the civilian outfit. 'It suits him; he looks more like a person and less like a statue'. Chi chi turned to him, realising with amusement that he hadn't moved and stood as if caught, his eyes slightly wide. She reached out and waited for him receive the items in her hand, when he did his expression turned to confusion. Cradling the fruit he looked at her, and she answered his silent question with an almost condescending tone.
"It might be easier for you to eat those, they're full of water and you're stomach could do with something solid in it"
With that said she pushed by him to reach the cupboard beside his head, and he quickly moved. Looking at the fruit in his hands, he decided to walk back to the living room and out of Chi chi's way. He stepped into the living room and was almost appalled at his passive behaviour, 'Was I always this accommodating?'
"No, in fact, I hear that most of the time you were a complete Asshole"
Piccolo looked up when she spoke, glancing at Gohan briefly before voicing his retort.
"I just don't like people"
--- Six months previously ---
He awoke to the touch of a hand on his face, the surprise forcing the breath from his lungs and his eyes wide open. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to see, but his sight was blurred, thick with grey. After a few moments his vision began to clear, but not before his memory thrust its presence to the front of his mind.
Goten and Trunks were dead, he remembered that first. There limp forms visible just beyond Goku's. He had felt Vegeta's death, he knew that, but couldn't see the Saiyan's defeated form in his mind. He hoped for a brief second before he realised that such thinking was unrealistic and ridiculous. They were all dead. As his eyes began to distinguish the figures above him he wondered if Krillan and Eighteen were still there.
Before he could think to ask, or to check, he suddenly realised that even when he strained to hear, all his ears heard was a low hum. Piccolo narrowed his eyes when his sight regained its clarity.
Above him hovered a woman he didn't recognise, and it unnerved him. Alarm hit his consciousness and he shot up, feeling the vibration of a growl in his throat. Her dark blue eyes were empty, and he immediately assumed she was a threat. He saw her lips move and her steady eyes looked left. He followed her gaze and concern flared in his mind when he registered Gohan's still form, covered in a blanket.
Moving to get up, he stopped when she grabbed his arm, her hand gripping him tightly. He creased his brow in confusion and he realised then that she wasn't human. Her hold on him was immovable and he wondered briefly who's side she was on. 'She must be on ours; otherwise I'm sure I'd be dead.'
Piccolo looked at her, and she mouthed more words. Reason returning to his confused mind, he raised his hand and pointed to his ear while shaking his head. 'I can't hear.'
Her response surprised him, as her lips never moved. Her irritation was evident in her mind's voice.
'You cannot lip read?'
Piccolo shook his head, no. She regained some of her passivity and began to inform him of his condition.
'You have received a severe blow to the head'
He narrowed his eyes once again, suspicion rearing its head as she continued to speak telepathically.
'The loss of hearing is temporary, it will return'
He nodded and asked about Gohan out loud; his voice more gravely than usual.
"How is Gohan? Is he alive?"
She nodded, and he noticed then that her hair was silver. 'Or grey, or white', he couldn't fathom why he couldn't distinguish its colour. He was disturbed from his thoughts by her words, which left him unable to conceal his shock.
'He is paralysed from the waist down. That however, is permanent'
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