"Hand me down people and hand me down clothes, passed from one to another when the wear starts to show. They give to feel good, then go on their way. They don't know how it feels to be given away." –Opening line from the play Mother Hicks


It was not the stillness of his bed that alerted him that night, nor was it the subtle smell of lavender and vanilla that kept him keenly alerted to the other presence in his bed. That night had not been one for the records, for it was like every other night that had come and gone in unremarkable disappointment. Videl slept with her back to him. Her silken, milky white night gown matched her porcelain skin and made those freshly washed raven locks that flowed over her shoulders all the more beautiful. But that beauty was no longer his, it seemed, and it hadn't been for months. The question was one that always boggled him. Had he not been a good, faithful husband? Had he not provided tirelessly for his family? Had he not shown every measure of devotion and loyalty to her, even when those acts were refused vehemently? There was nothing to be said, though. He lay awake in their bed, eyes cast upon her sleeping figure that was curled away from him as though his mere presence provoked her. The childish notions that true love was like that in books had fled from him ages ago. True love wasn't necessarily romantic, but a test to see who could stay in it long enough. This was a battle that Gohan was afraid he was loosing. At least the screaming matches had long since ceased.

He was not welcome here tonight. Not even his sheets provided any comfort in this icy home with its frosted April windows. It was still cold, but inside and out. He slid out of bed without stealth and care. His back popped and groaned as he stretched, his toes curling on the chill of the hardwood floors. His steps were languid and drearily slow as he made his way down the stairs with an audible thump with every step he took. All seemed to be well as he peered through the clouded windows that guided the way to his only sanctuary. Unlike most of his house, which was hardly his to begin with, his study was as he pleased. It was a sort of dream room he could escape to when reality burdened him too much. On the far walls, from ceiling to floor, were bookshelves, like that of some ancient library. Sure, they were impractical and expensive to install, but they were his. His desk, though somewhat flimsy in nature, was ridden with pictures of Pan and Videl, back when things were a little happier, back when she was home. And on the far corner of his desk, nearly hidden by the dozens of family photos, was a picture of Piccolo taken long, long ago. The man was standing with his back against the tree, face staring out into oblivion, into the sunset. He didn't know the picture had been taken, and that was probably a good thing. Behind the picture was the seven star dragon ball. How silly, he must have placed it there last night. He certainly didn't remember doing such, but it was late. Grasping the orange orb in his hands, Gohan stared into his own reflection, face oddly aglow with the pale orange light. It reminded him of the shyness of The Boy's face last night. How unnaturally soft and familiar the lines of his face looked. But it was best not to worry about those sorts of things now, wasn't it?


He hadn't been back to see the kid in days, something he was infinitely thankful for. It seemed as the more time passed by, the less Piccolo's heart was moved by the whelp. Bulma had said that he would eventually warm up to the child, but it had been a decade since that day, and all that had changed was not for the better. Did he regret it? At times, yes, other times no. That boy could at least have made a passable sparing partner; perhaps not the best suited for actual combat, but as a meat shield for new techniques and trials. What a shame the kid had too many . . .tendencies which Piccolo had long since had to deal with in himself. Ridding that boy of them proved to be a task that not even he was up to. Oh, he had tried countless times; trying to convince the little nuisance to meditate to cleanse his mind, to practicing his exercises in absolute solitude, even to simply relax in silence, but none of them worked. Half the time his influence was spat back in his face. That boy refused to sit still, always fidgeting about, complaining that there must be another way and that it was not fair nor good nor right to ignore those impulses he had.

What a young fool.

But in time he would learn. Either that or he would have to die.

I knew where the kid kept his main site. I have known for a long time, ever since he was little. That was part of the reason why I had to remove him from the Son house. I couldn't stand the thought that anything should happen. I know what goes on in that head of his- the very same thing that lurks in the back of mine, even now. If I allowed it to come back, that would be the end of me. But it won't. It never will.

The desert air that normally calms me no longer remedies my plight. He keeps his work where the forest gives way to the desert. Even from here the stench bothers me. I make notice to stay away from him when he's gone from the waterfall for days at a time. Of course I know where he is, I can track him easily enough, but I rarely follow. Sometimes I just don't want to know.

But today is different. There's something wrong about the way the kid vanished this morning. I could tell he went toward the Son house last night, but he ran off all too quickly. He did nothing. It has been my fortune to have a timid whelp dumped on me instead of one like myself.

Even my meditating was interrupted by the stench of flesh rotting in the burning sand. Perhaps it's imagined, I meditate at the far end of this wasteland, a place where the kid can't even survive long enough on foot to find me. He'll be at his place shortly.

I intend to be there before he arrives.

My flight was a short one, even shorter than I had expected. The place where I had previously thought the kid still visited had not been touched in months, maybe more. There was a new one about a kilometer away. From the smell of things, this one was fresh. It was like clockwork with this boy. He poked his head out of the thin brush, keenly eyeing his way about the landscape. Had he any wits about him, he would know of my presence by now. He repeated the process several times over, ducking in and out of hiding before coming to the conclusion that it was safe. He must be looking for me; we're the only ones that walk along these lands anymore.

I had been right all along- this time was different. The package I was looking for was no longer present, but its telltale signs were. This kid never hunted with his shirt on because I always materialized white cloth for his tops, so I would know what he had done. He was sloppy, always had been. But he was getting neater. That was the first thing I noticed. His shallow chest bore only a few superficial scratches and on his right shoulder, bite marks tore the flesh. He had been bleeding out for some time, and still was as far as I could see. He always had that problem.

He never thought to look up when he was this distracted. His breaths were ragged, as though he were still coming down from an adrenaline high. He never walked when he was like this; he always took leaping bounds, sometimes even sprinted. He took off, making a beeline towards his destination. There was a patch of thistles and dead brush that he delicately pushed to the side before raising a small, thatched gate that lead to a hole he had excavated himself.

The smell was intolerable, even at my range.

This had to stop.

I touched down behind him. He spooked far too easily; the kid nearly toppled down into the hole himself. He looked like an animal. When it comes down to it, I suppose that's all he really is. The faux mane that stems from midway up his back and traces his spine was caked down with dirt and blood in matted clumps. The closer I got to him, the more it looked like he had tried to at least rinse himself off earlier, the dirty lines where water had ran were still present on his skin. Whatever he did hardly agreed with him. He simply stared up at me with those angry eyes of his as though it was going to accomplish something- and as he did, his hands clenched and unclenched.

He had a secret he was hiding.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I hate it when he looks into my eyes. I know that look all too well and it is not one I care to see again. Something had to- "What do you think you're doing?" The words fully escaped me before I could finish my thoughts. The Boy flinched at my tone; it was one I specially reserved for him. It made him wilt every time.

His mouth gaped open unattractively, like a fish gasping for water. He clenched his fists so tightly, I could hear the joins pop. His eyes traveled back to the hole where he kept them and the stench that wafted from therein. He kept them there so I would leave him alone.

"Nothing that concerns you." He flinched at the sound of his cracking voice while I remained poised.

"You concern me" You always concern me.

He sighed deeply like he knew what was coming next. With a small flicker of ki, I set whatever was in that godforsaken hole aflame. The Boy just shook his head.

"Where's the rest?" I didn't have time for this foolishness now

Wordlessly, the kid stepped past me, walking in the direction that he had come from. There was a small clearing about a quarter of a mile away that he took me to. I knew this spot. I had visited it several times after long days of training. A small pool of water wasn't far from here. The Boy stopped for a moment and turned back to look at me. I can't forget the look in his eyes. One of those stupid looks he gives me when he knows that he's defeated. His eyes open up all the way, something they rarely do, and then they narrow ever so slightly while his lips pressed into a thin strip across his face. He continued on his path agitatedly. He was leading me to the water.

When I arrived there only a few steps behind him, I saw several things that I was not counting on and none of which made my day any better. The Boy stayed behind me as I ventured toward his prize. He had caught one of the large animals humans keep around their homes. Some sort of dog, I believe. It was significantly larger than the wolves and foxes that hid among the trees here. Its head rested a meter away from the body, the jaw snapped violently in several places. The rest of the animal had been flayed along its medial sections, both halves of the body split from the neck, the sternum cracked completely apart, leaving the ribs prodding at the sky like thin fingers. The organs and meat had been stripped from the carcass and were lying unceremoniously in a pile to the side, except the liver, which was resting on a fresh pile of leaves. I looked to the limbs, all were broken through the skin at odd angles- it was almost as though the kid enjoyed doing this. Deep down, I knew he did. This was not the first one of these I have stumbled across, nor would it be the last.

I would never tell him this, but the animals don't bother me at all. Most of the time it's a relief that this is the worst thing he delves into, at least to my knowledge. My one concern is that he'll move on to bigger things but my worries are not necessarily for their safety.

The second thing that worried me was The Boy's face. He's calm; he's never this calm when I am around him, much less while I'm judging his dirty work. I would try reading his mind, but his thoughts are never clear enough to understand. Only fragments of emotions and words flow in that otherwise hollow skull. Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Our eyes met for a moment before he looked away. I sniffed. He will have to learn one way or another.

"It's just the way I am." The kid answered my unspoken question curtly while still avoiding my gaze. All the while his hand were wringing; I could still see splatters of blood stained skin on his arms.

I moved closer to him, my feet leaving prints on the unnaturally wet gown. I suspected I'd have to make another pair of shoes, for I'd never get the smell of rot and blood out of them. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I felt the muscles clench and his bones protrude from his skin more than they normally would. I turned him, against his will, to see his side and back. There were more shallow scratches than I thought and he had not bothered to wipe away all the grime, leaving him as a veritable patchwork of gore. How many other things has he been into today? My hand shifted to his face, turning it from side to side. He let me do it today without so much as a scoff. There were minor abrasions that, to my surprise, were still bleeding slowly. He always bled out more than normal.

"I won't hurt anyone anymore, just these." He speaks before I can remove my hand, I can feel the muscles of his jaw tighten and in response my grip does as well.

The Boy swallows hard, I can feel anxiety radiating off of him. "I've heart that before." My grip keeps tightening, I'm not sure why.

He finally reached up and grabbed my wrist with both his hands, trying to ease the pressure on his jaw. "You understand me." He was almost pleading, "Why can't you-" I let him go suddenly before cutting him off

"I made the right choice, it's time you do the same." I was about to turn and leave when he spoke again.

"I can't meditate like you" he paused almost bitterly "I will never be like you." He extended his arm, pointing at the animal he had massacred. "This is how I subdue . . .this." His arm dropped to his side and a look of absolute defeat swept across his features like a flame to dry brush.

My face hardened at his words. "I've shown you other ways of coping. You refused all of them."

He did not respond, not even so much as a flinch.

"Where are the others?" I finally asked, I knew there were more, many more, and I was going to dispose of every last one.

He wouldn't even look up.

"Kid." I asked, squaring my shoulders to face him.

Nothing.

"Boy."

The wind played with the tail of my cape.

"Seven." I haven't used that name in ages, it reminded me too much of all the things I had come to regret.

He looked at me, his eyes held some foreign emotion I have not seen in years. "They're with her." His voice was so soft.

"You-" I began through clenched teeth but he shook his head at me before continuing.

"The family moved out, the place is empty now. Just her and the garden."


The day at school had been extraordinarily mundane. When Gohan finally reached his front door, a dark house that smelled faintly of those lilac candles Videl liked so much greeted him. There was a note pinned under a crystal vase that resided on the table just beyond the front door. Apparently Videl had gone with Bulma and Chichi for some kind of 'girls night out', which probably involved spending a great deal of his paycheck this month on various frivolities. Crumpling the note up and tossing it into the wastebasket, he kicked off his shoes and headed towards the kitchen. As he expected, there was nothing. Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem at all, for he would have picked something up on the way home, but this was a completely unexpected happening. Sure enough, he could have ordered some pizzas, but there was no delivery to these parts and he really didn't feel like flying all the way back into town, much less driving. Besides, even if he did go back into town, eating there was always awkward due to the sheer amount that he could consume with great tenacity.

Sigh.

Eventually, Gohan shifted on his unwilling feet, commanding them to drag the rest of his tired body into the living room so he could flop on the couch while he decided how badly he wanted food. He had been reclining there with his arms folded behind his head for the longest time; must have drifted to sleep, because the run was almost setting. That little dog of his, of course, chose to bark incessantly and disturb his rest. The little terrier must have been as hungry as he was. Somewhat hesitantly, he sat up, scratching his stomach absently as he did. The dog had stopped barking with a loud yelp and the rattling of the fence that held him. The noise was replaced by padded footsteps that were going around the side of his house. There was a moment of silence before Gohan heard the first few steps of his front porch creak and groan under pressure.

Rising to his feet, Gohan slowly walked to the door. He had a good idea of who he would find there and opened the door anyway. He had nothing to worry about except his dog, which had not made a sound for a few moments. When he opened the door, he saw Seven's bare back as he was walking away from the house, towards the wooded area. There was a fairly large package wrapped messily in a black cloth. Without thought, Gohan picked it up. It was damp to the touch and had left a red stain on the wood as well as his hands. He undid the knot hastily, curiosity overtaking his better judgment. Inside there were fillets and flanks of meat cut in a rather primitive manner- not like what one would pick up at the store. Well, this was unexpected.

"Hey, Seven!" Gohan clutched the package in one hand while waving the other one near frantically, as though the kid would not be able to see him.

The kid whipped around, blatantly startled by the outburst. He continued backing away, albeit at a snail's pace, after he was called. Gohan's natural smile faded from his lips and he stopped waving when he saw the stains on the kid's chest. Seven's raw anatomy was shocking overall with bones protruding and sinking in at exaggerated angles. His clavicles stuck out far while his chest was compacted and his stomach was concave with barely noticeable traces of muscle while his hips, which were entirely too high, jutted out so far and so sharply that Gohan was willing to bet that they could cut into flesh like knives.

No, this would not do at all. Gohan couldn't tell at this distance whether Seven was covered in dirt or blood and honestly, at this time it didn't matter between the two. There was a heavy bruise on either side of the kid's face and scrapes across his forehead. The whole mess looked like a damn concussion.

"Come here!" There was just no way Gohan was going to let the kid stumble and pass out somewhere in the woods, not while Piccolo was as far away as he felt. Hell, the kid looked about as steady on his feet as a newborn foal.

But Seven did not come. He listed a little to the right and cocked his head to the side, still retreating. Gohan's eyes narrowed in confusion before something dawned on him. The kid never came when he was being watched.

"Alright then" Gohan answered his own call. "The door's open if you change your mind." He stepped back into his house, leaving the door wide open as he did. He had barely been able to make it back to the kitchen when he heard his porch creak. A weak smile spread across his face as he placed the package in the sink, he'd prepare the food later.

The Boy was standing just outside the doorway, looking in cautiously.

"You know I don't bite?" Gohan joked, not ready to turn around just yet. If he did, that kid would never set foot inside the house.

He could hear the welcome mat in the front door squish under Seven's weight. A diminutive, guttural sound broke the air.

It was then that Gohan turned around to face the kid. Seven was standing like a deer in the headlights with his arms folded against his stomach and back hunched uncomfortably. His ears were folded back, pressed against his head and almost completely hidden by that mop he called hair. Gohan couldn't recall Piccolo's ears doing that, ever.

"Follow me" Gohan gestured to the boy as he strolled toward the guest bathroom that was several rooms away.

Gohan had only taken a few steps before he realized that there was no one following him. What was the problem? His back was turned, something that he was completely uncomfortable doing, but the kid was about as active as a coat rack. When he turned back to look at the kid, he found Seven staring at the floor in front of his feet. It was glistening with polish. That was something Gohan hadn't counted on. The kid had feet like a raptor that would, without a doubt, mar the wood so deeply that it may have to be sanded down if he were to step on he floorboards. This made Gohan pause. There was the stairwell nearly adjacent to the front door that lead to the concrete basement and doubled back up on the far wall to an exit that came out at his study, which had a bathroom. That was really the only way around scuffing the floor, which Videl would never ever let him hear the end of it for. With a solitary nod, Gohan redirected himself down the stairs. The kid followed behind him when he had reached the bottom and unlocked the door. It had been years since Gohan had personally been down there.

The door groaned on his hinges like a man who had been awoken from a deep slumber. The air inside was cold and made Gohan feel sick. It felt like rot and illness down here. Feeling the air for the drawstring that turned on the lights, Gohan fumbled a moment before catching it and pulling. A dim yellow glow filled the cavern. There might as well have been no light for how effective this one was. He followed the right wall until he came to the tool bench and then turned right again, so that he would be making a right angle and subsequently a beeline for the stairs and door. He could feel the kid's breath on the back of his neck. The Boy had never gotten so close to him, but in the dark, Gohan guessed it was different. Unsettling, but different.

His hands clasped the doorknob tightly and faltered before opening the door. He was leading this kid into his most personal area. Not even Videl really came in here and this boy was about to. It made Gohan's stomach twinge, even though there was nothing to hide. Some paperwork, old, dusty volumes, a mediocre desk and a set of furniture, and a picture window that was in need of cleaning- but all of it was private, down to the last dust bunny. When he opened the door, the world did not collapse on him, nor did the cosmos pelt him with stardust, instead the door swung open with a horrid shriek and a waft of central air hit him in the face. Things were going to be ok. The floor of his study was carpeted with what felt like red velvet, but it was simply a very plush material that was much cheaper. When Gohan stepped into the light of his study, Seven lagged behind him again, taking slow, calculated steps instead of rushing forward. Creeper.

Gohan began reflecting on how rash his decision was, but had not yet come to regretting it- yet. The restroom where the kid could wash up adjoined his study. It was a tiny room with a stark white tile floor that held little more than a sink, toilet, and a small medicine cabinet above the sink. Opening the door and switching on the lights, Gohan entered the room in one swift motion and waited for Seven to step in behind him. The kid seemed less than eager to be stuck in the cramped space, but for sake of cooperation did anyway. The glaring whiteness of the room illuminated every obvious scrape and imperfection of the kid's skin, which made Gohan wince. The Boy looked as though he had been involved in some epic battle instead of submitting to his own clumsiness. He was certain that it was only clumsiness. Gohan moved further in the room to grab a washcloth from the towel rack. He wasn't expecting the kid to take a step forward and follow him, which is exactly what happened. When Gohan stepped back to turn around, he stepped into Seven's chest, startling himself and causing the kid to flinch and consequently firmly plant his back into the wall with a loud thud.

"Kami, don't do that, kid." Gohan released the breath of air he had taken slowly before chuckling at the wide-eyed look on The Boy's face.

Without placing his back towards the kid, Gohan turned on the water and wet the cloth, wringing it out slightly with a firm grip.

This wasn't going to be so bad. This wasn't going to be so bad. This wasn't going to be so bad.

It was bad.

I could literally hear the air being sucked into the kid's lungs as I reached forward with the cloth to wipe one of the nastier cuts on his forehead. The look on the kid's face- it was sheer terror as he crawled down the wall, shying away from the touch. And he was trembling. What was wrong? I looked at the towel in my hand then back to his face.

"What are you afraid of, kid?" It was so much more comfortable to call him that name now. He edged closer to the ground.

"Everything." His voice was a small whisper, barely loud enough for me to hear.

"Well you don't have to be afraid of me."

And when he arched his shoulders I could see how fragile this was.

I sat down opposite of him, on the toilet lid nonetheless, and for the longest time we just stared at each other. I firmly believe that this is one of the most awkward moments of my life. I'm here sitting on the toilet with a damp towel in my hands while my best friend's son is sprawled across my bathroom wall, covered in scrapes and bruises no less, and is staring at me like I'm his assailant.

"Just let me-" I found myself unable to finish the sentence.

The way he was looking at me was just horrible. I didn't want to be looked at like that anymore.

"Just clean your wounds off, there are some bandages and antibiotic in the cabinet if you need them." I gently threw the towel into his chest and it landed with a wet smack.

I didn't stick around to see his reaction. In fact I barely managed to throw a civil "I'll be outside cooking" over my shoulder before leaving him.

I wasn't even concerned about him having a concussion anymore.

It just so happened that I did exactly what I said I was going to. I padded from my study to the kitchen, all the rooms were linked in a giant circle so it's easy to get from place to place, and washed the meat off, seasoned it lightly, and tossed it in a pan with some tongs to go outside for grilling. I had wanted grilled something or other for a while now.


The food was done by the time I saw the kid's face again and I was outside eating alfresco on the back porch. The meat had a strange taste to it. Not particularly bad, but different, like a lot of things right now. I tried not to think about it.

When I lifted my eyes to see Seven, not something I was keen on doing at the moment, I saw him with his hair plastered to his neck and face and still wet, although not dripping. His hair looked more like actual hair when it was damp. It almost looked soft. My gaze drifted back to the steak I was eating. I had finished off three others before and was in a better mood for it. Truth be told, I didn't want to look back at him, not at all. I never liked emaciated figures, they reminded me too much of how life withers away as the years pass; and there was nothing I could do about it.

I motioned to the ground next to me and, for once, he actually complied and crouched down beside me. His skin smelled uncannily like fresh cut grass and rain when it was wet. I guess he didn't care much for the Ivory soap I had. I caught myself glancing over at him, checking for any serious injuries; I knew he was a peach after all, and teeny little scratches and bites are magnified tenfold on him, but I could never be too careful. Even the bruises along his arms and neck seemed to be diminished. I must have been staring at him too intently or for too long because he caught me. His brow was knit and his eyes narrowed, but he wasn't angry, there was nothing of the sort scribed on his face. If anything, he looked curious. I would have preferred angry because I didn't know how to feel about this new look.

All this and he hasn't hardly spoken a word to me yet.

"Where did you hunt this at? I haven't seen wild boar in this area in a number of years." It was the only thing I could think of to distract myself.

His head drew back in shock as though I had said something wrong and nodded towards the east. I took his menial reply for what it was and finished eating, wiping my hands on the sides of my pants when I was through.

"Thanks" It seemed to be due.

Seven made a mild 'Feh' in response.

"You remind me of him." I spoke before I really weighed my words properly.

There was a pause for a moment; I assume the kid was contemplating my words.

"I can' understand how."

"Don't suppose most would."

"Then that's why you tolerate me." The reply was far more tart than I anticipated.

I made a slight sound of acceptance and looked toward the sky. The moon wasn't visible and the sun had long since retired. It was an off sort of night. This sort of thing was too confusing. When the kid abruptly stood, he jolted me from my thoughts. He was looking down the road. It was only a matter of seconds before the headlights of the capsule car cleared the peak. Seven shifted his weight like he was going to run off again.

I'm not sure why, but at that moment I didn't want him to go. When I grabbed his wrist, he tried to jerk away from me, but couldn't break my grasp. I wasn't holding on hard, just enough to keep him there. I told him to stay and he glowered at me like I was crazy. I'm an literature teacher for Kami's sake, and I couldn't even think of the proper words to convince this kid who was made of nothing but worry and bone and flushed cheeks. Things will never be this simple again.

And I knew Videl had been wanting to see him, now was her chance and perhaps her only one.

Somewhere not too far away, I'm sure the person I was looking for was watching.