Falling.

Drifting.

No ground, no air, no nothing.

It felt so much simpler this way. He didn't have to worry about anything. He didn't have to prove anything. He didn't have to feel anything.

Well, that last one he wasn't so sure he liked. He didn't mind the thought of not feeling pain, sadness or sorrow anymore but not feeling anything meant he couldn't feel happy or excited or...loved.

The last one was practically calling him. He remembered that all too well and despite the pain he'd been through, that always seemed to balance it out. There was literally no feeling that compared to falling asleep on the couch with his head on Daddy's lap and Mom coming up with a warm blanket. Nothing compared to it.

Except maybe...no, not quite as good but there was something to be said for feeling accomplished. For reveling in achieving something that took blood, sweat and tears. Super Saiyan was that for him. For so long, it seemed an unachievable goal, something only his father or Vegeta could tackle. Then, amid so much pain and struggle, he'd done it. Felt that raw power course through his veins. Felt the ability to stop anyone trying to hurt those he cared about.

Then he'd made it his natural state.

Those days adjusting and getting used to it was hard. Harder than almost anything else he's done even beyond turning Super Saiyan the first time. The first few days, he'd even broken down crying at how utterly painful it was and how much of a strain it was. His father as always, just kept pushing, encouraging. It was a torturous amount of time—trying to train and eat and bathe all while keeping a form that vibrated with power.

But eventually like snapping a binding rope or finally crushing through a dam, they'd done it. Everything became so much easier. The power was HIS. He controlled IT, not the other way around. Maybe it was a small thing but he was so proud of that. He'd set out with a goal and he'd done it! He'd done it! They'd come in here with a goal to get better, stronger, faster and he'd done it!

What happened to your beautiful black hair?! Who gave you permission to dye it? My little boy's turned into a delinquent!

His heart had sunk and it sank now at the memory. Dad had said Mom night not have been happy but she'd said if they were gonna do it, they better get strong. They had. He had. So why was it that he never got recognition from her for it? Maybe it was silly but the fighter side of him was just as important as the academic side. He was proud to be known as smart but he was also proud to be known as strong.

Couldn't Mom say that at least once?

What are you, a coward? You're going to let them die for nothing? Is that what Piccolo taught you?

Gohan opened his eyes and gasped a deep sob into his throat. That was probably the worst thing ever said to him. He had tried so hard...fought so hard. But he'd been afraid. He'd tried so hard not to be afraid but...

His father had always been his strongest cheerleader. That was something that he had always clung to. No matter what. For nearly all his life, it had never failed him but this moment, this single moment amid his memories, it always felt like weight pulling him down, cutting and burning and oh, he had tried as hard as he could and he was sorry that he couldn't be braver. That he couldn't have been stronger. That...

"Gohan!"

Blinking, eyes open amid black, suffocating abyss, Gohan took a sharp inhale of surprise. The heavy water choked his lungs. That was Daddy though! And not the memory-Daddy but Daddy-Daddy.

"I was wrong! And I'm sorry!"

How he knew it related to that moment, that singular painful moment, Gohan wasn't sure. But he did know. And like water being released from a barrier, he flopped onto sudden solid ground, hacking a good portion of dark water in the process.

But solid ground. No drowning weight, no impossible pressure. Just a moment to breathe. He allowed it to cover him. A moment to just breathe and be.

Perhaps it was a small thing but that 'I'm sorry' and 'I was wrong,' carried more weight to it than anything else he had been forced to face here. The phrase that weighed down his heart, this feeling of failure—that he had even for a moment made his father ashamed—that simple little phrase: I'm sorry and I was wrong.

That memory no longer held power over him.

Maybe he put too much stock in what other people thought or said but when you grew up being pulled so many different directions—do this, do better, be this, no be this...how could anyone blame him? Most children found out who they were when they were little and he was still figuring it out. He grew up knowing that if he didn't want to get yelled at or reprimanded, he had to do better.

But maybe that didn't make it true?

It was an odd and frightening concept. Much as he hated the pressure from his mother, from Piccolo and from just life, he thought he understood it. He thought he could make it make sense.

Except it didn't anymore, did it?

Was that why this happened now? Because all these past things had been lingering and building and the new baby just called everything into focus no matter how much he tried to ignore it?

"Gohan!"

Shaking his head, the boy lifted it. The waters had shifted and swirled and now it looked like an endless wall of waves with a swirling tunnel carved from the middle. Just on the other side, he could see his father. Pounding on something Gohan could not see, calling to him. Gohan could hear him, at least faintly but Daddy couldn't get to him.

Moving to stand, Gohan made his way to the swirling tunnel. It felt cold, threatening and suffocating. There was a slimy residue covering the ground, kind of like when you found seaweed coating coral and rocks. The entrance seemed a lot smaller than it did a minute ago.

His father was still standing just on the other side. It was an odd look to see on his father's face—fear, anger, sadness but overall, just pure desperation. He wanted to break his way through and run to him but he couldn't.

Which meant it was up to Gohan.

He looked up and down, cautious then slowly reached out, letting his fingers penetrate the soft film that seemed to block the entryway. Before he could lose his nerve, he stepped inside, his feet crunching and nearly slipping under the wet foundation.

That feeling he always got when that inner voice would scream at him was sudden overwhelming. He sank to his knees and whimpered, covering his ears.

Better!

Do better!

Be faster!

Be smarter!

Be stronger!

Hurts doesn't it?

Go home. Go home.

My little boy's become a delinquent.

They died because you were a coward!

All at once. All so much. He didn't want to listen. He didn't want to hear it. Daddy has said that his death wasn't his fault so did that mean all of this wasn't either?

Better! Better! Do better!

"Gohan!"

He looked up through tears eyes and saw his father so close yet so far. He had stretched out his hand to him and was monitoring him forward.

"You can do it, little man. I know it sounds horrible but those voices ain't right. You've never had to be perfect."

What?

It was like a thunderclap. A sudden noise that silenced all else.

"I mean it, little man. Nobody's perfect. I never wanted you to be perfect. I know your mom and I made some mistakes but she and I only just wanted you to have the best chance. She loves you for being Gohan, not because of what you do." He added, "You being Gohan is all you have to be. I know these stupid voices are sayin' different but they're wrong. Just be my Gohan."

It felt like fire now, raining down on his back. It burnt and it made everything smell like smoke and blood. Yet he moved his hands forward. Standing felt out of his range of skill right now. So, he'd crawl.

Daddy said he didn't have to be perfect but...but...

Piccolo had been right. He was a coward. He'd frozen and Tien, Chiaotzu, Yamcha...his cowardice had cost them their lives. He should have...he could have...

Hey, take it easy on him, Piccolo.

A new voice. One that he had not forgotten but that had buried itself among the scolding and censures. One that, perhaps, lingered more brightly than even the failures he felt were on his heart.

I mean, given his age and all, I'd say it's a miracle he's even out here. I mean, if it were me, I'd have been long gone by now!

Looking upward, Gohan let out a low half sob and half sigh of relief.

"Krillin."

It had been Krillin that told him that. And before him now, so faint it looked like a ghost, was Krillin, repeating it again. Again and again and each time he did, the flaming heat and freezing cold hit Gohan a little less intensely.

Krillin hadn't said he had to be perfect. He'd said that what he'd done had been great. Worthy of praise. That he was proud to stand by his side. That he was good no matter the mistakes he'd made. That Yamcha, a close friend of Krillin,

I can't undo it. But I can say I'm sorry.

His mother had said that, only a few weeks ago. That apology had lingered in his heart. She was right. Moms and Dads made mistakes. Frequently even. Much as the things she had said or done before in the interest of what was best for him still hurt, that statement made them sting less. Because it reminded him that she knew better now. She wanted to do better now. Sure, the events of the padt

So...didn't it make sense then if his mother and father could make mistakes and errors...if they weren't perfect than surely, he didn't have to be?

But...that was so hard. So hard to do and remember and even now, with these memories rushing through his head, his heart ached. Would...would this really help? Could it? It seemed impossible.

"Gohan!"

Again, he looked up.

His father hadn't moved and was still gesturing to him. "C'mon, Son! Look at you go! Look how far you've come!"

Chancing a glance back, Gohan saw that despite having to do this in his hands and knees, he was a good ways in. He was moving forward. He was able to resist...

Your father's history, Kid.

Waste of talent.

Waste of my time.

You could do better.

Go home.

It hurts, doesn't it?

It hurts, doesn't it?

It hurts

Some part of him, deep in his heart, fought back. Fought against the accusations, fought against the distorted memories that he knew—knew—couldn't be all true.

After all, Daddy and Mom didn't lie and Krillin wouldn't have lied to his face...was this like his interpretation of the Cell battle? Untruths that his mind has clung to?

Krillin believed he was good as he was. Mom might still have some work to do but she didn't want him to link his worth to how well he did. She loved him, he knew it. And Daddy...

I want you to do the best that you can and no matter what, I'll always be proud of you.

It was like there was an explosion. The walls of water exploded outward, scattering old memories—distorted memories—in any direction and Gohan was left sitting there, crouched down as the remains of the tunnel rained down around him.

That time in the Time Chamber.

As hard as it was, as trying on his body as it was, Gohan held those many, many days in such high regard. He remembered falling to his knees, exhausted only to be told about how the passion in his efforts that day were encouraging.

To be told that him lasting longer than yesterday was "the real victory" even though he would hit Super Saiyan for several more weeks.

He remembered his father listening, intensely, as Gohan asked and blabbed about ki and what could they truly do with ki outside of battle and how he'd love to explore that when it was peaceful again.

How he used to sit on the end of his father's bed, feigning that he was cold when he really only wanted the closeness, and would fall asleep against his father's chest to the MSN's stories if his trips around the world and about how they'd take one themselves one day and see what Gohan thought.

You fail at everything! You're never good enough! You'll never be good enough!

Gohan pushed back against that voice and shouted as he made his way to his feet, "No! No, I don't fail everything. I'm good enough."

It felt wrong. Like, he was telling a lie or sneaking out against rules. He felt a little sick to his stomach in actuality. Saying it aloud made his legs quiver.

"Yes!"

Gohan looked up again and his father was all smiles. "Yes! You tell them, little man. You're enough. Cause you're Gohan. That's all you hafta be!"

Gohan took a few more steps towards his father, knees still quivering and now, he stopped, panting. The fractured pieces of water around him were moving, swirling and instead of reforming into walls of thundering water, he saw the mangled forms of Yamcha and Tien. He saw a monstrous form of his mother and father. He saw twisted and darker versions of Cell, Freeza and Raditz.

Too weak

Too clumsy

Cowardly

Failure

Your fault, your fault, your fault!

Gohan inhaled and locked eyes with his father. The man had moved to sit on his knees and was gently urging the boy on, gently. "Just because they say it, little man, doesn't make it true."

Gohan wanted to believe it. But it felt so overwhelming, all these old memories. Did he really believe he wasn't at fault? He didn't know honestly. It was all so much and he WANTED to believe it but...but he'd only just managed to figure out the battle with Cell. It wasn't so easy as saying "oh, well, I just won't believe that anymore." Your mind didn't just give up thoughts that easily.

But this idea—that he didn't need to be perfect—that felt achievable. That felt more truth than lie for the first time in a long time. Not full force but...more than it had before.

The hissing of the forms surrounding him suddenly felt hot. The feeling that happened when ki was being gathered for attack. It felt that the fire that had rained on his back.

You let us die!

Yamcha. Or this twisted form of Yamcha. Twisting his already burned and decaying arms only to launch a ball of intensity at him.

But it never hit him.

Gohan blinked, surprised, and gaped at the ghostly visage of Krillin. And once again, he heard that comforting tone: "I think it's a miracle he's even here...I would have been long gone!" Then another, warm and welcoming. "Chin up, little buddy."

Another step forward and this time, the image of Krillin walked with him. Yamcha or Image Yamcha's attacks did not penetrate Krillin. And with each attack, Gohan heard his friend again "Wow, you're a lot stronger than you look!" and "Little buddy, you got this."

Step forward again. A step closer.

No! I will not! You're not going to end up in a gang like your father! You're going to get an education and be worth more than just muscle! Do you hear me?!

Gohan winced and withdrew. Yes, yes. Study, get smarter, be better. Be better. Be smarter. Be...

"I never wanted anything but you to be the best you could be. I had...some wrong ideas on how to tell you that, Gohan."

Opening his eyes, he saw, just like with Krillin, a shadowy version of his mother. Solid by his side and countering each shout of the twisted version of his mother with one of her own. Words Gohan recalled from the several talks they had engaged in over the past few months.

"I only wanted you to have the best chance to be everything you could be. But I never stopped to ask WHAT that was. I...am still learning, Gohan. But I want you to know right now, that I love you. I love you so much. And forgive me for ever, even for a second, making you think that was something you had to earn."

This shadowy version of his mother caught the twisted version as she approached, martial arts stance solid. She didn't come any closer to him and Gohan kept walking.

These memories...these thoughts...these were the ones he needed to give power to. He needed them to be at the forefront, helping him. Helping him walk this gauntlet. He swallowed and reached out, his fingers touching a light film that just separated him from his father.

Goku looked right back him, eyes warm. He knelt, so they looked eye to him. And the Saiyan repeated the words that had shattered the tunnel of doubt.

"And no matter what, I'll always be proud of you."

Gohan swallowed, tears in his eyes. He pushed against the light film and he spoke out—to his father, to his own dark thoughts ultimately to himself:

"I...just have to be the best I can. It's not...perfect or nothing. It's...do the best that you can."

The world around them began to crack, the foundations of inflexibility challenged. Gohan spoke again, louder, fiercer.

"I...I just have to be the best I can be."

The film in front of him began to melt, drip like frozen snow giving way to spring.

"I don't...have to be perfect."

Then with a leap, he was wrapped up in his father's arm and he sobbed, as fiercely as if he had been reborn. Because, in a sense, he had.

"I don't have to be perfect."

His father's chin laid into his hair. "Nope. Just Gohan. That's special enough."

Gohan just repeated, sobbing and laughing all the same. As if a huge weight had fallen from his back and shattered around his feet. There was still pain, still trials to be overcome.

But he could breathe.

"I don't have to be perfect."