paralyzed2

A/N: Shounen Ai warning. (I'm going to post this warning every chapter, so get used to it ~_^)

Changed Body
Episode 2: Shattered

Watery obsidian eyes peeled themselves open and focused on the porous ceiling overhead. A bright light suddenly crept into the edge of his vision, stabbing his retina with its intensity. His gaze drifted towards the light, following it as it crossed over his face and moved to the other side. Then, growing tired, he allowed his eyelids to lower and shroud his eyes from view once again.

Dr. Toriyama turned off his penlight and smiled as he wrote the results of the test down on his chart. "Good, the sedative seems to be waning. How about we get that annoying tube out of your mouth so you can talk to us? You're certainly ready for it."

Piccolo's eyes drifted open and looked at him with a sharp, sleepy look. He hated being prodded, poked and touched so much, especially since he never really knew what was going on. But the idea of getting the tubes out of his throat did strike him as appealing.

"You won't be able to talk right away, but you will after the irritation goes away." The doctor approached the ventilator and turned it off, then disconnected the tubes from the one in the Namekseijin's mouth. He opened a smaller tube connected to the main one and said, "OK, when I count to three, I want you to take a deep breath and breathe out as hard as you can. Ready?" Grasping the tube, he began, "One, two…three!"

Following the instructions, Piccolo gasped as deep a breath he could manage and exhaled as forcefully as he would to cough. He felt the hard plastic being yanked through the parched, sensitive linings in his throat and coughed violently, his entire airway burning. He couldn't swallow right away, let alone attempt to speak. The first attempt he made sent him into another coughing fit, as if his own vocal cords had rebelled against him. The coughing itself was painful and weak, more like a gag than a cough because his abdominal muscles could no longer move to add force.

All the Namekseijin could manage was a cold glare when the doctor remained seated at his bedside, then he whispered painfully, "What does it take to get some peace and quiet around here?!" Even whispering made him cough, and he hated it!

"I know you want to be left alone, and I'll leave in just a minute. But first we need to do a really important test." Dr. Toriyama's coat rustled gently against his trousers as he got to his feet and took a special device from his pocket. It looked like a piece of cardboard with two pins sticking out the bottom. "I'm going to poke you with this. Blink your eyes twice for me when you feel two pokes, all right? Don't try to talk."

Annoyed, Piccolo blinked his eyelids twice to signal OK, wanting nothing more than to crush that human's skull in with his bare hands.

"Here we go." Dr. Toriyama started by poking Piccolo gently above the fleshy foreskin-like sheath where the catheter entered, applying enough pressure to dent the leathery skin, and watched Piccolo's eyes carefully for a response that didn't come. The gentle pinpricks moved over a set of ribbed pink abdominal muscles and up towards a set of heaving pectorals.

Piccolo waited in silence while the test went on, his sensitive ears hearing each rustle of the doctor's coat mixed with sounds of the monitor and noises from outside the room. For the longest time he felt vague pressure, like a limb that had fallen asleep and gone numb, but there was no itchy tingle to signify it was returning to life.

It was an eternity before he felt the two distinct points touch his skin just below the collarbones. He blinked twice rapidly, then again to make sure the doctor saw him. His eyes remained closed after that, allowing him to take comfort in the darkness.

"OK…" Dr. Toriyama's coat rustling moved to the foot of the bed, "All right. I want you to try and push against my hand with your foot."

What now? Piccolo waited for the doctor to pick his leg up so he could move it around and get this test over with. He waited to perform an action that was so easy to do every day for as long as he lived. So simple to just move his leg and stand up. So simple to bend his knee to make himself more comfortable. So simple to use his foot as a weapon to kick away annoying enemies.

Finally, tired of waiting, he opened his eyes and parted his lips in preparation to complain when he was met with something muscular, ridged and green with red strips outlining patches of pink. The limb was being grasped under the knee by one hand while another palm pressed against the sole of his foot. His leg was elevated already.

Is that my leg?

"Try to push against my hand, Piccolo." Dr. Toriyama instructed gently, his voice warm and encouraging to hide his dismay at the way this was going to turn out.

The Namekseijin watched helplessly as his lifeless limb was pushed gently back and forth despite his every effort to do as he was told. He tried until sweat gathered on his brow and the frustration had coiled so tightly he feared he would spring off the bed.

Move, dammit!

But the leg would not move.

"OK…" The dark-haired doctor, growing more dismayed, moved towards the head of the bed and carefully laid Piccolo's palm across his own while his other hand grasped the pen. "Try to squeeze my hand."

Piccolo's gaze shifted to the hand that suddenly seemed foreign, unable to feel the cool rubber glove against his palm. That hand had the power to rip the doctor's throat right out. It had the power to fire deadly beams of energy. It was strong enough to crush the weak with a single blow, and he couldn't move it. Not even a twitch.

"OK…" Seemed to be the only word in the doctor's vocabulary as he grasped onto the red-ringed wrist and held on gently, "Try bending your arm for me."

Piccolo sighed in annoyance, but he was able to flex his bicep and bend his arm a little. Straightening it back out again was a different story, however, as the task proved beyond impossible. The coil of frustration between his eyes began to wind itself another notch tighter.

He didn't ask what it meant or why, nor did he want to know. All he wanted was to be alone with the hot lump that was building just above his Adam's apple and crawling through the capillaries in his face like a slow heat. He wanted to be alone so badly his heart nearly burst right there in front of the doctor.

Dr. Toriyama wordlessly lowered his head and wrote something on his chart before walking out to face Gohan. Piccolo waited in silent tension for the door to shut before closing his eyes and allowing the silent tears he'd been holding back to slide down the sides of his face.

For the first time in his life, Piccolo dissolved into tears.

Magazines were rustling, their disturbed pages shifting beneath not-so-gentle fingers. Gohan's spiked-up bangs poked over the top of the last interesting magazine as he vigorously read through an interesting article about Albert Einstein. He was so intent on what he was reading that he failed to notice the person coming up from behind.

"Gohan?"

"Gack!" The magazine and chair went flying, and Gohan found himself lying at Dr. Toriyama's feet while other people in the waiting room gave him odd stares. "Oh, phew! You scared me, doc." He commented sheepishly, his face burning with embarrassment as he climbed to his feet.

"Ah, heh…sorry. I seem to have that effect on people." Dr. Toriyama chuckled, then became serious and began by sitting down, "Well, it seems Piccolo will retain enough control of his biceps to bend his arms, but everything from the shoulders down is completely numb. That means the injury is complete." He sighed, "We're looking at several months of rehabilitation and adjustment…and I have a feeling he won't be very pleasant to work with. He won't be able to power a manual chair, which means that we have to wait and see how he rehabilitates so we can get him a proper power chair…"

Deflating, Gohan ran a hand through his hair and hung his head, "He's going to be hell…he's used to doing everything on his own without having to depend on anybody. Now that's turned completely upside down on him… It's not fair!" He bit his lip, "It should be me in there…"

"Hey, don't talk like that, Gohan. These kinds of things can happen to anyone in the blink of an eye. Whether it be a stroke, an accident or another illness."

The man remained silent because it was true. His father had been the strongest man in the universe, yet he had been crippled with the heart virus. It was sickening to see him reduced to a convulsing mass of flesh and blood writhing in pain. And he had gotten better, only to die in the fight with Cell.

"Listen, Gohan…going in there upset will only make Piccolo more upset. People who sustain injuries like this are prone to serious depression, some so bad they take their own lives if they have the capabilities." Toriyama looked down at his pager when it beeped and adjusted his glasses to check the number, "I need to go. Remember what I told you, and let him know he can be open about what he feels whenever he wants."

Dismissing the doctor with a wave of his hand, Gohan turned the corner and entered the room where Piccolo was lying helplessly, his eyes shut and his expression stoic. It was good to see his face without all the tape and tubes masking its angular magnificence.

The curtains were open, allowing light to brighten the room and illuminate the old water-stains on the pockmarked white ceiling. Outside, brightly-colored flowers trembled in the wind while various butterflies and ladybugs crawled about on the leaves.

Ignoring the scenery, Gohan approached the bed and immediately noticed the dry tear stains on his mentor's cheeks. Unsure of what reaction would come, and unsure of Piccolo's state of mind at the moment, he dared to speak softly, "Piccolo? Are you asleep?"

Piccolo's eyelids drifted open to signify no, but didn't turn to face the handsome dark-haired man. Instead, they remained fixed on the dirty ceiling and offered zero clues of the storm that raged behind them. A storm that flashed with angry tears and thundered the question 'why?'.

Gohan reached down and placed a hand on one of his green cheeks, "Piccolo…please don't shut me out now. We'll get through this somehow…"

It was agony to speak, agony to breathe and agony to swallow, but Piccolo knew he had to if he wanted to set the other man straight. His cracked lips parted slowly and formed voiceless words, "Easy for you to say. You're not the one lying here." He said it with true sadness and anger, his eyes seeming to burn with the flame that once preceded an outburst of rage. "You don't understand…"

"You're right, I don't." Gohan spoke smoothly and calmly while Piccolo fumed, "But that doesn't mean I'm suffering any less, Piccolo." He rubbed the back of Piccolo's lifeless hand, momentarily fixated by the feeling of his cool skin, "I love you…that isn't going to change."

Piccolo bit his lip as Gohan's words touched the secret soft part of his heart. At the same time, it also brought him even more pain. Pain because he could no longer be the same lover he had been to Gohan before. Pain because he was a burden that was going to get in the way. Pain because he was weak.

Gohan lifted one hand from Piccolo's and brushed his knuckles over the angular curve of his green cheekbone, able to see the pain wracking his heart. He only closed his eyes, bent down and pressed his lips to the cool trembling ones, stilling them gently. "I always looked up to you when I was little, Piccolo. I want you to know that I still look up to you."

Unable to find the words to reply, the green man could only stare into his lover's sad, dark eyes. Eyes that mirrored his own inner turmoil.

"Get some rest, all right? I'll be back tomorrow." Gohan's words came from off to the side as he stood up and scooted out of view. The barren ceiling replaced his presence with black holes and water stains in various shapes and sizes. So he closed his eyes and took comfort in the dark blankness.

Not long after closing his eyes, Piccolo had a vague, but vivid dream about that white room he'd seen before being slammed back into his body. The intersecting white lines danced sweetly across his mind, mixed with the voices of laughing children, to grant him a brief escape from the knowledge of how bad his injuries were.

All of a sudden he was jerked from his dreams by the world shifting like a capsizing boat. He could hear the sound of a crank being turned and snapped his eyes open to find the bed had been turned on its side with him still in it. His eyes lowered to a pair of nurse's sneakers, "Hey…what the?" He gasped.

"Oops!" The nurse's bubbly giggle filtered across the bed, "I'm sorry for waking you, but you have to be turned every two hours to keep your lungs from filling with fluid." The sneakers moved from the foot of the bed to the side, and he soon found himself looking into the face of a young woman who looked very similar to Mrs. Briefs. Her hair was longer and her eyes a bit more slanted, but that was the only difference. "I'm Pam! I take it you must be Piccolo…well, it's nice to meet you!"

Piccolo could tell he wasn't going to like this nurse very much, and shifted his gaze away from her while she chattered endlessly about things he could care less about. Sheesh, and I thought Gohan was annoying as a kid. This lady is going to make me insane!

"Well, your blood-pressure looks a little high, but that's normal when you're laying down." Pam tittered, unstrapping something from his arm.

The sound of Velcro was nails on a chalkboard to the Namekseijin's ears. He opened his eyes to glare at the annoying nurse, only to discover her standing by his bed with a bag in one hand and a plastic urinal in the other. She was emptying a yellowish fluid from the bag, and it tinkled noisily into the plastic container. It took him a moment to realize it was his own urine.

Deciding not to question it, he closed his eyes as more of her chatter washed over him, "I think I already like taking care of you. Your chart says you don't need to have bowel movements, so keeping you clean is going to be a snap!"

Great…just great…Was all he had to say, though the words never left his mouth. Can this get any worse?

The rectangular fluorescent lights and porous ceiling were a blur of bright and dimmer white against his retinas. Vibrations made their way into the mattress in such a way that his teeth were rattling together, and one of the wheels were squeaking in a very annoying manner. Nasty smells from cleaned-up puke or undisposed wastes plagued his nose most of the way. Footsteps were constant like the charge of a million purebred stallions on a grassy meadow.

Piccolo sighed and continued staring up at Dr. Toriyama's flaring nostrils while he was transported to another wing of the hospital. It felt good to get out of that tiny room, but he hated being moved when unable to see where he was going. And on top of that, Gohan was late!

The motion came to an abrupt halt and the ceiling shifted to the left. He found himself being pulled rather than pushed, and the movement stopped again. Dr. Toriyama's face finally shifted towards him and a welcoming smirk appeared on his lips, "Well, this is where you'll be until you're well enough to leave. There is a window on your right and a TV in the corner above the door. A nurse will come in to check up on you every fifteen minutes, and every thirty minutes that nurse is going to give you a drink of water. It's best you drink what she offers to keep yourself healthy."

Only half-listening to what was being said, Piccolo gazed towards the ceiling. It must have been brand new, because there were no water stains. There was a fluorescent light fixture situated on the ceiling near the foot of the bed. The angle at which he saw it allowed him to use it as a mirror to see the street below through the window.

"Well, that's that. I'll be in from time to time to check up on you." Dr. Toriyama flashed a brief, empty smile before turning and heading out. His smile faded as his pager beeped, and he wound up bolting down the hall to take care of another trauma.

Piccolo resigned himself to boredly counting the holes in the ceiling until he felt a distinct presence approaching. Not long after that, footsteps came closer to his bed and Gohan's face leaned into his field of view. He couldn't even believe himself when he discovered how happy he was to see that handsome, youthful face.

Gohan was in a state of surprise himself when he saw his mentor smirk at him, and his eyes seemed strangely bright. Perhaps it was just the light from the window, or a reflection of the ceiling. "Hey, Piccolo." Then he leaned closer to the familiar green face and kissed his brow softly, "Sorry I'm late. The cab driver was new to the job and couldn't find the place."

"Why don't you just fly?"

"Because I don't want to scare half the city."

"Tch." Piccolo closed his eyes and sighed at the thought of flying, only because he knew it would be a long wait before trying it out again. His moment of dark solitude was broken by the sensation of a gentle hand tracing his jawbone. He liked it, though he would never admit it. At the same time, it depressed him because he could no longer reach out to feel his lover's face with his palm, or caress his hair while he slept. He had always thought he'd be able to do that, and now it had been taken from him.

"Why the frown? Is something hurting you?" Gohan's voice carried lightly over the noise out in the hall.

He sighed, "You could say that…I guess."

The young man shook his head to dismiss the cryptic reply and lifted his hand from the Namekseijin's cheek, "I heard they're going to start sitting you up in a week or so. I think it'll be nice to finally see something besides the ceiling, floor and the walls."

"I guess." Was all Piccolo had to say about that. Then he wheezed in a deep breath that proved more difficult than usual, an odd problem that was going on for the past several days. It felt as if something was lodged in his airway or pressing against it, but he couldn't tell since everything below his collarbones was completely numb. And since he figured it was part of his injury, he never mentioned it to the doctors or nurses.

Gohan frowned at the wheezing, "Are you having trouble breathing?"

"A little." He admitted, wrinkling his nose in annoyance and turning his eyes to the light fixture that reflected images of outside. Talking about his injury began to make him uncomfortable and he wished his lover would change the subject.

Again, Gohan knitted his dark eyebrows together. Then he shrugged and changed the subject, "I can't wait to get you out of here and back into my bed. Sleeping without you feels…lonely…" He looked to Piccolo's eyes in attempt to see what he was feeling. "It's not the same…"

"It never will be." Piccolo whispered bitterly, closing his eyes to avoid the other man's gaze. He felt suddenly hot all over, or at least in the areas where he still had feeling, and sweat started to break out above the level of numbness. Then his head started to pound and the skin around his face and neck acquired a faint purple hue as it began to flush. A wave of nausea washed over him, making him feel as if he was swaying on an unsteady boat.

"Hey, Piccolo? Are you OK?" Gohan moved closer to the bed and touched Piccolo's slick brow. "You're covered in sweat!"

"Is everything all right in here?" The nurse known as Pam walked in for a routine check. She looked over at Piccolo and noticed something was wrong almost right away. "Let me have a look here." Her voice bore a seriousness that Gohan could not ignore. "Piccolo? Do you feel too hot? Or that you might throw up? Does your head hurt?"

"Yes to all three." Piccolo grumbled as he closed his eyes. He set his teeth in annoyance when he heard the Velcro of the blood-pressure strap being attached to his arm. The silence following the evaluation of his blood-pressure proved to be not very un-promising.

"His blood pressure is going through the roof!" Pam gasped, "How long has this been going on?"

"Just now." Piccolo replied, ignoring Gohan's worried expression.

"You're experiencing autonomic dysreflexia, Piccolo. Something below the level of your injury is irritating your nervous system in a way it can't comprehend and your body is raising its blood pressure to compensate. Now it can't turn off its blood pressure and that is resulting in your symptoms." The nurse detached the blood-pressure gauge and hung it back up on the wall. She went about checking his catheter, the IV's and the straps holding him in bed. She blinked when she prodded the vest holding the halo traction in place, "What's this?"

Piccolo moved his antennae out of the way so he could roll his eyes downwards and see if the nurse was touching him. He found her hands pressed firmly on his chest and blinked, "I don't see anything!" He growled.

"You have swelling all in your chest area." Pam's ringlet curls began to bounce as she became more alarmed by the situation. "I'm going to get the doctor. Stay with him." She added for Gohan.

"Wha-" Gohan's question was lost in the hustle and bustle that followed.

Piccolo was aware of Dr. Toriyama coming in and prodding his chest the way Pam had. Though it didn't hurt, it did increase his headache and nausea, and his vision started to blur. More things that he couldn't remember transpired, and Gohan was lost in the shuffle somewhere.

The next thing Piccolo knew, he was in a brightly lit operating room. He could see the masked faces of surgeons and various machines all around. One of them was holding a syringe, telling him to relax and count backwards from one hundred. He barely managed to say the word 'ninety-seven' before his consciousness winked out and became a point of light in the distance.

When Piccolo struggled back to awareness, Gohan was sitting at his side, staring out the window with a Times magazine laying open in his lap. His hair was more of a mess than usual, a sign that he had been asleep and awakened during the course of the operation.

Dr. Toriyama looked at his chart and wrote down the time of Piccolo's awakening. Piccolo looked to him slowly, his vision blurred by grogginess, and asked in a mumble, "What was the big deal?"

The doctor spoke with seriousness as he put his pen back into his pocket. "Piccolo, your uterine sac was full of embryonic cysts and developing fetuses. It looks like your body went overboard at the accident and made every one of your egg-cells start to develop. I had to remove everything before it ruptured or suffocated you."

"You what!?" Piccolo stared in shock upon the realization that the most important part of his Namekian anatomy was gone, "Are they still alive?"

"No, they weren't viable." Toriyama replied solemnly, lowering his head to avoid his angry patient's harsh gaze, "I'm sorry, Piccolo. It was the only way to save your life. None of them suffered at all…if that is any consolation."

The Namekseijin stared at the doctor as if his gaze alone could burn into his head. When he spoke again, his voice was like acid, "You killed my children…" The rage increased, "Get out…get out! GET OUT!!!" The shout was strong enough to rattle the walls and caused a small pain in his neck. That pain was the only thing that kept him from shouting something vulgar.

Gohan jumped up so fast the magazine went flying across the room. "C'mon." He grabbed the shocked doctor by the arm and hauled him out into the hall. Dr. Toriyama only had enough time to emit a gasp before he was nearly yanked off his feet and dragged through a door.

As soon as they were gone, Piccolo closed his eyes and bit his lip fiercely as a round of bitter tears raced down his face. Tears for the children he lost, for all those tiny lives that would never have a chance to see the world. "They were my children, my creations…and he killed them…he killed them…"

Gohan crept back into the room and over to Piccolo's bed. He lowered a hand to brush the tears from his green cheek with a gentle caress, "Piccolo, I'm so sorry…I wish there was something I could do…"

Piccolo bent his elbow with what little strength he still had in it and batted Gohan's hand away from his face, able to hear the impact of skin-on-skin, but unable to feel it. The lack of sensation felt exactly like the numb coldness filling his heart. "You could have stopped him, Gohan, but instead you stood there and let him get away with this…" He hissed. "How could you? Don't you realize I lost my ability to regenerate in the wreck!? I can't get that back, Gohan!" The pain grew with each word he spoke.

"Piccolo, wake up! You would have died without that operation!" Gohan cried in exasperation while rubbing his wrist where Piccolo had made contact when he slapped his hand away.

"And you call this a life?"

"All life is precious, Piccolo. No matter what form it is in." He lowered his tone in hopes of enticing his mentor to do the same. His heart was squeezing in on itself like a fist tightening and relaxing around a sphere full of pain. Tears were welling in his dark eyes.

"Is that what your father was thinking when he get himself killed?"

Gohan jerked his head towards the Namekseijin lying in bed, "Don't you EVER talk about my father that way, Piccolo! He gave up his life so everyone on this planet could continue to live! He gave it as a gift to all of us!"

Piccolo closed his eyes and exhaled noisily, "Whatever."

"That's it," Gohan picked up the magazine he'd accidentally tossed across the room and placed it on a chair by the door. Then he grabbed his jacket and threw it around his shoulders, his eyes not moving from Piccolo. He really wanted to apologize, to do anything to keep his lover from feeling so angry at him. But he couldn't, he was too angry himself. "I'm leaving, Piccolo." With that, he turned to the door and walked out.

"Oh, sure. Just abandon me like your father did all of us!" Piccolo shouted after him. He knew it was untrue, but his anger gave him the urge to hurt people in any way possible. Since physical attacks were out of the question, he went for emotional blows, knowing this one would really draw blood.

The bitter words bit into Gohan's soul like a thousand knives and shadowed him on his way out the door. They followed him into the local bar, echoing relentlessly until he broke down and started slamming drinks. Only when he had gotten so drunk he could barely walk did the painful words finally fall silent.

Next thing he knew, he was sitting propped against the outside wall in a puddle of his own vomit and urine. He could barely see straight, but managed to look up when a voice called out his name. A blurry shape with dark hair was bent over him, shaking his shoulder.

"Gohan? What happened? Are you all right?"

Gohan didn't remember what he said in reply. All he remembered was being carried into a car, then into a house. He remembered having his clothes slipped off and the relaxing warmth of lying close to another warm body in a bathtub. He also remembered feeling the intense pleasure of making love to someone, a sensation he'd missed since Piccolo's accident. He even remembered someone lying with their arms around him in bed. Then everything became a dreamless oblivion.

The morning sun jabbed his skull, forcing him to grope for the string that closed the shade. Unable to find it, he pulled the covers over his head to wall off the bright glare. "Unh…" He groaned, "Whoever made the sun that bright must think it's a funny prank to shine it on someone with a hangover…" The cloth sheets muffled his voice.

A strong arm reached up from under the blankets to pull the shade down, then moved to curl around his waist. The sheets rustled as the warmth drew itself nearer to his back, and a pair of lips grazed the back of his neck. "Better?" A voice spoke from lips no further than an inch from his ear.

Gohan blinked at the familiar voice and sat up, looking down at his naked body. No, he couldn't have …could he? Yes, yes, he did. He remembered the pleasure from the night before, how wonderful it was to feel that way again. And all he could utter in regards to that evening was a single word.

"Yamcha?"