Notes: Yes, I said 'End,' in the last one, because it WAS the end…What I'd wish to call the end, but, under circumstances, it is not. Not yet. By the way, I've renamed Gohan's pet dragon…I hate the name 'Icarus', so it's 'Ladon'.

~

"Are you okay?"

The words stung with the malice of poison, and clung to his skin like ticks. There was a tickling sensation spreading over his back, something equal to the feeling of pins and needles. These words stabbed at his insides, a dark coldness sweeping…Three words…

"Piccolo? Piccolo?"

Gohan's voice was pleading. It would've been a whine, if it had been one note higher. The little boy sounded like a nurse; one of those people constantly trying to cheer people up and spread everlasting happiness in the world. Piccolo could hear Gohan taking crunching steps in the snow.

"Piccolo?" Gohan tried a third time, "Are you okay?"

The other refused to answer. Or maybe he hadn't heard Gohan, due to the harsh winds of the north. Or maybe he had, on purpose, shut him---and everything---out of his mind. The Namekian was still. He was sitting cross-legged, his back straight, and facing an iceberg. The wind howled around him, echoing wolves' cries, and the snow was swirling violently. Some hail had found its way from the skies and pelted Piccolo's bare skin with the ferocity equal to tiger claws. The Namekian's only clothing was the torn gi he wore on his person. His cape he had wrapped a corpse with, and his turban was nowhere to be found. Yet, Piccolo seemed utterly oblivious to the cold. He was still as stone. Nothing could hurt him…Nothing could scratch a stone's heart…

"Sensei?"

The tip of Gohan's finger had touched Piccolo's shoulder. Piccolo almost didn't feel it; his skin was too numb to feel anything other than cold. The spot of his shoulder warmed, then ice again. Piccolo continued to ignore Gohan, much less to what Gohan was saying.

"Sensei, please…You can't stay here! You'll freeze to death! I know…" Gohan gulped, "…That Sotari meant a lot to you, but you can't do this to yourself… Marissa is wondering where you are…and Naomitsu…He's trying to be strong, like you always are, but you're not there and he's not eating…"

Piccolo is not here, Piccolo thought, the heat of anger in his mouth, You are talking to a stone…Stones can never be hurt… They can not be broken. I feel my heart hardening this way… I will not accept the way of a softened heart like before… It is not…My nature…I've had enough.

Piccolo suddenly realized that Gohan had fallen silent. "What, boy?" was on the tip of Piccolo's tongue…But he frowned, automatically halting the question. It was easier that way…Gohan wouldn't know that Piccolo knew that he was there…And they wouldn't have to talk… Wouldn't have to bring him home and show his shameful face to his children…To see their painful, bright pink eyes that shone like mirrors…Both looking and acting so much like Sotari that it pained Piccolo in his gut that they were more her children than his… Such wrong things…Prevented well, in Piccolo's opinion, by the simple action of silence.

"…Well, if Silence is all you're going to have, Piccolo!" Gohan raised his voice abruptly, as if he had been reading Piccolo's thoughts, "It is all you can depend on!"

The little boy shivered, though his thick snowsuit covered nearly every inch of his body.

"You're still not talking… Look, I know it was bad for to lose Sotari, but that can't be the end of your life! Your children are only one reason…Kami is gone, and Dende has no guidance…And…and…and…There's me…"

He paused.

"Piccolo…We need you."

Interesting. It was three words that hardened one's heart…And three words to soften.

'Are you okay?' 'We need you.'

Different. Significant. Piccolo's eyes opened for the first time in a long time. He blinked, and painful tears froze before they could be shed. The brilliant light of the snow nearly blinded him. He waited a few moments, for his tender eyes. Gohan nervously stood behind him, quavering and unsuspecting of Piccolo's movements. He suddenly saw Piccolo slump over. Gohhan's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened.

"Piccolo!"

He rushed over to his former sensei, but Piccolo suddenly straightened up again. He stood, now, a bit stiff in his joints. Gohan stood, amazed. Piccolo had drawn himself to his full height, a giant. He turned to face Gohan. The former demon said nothing, but only laid his hand on Gohan's head. A moment passed. Gohan opened his mouth.

"Sensei…"

Piccolo turned away from him. He walked into the deeper of the snowstorm, into a white, snowy flurry of darkness. Gohan reached out a hand, but a blast of snow whipped at his face. The half-Saiyajin threw up his hands, protecting his face for only a moment… By the time he uncovered his eyes, Piccolo was gone, and so were all traces of footsteps. Gohan sensed Piccolo's ki become further and further…

Has he abandoned us?

~

You are talking to a stone…

~

Gohan brushed the snow off his shoulders. He breathed deeply, smelling the sharp, warm aroma of cinnamon rolls. The atmosphere in the Son house was cheery and bright, like it had always been. In the living room, a visible fire was merrily crackling in the fireplace. Snoozing on a rug was Ladon, Gohan's faithful pet dragon. Chi Chi was cooking something for supper. Gohan sensed she had not, for once, known he was gone… Or maybe she was in a good mood now and would yell at him later.

"Oh well…"

A recent memory flashed across Gohan's mind…

*~*

"Good morning!" shrieked Marissa, her tiny arms widespread to greet the day, "Good morning!"

Gohan sleepily rubbed his eyes.

"Marissa…It's 3am…" he yawned.

"Three, three, three!" said Marissa, frog-hopping on the stone tiles of the Lookout, "three!"

Gohan rolled over in his sleeping bag. Maybe an overnight at the Lookout after the Cell Games really was a bad idea…

"Uncle Gohan! Uncle Gohan!"

The half-Saiyajin sat up, and he leaned on his hands and blinked drowsily. Marissa had dashed back to Gohan and grabbed his neck. She planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, Uncle Gohan!"

"Love you, *yawn* too, Marissa."

Marissa didn't let go; however, she loosened the vice around Gohan's neck, enough to look him earnestly in the eye.

"Uncle Gohan?"

Gohan stifled yawning in her face.

"What?"

"Where's Mommy?"

The other was taken aback; though she did have a right to know…

"She's…she's…" Gohan didn't know how to put it lightly, "…Gone."

Marissa blinked, not understanding.

"Gone?" she asked.

Gohan nodded, "…De---"

"Where's Daddy?" Marissa interrupted.

"He's…"

The half-Saiyajin paused. Where was Piccolo?

"Marissa, I…"

"He won't come back," Marissa interrupted again with abrupt frankness.

He stared at her. Marissa blinked. She suddenly let go of him and flopped down in her sleeping bag. Her back was to him.

"Good morning!" she said, just as happily as before, but Gohan couldn't see her face, "Uncle Gohan!"

*Good acting…* Gohan thought.

"Good night…" the latter said aloud, his voice trailing off to a whisper, losing himself to deep thoughts, "Marissa…"

*…I wonder if she really knows…?*

*~*

"Gohan!"

The voice rang with the cheeriness of Christmas, though it was only May. Gohan took a quick check of himself, ensuring that no evidence was found that he had been to the snowy mountains. At last, he trooped to the kitchen, sitting down at the table.

"Good evening, Okaa-san," Gohan said politely.

"Good evening, Gohan," replied his mother brightly, handing him a drink, "Just a moment, dinner's almost done. Just need to…"

She gave a small squeal and blew on her hand.

"Ouch!"

Gohan did not move, and much less spoke. He watched, quietly sipping the glass of milk, as his mother ran her hand under some cold water. Suddenly, he felt himself shiver. Chi Chi had whirled around at the moment, and stared.

"Gohan? Are you okay?"

"Okay…?" Gohan repeated the word, remembering his encounter with Piccolo, "Y-yeah."

"Are you sure?" Chi Chi put the plate of food in front of him and laid her hand on his shoulder.

Another three-word question, Gohan suddenly thought.

"You're awful quiet, Gohan," Chi Chi remarked, "You must be thinking about what you've studied today."

"Oh, yes," Gohan replied absentmindedly, "I read that book you gave me about Greek mythology."

"And?"

Chi Chi looked pleased with herself.

"And…"

Good thing Gohan had instant recall.

"Ladon was the dragon that guarded the Golden Apples of Atlas…"

He quoted the book---often---and hardly knew what he said after he finished his lecture. By then, he had hardly eaten anything.

"Goodness, Gohan!" Chi Chi exclaimed, taking a glimpse of the clock, "What a lecture!"

She swiftly glanced at his plate.

"You've hardly eaten anything."

"I'm…" Gohan tried to think of something other than 'I'm just not hungry', "I'm…Full up of knowledge."

That sounded lame. Chi Chi, however, nodded in understanding.

"Ah, yes, many great scholars did that…"

She took the plate and headed back to the stove.

"…Just don't do it too often, Gohan…"

"…Okay, Okaa-san," Gohan said vaguely.

"I'll just heat your meal again. You really do need to eat something."

"Okay, Okaa-san."

Upon that, Gohan put his head in his hands. He felt glad---and guilty---of the home he could come to…

~

Stones can never be hurt…They will not be broken.

~

Piccolo was meditating. High on a mountain, he sat in various positions, where nothing could reach him, not even Gohan. Though the snowstorm still raged around him the atmosphere was calm here, nearly reaching the skies themselves. Breathing was difficult. The thin air offered only shredded pieces of precious oxygen. Piccolo rarely went to mountain tops for meditating, and he felt rather light-headed.

After what seemed like many hours, Piccolo dared opening his eyes. He half-expected to see Gohan hovering in front of him, with that round face and pleading eyes. A rather pathetic sight…as the old Piccolo would've thought. A feeling of nostalgia swept over Piccolo, and he began daydreaming (a rare occurrence) of old days when he rampaged around the world destroying other people. All the people he killed… It was like an old high that one missed. Piccolo winced.

It wasn't that bad, he thought to himself, I didn't have feelings then. I was like a stone. Nothing could hurt me. Nothing could hurt me…

The last thought seemed to echo. Piccolo could almost wish he was his old self again. His spine straightened at the thought.

Wish myself back?

The more he thought of it, the less crazy the idea seemed.

That old high always felt good…Even if it was killing people… But there are so many people on this planet anyway… I would have no feelings… I'd never be hurt again. Never again…

The corner of his mouth tugged into an insane little half-grin.

"Never again… Why not? Who would care?"

He stood up to leave.

~

I feel my heart hardening this way…

~

Gohan sat at the window seat, his blank eyes unfocused on the open night scenery. It was not a very attractive night. Everything outside was still freshly wet and muddy from the week's constant rain. The rain had been very gloomy, the great droplets pounding against the roof of the Son House like the beating of a drum. After eight days, the rain had eventually stopped, leaving everything quite dampened, including Gohan's spirits. He was still worried about Piccolo.

Is he still in the North? Does he still refuse to come home? I wonder what his children think… But I wonder…could he be dead?

The half-Saiyajin leaned against the window frame and sighed deeply. His breath briefly appeared on the window glass and vanished, along with Gohan's doubts that Piccolo might be dead in the mountains.

No, he could not… He would not be that foolish to stay in the snows…would he?

A bright light was glowing the distance from his window. Gohan had noticed it for a while, but did not pay any attention to it. After all, people did light bonfires…

I have never seen him done anything like this… Even before his first [and only] date…

The light grew brighter. Interested, Gohan's eyes lifted towards the distance…

"What is that?"

He half-stood, kneeling on one knee. His shrewd obsidian eyes focused on the light. There was something strangely familiar about it… Another flash of golden light nearly blinded Gohan, and he shielded his eyes. There was a heating pressure in the air, and Gohan felt his face become moist with sweat. Something dark and good, hot and cold, cruel and kind…It was enormous, flying through the sky with a long, muscled ribbon body… Piercing eyes…

"Shenlong!"

Gohan gave a small gasp. He immediately knew.

"Piccolo!"

~

I will not accept the way of a softened heart like before…

~

Piccolo stood at the base of the dragon. He dared looking up with that insane grin of his in full effect. The Namekian could already feel some of those old feelings rushing back to him. It would not be long now…

§~*~WHO DARES AWAKE THE DRAGON FROM HIS ETERNAL SLUMBER~*~§

The red eyes glowed ominously. Piccolo was unruffled.

He bolding cried: "I have but one wish, my lord."

Shenlong glared at him.

§~*~DO SO AND BEGONE~*~§

Piccolo opened his mouth, then shut it again. A halting feeling of caution and wonder suddenly swept over him… What if he didn't like what he wished? What if he didn't want to wish anything at all? Piccolo hesitantly spoke to Shenlong.

"I…I actually don't remember."

He shut his mouth quickly. So stupid! There was a hot scowl from Shenlong.

§~*~IF THERE IS NO USE FOR ME, I SHALL BE OBLIGED TO RETURN MY SLUMBER~*~§

Piccolo's head hung in shame. Shenlong bowed his head, allowing one more minute to pass before he spoke again. Though he was a dragon of power, Shenlong was unusually patient.

§~*~ARE YOU SURE THERE IS NOTHING~*~§

Those red eyes seemed to be searching Piccolo. Uncomfortable, Piccolo shouted the first thing that came to mind.

"I WISH FOR SOTARI TO RETURN TO THIS WORLD," he paused, "IN THE CONDITION BEFORE SHE FOUGHT CELL."

Shenlong bowed his head. A rustled suddenly stirred behind Piccolo, and a black blur shot out. It was Gohan.

"Sensei, NO!" yelled Gohan, skidding to a stop in front of his bewildered friend, "Don't kill yourself!"

Piccolo stared stupidly at Gohan.

"I wasn't going to kill myself."

Meanwhile, Shenlong spoke again (ignoring Gohan): §~*~YOUR WISH CANNOT BE GRANTED~*~§

Gohan's mixed expression was of triumph and relief.

"Thank God!" he said, on the point of hugging Piccolo, "That Shenlong won't allow you to kill yourself!"

Piccolo looked irritated.

"I told you, boy, that I wasn't going to kill myself!" the Namekian insisted.

§~*~IT IS NOT POSSIBLE FOR THE ARTIFICIAL DEAD TO RETURN TO LIFE~*~§

The half-Saiyajin's jaw dropped, stunned.

"WHAT!?"

Shenlong started to repeat his sentence, but Gohan didn't hear him. Instead, the half-Saiyajin directed his dialogue at Piccolo.

"You wished for Sotari to come back!"

Piccolo said nothing. Instead, he heaved a heavy, hollow sigh. Gohan stared at him.

"You know that she can't come back!"

"Yes…" Piccolo spoke, after some time, "Yes."

"Then why is Shenlong here?"

Piccolo gave Gohan a look the boy couldn't quite comprehend. Then, he vanished. How, Gohan didn't understand, but he turned to Shenlong.

"I wish Piccolo would…"

Shenlong bowed his head.

§~*~IT CAN NOT BE GRANTED~*~§

~

It is not…My nature…

~

Piccolo sat on the flat rock, his head in his hands, miserable. Some sadist might have called it 'A lovely picture of the decapitated happiness'. Indeed, this was the very case. Not only was there love labor's loss, but also the irritating feeling of previously open stupidity knifing another budding red wound in his pride.

The only thing that could possibly make this worse was world annihilation…Second to a darkening premonition of Gohan's death. Random people were spontaneously dropping dead everyday, so, was there any reasoning not to think Gohan was next? Sure, a half-Saiyajin such as that boy was strong, but not that strong…

The Namekian stood up, determined to shake these depressing thoughts away somehow. The task, however, was a highly delicate matter to broach. One could not hurry away feelings like love, depression, and tragedy, which were slow to begin in the first place. Those types of feelings dwelled in one like a rented home, and after some time the 'guests' became familiar and family-like paraphernalia. In particular, one might even be ensconced to deign these feelings, honoring a long-time image and fantasy and many times rejecting reality and optimism. These were the subjects Piccolo had to approach, persuade, and conquer. How was he to do it?

Unfortunately, Piccolo could simply not psyche himself enough to tackle his objective. Instead, he responded with his usual reaction to frustration: Rage. There was the usual bulk in his muscles, the energy flowing in white waves, and then, the Split. Two Piccolos stationed to Kill the Other, but only if the original Piccolo allowed that.

Snap.

Piccolo's head jerked back violently. He could sense his double pull back his foot for a kick. Piccolo used his momentum to fly backwards in a circle. The other, however, knew this old trick. He waited a second more, just so Piccolo could come back around…

Crunch.

The foot collided with Piccolo's face. The double's timing was impeccable. Piccolo recoiled, agony rippling throughout his body via miles and miles of nerves. The very energy of pain seemed to materialize into a faint aura around Piccolo. The double did not stop to gape. He continued his assault, knowing and feeling every blow he struck…

Kick. Punch. Rustle. Swoosh. Crunch, Snap, Kick, Swoosh. CrunchSnapKickPunchRustleSwoosh.

The rhythm was fantastic. Even the most gifted of dancers and talented warriors would envy the precision! Each knew the other so well that the turn of a muscle or the unintentional bat of an eye determined defense or attack. Each score was well aimed and well earned. The sweep, the grace, the energy! Indeed, if this was a show, who knew what a real fight looked like?

Thrice, Piccolo thought of halting the fight. Three times…Three words. He frowned, dodging a kick. How strange. How three, crucial words could change someone… Piccolo seemed to be thinking of a list as he fought.

I love you.

It's all right.

It's your fault!

Wait for me.

Are you okay?

I need you.

Is that so?

I don't understand.

Leave me alone!

Do go away!

Is that enough?

You dirty liar.

Please kiss me.

Marry me, dear?

Think of me…

I hate you.

I've had enough.

Piccolo's eyes widened at the thought, incredibly incredulous.

I've had enough.

A wild notion. His partner punched him in the face.

I've had enough.

Piccolo caught the next punch. As if in a state of subconscious, he held his own hand and crushed it between his fingers. He could hear every crunch and snap of thick bone, and feel the pain of his own hand… It was a matter of an eye blink when the two merged again. Full pain…Agony… Despite this, Piccolo smiled.

He was free.