You had to give Kami this much, Krillen thought – the old guy had stage presence. He swept into the Son house backlit by the brilliant light streaming in from the doorway behind him so that it caught the whiteness of his robe and glowed faintly. That, and the sense of timing, of course, had rendered everyone speechless, so Kami, for the moment, had the floor. He fastened each of them with a stern, wise sort of look, as if he was assessing each of them internally and weighing what he saw, before he gave a subtle nod of satisfaction.
"Good," the old man said. "You're all here. That will save time, and we don't have much of it."
Piccolo folded his arms. "This is highly irregular, god," he said with an edge in his voice, and Krillen suddenly remembered that Piccolo hated Kami-sama with the kind of crazy-around-the-eyeballs intensity that had resulted in demolished arenas in the not-so-distant past. "Isn't it a little risky for you to be stepping off that divine platform of yours?"
Krillen wished, for the first time in his life, that he had a little touch of those weird mind-tricks that Piccolo and Goku seemed to have. He settled for murmuring, "Deep breaths, pal, let's hear what he has to say," to Piccolo sidelong and hoping that his words would penetrate the homicidal rage.
Piccolo gave him a chilly sidelong look, but so far, he didn't seem to be powering up, and that was a small miracle in and of itself. Krillen seriously doubted the house had the structural integrity for that kind of an energy surge.
"Risky," Kami conceded, "but necessary."
"Couldn't just send a messenger like you usually do?" Piccolo continued darkly. "Possess an accountant, maybe?"
Kami sighed theatrically. "You're only angry because that worked."
Greatly daring, Krillen physically reached over and snagged Piccolo's cape with one hand. "Thirty seconds, that all I'm asking," he muttered, hopefully too quietly for anybody but maybe Cymbal and Kami to hear.
"Big ask," Piccolo muttered back.
Kami gave them a loftily-taking-the-high-road sort of look, which Krillen thought was maybe a little too much like waving a red cape in front of a bull for his currently-very-fragile peace of mind. "Maybe you better talk fast? With all due respect," Krillen added hastily when Kami glanced his way.
"You have a problem," Kami said. He folded his hands behind his back rather elegantly.
"Well," Cymbal said from the kitchen, "it's a good thing we have our old, reliable Uncle God to stop by and tell us when everything's completely fucked to Hell and back. We'd never have figured that out on our own." The older demon had folded his arms as well and was leaning against the door frame of the kitchen, and while he didn't LOOK as whipcord tense as Piccolo, there was definitely a mirroring lack of rational stability on his face.
Krillen sighed, because it was entirely possible that Cymbal might hate Kami as much as Piccolo did, and while he stood some incredibly marginal chance of preventing Piccolo from beating the arrogance off of their first-stop local deity, he figured he had about as much chance of stopping Cymbal from doing anything as he did of telling the sun what time it could rise. He looked over at Bulma meaningfully in a way that he HOPED said, Control your buddy there, will you?
Bulma gave him a subtle, grim nod and moved a little – just a little – so that she was standing between Cymbal and Kami. The annoying thing was that she could do that without ever interfering with the creepily-intense eye contact they all had going on, what with every green person in the house being a good foot taller than anyone else.
Kami-sama sighed. "Our local issue is being personally overseen by the North Kioh," he said. Cymbal jumped slightly at the announcement; Piccolo didn't react except to scowl more. Kami gave the humans present a sort of absent nod. "Forgive me – he is the deity in charge of all of the various planets in the northern system. To merit his attention is a sort of honor. He is a very 'big picture' kind of god."
"Get on with it," Piccolo said.
"Thus, the North Kioh," and here, Kami paused to peer upward as if a little concerned someone might be listening in, "while he is exceedingly wise and competent…"
"I think his plan of attack is to bore us to death," Cymbal muttered from the kitchen doorway.
"I'll go high, you go low," Piccolo muttered back, and trust Krillen's damned luck that those two would choose NOW to get on the same page.
"….trivial mortal matters like, say, time zones tend to fly under his celestial radar."
Krillen blinked. "Time zones, Kami-sama sir?" he ventured.
Piccolo muttered something in his own language that Krillen was pretty sure was "suck-up."
"The Saiyans, per the information the North Kioh gave you," Kami said to Piccolo, "Will arrive on May the 9th."
"And?" Piccolo said flatly.
"In East City," Kami continued. As if that should explain everything to everyone listening and his work here was done. Krillen was beginning to understand why Picolo wanted to punch the guy.
When everyone continued to look at him blankly, Kami sighed again. "Which is, you know, east of here by quite a lot. By several hours, in f-"
"DAMN IT!" Bulma said. Then, as if realizing she'd just spat out that invective in front of a godly figure, she said to Kami, "No offense."
"Oh, none taken," Kami said, waving her off.
"You want to explain it to the rest of the class, maybe?" Yamcha suggested.
"It'll be May the 9th in East City about EIGHT HOURS before it's may the 9th here!" She rounded on Krillen. "What TIME did you wish Goku back? What was the EXACT TIME? And WHAT DID YOU WISH FOR?!"
"She's a quick one," Kami said to Piccolo mildly. "I've always liked her."
"Given the way she drives and still manages to keep living, you must," Yamcha muttered.
"It was afternoon," Krillen said quietly. "I don't know exactly when – three, maybe four? And I wished he would come back in three days." And then he understood. "Shit," he said.
"Wait a minute – wait," Cymbal said. "You mean to tell me you lot were smart enough to send me off on some damned fool's errand looking for weapons in the most dangerous places on the planet so that you could make this wish while I wasn't here to stop you, but you were too damned stupid to factor in time zones?"
"It's the paradox of the human condition," Kami said with a magnanimous sort of shrug, and Krillen thought he was possibly offended on behalf of all humanity. "As near as I can tell, it'll be about an eight hour gap between the Saiyans' arrival and Son Goku's resurrection."
"And it didn't occur to you to mention that tiny little detail to me, oh….hours and hours ago when it would've done some damned good?" Piccolo asked. No doubt about it, he was definitely looking a little red around the eyes.
"You know the rules as well as I do," Kami said mildly. "I'm bending them enough being here now, but in End Times conditions…"
"END TIMES?" Krillen barked.
Kami gave him a sort of apologetic smile that startled him a little – it was just a kinder expression than he was used to seeing on these guys. "It's just a designation for periods of times that MIGHT result in the end of the world, Krillen," he said. "Not a guaranteed world-ending event. We entered into a potential 'End Times' designation the minute you wished Son Goku back with that blasted time lapse differential. Gives me a lot of flexibility in the Signs and Dire Warnings department."
"Back up," Yamcha said. HE looked as angry as anyone else, though Krillen suspected for vastly different reasons. "Why is everybody freaking out? So Goku's going to be a little late. Between whatever energy-draining tech Bulma can put together for us in two days, all of the training we've all been doing, and good old-fashioned strategy, I don't see why we can't handle this problem ourselves. And if it comes down to that, it's not like we're any short of practice on duck-and-run from psychopaths with more energy than sense – every possible offense meant," he added, looking pointedly at Cymbal, who shrugged in a way that seemed to say fair enough.
"I'm with wolf-boy for the third time today," Cymbal said. "These ARE the End-Times."
Yamcha turned to Bulma. "You can make it work, right?" he asked. "Some of that stuff from Gero's labs was pretty damned effective."
"Of course I can," Bulma said with real confidence – and of course, she was looking at Yamcha all starry eyed because he was addressing her like she was an Important Part of the Team and not just some hanger-on, and Krillen thought it just kind of figured that even in the End Times, he stood NO chance with that girl.
He turned his attention back to Kami, who was looking at him with an oddly sympathetic expression that was TRULY unsettling. He wondered if god really could read your thoughts, and if so – well, if so, he was in a LOT of trouble.
"Any final words of wisdom, god?" Piccolo asked, to Krillen's silent relief. "I mean, before you leave us mere mortals to do the heavy lifting?"
And before Kami could reply, Gohan walked into the room. The kid was bleary from the sleep he'd been catching up on in his recently-rediscovered bed. "Is everybody still fighting?" he asked muzzily. "You were fighting when I went to sleep."
And Kami's expression changed, briefly – it was still so weird to Krillen, he was so much more EXPRESSIVE than the others, and his expression could only be described as "stricken." Krillen only saw it for a moment before Kami's face went back to placid better-than-you-ness, but he was SURE he'd seen it, and it send a stab of cold fear through his gut.
Piccolo had seen it, too, whatever that expression was, and he rounded on Kami like a storm front. "The Hell was that about?!" he asked in a voice that, despite being low, shook the walls.
Kami blinked, feigning ignorance, which Krillen could have told him up front was a suicidally bad idea. "I don't know what you- "
And Picclo was across the room, his hands in Kami's robes, lifting him forward and almost off the ground like he meant to shake him. "The HELL do you know, old man?!"
Kami didn't even have the decency to look worried. "More than I am allowed to tell you," he said, placid and calm. "You KNOW that, Piccolo."
In the kitchen, pots and pans had started to rattle, and Piccolo's aura was starting to be kind of….visible. Crackly. Krillen looked around in alarm for help from some direction, but everyone else was slowly backing away – even Chichi looked as if she'd rather not interfere. "To Hell and damnation with your rules," Piccolo said. "You TELL me – " he flexed the talons on one of his hands like he meant to use it, and no doubt about it, Piccolo was genuinely scary when he was like this.
Of all the unlikely allies, it was Cymbal who stepped in, catching Piccolo's wrist before he could swing. "You trying to kill yourself?" Cymbal asked. When Piccolo flexed his wrist like he meant to take his hand back and punch Kami with it anyway, Cymbal tightened his grip. "You smack him across the face, you're the one who's gonna lose an eye, dumbass," he said. "Which might normally be fun to watch, but you oughta save it for the alien invaders."
Wordlessly, Piccolo released Kami's clothing, though he was still glaring death at the older man. Kami, meanwhile, absently brushed a hand down the front of his robe, as if the entire thing had been expected, somehow. "Good luck to all of you," he said. "The fate of the world is in your hands." And his eyes swept over all of them like he had all the time in the world – and as if his other half wasn't microseconds from ripping his face off and to Hell with the consequences. And, was it Krillen's imagination, or did he give a last, sad look at Gohan before he vanished out the door in a flourish of cape and afternoon light?
It must not have been something he imagined, because Krillen heard Piccolo growl and take a step forward – but Kami was already gone.
"Walk it off," Cymbal advised.
By way of answer, Piccolo yanked his hand away from Cymbal, He then used it to backhand his brother across the chest. It didn't look like much more effort than swatting a bug, but it sent Cymbal flying backward five feet and partway into one of the living room walls. Piccolo then stalked out through the open door, his aura still audibly crackling in his wake.
In the silence that followed, a single piece of plaster fell from the ceiling to land on the floor.
Cymbal rubbed his sternum wryly and shook his head at Krillen when he made as if to go after him. "No point even trying to talk to him when he gets like this until he blows something up, trust me."
Krillen had to concede that was probably good advice. Still, something about the way Piccolo had looked, right before he stalked off, made Krillen's heart hurt. He was starting to be able to differentiate between different kinds of Piccolo being mad, and what had just happened in the living room had not been totally-justifiable rage at someone not telling him something important he'd needed for a coming battle. No, that had been stark-terror-masking-itself-as-mad, because while anybody with half an ounce of emotional sense would have been able to spot from miles away that Piccolo had started to love that kid like his own, it had probably snuck up on Piccolo until right that moment just how much Gohan meant to him. The thought that something might HAPPEN to Gohan – and that it might happen while someone around knew enough to possibly prevent it and was telling no one – had just been too much for him.
Gohan, meanwhile, was possibly the only one of them not stunned by the oppressive tension, as he'd slept through most of it. "What was all that about?" he asked.
Everyone in the room stared at him blankly for several seconds.
"Who wants coffee?" Chichi offered brightly, starting to pour cups for everyone.
Gohan, though young, was smart enough to catch a subject-change when he saw one, especially one that forced – but when he looked askance at Krillen, Krillen looked away. Later, kid, he promised mentally, knowing that there was no way Gohan could hear him. I mean, maybe once I grasp it myself.
Piccolo felt slightly more rational after he blew up a large rock, but that wouldn't have taken much. His vision was doing its damndest to go red around the edges; anything in his stupid peripheral vision was soupy and out of focus, and he was only NOT powering up by means of aggressively forcing himself to breathe, because lately that kind of energy release tended to really damage the landscape.
Control yourself, he thought, turning some of that frustrated rage on himself like a whiplash across the brain. You're not a damned hatchling!
But he had SEEN that look, he KNEW what it could mean, and he also knew, deep down, that Kami, while annoying as Hell and more superior than even divinity should have made anyone, was nonetheless made out of tougher stuff than Piccolo liked to admit. No amount of threats, or even physical pain, would make him reveal things that he did not intend to reveal. It didn't matter if his reasons for not revealing those things were petty and stupid, or if they were the direct result of caring way too much about a bunch of artificial procedures that had maybe, once upon a time, protected people, but now –
Well, never mind why that asshole did anything. Piccolo had never done especially well with feelings of helplessness. He had trained so hard for so much of his life exclusively to avoid that kind of feeling. There were two kinds of people in the world that Piccolo had been raised in: the people who did things, and the people who had things done to them. And if you were the kind of person who had things done to you, well, that was your own fault for being too weak, or for being too undisciplined to turn yourself into the kind of person who did things (to others? His brain offered, and gods above, he didn't know. He just didn't know anymore).
Gohan was strong enough to stop almost anyone from doing anything to him. And yet he wasn't disciplined enough or, if Piccolo had to face it, mean enough to use that power to protect himself from the kinds of people who did things to other people. Oh, sure, instinct and cornered-animal panic could cover a lot of ground; he'd seen that for himself. The boy could even credibly spar with him now, which put him a step above Krillen, who had more speed and grit and experience. What Krillen didn't have was the raw strength to hurt someone like Piccolo, or the physical toughness to take a hit from him and walk it off. Gohan did.
So wasn't it Gohan's problem, not Piccolo's, if the dumb kid let something bad happen to himself because, deep down, his greatest flaw as a fighter was that he didn't want to hurt anybody?
The world doesn't care what you want, kid, Piccolo thought. It doesn't care that you'd rather feed squirrels than eat them, even if you're half-starved and your stupid alien physiology demands protein in absurd amounts. It doesn't care that you think the guy who kidnapped you and tried to teach you how to fight and who is usually either screaming at you or trying to hit you is somehow your best friend. There IS no third option. You hurt them, or they hurt you.
Wow – and it took him out at the knees this time, made him catch his balance against a tree, that sudden, annoying presence, just exactly like Son Goku had thrown open the door, flopped down on his mental equivalent of a sofa, and put his damn feet up on the table – Even to me, that seems kinda like an oversimplification. Then, with real concern as he looked around at the obviously-worse-for-wear state of Piccolo's head, where his normally-ordered thoughts and well-controlled feelings were strewn around like debris. What happened in your brain today? It looks like a storm's blown through.
Manner of speaking, I think it did, Piccolo thought back, hating how quickly he'd adjusted to talking this way, hating the way he was letting someone else look inside his head after years of protecting his inner self from the world like an angry badger in a burrow. He felt like maybe he COULD shut Son out, if he really put his mind to it – his mental defenses were solid enough, but much to his disgust, he didn't really want to.
What was it? Goku repeated.
Explaining felt like too much work. Piccolo made a broad sort of gesture at the tangled mass of knots on the floor that more or less represented his stalled-out train of thought for the past few hours, and said, with no small amount of sarcasm, Be my guest.
But Goku was thoroughly immune to sarcasm, and he began sorting through this and that, not at all like a raccoon rummaging through the trash, which Piccolo had sort of expected and been mentally braced for. No, Son was carefully plucking each thought, brushing the dust off, examining it, and then setting it back down in much neater stacks than the jumble they'd come from. Which was also…kind of helping.
Should you know how to do that? Piccolo thought.
Weird, right? Goku agreed absently, as he tried to make sense of the entirety of the day, squinting with particular interest at what Kami had said. I don't know what to make of it – I mean, I can talk to some of the others sometimes, if I'm close enough and they're, I dunno, receptive? I think humans tend to be more receptive if they're…and Piccolo hated that, even in a mental conversation, he knew exactly what kind of searching-for-words gesture Goku was making…you know, in life-and-death kind of situations, how your brain changes?
You're suggesting that humans become more psychically receptive when they're having an adrenal response? Piccolo asked. He'd heard dumber theories.
And he just knew the exact baffled look Goku was giving him. Piccolo sighed. When their brain changes for life-and-death-stuff, got it.
Anyway, Goku said, it's never been this easy before. And people being able to answer in whole sentences? That's new. No one but King Kai has ever been able to do that. Not to mention, I mean, it's almost like I can see you right now.
And that doesn't worry you? Piccolo thought incredulously.
Should it?
Oh, I don't know, Son. I was always just under the impression that hearing Voices from Beyond was pretty much the definition of a red flag.
You hearing people "from beyond" other than just me? Goku was peering at something else now – Piccolo was really afraid it might be how he felt about Gohan, and he had to resist the impulse to snatch it out of his proverbial hands like a magazine someone wasn't supposed to see, but he figured that might be more damning.
Fine, so it's A voice from beyond. Singular. It still falls in the "you should possibly visit a psych ward" territory.
Only if I'm not really here, Goku pointed out.
Piccolo huffed. Because he was right.
Your wife would love to hear from you, by the way, he added.
I know. And there was genuine regret in Goku's voice, which was so much more godsdamned piercing mind to mind than it had ever been when it was just a thing Piccolo could hear in his voice. He was starting to get the feeling that lying this way might be really, really difficult. I keep trying, Goku added. I can get FEELINGS from her sometimes – like if she's in trouble, I think I know. Like a few months ago…"
I can confirm, Piccolo said.
Right. It's just I can't seem to connect well enough to make words happen. And I don't think she can feel me at all.
She can't, Piccolo said.
Goku gave him an unexpectedly knowing grin. Bet she's thrilled with you right now.
Thrilled is not the word I would use. Piccolo winced slightly, remembering his exit. Especially as I'm pretty sure I just scorched your drywall.
Goku laughed. Not like it's the first time that's happened. I blew the roof clear off once – ask her to tell you about it sometime. And while you're at it, will you tell her I miss her?
She never believes me when I tell her shit like that.
Well, she doesn't always believe me, either, but it can't hurt to keep trying.
I'll do my best.
You always do. Also, look – about two days from now. When the Saiyans…
We'll handle it, Piccolo thought, with a confidence he didn't entirely feel.
Don't die, all right?
Piccolo snorted. Well, damn, you've uncovered my secret plan. I had every intention of getting myself blown up as quickly as possible.
He could FEEL the reproach and sighed again. I promise not to take stupid, unnecessary risks. Which I should remind you that you do. All the time. Constantly. Even when more sensible people are standing right next to you, telling you not to do it.
So you're still mad about that. Good to know.
I will NEVER, Piccolo thought with emphasis, stop being mad about that.
Oh, hey, on the subject of things you may and may not stop doing –
Way to change the subject, monkey-boy.
Any second now, it's going to dawn on you that you left your brother in there alone with –
Piccolo whipped around, half expecting to see a smoldering crater where the house used to be, and wondering, a little bitterly, when his ability to actually reason through scenarios like this had deserted him.
The house, of course, kept right on sitting there, little chimney merrily smoking away. Don't be stupid, he thought to himself, you would have felt a chi flare.
That didn't mean this was a GOOD idea, though. Gods, he was NOT cut out for this "keeping people alive" nonsense.
Steady. And that was Goku again, still puzzling through this and that. You did it because your instincts are telling you it's okay – and for once, I kind of agree with them.
Piccolo dragged his hand down his face. Son, he thought, that isn't comforting at all. Whatever else you might be good at, you are a SHIT judge of character.
No, I'm not. Haven't been wrong once yet, in fact.
Piccolo closed his eyes.
So – you hurt them or they hurt you, huh?
You weren't supposed to hear that. Piccolo rubbed the heel of his hand between his own eyes and wondered why the Hell he was always so tired lately.
Stress, probably, Goku said. Also, you never sleep.
What, you're a doctor now?
Predictably, Goku ignored him. I wish I could say I wouldn't hurt you. Except I did. I think I'm still doing it.
Piccolo's stupid throat constricted like he was a stupid HUMAN. We don't need to talk about that. This. It's…
Don't say 'it's fine.'
As that had been exactly what he was going to say, Piccolo trailed off.
Look, you've got a lot of – Goku gestured at, well, everything. Do you want me to go?
The right answer was 'yes.' They both had things to do. Big, important, world-saving things. Also, as cavalier as Goku was about their newfound ability to share a headspace, Piccolo had some serious misgivings about how healthy a dynamic this actually was. It seemed like the sort of thing that a more knowledgeable person would tell him NOT to do, would insist that he actively block at every opportunity.
When he kept on not saying yes, though, Goku seemed to know he meant no. So the Saiyan gave him another grin and a helpless sort of shrug, as if to say, I don't know what's wrong with us, either, and he went right back to righting the mental furniture.
Piccolo sighed and started to help. It was his brain they were cleaning up, after all.
Bulma was the first to regain her equilibrium, which surprised Krillen not at all. Bulma THRIVED on chaos and disorder. She bullied him and Yamcha (and even Cymbal, once he'd carefully extricated himself from the wall) into shoving two tables together. She made them get an additional folding card table out from the closet, setting up a lab of sorts in the kitchen area. She sent them to fetch a lamp from somewhere, ordered Yamcha not to show his face until he'd found masking tape and a working marker, and she got to work.
Krillen envied her a little bit as she leaned over one of her cave-finds, her full lips pressed together in total concentration. Having something to wholeheartedly focus on seemed NICE at a time like this.
Cymbal was very possibly cut from the same kind of cloth (though Krillen valued both his skull and his eardrums enough to never say that to either Cymbal OR Bulma). While gathering supplies for Bulma, they found a few spare sheets of drywall and some spackle which, presumably, Chichi's father kept on hand for whenever something went wrong with the architecture. To the shock of pretty much everyone, he'd taken those in hand and set about patching the hole in the wall and the damaged ceiling.
"First cooking, now home repair," Yamcha said. "You're a regular Martha Stewart."
"You know," Cymbal said, completely unfazed as he scraped at some of the more jagged edges, "not knowing how to do shit like this is arguably why you were a homeless person when these guys first met you."
Bulma paused long enough in prodding at wires to mark something down on her sheet. When Krillen leaned over to peer at it, he could see that she'd made two columns, one for Yamcha and one for Cymbal, and was marking a tally down on Cymbal's side. Cymbal's side, Krillen noticed, already had a lot of tallies.
As Yamcha stalked over to glare out the window, though, Krillen made his way a little closer to watch the process; the guy really did seem to know what he was doing. "This is a whole new side of you," he said, and hated himself for trying to strike up a conversation with a guy whose "has tried to kill me" count was dramatically higher than his "words this guy has spoken to me" count. "Where did this come from?"
Cymbal snorted. "You have any idea how many times a week people used to get tossed through the walls where I lived?"
And that was something to think about, sure. Lesser demons were not the brightest creatures, and the only real way Krillen had ever seen anybody keep order among them involved a lot of smacking them around. Not to mention, the Demon King Piccolo – Piccolo's dad? Krillen had no idea how that worked – had an explosive temper. Even if he hadn't seen it first-hand, Krillen would have been able to guess from the way his minions collectively flinched any time the guy so much as raised his voice or made any sudden moves.
It probably hadn't made for the most restful of home environments. "I guess demon lords don't do their own spackling?" Krillen hazarded, because he sucked at shutting up when he was nervous.
"If you keep talking," Cymbal said, "There's going to be another hole in the wall, and we don't have that much extra drywall."
"Got it," Krillen said.
"Excuse me."
And Krillen's eyes about bugged out of his head, because there was GOHAN, of all worst-case scenarios, standing to their immediate right and giving Cymbal a sort of wary once-over.
Cymbal slowly looked over at him, and Krillen's whole body tensed in preparation to try to save the kid from something he couldn't possibly save him from.
"Why are you fixing our house?" Gohan asked.
"I dunno," Cymbal said. "It's your house. Why aren't you fixing it?"
"I don't know how," Gohan said.
Cymbal tossed a trowel at him, which Gohan caught. "Follow along – it's not hard, and this is gonna keep happening, probably for the rest of your pathetically short lifespan."
Any other child Gohan's age probably would have had to ask him what half that stuff meant, but Krillen knew they were looking at a kid who had been cramming SAT vocabulary books since they cut the umbilical cord, practically, so Gohan just nodded.
And, much to Krillen's silent astonishment, Gohan watched what Cymbal was doing carefully and, very slowly, started to copy it.
What a world, Krillen thought. He cast a wary glance over at Chichi. The woman had sat down at a chair in the kitchen, staring off at nothing, as she had been since Kami's visit. Krillen figured any second now, she was going to snap out of it, and he mentally prepared himself to, in fact, drive out and get more drywall.
Gohan, face too serious by far for a five-year-old, suddenly paused in his application of spackle and stuck his hand out as if to shake hands with the guy who had tried to murder him. "No hard feelings?" he asked.
Cymbal raised a browridge at Gohan. And Krillen was WORRIED, because okay, Gohan didn't look EXACTLY like Goku had when he'd been a kid, but between the monkey tail and the dark hair, he was probably close enough to be setting off some kind of Pavlovian crazy in the back of Cymbal's brain. Not to mention, Gohan had literally blown Cymbal halfway to Hell about a year ago. Cymbal didn't seem the kind of guy to just let a little thing like that go.
"What now?" Cymbal asked flatly.
"No hard feelings?" Gohan repeated. "For blowing you up. Sir." He added. His small face flushed as he apparently remembered what ELSE had happened that day. "Or for – what happened with your, uh brothers, and…all that. It was an accident."
"Did they find a way to drop you on your head, too?" Cymbal asked.
Gohan blinked. "Lots of times," he said. "It's hard to train without falling on your head, sir."
The big demon looked thoroughly nonplussed. He looked askance over at Krillen.
Krillen shrugged. "You got me, man. He's just kind of a weird kid – no offense, Gohan," he added with a little grin.
Gohan grinned back. "None taken," he said.
Cymbal's brow twitched again, worryingly. He went back to spackling. "Look, kid. Intellectually, we're all good. In your place, I woulda blown me up, too – difference being I would've done it on purpose and lost a lot less sleep over it. In practice, though, you happen to look a whole lot like the guy who ruined my life, who you, by the way, share some genetics with. Also, your completely screwed-up chi is setting off my 'kill it with fire' impulse."
Gohan nodded after a moment. "I guess that's fair," he conceded, and went back to patching the wall.
They worked in silence until the wall looked like a wall again. Then, Cymbal stood up, put both hands to his lower back, and popped it. "Status update, hair-for-brains?" he asked Yamcha.
Yamcha scowled. "If you're talking about your brother, he's blown up a rock," Yamcha said, still staring out the window. "And he WAS doing a lot of pacing. Now he's just standing there."
"Right," Cymbal muttered. He popped his neck to either side, then he cracked his knuckles.
"Whaaaaat are you doing?" Krillen asked.
"Getting ready to go have a heart-to-heart chat with my little brother," Cymbal said. He pulled his left arm across his body, then his right.
"Do most people have to stretch before they do that?" Gohan asked.
"Nope," Cymbal said.
"Have you and Piccolo ever, ya know, HAD a serious heart-to-heart conversation without beating the Hell out of each other?" Krillen asked.
"Nope," Cymbal said again. Then he glanced down at Krillen. "If it looks like he's going to beat me to death, you and the kid might want to come out and try to pull him off me," he said. "Or Bulma's got a pretty functional taser, if it comes down to it."
Krillen offered him a little salute.
Cymbal gave a last little sigh, and out the door he went.
Uh oh, Goku noted, and Piccolo was for once in full agreement. He could tell from the purposeful way that Cymbal was striding toward him that they were probably about to come to blows over something.
You might want to clear out for this, Piccolo suggested. It won't be pleasant.
If it's all the same to you, think I'll stay a minute. I want to hear what he's got to say. Goku said.
Piccolo snorted. Not unless you have a real desire to hear a lot of creative profanity.
Creative what now?
Shut up, I need to focus.
"If you're out here to give me some kind of wise brotherly lecture," Piccolo said, "that kind of shit is going to turn out to be bad for your health."
Cymbal shook his head. "Would abort mission on this one if I could," he said in majingo. And Piccolo blinked, because his brother rarely used that language, even around him. It meant he didn't want to be overheard. "Look," he continued. "They're regrouping in there. Bulma's doing something with the machines, the backup singers are working their way through their collective shock, and in a few hours, we're going to have to make some kind of plan."
Piccolo raised a browridge at him. "And that's always been your strong suit," he said with deliberately-cutting sarcasm. "Planning."
Cymbal rolled his eyes and forged on as if Piccolo WASN'T trying to pull the pin on a fight. "We don't need them," he said.
Piccolo blinked.
Wow, Goku thought, this is not the direction I saw this going.
"Two Saiyans," Cymbal said. "Two of us. Let's just leave the humans out of this one."
"Are you insane?" Piccolo asked. "Turles and Raditz…"
"I'm not. Fucking. Insane," Cymbal said. "I know you all think I'm a raging lunatic, but I'm not. I've also fought Saiyans a few more times than you have, if you take a minute and work that out in that thick head of yours."
He's got you there, Goku said. Also, your language is a real trip – why does the action happen in the front?
Shut UP, Son.
"They're dense," Cymbal continued. "They weigh twice what they should, and you almost can't snap their limbs because their damned bones are too thick. APPARENTLY, they can turn into giant apes – not getting over that one in this lifetime – and all that by itself is bad enough, but this just comes down to evolution in the end. That's a predator species, Piccolo. Comparing humans to Saiyans is like comparing a leaf-munching tortoise to a snapping turtle. Everything about those monsters is going to trigger their flight response. They WILL panic. You can't rely on them under those circumstances."
"And I should rely on you, instead?" Piccolo asked.
"In any given situation," Cymbal said, "you know what I'm going to do. Well. In a fire fight, anyway," he added with a wry shrug.
"How altruistic of you," Piccolo said. "And since when does my big brother care if a bunch of humans gets trampled underfoot as collateral damage in a battle for the planet?"
"Frankly, I don't," Cymbal said. "It's you I'm worried about."
Piccolo blinked again. "What now?"
"Your head won't be in the game," Cymbal said. "No matter what you're doing, half your focus is going to be on your pet primates. There's no place for that in a fight like this."
Piccolo snorted. "I can't believe you, of all people, are trash-talking my focus. You have the attention span of a gnat with anger management issues."
But deep down – okay, that wasn't total nonsense coming out of Cymbal's mouth. Piccolo had literally been seeing red a second ago at the thought of someone hurting that blasted kid. And if he thought back to the desert, that surge of raw panic when he'd thought…
Steady. No matter what he thinks, it's okay to feel that way.
A little less audience participation, Son.
"You ever fought a human being, Piccolo?" Cymbal continued. "Even a super-strong one like those idiots. It doesn't matter. It's like tossing around badly-made glassware. They don't just break, they shatter."
Piccolo thought back to what felt like a hundred years ago – a half-blind kick on Cymbal's part shattering Tienshinhan's jaw and snapping his neck. Krillen, on the wrong end of Piccolo's own attack, hitting the arena floor with several audible cracks and not getting up again. Piccolo would have shaken that off like a bee sting.
"Very noble," Piccolo said. "But suppose the two of us aren't strong enough? You never would've taken Gero without Bulma."
"Yeah, I would have," he said. "I just wouldn't have lived through it."
"So you admit – "
Cymbal snorted. "She endangered the entire mission, coming down there. Gambled our potential survival, planet-wide, because she likes me for some fucked-up reason I can't begin to work out. That's exactly the kind of thing we can't afford. Don't chalk it up to brilliance on her part that we somehow accidentally survived. That doesn't make it the right call."
These ARE the End-Times, Piccolo thought. He's actually making sense.
He's talking sense for him, Goku agreed. He thinks he's right. That doesn't mean he is.
Then enlighten me, Son. What's he not right about?
One, they won't panic. Okay, wait, Krillen WILL panic, like, a few times, but it won't last very long, and he'll shake it off. Always does. Two – having people you care about fighting with you, that CAN sharpen your focus. It can make you hold on past what you think you can do. I've used that. You've seen it.
Piccolo HAD seen it. It also might've been what killed you, Piccolo pointed out.
An energy blast killed me, Piccolo, Goku pointed out more gently than Piccolo ever wanted him to say anything because he didn't need to fucking patronize him. Which you didn't shoot, by the way, so if you could maybe stop making yourself sick about it –
Piccolo had to resist the impulse to put his hands over his ears to shut the rest of THAT out, as Cymbal didn't need any damn help with thinking he's lost his fucking mind.
You did ask, Goku said, completely unrepentant.
"You're not alone in there, are you?" Cymbal asked. The question came out of left field, and his tone, well, it wasn't anything Piccolo knew how to quantify. He didn't sound angry or accusing, but kind of resigned, like Piccolo hearing the voices of Dead Monkeys Past was something he had somehow kind of expected and been dreading in equal parts for a while now.
The Voices of Dead Monkeys Past? You have absolutely GOT to start sleeping more, Piccolo.
Piccolo felt himself bristling, probably visibly. "Now you HAVE lost it," he said. "There's no one in here but –"
"It's not our father, either, is it?"
The jumble of memories, feelings, and personality that Piccolo had started life mostly-buried under had not really been a solid presence in his head for, it had to be admitted, a really long time now. "It never was," Piccolo said.
Cymbal took that one like a champ, Piccolo had to give it to him – he barely flinched. "Fair," he said. "But this other thing – "
Piccolo rolled his eyes, which he hated doing, as it made him feel like he was a godsdamned child. "Oh no, my honored elder brother is about to withhold his approval and blessing. How am I going to carry on in life."
"Will you stop trying to be an ass for like….two seconds?" Cymbal asked.
Dryly, Piccolo said, "Why don't you show me how?"
Cymbal's brow twitched once. Twice.
This is really uncomfortable, Son pointed out. I can't believe I'm saying this, but punching each other might actually be kind of an improvement.
Stop talking to me when I'm trying to pretend I can't hear voices, Piccolo thought sourly.
"I can't say it's normal," Cymbal said at last, in a tone that very much let Piccolo know that he was maybe grinding his molars some. "Because it's not. But it's not unheard of for our kind to develop really tight mental bonds with…"
"With what," Piccolo said sharply.
"I don't know," Cymbal said. "With the ones they spent the most time in the field with. I don't even want to think about it, all right? I don't. Some of us had real strong mental connections with several others, some of us didn't ever. I don't know what the deciding factor is in getting a damned direct line to somebody else's brain, but it's barely even unusual."
Piccolo's eyes narrowed. "So you've done it?"
"Sure – with my own kind, mind you, not some weirdly carnivorous space monkey, but we all make mistakes."
Is "carnivorous" an insult? It sounded like one when he said it.
If it's about you, assume it's an insult.
"Never heard of one lasting into the afterlife, but trust you to be extra about everything."
"What does it mean?" Piccolo asked.
Cymbal shrugged again. "Big picture? Your guess is as good as mine. In the small, petty realm where I live, though, it means you've picked a side, whether you know it or not, so we should collectively stop living in denial and work with what we've got."
Piccolo raised a brow at him. "How philosophical," he said. "How are you doing with that whole moving-on process?"
"Oh, I'm fucking furious about it," Cymbal said, "don't get me wrong. I think you're a disloyal species-traitor with rocks for brains, but it is what it is, and if this is the path you're choosing, then fine. The Gods know I can't change your mind about that. But this?" He gestured back toward the house. "Them? There is no scenario where we go fight a couple of space pirates with that circus act in there for back-up and we walk away from it in one piece."
Piccolo shook his head slowly. "It's nice to know," he said, "that even with as many catastrophic failures as you've had, your arrogance can somehow manage to remain intact. It's comforting in a way. Sort of like the way the sun keeps coming up."
Cymbal rolled his eyes. "You want to help it keep doing that, or did you want to write bad haiku?"
"They're stronger than you think," Piccolo said. "And it's their planet, isn't it? They have a right to try to defend it."
Cymbal pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he said. "If you won't see reason on that point, then YOU should stay behind."
Piccolo blinked. "What now?"
"Wonderboy's gonna be late, right?"
I think I've lost track of how many nicknames your brother has for me.
Piccolo sighed internally. We'll keep tallies next time.
"By a few hours, give or take," Piccolo said.
"You're tied to the dragonballs. And again, your head isn't going to be in the game with your pet primates getting blown up. If you insist on letting them do this, then you oughta wait for Son Goku. If the Saiyans are more powerful than we expect, that'll give you two a chance to clean up whatever mess we make."
"By your own admission, that'd be suicide," Piccolo said. "We both know I'm stronger than you are."
Cymbal shrugged. "But I'm expendable, and you aren't," he said. "It's like chess, Piccolo. You remember that annoying game T used to insist on playing because it was supposed to teach you life lessons? Only you're like Shrodinger's pawn. As long as you're in play, we can still win, but as long as you're in play, we can also still lose."
What's chess?
It's a game designed by people who want to make other people miserable with how smart they are.
Oh – I bet Kami's really good at it.
…as a matter of fact, he is.
Are YOU good at it?
Son, don't try to corner me into admitting I'm an arrogant asshole when I'm in the middle of fighting with my brother over his being an arrogant asshole, all right?
Pretty sure you just admitted to being an –
"If I thought you could do this without me," Piccolo said a little more loudly than he meant to as a means of drowning out certain inner critics, "I'd agree with your reasoning – but this is out of your league."
Cymbal shrugged. "The Hell else is new?" he asked. "Punching up is kind of a comfort zone for most of us."
"I appreciate your….completely overbearing and unnecessary concern," Piccolo said. "I think."
Cymbal gave him a truly unsettling smirk and a once-over. "Right," he said, "my concerns are completely unwarranted. You're the picture of mental health and stability right now, and your brain is operating exactly the way it's supposed to. You're in the perfect headspace to make calm, correct, logical decisions about how to save the planet we're living on. My bad."
"It's good that you and Tambourine are spending some time apart," Piccolo said. "You've started to sound too much alike."
"Now that was petty," Cymbal said, unfazed. And it occurred to Piccolo that they had only managed to talk this long because one or both of them had mellowed out some over the last year, enough so that they could let a few barbs pass without ratcheting up the tension between them to the point of a very literal explosion.
Yeah, I'd call that growth, Goku thought at him.
Really? I'd call it being crushed by the overwhelming frustrations of living on this blasted planet.
You really are a glass-half-empty kind of guy, you know that?
"Is he still listening?" Cymbal asked out of the blue.
Piccolo snorted. "No," He said.
Cymbal tilted his head at him. "It's good that you and T are spending some time apart," he said. "You get a damn sight worse at lying when he's not around as a terrible influence."
"Oh, like you're on the approved list of social influences."
"Hey, monkey-boy," Cymbal said.
Piccolo didn't have hair, but if he did, he would have literally bristled in indignation. "What the Hell - I'm not a damned walkie talkie!"
Cymbal ignored him. "He's clearly not going to listen to me, so maybe he'll listen to you. CONVINCE his stubborn ass to wait for you, or else to leave the rest of these guys behind and do things on our own. Shit, you're in there. You can see damn well he's completely fucked in the head – which I'm blaming on you, by the way – "
"I am NOT completely fucked in the – and YOU'RE ONE TO TALK!"
" – he's unstable, he's completely lost his center – "
Piccolo was stunned to silence briefly, because the audacity that CYMBAL of all people would have to accuse ANYONE ELSE of being unstable…
"…and if he shows up to this fight the way he's planning to, he's going to get himself killed. It's too soon for him to do that. Do you know how long our kind live, you obnoxious little space monkey? Centuries. I'm sorry, let me translate that for you, hundreds of your lifetimes. He's already got abilities beyond what most of us have ever had, and he won't begin to reach his full potential for another two hundred years. Assuming he lives that long. Which he won't, if you don't talk some damn sense into him. Good luck – it's gonna be uphill all the way."
And Cymbal turned around and walked back toward the house, all the while Piccolo remained stunned into silence for an entirely DIFFERENT reason.
You know, Goku mused, I think that's the most politely he's ever spoken to me. He really is growing a lot, isn't he.
Piccolo dragged a hand down his face. Because what the Hell else could you say to that, really.
Glass half full, Goku remined him, as Cymbal vanished back into the house while not-QUITE managing not to slam the door.