A friend of mine who is an avid writer of lion king ffs commissioned this from me. (hah! Yeah right. Like any of my bum friends would pay me crack) Anywho, if you're an avid DB fan and you were let down by the recent DB movie, you're not alone. The friend in question has dubbed the movie the 'rape of piccolo', like one of those sixth century roman paintings of europa an what not. And so, I come to right the wrongs of the movie and return to his form self. Or at the very least rape him eloquently (no, I wouldn't do that)

I do not own DBZ, but maybe you would have been tipped off about that by the fact that this is a fan fic.

Enjoy

Piccolo had thought he was healthy. He'd seen himself in the lake's reflection. His large, powerful muscles pumped and strained just as they should have, allowing him to be strong but graceful, and his teeth, long and sharp like polished daggers looked good and clean. His antennae hadn't shriveled up like the last time he had had a cold. They still sat safely on his forehead, 'sproinging' whenever he moved. His face hadn't grown tired and weary--it was still hard and stoic, and, from what occasional rambles he'd caught from the human women before he stopped caring, dashing as hell. He hadn't grown hair anywhere, god forbid, and his skin still had a soft, cool sheen to it, like smooth jade.

Everything had been perfectly normal the day before. He had woken early after a restless night, trained alone in the woods, and then meditated silently over the waterfall. He'd closed his eyes in the solitude of his cave, his cave where no one, especially not birds or reptiles ever went, and at some point he'd fallen asleep.

So he had no idea what the circumstances had been for him to wake up with this…this egg sitting next to him because he sure as hell didn't remember laying anything the night before. He stared at it, and had been staring at it, for a very long time. Perhaps he hoped the sheer hate and fury he concentrated in his glare would cause it to crack and fry right there on the floor of his once sacred cave. But nothing happened. It just sat there, mocking him with its perfection.

Piccolo had never been good with kids. Ever. He'd dealt with the many generations of the Saiyans for much too long. He'd grown long weary of annoying little children poking fun at the colour of his skin, which he thought was perfectly nice—you wouldn't tell a blade of grass to turn pink, would you?—and he certainly didn't like the way they pulled at his antennae or tried to understand what the pink blotches on his skin were for. If it wasn't for the fact that dealing them wasn't simply a formality, he would have murdered them ages ago. But this was different. This was his goddamned monster. So what the hell was he supposed to do with the thing?

He gritted his teeth. He needed to talk to someone about this. Kami and Nail were staying frustratingly mute when usually they enjoyed putting their two cents in places they sure didn't belong; they were probably snickering to themselves about this. Then should he have gone to Dende? It was unscrupulous to get him involved in this, though! He was God, for goodness' sake. It wasn't like he'd be interested in this madness. Besides, he'd probably laugh. If it had been anyone other than himself, like Vegeta or someone else Piccolo could have done well without, the Namek might have laughed too.

Piccolo finally decided he was being foolish and that he needed to resolve this as quickly as possible. He gave the smooth, shiny surface of that thing one last look, and then resolved to pick it up not-so-carefully with the long, claw-like nails of his hands.

The egg could have fit an ostrich egg and a good number of chicken eggs in it—how he could have incubated and then coughed up such a monstrosity without noticing it baffled and revolted him. He was glad he hadn't been wake through it.

He stood up and held the egg awkwardly at arms length, and he realized quickly that this wasn't going to work. He couldn't fly to the look-out like this could he? It would be…straining. The optimal position would be to hold it to his chest, but that would be—and he shuddered at the thought—too motherly. At the very mention of the word his mind soared to thoughts of that harpy of a woman Goku had married. Perhaps it was her egg. It certainly seemed like a little hell bringer.

He folded his arms around it reluctantly, his lip tightening in a grimace when he registered that it was warm, and then it twitched. He jumped in surprise and dropped the thing, and then, for some crooked reason, he panicked. He dove to the ground faster than he knew he could and fumbled with it, and then with a sigh of relief, was holding it again safely in his arms. That's when he froze.

What the hell?

Had he just saved that godblessed thing? He'd saved the gremlin to be. He could have dropped it. It would have been an accident. He could have been having scrambled eggs for breakfast. But noooo! He had to get all 'maternal' and crap and save the bastard. He needed to get this thing out of his life now while he stilled had left some vestiges of his sanity. He had to.

He snarled at it in warning—if it shuddered like that again while he was in the air, that was it. Some lucky hobo would be eating green eggs for the next week.

He took in a breath, and then took off into the blue sky, trying not to think about the monster in his arms. His long, pointed ears twitched in accordance to the sound his cape made as it billowed behind him and the wind rushing past his aerodynamic form. He didn't occupy himself with anything but those things because if did think about anything else he might do something he…regretted? No, wrong word. He might do something he 'would enjoy severely causing him to relapse into a state of mild psychotics'. That sounded right.

He touched down soundlessly on the lookout point, obsidian eyes moving slowly along the pale pillars and floor. To an outside observer, he might have appeared very patient, but in reality, that would have been absolute crap. If that kid didn't show up within five seconds, someone was gonna die, and it wasn't going to be pretty. He was about two seconds from blowing a gasket when Dende appeared from inside the lookout-house, with a confused expression on his face.

That pissed Piccolo off more than anyone could ever know.

"Piccolo?" He said, his childlike voice soft and innocent and the large Namek cringed when he realized that thing in that egg might sound like that someday. If he didn't kill it. "What are you doing here today? You didn't say you were coming. Did something happen?" Dende paused when Piccolo's lip twitched, and then he took a few seconds to take in his counterpart's whole appearance.

Yes, Dende, those are my feet. Yes, Dende, those are my kneecaps, thank you for noticing. Oh, yes, my obi? I changed it from red to blue—do you like it? Yes, it is fascinating, I can understand why you've been staring at it for the last three minutes. Yes, my collar is low enough to see my pecs. You're so wise! What? The egg in my arm? Gee whiz, where the heck did that come from? Oh well. It's not nearly as interesting as my obi, eh? How 'bout you go look at that again? You know, waste a few more of my precious seconds. No. It'll be fun. Really. No? You think the egg is more interesting? Why, thank you so much ,Dende, for understanding! This is why you're God!

The small Namek stared at the egg for a long time, maybe as long as Piccolo had that morning when he'd woken up next to it, and then he lifted his finger and pointed at it. "What is that?"

"I'll give you three guesses," Piccolo replied darkly.

Dende blinked thrice, Piccolo counted. "Oh…you mean…," He stuttered, and then grinned, "Congratulations!"

"Don't congratulate me!" Piccolo shrieked, shaking the lookout with his sheer decibal count, "It's an egg, Dende! I coughed up an egg! Why aren't you bothered by that!?"

"You're not happy?" Replied the young kami in confusion.

Piccolo squelched the urge to kill the boy because that would be wrong. He took in a deep breath to cool his nerves, swallowed, and then looked at Dende as calmly as he could.

"What the hell should I do with it?" He murmured.

Dende shrugged. "Raise it. It is your baby, after all."

"Don't call it my baby. It's an egg."

"Well…it would be your baby."

"Do you think anyone would miss it if I killed it?"

"Miss what, green bean?"

The namekians turned to their sides to see who had spoken, and Piccolo's face fell like a duck at hunting season.

"Oh, have all the demons of hades come to torment me?" He groaned at the saiyan, and he would continue to believe that it was self proclaimed, 'prince'. Vegeta had his eyebrow raised, hands in his pockets, as he walked with frustrating nonchalance up to the two other aliens.

"Vegeta, what wonderful--,"

"Horrible,"

"Wonderful timing," Said Dende, ignoring the black aura looming about Piccolo, "Did you come to get that thing Bulma asked for?"

"I'm not her errand boy,' Vegeta said gruffly, more towards Piccolo than Dende, as though Piccolo cared about other people's family problems, "She was just being a pain in the ass today so I decided I'd take care of it to get her off my back,"

"Of course, Vegeta," Dende chirped, then put his hand in his pocket before quickly pulling out a small, square white envelope, "I hope she enjoys it,"

"Nnhnn." Vegeta grumbled in reply and stuffed it unceremoniously into his pocket.

Piccolo didn't like how he and his plight were suddenly being ignored for what might aswell have been a drug exchange.

"What was that?" Piccolo demanded.

"It's none of your business, green bean," Vegeta snarled back.

"You call me green bean again and you're going to have a black eye," The namekian hissed, quickly losing his cool.

"Yeah? How about a pair of blue nuts?"

"Both of you calm down!" Dende said, holding up his arms for them to cease, "Vegeta, thank you for being so quick to pick those up, but could you please leave now? He and I have some things to work out, if that's okay."

The saiyan's face scrunched up for a moment. He clearly didn't like the idea of being kicked off the island by Dende, but then he grumbled and shook his head.

"Whatever," he muttered, "This place is a dump, anyway. See ya, sprout."

"Good riddance…" Piccolo sighed. He shouldn't have. God, he shouldn't have. Because if he hadn't, Vegeta wouldn't have turned around, and he wouldn't have walked right up to the namek, and he wouldn't have tried to jab him in the chest, and his finger wouldn't have been thrown off course by the giant but apparently invisible-except-under-certain-circumstances egg. The prince was confused by the miraculous appearance of the large object for only a few moments. Then he took a few steps back, enough that he could hold his arms out at full length, and then he pointed at Piccolo and bust a gut laughing.

The namekian gritted his teeth in rage while Vegeta basically killed himself laughing like a loon, and just when Piccolo thought he'd exhausted himself, he hadn't.

"Ha!" Vegeta guffawed, "You were pregnant! What a woman!"

"I will bash your head in, Vegeta, I swear it!" Piccolo warned, rapidly reaching his tipping point.

"You really think you could while holding your bundle of joy?" The saiyan jeered.

"Alright, Vegeta. I'm in a desperate place right now," Said Piccolo, gesturing as articulately as he could with one arm preoccupied, "so I'm sure even one of your feeble intellect could understand the fact that if pushed I will snap you like the two-foot-twig you are."

Vegeta snickered. Somehow he wasn't intimidated by Piccolo's soaring rhetoric.

"So," He purred maliciously, "who's the father?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're clearly the mother, so the father must be someone else. Oh! It was Kakarott's brat, right?! Hah! Kakarott's woman's going to kill you!"

"Why, you…!"

"Enough, enough!" Dende cried, his small fists clenched by his sides, "Both of you, quiet!"

Both the namekian and the saiyan turned their heads instinctively to Dende, surprised by the uncharacteristic outburst. The young kami took in a deep breath, patted the thick tuft that circled his neck in order to calm down, then took the dead silence as an opportunity to make whatever points he meant to make.

"Piccolo," He said, addressing his fellow namekian calmly, "it's your egg, so do with it what you want. But" He added, "if you destroy it, I know that one day you'll regret your decision. And Vegeta," he said, turning to the prince, "can you promise us your silence until Piccolo feels its right to tell the others about this? Please. We would really appreciate it."

Vegeta's brows furrowed, and Piccolo could almost hear him saying 'hell no'. The Namekian stepped forward, and for a moment he felt his desperation reach his face—he didn't want to have to deal with this, let alone have anyone else try to deal with it with him. Surely Vegeta could understand?

The man paused before he began to speak, then looked down and ran his gloved hand through his bristly black hair

"Fine." He huffed, albeit with clear contempt, "But that's because I want to let this stew a little while, and then it'll really get fun." He sneered and turned away with a sarcastic wave, "Green brean, sprout, I hope your kid brings you a ton of happiness."

"Go to hell, Vegeta,"

The saiyan leapt off the edge of the look out, and then he was just a flash of white light in the distance and no longer a concern.

Piccolo let out a heavy sigh, but that migraine wasn't to go down without a fight.

He looked at Dende, who was a little violet in the face, and said all he could think of.

"So, what am I supposed to do?"