Title: Papa
Fandom: Dragonball Z
Pairing/Characters: Gohan, Piccolo
Warning(s): None
Genre: Gen

Papa is dead, he knows. Papa is dead, and in soon more of the men who killed him will be here with their hands and feet and tails. They'll drop from the sky like Radditz did and -- and --

Mister Piccolo must be able to sense when his mind wanders, because the next hit connects with the sound of something breaking. He's not sure if it's a bone or a heart as he's thrown back across and into the swamp, but figures it out when he gets up after he lands with tears streaming down his face.

He's cried before- he cries a lot, because Papa is gone, far beyond the world -- but this time is different. Mister Piccolo is walking towards him but the tears don't stop, not when he's looming over, his shadow long with the sunset at his back; not when he picks him up by his hair and tosses him to dry land by their fire pit. He isn't sure for how long after he cries and cries and cries, but sleep comes eventually, and he dreams of Daddy dying.

When he wakes up it's a dark and moonless night (well, it's always a moonless night now, but the stars seem brighter and more menacing) and Mister Piccolo is cooking something over a cold fire. His stomach rumbles a little too loud -- it's some sort of meat, and it smells savory and warm.

He crawls over. Mister Piccolo looks at him wearily, then takes the spit off the fire and holds it out.

"Eat."

"But --" he takes it anyways, because he's learned not to question what Mister Piccolo tells him to do. "-- Aren't you hungry, too?"

Mister Piccolo gives him that weary look, the one he doesn't use very often. "I don't eat meat." He takes a nearby coconut shell half-filled with water and drinks before placing it near Gohan.

"Mister --"

"You need strength for tomorrow."

Crying has made him week, and besides, he's terrified of Mister Piccolo. He eats the entire carcass, tearing through it like some sort of animal himself. He starts to cry again while eating, gasping for breath through too-hot mouthfuls, his tongue and his eyes burning. When he's finished he puts the spit down and sniffles, wiping his dirty face with a dirty hand.

Mister Piccolo sighs before getting up and puting a hand on his shoulder. Gohan looks up, bewildered, but the hand does not go away. They sit like that for hours.

The presence beside him is foreign, so foreign, something lost a million miles away from where he needs to be. Gohan has lost his Daddy and Mister Piccolo has lost his home, and maybe that's why the hand feels okay. Maybe that's why Gohan's heart feels a little lighter and Daddy feels a little closer.

The sun rises. A new day dawns.