Author's Note: This use to be the ninth chapter of "An Alternate Paradise," but it wasn't really what I wanted, so I'm just posting it as an AU fic and rewriting that chapter, because it sounded too much like an ending. Gohan is actually going to end up somewhere in "An Alternate Afterlife," just not watching the stars with Piccolo in the new version. This story is a one-shot.

Gohan had apologized, and of course Krillin had accepted it, but the young demi-saiyan didn't miss the slightly leery look the human had sent him as he flew away, his aura dampened because of the pain. Gohan grinded his teeth, though he managed to keep the Son grin on his face until Krillin had taken flight and was out of sight. Another mistake, another lapse in control. Sparring with Krillin was fun, for though the former monk had nothing on Gohan power-wise, he was skilled and had some techniques that even his father hadn't mastered. But when Gohan had stumbled and that blast had torn into his back and wasted his gi, the urge to rip the short man limb from limb was irrepressible. The only thing that had saved Krillin's life was that Gohan hadn't bothered to power up before he attacked. As it was, he wouldn't be able to use his left arm for a while, and that left hook would probably leave him with a nasty black eye.

It wasn't as if it mattered much. Gohan saw Krillin twice a year at most, as occupied as the man was with his new wife. Damn it, did Krillin have no sense? Marrying that android. Obviously the guy hadn't been listening when Future Trunks described the horror that the androids had unleashed in his time. #18 hadn't done anything yet, but Gohan was sure that was because of the lack of opportunity. She and her brother hadn't been awake a week (and thus, hadn't found Goku yet) before Cell showed up and screwed their chances. It was easy enough for the android blond to get the former monk to fall in love with her, and after that she was home free. Surrounded by powers beyond her own, her relationship with Krillin effectively shielded her from any retaliation for the damage caused by the androids.s

He had lost his train of thought again, but the beginning was sound enough. The only one he saw with enough regularity to care about and respect with Piccolo. His mother had broken down after Goku's death, and it certainly hadn't helped when the son created by Goku and Chichi the night before the Cell Games had been stillborn. Which of course was her fault, having practically starved herself after it all. She hadn't cooked in ages, and Gohan had to learn how to hunt in bulk all over again. How to cook it too. The amount of dinosaur meat he had scorched beyond all recognition probably had amounted to a couple tons. Shit, if the woman had wanted to keep her "last gift from Goku" she should have taken care of the thing. Oh, wait. Not a thing. Goten. (From the heavens, indeed. Well, he went back there soon enough.) Gohan knew he should have cared, but the child hadn't even really been a person, just one more thing for Chichi to cry over. Well, that list was longer then their old grocery list, seeing as just a reminder of Goku sent his mother into hysterics.

Thank Kami for Piccolo (which is rather literal, for him). He was the one who listened to Gohan vent, he was the only one who seemed to realize that he wasn't Goku reincarnate, with a stupid grin permanently plastered across his face and a soul as pure as newly fallen snow. Who never made a mistake, so never had regrets. Who always made everything better. Why didn't anyone seem to notice when he disappeared halfway through gatherings to cry, or just lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, all the "what ifs?" in the world running through his head. But Piccolo noticed, and soon the crying turned into intense sparring matches which left him so exhausted he barely made it to his bed before collapsing. That Piccolo, unlike anyone else who was willing to spar with him (that list was rather short, probably down a name after that mistake with Krillin,) could take the punches Gohan dolled out as long the boy didn't go past the first level of Super Saiyan, and he could hit back too, hard enough to bruise.

The schoolwork had dwindled to nothing after he finished all of it that had accumulated during his three years training for the androids. His mother hadn't bothered getting more. That was just as well, for the work wasn't enough to keep his mind occupied.

It had been, what, two, three years since his father's death? Probably two, since Gohan couldn't remember Bulma calling to wish him a happy thirteenth. There was no happy birthday party, as that last one he had in the days before the Cell Games. And Piccolo wasn't one to remember birthdays. He didn't even know his own birthday, much less the one of his demi-saiyan student. (So, that would mean Trunks is three. Vegeta is probably training him already. Perhaps Trunks will be a good opponent when he gets older. Kami knows Vegeta will never fight me. He knows I'm stronger, but a spar would prove it, and his pride couldn't take it.)

Gohan's thoughts were interrupted by Piccolo's arrival. "I take it the fight with baldy didn't go too well."

"He has hair now," Gohan absently corrected him, but Piccolo knew that already. The nickname would stick to Krillin his whole life, to the short man's chagrin. "But yes, it didn't. I lost control again. He left after that."

Piccolo raised a brow ridge. "What set you off?"

"I got distracted. He got a hit in. I snapped."

"Your mother would lose whatever constitutes a reign on her temper if she heard you use such improper grammar." Gohan smiled slightly. A joke from Piccolo was something to be treasured, but meant the namek sensed his rather dark mood.

"It isn't like she cares anymore. Not even about that."

"If you want to be a scholar so much as you told me when you were younger, why don't you go to school?"

"That was what mom wanted me to be. She just drilled it into my head so much that I was brainwashed into thinking I wanted it too. Besides, there wouldn't be a point. Even though I haven't even opened a schoolbook in a year, I'm years ahead of everyone else my age, and I don't want to deal with schoolyard politics anyway."

"Whatever you want, Gohan."

They stood silent for a while, but it was a comfortable silence, coming from years of familiarity.

"I don't know why I bother going home anymore. Mom never notices, and Grandpa can take care of her fine."

"Where would you go?"

"I don't know. Maybe to Capsule Corp. I could work for Bulma. Or maybe the woods with you."

Piccolo looked contemplative, but shot the demi-saiyan a sharp-fanged grin. "If you want to live with me, you have to earn your keep and help with Dende."

Gohan grimaced. "Sure. I could teach him how to be a complete pansy, and roll over for everyone just to make other people happy. Or how to kill your relations without even trying. That's probably chapter eighteen in the god handbook."

Piccolo shrugged. "You learned from me. You'd do fine, kid."

It was getting dark, and the stars were starting to come out. Gohan looked to the sky.

"I wonder what dad's doing?"

"Probably sparring with all the other dead heroes and having the time of his life."

Gohan nodded acquiescence. "He always seemed happier fighting than when he was with us."

"Though he denied it, sometimes I think Goku was more of a saiyan than Vegeta. He lived for battle."

"I'm not going back home. It's too full of bad memories."

"You don't have to, Gohan. You aren't as much of a bother as everyone else on this planet. Stick around, if you'd like."

"I'd like that. Thank you, Piccolo."

"No problem, kid."

Both aliens looked towards the stars. Gohan felt liberated from his pronouncement. "Home" hadn't been home for a long time. Home was where family was, and Piccolo was his only true family left. But perhaps, he would visit Capsule Corp. for a while. Vegeta tolerated him, which was more than could be said for almost everyone else on the planet, Bulma welcomed him, and Trunks thought of him as an elder brother. So, maybe, though Piccolo was his mentor, they could be his extended family, of a sort. His father was dead, his younger brother never really existed, and his mother hadn't been so for years. But, despite all that. . . perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He hadn't really lost his father. His father was the man standing right next to him.

END