Blanket Disclaimer: I do not own, nor will I ever own, Dragon Ball Z. This disclaimer should be taken to apply to the rest of the story, because I'm sick of coming up with a new one for every chapter.

"Gohan! Hey, Gohan!"

Gohan whipped around, turning away from Yemma's desk, and there he was: spiky black hair, muscled arms, fighting gi that was an eye-blinding shade of orange…

…and a smile that lit up his entire face, reaching all the way to his eyes.

His father hadn't changed one bit. The only thing different was the halo hovering above his spiky black hair, identical to the one that Gohan knew he must also be wearing.

"Dad!"

Suddenly there were tears leaking from Gohan's eyes, and he made no effort to stop them as he barreled straight into the man he had been yearning to see for twenty years and more, knowing the collision wouldn't hurt him one bit. He buried his face in the other man's shoulder as a pair of strong arms encircled him, sobbing as he relaxed in his father's embrace for the first time in far too long.

"Dad," he choked out, "I missed you…"

"I know, son." Callused hands came to rest on his shoulders and gently pushed him back, so that they were standing eye to eye. "You've grown up. It seems like the last time I saw you…"

"It's been over twenty years," Gohan said softly.

"That long? Really?" His father shook his head, seeming dazed, but just as quickly the solemnity faded from his voice, and his face was once again covered by that goofy, trademark grin. "Well, I'm sure the others are all waiting to see you. How about we go home?"

Gohan sniffled, wiping a fresh onslaught of tears from his eyes before he replaced his glasses. "Yeah," he replied, though he was sure that his smile was still somewhat watery. "Let's do that."

One of his father's hands remained on his shoulder; the other, he moved to his face, bringing two fingers to his forehead…

…and in an instant the long winding road, the yellow clouds, the drop into nowhere, all had vanished. In their place was a wide expanse of green, and as far as the eye could see there were long-dead warriors from all over the galaxy, training, meditating, sparring in pairs or in groups. Gohan gaped as he took it all in.

"Amazing, isn't it?" His father grinned and clapped him once more on the shoulder before letting him go. "All of the galaxy's heroes come here to train after they die and, well, you definitely count. You don't even have to fight if you don't want to. Even just watching is incredible."

"I'm sure it is." Gohan found that he still couldn't quite get his mouth to shut.

His father grinned once more, surveying the training grounds with a fond expression before he looked into the air, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Guys! Hey, guys! I've got Gohan!"

Immediately a group of blurs descended on them and Gohan found himself surrounded by people, almost as quickly as if they'd used Instant Transmission. Krillin was the first to greet him; he had to levitate just to reach Gohan's eye level, but he threw his arms around Gohan's neck, crying without an ounce of shame. After a few minutes of this Android 18 came up and forcibly pried her husband off of him, in the process offering Gohan an eye roll and a nod that was almost friendly. Yamcha socked him in the shoulder, happily babbling away about how he'd finally found a place where he could hold his own in the ring. Tien and Chiaotzu even took a turn shaking his hand; Gohan was touched, especially since he hadn't known them all that well in life.

Someone was missing.

"Dad?" Gohan craned his neck, trying to peer past the crowd of people that surrounded them. "Dad, where's Piccolo?"

The instant he uttered his old mentor's name, everyone's faces immediately sobered. His father in particular acquired a solemn look that Gohan had only ever seen him adopt in the most crucial of battles.

Subconsciously, he noticed the others begin to tactfully back away as his father's hand came to rest, once again, on his shoulder. "Son," he began, all traces of laughter gone from his voice, "this isn't going to be easy for you to hear…"

A jolt of icy fear shot through Gohan's stomach. He looked into his father's eyes, saw the seriousness, the pain, the very slow and deliberate shake of his head. "Dad," he said firmly, attempting to channel his mother. "What. Happened."

His father sighed, but it was Krillin who answered; he was the only one who hadn't drifted politely out of hearing distance. "Gohan," he said, "there isn't any easy way to put this, but Piccolo… well… he was sent to Hell."

For an instant, time seemed to stop. All of the breath rushed from Gohan's lungs; sounds suddenly seemed to be coming from far away, and the others' faces were sliding in and out of focus…

"Gohan? Gohan!" A pair of fingers snapped right in front of his face, and he jolted out of it with a gasp. He sank to his knees on the grass; his father was supporting him, Krillin's hand was moving in steady circles over his back, and both of their concerned faces were mere inches from Gohan's own.

After a few moments of taking deep, steady breaths, he said the only thing that was in his mind. "Why?"

"Look, I know he's changed," Krillin said, "but you didn't see him at the Twenty-Third—"

Gohan turned the full force of his glare on the former monk, and Krillin gulped and fell silent.

"He killed a lot of people, Gohan." A firm hand beneath his chin forced his head up, and he found himself looking, unwillingly, into his father's eyes. "My master's master gave his life just to seal him away, and after he got free again he would have destroyed the world if I hadn't stopped him." He did not quail under Gohan's mutinous glare. "You know he's changed and I know he's changed, but the people in charge… well, they felt that even with everything he's done since then, it just wasn't enough to make up for his past actions."

"Didn't you even try to help him?" Gohan yanked his chin away, digging his fingers into the grass.

"Of course we did." Krillin was the most sincere person he knew, and right now he was practically radiating understanding and sympathy – and, Gohan thought, more than a little hurt that he hadn't been able to help a friend. "We all pleaded his case before King Yemma. But in the end, it just wasn't enough."

"Instant Transmission—"

"I tried." His father shook his head sadly. "Believe me, I tried. Over and over again. But they've put up a lot of barriers and reinforcements since Buu got in, and it just isn't possible." It was the defeated look on his father's face more than anything that convinced Gohan he was telling the truth, that he really had done his best.

He had failed. For the first time in his life or death, Earth's greatest hero had failed.

"Let me try." Gohan looked up and saw no surprise in their faces, only resignation. They had known all along that he would do this – but they weren't expecting him to succeed. "I completed the whole law school curriculum in a single year," he continued, standing, "and I've had some practice in court as well. Maybe I can do better."

His father continued to hold his gaze, and Gohan knew that he knew that he wasn't going to back down. "I hope that you can," he said, holding out his hand; Gohan grasped it. "In any case, it wouldn't be right not to try." He brought the fingers of his other hand to his forehead, and once again, they vanished.

And so it was that Gohan found himself back at the Check-In Station, mere minutes after he had left. It appeared to be a slow day; there was only a trickle of souls coming in through the doors, and Gohan could see that most of those were either very old, sickly, or both.

Just another benefit of a world at peace.

"Go ahead, Gohan," his father said, thumping him on the back, "and do what you have to do."

Gohan nodded, striding past the line of incoming souls and up to the elaborate building. His father, though he stayed close, walked slightly behind him, allowing Gohan to take the lead. And lead he did. When he reached the double doors he strode through them as if he owned the place, producing a chorus of startled exclamations from incoming souls and workers alike.

As the ruckus reached King Yemma's ears he looked up from his books, starting as he noticed his guest. "Back so soon?" he rumbled, leaning forward over his desk. "What, did you forget something?"

"No." Gohan crossed his arms, planted his feet shoulder width apart, and looked King Yemma directly in the eye. "I'm here to plead the case of Piccolo Junior, also known as Ma Junior, who was sent to Hell without adequate cause."

Yemma let out a long-suffering sigh, and it voiced his thoughts more plainly than any words could have. Oh dear Kais, not another one. "And who," Yemma grumbled, "has come to plead for his freedom this time?"

Gohan drew himself up to his full height. "His son."

Immediately all activity in the room ceased; one could have heard a pin drop in the ringing silence that followed. In that moment when all was still, Gohan risked breaking eye contact to chance a glance back at his father. To Gohan's immense relief there was no hint of jealousy or shock in the other man's face, only a warm encouraging smile. That's it, son, his expression said. Keep telling him. I'm proud of you.

Gohan shot back a quick, grateful smile of his own before returning his attention to the King of the Afterlife. Yemma remained silent for a few seconds more. Then, deadpan:

"I fail to see the resemblance."

Nobody laughed. Not even his father.

"There's more to family than blood," Gohan countered, stepping forward.

"Family or not," Yemma roared, "I've already said it half a dozen times, and I'll say it again!" He slammed his fist onto the desk. "The trial has already gone through, and Piccolo Junior is not worthy of heaven!"

"And why is that?" Gohan demanded angrily, though he immediately cursed himself for the show of emotion and forced himself to concentrate on regaining control. He would not help Piccolo by losing his temper now.

"You have to ask?" the red ogre demanded. "Again and again, you have to ask! He killed millions of innocent people—"

"That was his father!"

"Whose soul now resides in his body!" Yemma matched Gohan glare for glare.

"As does that of the former Guardian of Earth – pure good to match the Demon King's pure evil."

"Kami himself admitted that no amount of good he could do could even begin to counter the wrongs of his other half!"

"I wouldn't know," Gohan returned. "I wasn't there."

A sad sigh from behind him, however, told him the horrible truth: his father had been there. Yemma was not exaggerating.

"He's made up for it since," Gohan pressed on, horribly aware of the pleading note in his voice, fighting an increasingly desperate battle to retain some semblance of control. "He gave his life to save mine—"

"You've managed to name one selfless deed! One! A single act of self-sacrifice is not enough to make up for a lifetime of wickedness!"

"Are you counting the lifetime he spent defending the Earth?" Gohan felt that if this went on for much longer, he would burst into tears – and that simply would not do. "He helped fight the Saiyans—"

"Because he wanted the planet for himself!"

"Not anymore!" Gohan shouted. "He risked his life to stop Frieza, the androids, Cell—"

"And failed on all of those counts!" Yemma roared. "Your father beat Frieza, Androids 17 and 18 turned of their own accord, and as I recall, you were the one to finish off Cell. Had Piccolo Junior actually saved innocent lives in proportion to those he took, I might reconsider, but as things stand he has not even begun to clear his record!"

"He nearly died to stop Frieza from killing my father!" Gohan shouted back. "He gave his own ki to fuel Dad's Spirit Bomb against Buu! And what's more, he took the lead in supporting me when I was fighting Cell, and that was what gave me the resolve to keep fighting! If not for Piccolo, the universe would have been destroyed several times over!"

"Indirect actions!" Yemma bellowed. "If not for Frieza and Cell, your father would never have gotten strong enough to defeat Buu. Are you suggesting that they deserve heaven as well?"

"Piccolo's intentions were different from theirs!" Why would Yemma not understand?

"Intentions don't matter here! Actions do!"

"Then why was he allowed to train with King Kai the first time he died?" Mentally, Gohan crossed his fingers, hoping that a precedent might accomplish what all of his prior reasoning hadn't. "The only good thing he'd done at that point was save my life, yet he was still allowed to keep his body and train with the others until we wished him back."

"He was only allowed because you were going to wish him back!" Gohan's stomach plunged when his trump card failed. "The universe was still in danger at that point, there had been one crisis after another, and we needed as many strong fighters on the ground as we could get. Had you not wished him back, he would have gone straight to Hell as soon as the time limit expired."

"Why him, though?" Gohan demanded. He was fighting a losing battle, he knew, but he was not half-Saiyan for nothing. He was determined to see this through to the bitter end – whatever sort of end that may be. "There are a lot of evil people who have some good in them, some of them stronger than him, who would have defended the Earth given the right incentive. So why Piccolo?"

Judging by the sour look on Yemma's face, Gohan had finally managed to hit a sore point. "Kami called in a favor," he grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But don't think," he added, lowering his hand from his face, "that just because I made one exception I'm about to start bending rules all over the place!"

"Actually," said a voice from behind Gohan, "I do believe that this man was once the savior of the universe. If you should be bending the rules for anyone, it's him."

Gohan turned slowly to see who had spoken, hardly daring to believe that he'd gotten another ally. The being now standing next to his father was short, with skin that was a delicate shade of lavender and long white hair. He wore the clothes of a Kai, and even though he looked vaguely familiar Gohan could not quite seem to place him.

"You again," Yemma grumbled. "I should've known you'd stick your nose in where it didn't belong."

"I tend to do that." The newcomer smiled sourly. "At any rate," he continued, coming to stand next to Gohan, "I do believe you owe a boon to the man who once prevented the universe from being obliterated at the hands of Cell."

"You know full well that I have no jurisdiction over Hell!" Yemma snapped. "You Kais saw to that."

The newcomer sighed. "Yes, we did separate the realms of Otherworld to prevent another incident like the one with Buu. But that does not stop you from granting one of your own people right of passage. You do still have that right." The Kai sounded annoyed.

"Very well!" Finally, unbelievably, it seemed Yemma was relenting. "If it will get the lot of you off my back…" He was leafing through a multitude of papers on his desk; finally, he located the form he wanted and started to fill it out with broad strokes, pressing so hard it was a wonder his pen didn't rip right through the paper.

"Here." He tossed the paper irritably at Gohan; Gohan caught it, shocked. The minute the paper touched his skin it vanished, but there was a burning sensation in his left forearm, which began to glow with bright light. As quickly as it had come, however, the glow faded, leaving an intricate pattern of blue marks in its place.

"That will grant you safe passage through the gates of Hell and back," Yemma explained, still with an air of great affront. "If you can negotiate a deal with the new Demon King, you can have him. However," and here he leaned forward, until his face was mere inches from Gohan's own, "if he is to get free, Ma Junior's crimes will have to be paid for, one way or another. There are only so many rules that I can bend."

Gohan was still for a moment, still staring in disbelief at the marks on his arm. The Kai to his left offered him a slight smile. Then:

"Gohan, you did it!" His father was practically bouncing up and down in his excitement. "If anyone can do the impossible, it's you!"

Gohan returned his grin. "I come by it honestly." He turned back to Yemma. "When can I leave for Hell?"

"Whenever you want." Yemma was resting his chin in his hand and still looked decidedly sour. "The sooner, the better," he muttered under his breath.

"Ah ha ha." Gohan rubbed the back of his head. Then, he turned to the Kai who'd helped him out. "Thank you," he said, offering his hand. "Thank you so much."

"You're quite welcome," the short Kai replied, grasping his hand briefly before letting go.

"Forgive me," Gohan said, "you seem to know me, but I can't quite place you. Have we met before?"

"We have," the small being replied, "but I was two people at the time."

"Kibito and the Supreme Kai fused," his father provided. "You remember them, don't you?"

"Of course." Gohan smiled fondly. "How could I forget?" He had thought, at the time, that it would be the last time he ever saw his father until he died himself. "But how—"

The Supreme Kai tapped his earlobe. "Potara earrings," he supplied. "I believe you came quite close to wearing them yourself."

"Oh yeah…"

"Anyway, you had better get going. I can take you to the gates of Hell," his father offered. "I've been down there myself a few times, to sort out newcomers who were causing trouble. The guards know me, so getting you in shouldn't be a problem."

"Thanks, Dad." Gohan smiled. "I don't think I'm really dressed for it, though." He looked ruefully down at his white Oxford shirt, polished loafers, and formal slacks. The outfit was perfect for the courtroom or the office, but not so much for a journey through the most dangerous realm of Otherworld. He turned to the Kai who stood beside him. "Can you still…?"

"Of course." He raised his hand. "Would you like your father's outfit again?"

Gohan, however, shook his head. "Any other time," he said. "But not for this."

The Supreme Kai looked confused. "What, then?"

"You're telepathic, right?" The short Kai nodded. "All right. It'll be easier to just show you."

He removed his glasses, tucked them into his breast pocket, and closed his eyes. After a few seconds of waiting, he felt another mind connect with his. Letting out a breath, Gohan put all of his focus into one image, and one alone.

Suddenly, there was a very familiar tingling sensation all over his body. When he felt the weight settle on his head and shoulders, he knew that Supreme Kai had done as he had asked.

"Thank you." Opening his eyes, Gohan turned to his father. "I'm ready to go now."

The other man nodded; he was smiling, though in a way that was far more solemn than his usual happy-go-lucky grin. "Piccolo was right. That does look good on you." He placed a hand on Gohan's shoulder. "However this turns out, I want you to know that I'm proud to call you my son."

Before Gohan could reply, his father brought his free hand to his forehead, and the Check-In Station winked out as if it had never been.

A/N: Finally, finally, this is ready to post. The first draft of this story has been written in its entirety, so even though I still have some heavy revision to do in some places, it will be finished.

There were a couple of inspirations for this story. I took a lot of inspiration from the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, which is appropriate given that the idea first popped into my head when the song "Eurydice" by Sleepthief first played on my Pandora station.

The other inspiration, oddly enough, was GT. I haven't seen any of the show beyond a few clips, but I do know that Piccolo died permanently, that he somehow ended up in Hell, and that Goku vowed to return someday and get him out. So I just took that idea and ran with it.

Now, a few notes on the story:

I have taken some liberties with the structure of Otherworld. While I've tried to explain some of these changes within the context of canon, others I'll just have to put down to artistic license. It was kind of necessary for the plot.

As much as I take issue with Goku on some counts (and believe me, I do have issues with him), I just cannot see him getting jealous over something like this. Besides, I think that he already knows. I'm going by his and Piccolo's brief conversation when he was getting ready to return to the afterlife during the Buu arc - "He thought of you as family, you know."

I will also be trying something a bit new (for me, at least), and providing an optional soundtrack - which makes sense, as a significant chunk of the story was inspired by music.