Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, as if that's a surprise---I've only said that ten times before in this fic, so why should the statement change now?

The Burden of Hope

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Repentance to the Dead; The Unburdening of a Soul It was an unassuming place: a plain of grass, unbroken by any flowering vegetation. Here and there, small copses of trees whose leaves would have been a resplendent green had the sky not been dark dotted the landscape. Nearby rose a great mountain---not by any means the tallest or most impressive peak in the world, but one that greatly dwarfed the rest of the scenery.

But this mountain was not the most prominent sight here; rather, it was a small slab of stone perhaps two feet in height, straight, with a rounded top. What made it so prominent was either its location---in the centre of the plain, in the shadows of neither the mountain nor the trees---or the fact that it was a man-made feature, in contrast to the natural ones which surrounded it. Likely, it was a combination of both of these factors. While this area usually lay virtually undisturbed save for a few birds and squirrels, on this morning---for morning it was, despite the darkness---it hosted another guest. A young boy, barely a teenager, knelt in front of the stone slab. One of the boy's hands rested in his lap, while the other was extended toward the slab, fingers sadly tracing the letters carved into it.

"Son Goku. The world has lost more than its protector. It has lost a beloved husband, a devoted father, and wonderful friend," Gohan murmured. He needed no light to read the words; they had long ago been branded into his mind. "Ohayo, Otousan."

Falling silent again, he let his other hand fall into his lap. He stared solemnly, not sure what he could say next; after all, what words were there to speak to someone who had been dead for three and a half years? Gohan was starting to wonder why he had come here. If he had nothing to say, then there was no reason for his presence. In his heart, though, he knew the reason. He needed to be here. It was time to start letting go.

"I… I haven't been here for a long time," he continued at last, his voice soft, but sounding loud against the stillness. "I remember I used to come more often, but… well… I've had a lot of other things to deal with, and I haven't been able to come and talk."

During the first few months after his father's death, Gohan had visited the grave every few days; he'd been too grief-stricken to come every day, yet too lonely not to come at all. On each of the visits, he would talk to his father, trying to unload his sorrow and his pain, but he'd managed to do little more than repeat countless times how much he missed him. That had only made him feel worse.

As for having "other things to deal with"… He actually hadn't been dealing with them at all. Instead, he'd been letting those things consume him, letting them infect his soul like an untreated wound. They'd poisoned his spirit, his compassion, twisting him into someone that no one would recognize as Gohan. For a long time, he'd thought that the poison had killed his spirit and compassion, but a week and a half ago, Trunks had proven him wrong; some wisp of his old self still existed within him, scarcely more tangible than a ghost, tenaciously clinging to life. In Trunks, it had found a handhold, and was slowly pulling its way back. But Trunks couldn't do everything; now was the time for Gohan to aid himself.

"They're all gone now, Tousan," Gohan went on. "Of course, you know that already. You probably went to meet them right when they died. Bet you were surprised when I didn't show up." He chuckled humourlessly. "Then again, maybe you weren't; you always had confidence in my ability to pull through. A lot more than I ever had."

He swallowed a lump in his throat at the thought of his father's faith in him; it had never wavered---no matter what. His father had believed in him more than anyone else ever had---even Piccolo-san. Gohan had always tried his hardest to make sure that that faith was justified; he never wanted to disappoint his father.

Convulsively, he dug his fingers painfully into his legs and bit his bottom lip, deeply ashamed of himself. What had he been doing with his father's faith all these years? Proving that he wasn't worthy of it---that was what. He'd let himself become a bitter, emotionless shell, always running from his problems instead of facing them.

In short, Gohan had let himself become a coward.

"How about that, Tousan? A coward, just like when I was little. I've sure grown up, huh?" he said wryly, staring at the grave as though he might see his father's face in the stone. "I'm supposed to be a warrior. I never wanted to be, but I grew to accept that obligation. I had courage once…" he trailed off, feeling hot tears on his cheeks. Sniffling, he forced himself to speak. "… and then I threw it away after one battle---the battle where I lost everything. A real warrior keeps his courage, no matter what else he's lost. Some warrior I've turned out to be, then; I don't deserve the title."

He sighed softly, again ashamed; he had abandoned everything that he'd learned since he was four years old. Gohan would not use the excuse of only being a little boy when he did that. On the day that his friends had died, he had ceased to be a child. As such, he should have confronted his pain, not tried to hide from it. He was confronting it now, though, at least---better late than never, he supposed.

"I guess I still have a few guts left, though," Gohan said slowly. "I met up with Trunks a few days ago, Tousan. You remember him, right? Vegeta and Bulma's kid?" Inexplicably, he smiled. "I had to save him from the androids---more than once, actually; he's really good at getting into trouble. Still, he's a good kid. Sort of reminds me of the way I used to be."

A tide of old memories crashed over him, and would have taken him to his knees had he not been already sitting on them; as it was, he doubled over, letting silent tears fall from his eyes. The way he used to be---when all of his friends had been alive. Only with the others around---or at least knowing that they could be within a second's notice---had Gohan been able to be his gentle, compassionate self. Had he been able to be the little boy that he was.

When was the last time he had truly been a child? The last reunion, probably, as his father's death had stolen part of his childhood from him. They'd always tried to have those every few months, just to keep in touch. Everyone would gather on Muten Roshi's island on an unbelievably beautiful day and spend all their time laughing and reminiscing about the old days. Everyone save Vegeta, of course; somehow, Bulma had prevailed upon him to attend, but it had been simply impossible to get him to socialize. He'd merely stood apart from all of the others, arms folded across his chest, and looked away as though the whole event were beneath him.

Naturally, Gohan had spent most of his time with Piccolo. Though Gohan had basically seen his mentor whenever he wanted, he'd liked being with him at the reunions the best. Those had been the times when he was surrounded by all of the people he loved. He'd always been so cheerful around Piccolo, happily skipping along beside him, excitedly chattering about one thing or another, occasionally latching onto his leg in an affectionate hug. Piccolo had always roughly kicked him off and scolded him in his gruff voice to not show such weakling sentimentality, but that had just been his way in front of others, and Gohan knew it; whenever no one was looking, Piccolo would always smirk at him slightly, and ruffle his hair a bit, and that had been enough for both of them.

Gohan knuckled his eyes to wipe away his tears and shook his head to banish the mental images. "You all left me. All of you," he whispered hoarsely. "You left me with nothing. I don't really blame you for it; there was nothing you could have done to avoid it. But I could've done something… if I'd been stronger… but I wasn't. Gomen nasai. I really did try, though. Honest. I just wasn't good enough. I never am. And because of that, I lost you all… my friends…"

A soft sound behind him pricked his ears; a low screech followed it. Turning his head slightly, Gohan found himself staring into a pair of enormous green eyes. These eyes were set above a stubby beak, which was open and letting out another screech. A heavyset lavender body with dwarfed wings sat contentedly behind the head. Again, memories flooded Gohan's mind, and attached to the memories was a name.

"Icarus," he breathed disbelievingly. The little dragon screeched once again in greeting. Gohan shifted to face him, and tentatively reached out his hand to stroke his beak. "Hey, boy. What---Ack!" Gohan squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away as Icarus ran his rough tongue over his face, covering it in less than a full lick; he fell back against his father's grave as the dragon crawled on top of him to continue his greeting.

Finally, Gohan managed to push Icarus off him and wipe his saliva-coated cheeks, chuckling a bit as he did so; the little dragon was so much like a puppy in his behaviour, right down to having followed him home after being rescued from the burning forest. Gohan's mother had insisted that he take Icarus back to his home, as she didn't want this "flea-ridden monster" in her house. Thankfully, his father had found a cave not far from the house where Icarus could stay and Gohan could visit at any time.

Icarus sat back on his haunches, and Gohan could almost swear that the dragon was grinning at him under his beak; the sight was enough to keep the boy smiling. He had completely forgotten about Icarus, having been utterly consumed with the loss of his other friends in battle. It seemed that he hadn't lost every one of them, after all.

He crawled back over to Icarus, and started petting his beak again; the little dragon gurgled happily. "Hey there, boy. It's been a long time. I missed you."

Eventually, Icarus jerked his head toward the gravestone, letting out a questioning screech. Gohan's smile faded into something more sombre, and he lowered his hand, the lightness of the past few moments erased.

"Hai," he whispered. "I'm talking to Tousan again. Just like I used to do all the time." Gohan patted Icarus' head as the little dragon leaned forward a bit and nuzzled him sympathetically. Many were the times when Gohan had been visited by Icarus as he sat, mourning deeply, in front of his father's grave; Icarus always seemed to know when he was upset, and did his best to comfort him. This was probably the only time that it had ever really worked.

Shifting a little, Gohan turned his attention back to the grave, one hand absently petting Icarus. "Hey Tousan," he said, a bit of happiness seeping back into his smile. "Look. It's Icarus. I didn't get all of my friends killed, after all; I've got one left." His smile vanished. "Though I would have gotten him killed if he'd been in the city that day. Another death on my head. Tousan, why did all this fall on me? How come I'm the only one left?" He choked back a sob as he thought of Piccolo and Kurilin. "Nevermind. I know why."

Gohan sat silently for several minutes, trying to collect himself; he blinked away the wet film that insisted on forming in his eyes. Bowing his head, he continued, "Maybe I would have taken all this better if you hadn't died first." His free hand clenched into a convulsively shaking fist as his voice became a furious growl. "Blast those androids! I wasn't over losing you yet, and they went and took everyone else away from me! But if you'd been there, they wouldn't have been able to! You could have stopped them! They were created to go after you, anyway! If you hadn't gone and died…" Gohan broke off abruptly, only now realizing what he'd been saying. Where had these feelings come from? How could he suddenly start accusing his father of being responsible for the others' deaths?

"Tousan, gomen nasai!" he apologized ardently. "I didn't mean any of that! I really didn't! It wasn't your fault! You couldn't help that you died…" Gohan took a few slow breaths to calm himself. Beside him, Icarus snuggled a little closer and screeched softly, trying, in his own pet-like manner, to cheer him up; Gohan absentmindedly scratched him behind the horns, and the little dragon gurgled in contentment.

"And while we're on the subject of passing blame," he went on after a moment, "let's talk about the person that I'm best at doing that to: me. If nothing else, I've always been great at that, huh?" Gohan chuckled bitterly. "I can't help it; it's the way I've always been.

"Do you know that I used to blame myself for your death, Tousan? It's true. I couldn't help but think that if I'd just told Kaasan that I knew what was happening, that she would have let me help take care of you, and that I would have made all the difference." He shook his head. "Silly, I know. I'm over that now. But blaming myself about the others… well, that's different. And not nearly as farfetched."

Gohan concentrated on petting Icarus for a few minutes. He knew that he was stalling, just trying to avoid his real reason for coming here, but he didn't care. He'd allow himself to be a coward one last time. After all, he'd been one for three years; what did a couple of more moments matter?

"Three of them died before I even got there," he said at last. Above him, the sky slowly took on the yellow-orange glow of dawn. "Yamucha, Tenshinhan, and Chaozu. I saw one of them falling from the sky while I was still too far away to help. I don't know which one; I was too panicked to pay attention to whose ki had vanished. If I had been there, then maybe…"

He stopped himself. Maybe what? Piccolo, Kurilin, and Vegeta had all been alive when he'd arrived at the battle, and what had ended up happening to them? They'd been killed, too. Gohan's presence had done nothing to save them. If he couldn't have helped while he was there, why did he consider the deaths of Yamucha, Tenshinhan, and Chaozu his fault? Logically, it made no sense. All these years, he'd been blaming himself for something that couldn't have been helped.

Sighing softly, Gohan gave a slight smile. One of the heavy weights on his soul lifted. Those deaths weren't his fault, after all. While he remained saddened by them, he no longer felt any guilt. Not over those three, anyway. The others, however, were still quite different. But maybe he could face them a little more easily now.

"All right, Tousan. I understand, now, that I couldn't have helped Yamucha, Tenshinhan, or Chaozu…" He swallowed hard. "… but what about Vegeta? Couldn't I have helped him? We were both Super Saiyajin; it's possible that, if we'd fought together, we could've taken the androids down. Isn't it? I tried to help him, but he just brushed me off, and got killed."

Closing his eyes, he forced himself to envision the battle, and to think about it rationally; no good would be done if he let all of his feelings get in the way. He hadn't seen Vegeta die; he only dimly half-recalled hearing him. They'd each fought alone---Vegeta by choice, and Gohan by necessity, both ridiculously outmatched. So what would have happened had they fought together?

Gohan tightened his lips; knowing the androids much better now, he had the answer. Nothing. That's what would have happened. The androids had had less than no trouble defeating a Super Saiyajin, so fighting two of them at once would have made no difference at all. No difference save for making the battle more entertaining for the androids before they decided to make the kill.

"Wow," he whispered, opening his eyes to look at his father's grave again. "Who would've thought that admitting you were powerless could actually help the grieving process?" He smiled for a second, but that smile quickly faded as his eyes watered and his lower lip began to tremble. Admitting to being powerless was not always a good thing---not when being powerless came to having his two closest friends sacrifice themselves to save his life.

Not bothering to control himself, Gohan began to sob. Icarus looked up at him curiously, and let out a concerned screech. Gohan ignored him, his mind consumed, without prompting, with the vision of Piccolo and Kurilin rushing into the path of the pseudo-ki blast of Android Seventeen because Gohan was too weak to dodge it. The scene played over and over again in front of his eyes, cruelly disregarding his silent pleas for it to stop.

"Wh… why, Tousan?" he managed. "Why… why did they have to do that for me? They weren't supposed to die! It was supposed to be me! Me! Why does someone else always step in when I'm supposed to be hurt or worse? How many times over should I have been killed?"

Gohan continued to cry for several minutes, occasionally wiping his eyes and nose with the backs of his hands. Each breath shuddered as it escaped his lips, and he slowly tried to calm himself. He blinked numerous times in a futile attempt to erase his tears, and swallowed hard.

"I know what you'd say to me about this," he said at last. "That it isn't my fault. That I shouldn't be beating myself up over it. But it isn't that easy, Tousan. Not for me. How can I not blame myself when my two best friends took a death-blast that was meant for me? How am I supposed to get over something like that? I… I…"

He squeezed his eyes shut again, willing some sense of reason to return to him. He'd gotten over such a sacrifice before---when Piccolo had saved him from Nappa, but… but not until the plan to go to Nameksei to gather the original Dragonballs was formed; there had been a way to bring Piccolo and the others back. Gohan had had a purpose to replace the guilt that he'd felt back then. This time, really, it should have been no different; vengeance may not be the most noble purpose, but it was a purpose all the same---one that he should have had.

"They wouldn't want me this way, would they, Tousan?" he asked, frowning deeply. "And you wouldn't either. Piccolo-san would tell me to use my pain and rage against the androids instead of against myself. The rest of you would tell me to never give up, that sooner or later I'll be able to stop them." Surprisingly, Gohan felt his lips curve upward slightly. "Hm. You know, I always used to be really good at doing what people told me to do. I'm a little out of practice, though; maybe I ought to try taking it up again. Can't hurt any worse than the past three years, can it?"

Icarus seemed to note the change in his mood, and gurgled questioningly; Gohan turned his head to gaze fondly at the little dragon for a moment before turning back to the grave, feeling unexpectedly happy---almost like the weight of an entire solar system had lifted from his heart. In its place was the weight of a planet, but that much Gohan could handle easily; he'd been doing that since he'd been Trunks' age.

"I think I will do that," he declared. "But there's something else that I need to do first…"

"Gohan-chan!"

He jumped and spun around to see his mother standing a short distance away. She'd clearly just gotten out of bed, because her hair was unbound rather than its usual severe bun, and she was wearing a heavy white housecoat. A messy-haired and sleepy-eyed Trunks stood at her side.

"Gohan-chan, what are you doing out here?" Chichi practically shrieked. "Why on Earth did you sneak out of the house? Do you have any idea how worried I was when I went to check on you and you weren't in your room?"

Trunks frowned in annoyance. "Hai. Chichi-obasan was yelling real loud about it. And I was trying to be sleeping!"

"Gomen nasai, Kaasan. And Trunks, too," Gohan apologized, chuckling slightly. He stood and made his way over to them, Icarus just behind him, following at an ungainly trot. "I didn't mean to worry you."

He smiled down at Trunks as the toddler hesitantly reached out to stroke Icarus' beak; the child grinned as the little dragon screeched happily.

"Gohan-chan?" his mother asked in a worried voice. "Why here? Are… are you okay, honey?"

Gohan glanced back at his father's grave, then at Trunks again before looking up at his mother. His smile widening, he said, honestly, "I feel great."

"Are you sure?"

"Hai, Kaasan. I'm sure. And," he began, giving his voice a determined edge, "I am going to take Trunks home."

Trunks perked up. "Really?"

"Gohan-chan…" Chichi started, and Gohan braced himself for the harsh disagreement---but, surprisingly, it didn't come. "All right, honey, but…" Her expression hardened. "…you come straight back home afterward. Do you understand me, young man?"

"Don't worry, Kaasan," Gohan reassured. "I'm not going to spend another three years away from home. But both Trunks and I are still going to be here for a few more days, anyway, before we go."

"Nani?" Trunks asked, apparently a little disappointed. "Why can't we go today?"

Gohan faked an exasperated sigh and looked down at the toddler. "Do you know how long a trip it is back to your house, Trunks? I'm not going to carry you all the way back there; my arms would get too tired."

"Then," Trunks began, his eyes watering a bit, "how am I gonna get back?"

"Simple," Gohan said, and paused for effect. "You're going to fly."