#chichixpiccolo

“Trust me, Milk, I got it.”

Silence crackled for once, until he heard a dramatic sigh.

“I hate that code-name.”

“You call me Sweet Pea,” he snarled.

She didn’t answer, and he focused on doing a perimeter check on all the nearby rooms. There was always so many damn rooms. Every time one opened Piccolo waited for the whole mission to collapse in on itself.

“I’m in the room with the rather nice floral sofa,” Chi Chi piped. “Ooo… I want this carpet!”

“We can’t afford that carpet. And how about you try telling me the goddamn floor number? Room number? If you’re even in the same building as me?” Piccolo kept his voice low, actually attempting to be covert, unlike his partner.

Chi Chi made a psh noise that made his connection go crazy. He was half-tempted to take the piece out of his ear, just so he wouldn’t have to listen to her yammering.

“You don’t need the floor number. You just need to know that there’s a designer Ricatti vase in here.”

Piccolo rolled his eyes, and twitched his antennae towards a noise he’d heard. He quickly reached up with his free hand, and silenced his com. The gun in his hand weighed heavy as he swung his back against a wall, and pushed gently on a door.

Inside the room, a little boy sat dead in the center. He had a curly black hair, but Piccolo couldn’t see much else. The room was littered with broken furniture, and splinters of wood abrupted out from underneath the carpet. He saw that several tapestries had been ripped apart, and a few pieces of art had been shredded or shattered according to medium.

Chi Chi would have been pissed, if she’d been the one to find the room.

“All right, kid, turn around.” Piccolo stepped into the room, gun at the ready, as the child finally seemed to notice him. He turned, slowly, but his torso remained still, allowing his head to fully rotate on his shoulders. Piccolo gritted his fangs together, and waited as the boy opened his mouth and unleashed a hellish cry.

Piccolo jumped to the side, but not in enough time to avoid the vomit the kid had spewed at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he snarled. He quickly jerked his leather jacket off, where it fell to a sizzling heap on the carpet. He sprung forward, trying not to think of how much that was going to cost to replace. The kid was up now, head still twisted backwards as he skittered back across the carpet.

Piccolo wanted desperately to shoot the kid, but there was only a 80/20 chance of survival, depending on where you aimed the thing. He dug into his pocket, and pulled out his crucifix. He didn’t want to have to get close to the thing, but it looked like he really didn’t have a choice.

Burn in Hell! the kid screeched, and he tried his vomiting trick again. Piccolo saw it coming this time, though, and managed to duck behind one of the shattered tables. He heard the bile hit it, and watched as it sizzled through the wood. He was left with a peephole in which to see the murderous brat.

“Already been there,” Piccolo griped. “Not interested in going back.” He scuttled out from behind the table, and his boots hit carpet as he hurled himself forward. With a shout, he jabbed down, burying the tip of the cross into the kid’s forehead. The kid screamed bloody murder, and thrashed wildly beneath Piccolo’s body. The strength of the blows was unbelievable for a kid this size, and Piccolo felt himself quake with every whack to his ribs. He was almost ready to collapse from the pain when the kid gave one last, feeble punch.

Your father says hello, the thing hissed one last time, a dying echo from the boy’s unmoving mouth as the demon slid from the little boy’s throat. Piccolo hastily grabbed at one of the capsule balls in his pocket, and knocked it sharply against the spirit’s rising form. The capsule ball did its job, and sucked up the nasty creature, where Piccolo didn’t have to listen to its damn mouth.

Exhausted, Piccolo pushed himself up. He looked down at the now free kid, and sighed. The cross he’d lodged in the kid’s skin was still there, and Piccolo bent to retrieve it. His exhausted fingers slipped around the metal, but he managed to gain a grip on it. He tugged, and tried not to grimace at the noise it made as it slid out of the boy.

There’d be a scar, but at least his neck wasn’t twisted around anymore. Piccolo, on the other hand, felt as if he had several broken ribs, and plenty of other scrapes and bruises for the evening.

Piccolo switched his com back on, and almost let out a breathy laugh at the fact that Chi Chi was still rambling on the other side of the phone, this time about some curtains she’d found.

“I’ve already sealed the demon in a dragon ball,” Piccolo said, and tapped on his pocket, as if Chi Chi could actually see.

“What?!”

“Would you keep it down?” he hissed. His ears flapped back against his skull in pain as he tried to listen past Chi Chi’s loud voice. He didn’t hear anyone, but then again, it was almost impossible that no one had heard the scuffle.

Chi Chi finally seemed to regain herself, however, as she whispered, “You didn’t… hurt him, did you?”

“No,” Piccolo answered. Then hesitated. “Well… I stuck him with one of the crosses but. He’s fine.”

Chi Chi made a soft cooing noise. Piccolo crouched for a moment, attempting to regain himself.

“I’ll head out from here. You do the same. Meet me at the car.”

“You wanna grab something to eat before we report in?”

“Depends… it’s my turn to pick, your turn to pay.”

**

One thing Piccolo had learned since coming to the world of the living was: fast food was fantastic, and honestly, it would be something he would miss whenever he eventually had his contract terminated. Sure, it might happen several hundred years from now, or it could happen tomorrow, but one thing was certain - he’d miss burger grease and fries.

Chi Chi was in the driver seat, a chicken sandwich pinched firmly between her teeth as she squinted her eyes up at the GPS.

“I can’t read this damn thing,” she mumbled around her food. Both of her hands were clasped like vices around the steering wheel. She absolutely hated driving, but Piccolo had pointed out he was the one with a busted rib, and she’d conceded to drive for once.

“It says turn left two lights from here.” Piccolo thought it was ridiculous that he could read the contraption better than the actual human - but he found that everything with Chi Chi was ridiculous, and keeping track wasn’t really helpful anymore.

And anyways, fries were far more interesting at the moment. If he buried himself up to his eyeballs with salt and coke, he could try to ignore the searing pain he was in. He went to unclip his seat belt to alleviate some of the pressure, but Chi Chi punched him in the arm without even looking up from the road.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m in pain,” Piccolo hissed. His fingers fumbled clumsily at the clasp, just for him to get punched again. This time his bag tumbled out of his lap, and he watched desperately as his fries scattered all over the floorboard.

“Don’t get pissy with me,” Chi Chi said, and snapped her fingers in his face. She had the chicken sandwich between her lips again, and Piccolo lamented that he couldn’t have his own food. “If you ooze your slime all over another car, Bulma said she wouldn’t replace it.”

“It’s not slime!” Piccolo crossed his arms and purposefully stomped his boot down on a few of his unsalvageable fries. He ground them into the carpet, and stared purposefully at Chi Chi. She didn’t look, though, as she was too busy flicking her eyes back and forth from the GPS screen to the road, and Piccolo received no satisfaction.

“A slightly viscous liquid that pours out of your body isn’t slime?” He could already imagine the eyebrow arch she had.

“Ectoplasm,” he deadpanned. “You work for a paranormal corporation. You should know the proper term.”

Chi Chi made a noise at the back of her throat, and quickly squashed it by swallowing some of her sandwich. Her shoulders were hunched forward so far that they almost touched the wheel, and the lights reflected crazily in her eyes.

Piccolo flopped back in his seat.

“Since my ribs are broken,” he changed the subject, “I obviously won’t be able to do the dishes for a week.”

“You definitely are, I just have to get Eighteen to patch you up.”

Piccolo frowned. “Hell, no. That woman is creepy as hell.”

“Well luckily for you, that’s kind of your expertise.”

“Cheap shot - and not funny.”

Chi Chi still refused to look from the road, but her fingers twitched on the steering wheel. She clearly wanted to hit him again.

“Just be quiet while I get us home. You know, I wouldn’t have to drive if you could just manage not to be a jerk for once, and actually call me to your location.”

“Couldn’t figure out where I was,” Piccolo hastily answered.

“Uh-huh.”

After that he allowed Chi Chi to lapse into the silence that she wanted. Piccolo, instead, entertained himself with the fuck-load of nothing that raced past his window. He honestly knew he should have called Chi Chi. It was much safer to tackle an enemy with back-up, but he often times was reminded of just how human she was. The thought of her getting her caused an unfortunate prickle to race across his spine.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the ride home - it was honestly better, with Chi Chi at the wheel. Her ability to drive, talk, and eat was not the strongest, and aside from all that Piccolo could feel his consciousness drifting in and out due to the pain in his ribs.