Saint Seiya Fan Fiction ❯ Glassy eyes ❯ One-Shot

Disclaimer : I do not own Saint Seiya.

Saint Seiya is (C) of Masami Kurumada, Toei, Shueisha, Akita Shoten and quite probably some more people.

No copyright infringement or disrespect intended here. This is a work of fanfiction, done completely for fun. No profit is taken out of it.

 

Completely unrelated to the disclaimer, but drop by my website if you want to see Saint Seiya fanarts I also do. ^_^ *lol* It's here --> http://tokyo.cool.ne.jp/sagakure/index.html

 

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Glass.

 

Glassy eyes.

 

No matter what Camus would do or say, Milo's eyes were like two pools filled with emptiness.

He felt like staring at stained glass. Like stained glass in the windows of the french churches he used to find so beautiful in his childhood. Only that those windows used to bring him peace, while Milo's eyes did the exact opposite.

After a while, Camus couldn't stand looking at them anymore. They reminded him too much of it all.

As much as he didn't want to believe it, he was starting to fear that despite his repeated attempts, he would never manage to bring Milo back from his nightmares.

 

There are things you can repair, but there are things that cannot be fixed once they're broken. And Camus feared that Milo had gone far beyond the point of no return.

 

 

Fairly often, the younger man would wake up in the middle of the night screaming things that the ice saint couldn't understand. He had tried to hold him at first, but that only made Milo panic more. He would scream, plead or beg, all at once, his voice breaking into higher and higher levels of despair, until his throat would be raw. The only words that Camus could make out other than “No!” and “Please, don't, please stop!!” were so horrible that he wished he could forget it.

When Milo's throat couldn't take the screaming anymore, he would usually just go back to sobbing uncontrollably, curled up into a foetal position, his body still shaking long afterwards. Camus would sit by his side and watch over him until he calmed down, not daring to touch him by fear of making it worse.

 

The Aquarius saint had set up a bed by his own so that he could watch over Milo during the night, but those “fits” would happen during the day too, which made that he couldn't go away from him for a single second, too worried of what might happen.

Their situation was already precarious originally, but all this made it even more dangerous. Ever since that vortex thing had thrown them all in this strange semi-medieval world, the only things Camus was sure of were that his fellow gold saints had travelled through the dimensions along with him and they had to find each other and look for Athena.

Even though he seemed to have been almost completely stripped of his cosmo and his powers, this thought was a constant one in his head, that she would need them, even that far from their own world.

 

As a gold saint, he knew that his duty was to do all he possibly could to get back his powers so that he could be of use to his goddess. But theory and reality are different, and he didn't know where to start. Furthermore, it was impossible for him to abandon a brother in arms like Milo is this situation. Even if it was just a brother in arms, and Milo was much more to Camus than that.

The ice saint found himself regretting that in his never ending attempts to appear cold and always in control of his life, he had often missed occasions to let Milo know how important he was for him.

They would often introduce themselves to others as being “friends”, but the Scorpio saint's love for him burned as fiercely as the strongest of fires, and Camus only made feigned attempts to ignore it.

 

Attempts that he lamented, now that Milo looked at him with those glassy empty eyes.

Camus wished that he had told Milo what he meant to him back when Milo could remember him. He had accepted Milo's love, it wasn't a matter of rejection, but rather…that he had never let the Scorpio know how much he loved him.

He sometimes felt so bad that he even thought that maybe, if he had told him, things would have been different.

Not that they could have prevented the fact of being separated and falling in different parts of this world, far away form each other and defenceless against the unknown dangers that roamed that land, now that they couldn't use their cosmo anymore.

 

Several weeks had passed now, but Camus still couldn't tell where the other gold saints could be, although he had a feeling that they weren't far away, maybe even in the same city.

As big as it may be, soon or later they would find each other, guided by whatever tiny strands of cosmo they had left. They might be so weakened that they were almost like mere humans right now, but they still were gold saints, and with or without their powers, their lives belonged to Athena.

 

***

 

Camus wondered if he would be considered a traitor for not trying harder to find his comrades. But the thought of leaving Milo alone in this condition was unbearable.

 

He wished he could one day forget the images.

 

When he had finally managed to use the few cosmo he still had to track down Milo's almost inexistent life aura and found him…nothing that he could have expected would have made him able to brace himself for what he saw in there. The very air in that place was soiled. The filth, the tobacco smoke filling every room, the low ceilings and that damp, sticky feeling of human sweat and fluids that seemed to soak every single inch of those walls… those crammed little tables, covered with gamblers, whores serving drinks, some people using them right there, not caring for the eyes of the others on them...Camus' only thought was to get away from that repulsive place as fast as he could, almost afraid that the unbelievable levels of filth would soil him if he breathed that air for too long.

 

That was when he spotted Milo. For a moment, he held with all he could to the hope that it would be a mistake.

 

But there was no mistake.

 

It was Milo, naked, splayed on that table. A pretty large crowd was gathered around him, cheering for something that Camus couldn't understand.

 

The ice saint was now walking like an artificial thing. Everything around him felt numb and unreal. It was as if he was out of his body, watching it all from above, and seeing his body stumble machinelike forward, unable to make any other movement to convey his utter shock at the scene.

 

Two men were holding Milo's legs spread. His entire body was covered in bruises and several areas in caked, dried blood. Countless marks marred the beautiful pale skin, as well as fluids whose nature Camus preferred to ignore.

And the young Scorpio's forearms were a mess of puncture wounds.

 

The ice saint was so horrified that he found himself behaving like a bird hypnotised by a snake. All he could do was stride towards the table, staring with eyes wide open, as if trying to understand what was happening, and whether it was all a horrible nightmare or an even worse reality.

He pushed by several men, unable to even speak, focused entirely on the image in front of him. If they tried to complain when he shoved them out of his way, they gave up as soon as they glanced at the look on his face.

 

Milo seemed short of breath, and his eyes were unfocused. They seemed empty, as if he wasn't really himself, or if he wasn't inside of his body either.

For a second, Camus hoped that it wasn't really Milo, or that he wasn't conscious of what was going on. But that relief didn't last more than a second, for the sheer lack of likelihood of it quickly hit the ice saint.

Milo's pupils shone with a strange, dull light. Drugs. Extremely strong ones, most likely. And that also explained the puncture wounds on his arms.

 

One of the men around the table was holding the young Scorpio's head, and laughing drunkenly while attempting to pour a dark liquor down the young man's semi-parted lips. Milo choked on the liquid, spraying it all over his own torso. The crowd laughed.

Camus eyes seemed about to pop out of his head, and he wondered when his body was finally going to obey him and…explode, die or kill absolutely every living thing in that room.

Except for Milo.

Although he might have preferred if Camus killed him too.

 

A man had been standing by the side of the table, juggling with what the ice saint finally identified as a pair of single action black powder pistols. Ah. He had wondered what kind of weapon they had in that primitive world. But why bring those here?

The answer came quick, as the man ceased his juggling and presented the two weapons to Milo. Another of them caught the young gold saint's attention by getting a handful of his hair and yanking his head towards the pistols. Milo matter-of-factly tapped the cross of one of the guns with the tip of his fingers, in a manner that lead Camus to understand that it wasn't the first time that it happened.

The young man seemed to be used to the ritual, and acted as if it was a boring, routinely thing to do. The juggler then turned to the crowd raising the hand with the pistol that Milo chose, and screamed something.

The Aquarius saint's brain was no longer registering or processing the sounds the men were making. His whole attention was focused on Milo's eyes. Dead, and glassy. Icy maybe?-he wondered. Not quite. More like a dull, dead light.

 

After some shouting from the crowd, the juggler declared something about bets being closed.

 

Camus could swear he heard something like the sound of crystal shattering, inside his own heart, when he finally broke out of his stupor and understood what was going on there.

The two men who were holding Milo's legs lifted them, spread him open, and the juggler slid the barrel of the gun... into Milo.

The Scorpio only let out a small hiss, maybe because of the contact of the cold metal. By the marks on his legs, he had already gotten used to all kinds of abuse.

 

Russian roulette, of a rather different style.

 

When the man cocked the gun, a red veil seemed to fall over Camu's mind and eyes.

 

He exploded.

 

Lunging forward, he grabbed the juggler by the face and flung him towards the ground, sticking his fingers into the man's eye sockets in the process. The sudden movement jerked the gun out of Milo, who emitted a little cry of surprise. The juggler attempted to fire his other pistol right at Camus face, but it was empty. Even in his state of maddened rage, Camus understood that this meant that the loaded gun was the one that had been inside Milo just a second ago, and this fuelled his fury into an even higher level, if such a thing was possible.

 

The calm and self-possessed ice gold saint was no longer. When Camus finally managed to regain some of his habitual control, he was completely drenched in blood, and carrying Milo's unconscious frail form in his arms, far away from that hellish place.

Wrapped up in a blanket, the younger gold saint looked awfully like a broken doll. Only when they had finally reached the -relative- safety of the place Camus had taken over and was squatering, the Aquarius saint allowed himself to break down into sobs, clutching his unconscious lover to himself.

 

Hours later, when Milo's eyes finally opened, Camus was by his side, sitting on a chair next to the simple bed where he had laid the younger man after cleaning him. Milo stared at the little room, and Camus wondered if he was consciously trying to understand where he was or if he was just surprised at finding himself in a different place.

The ice saint leaned forward and gently stroked his lover's cheek. Milo jolted, probably expecting a blow. When Camus' fingertips run up his cheek, in a chaste and sweet caress, the Scorpio let out a small sound of incomprehension, halfway between a sob and a choke.

 

In a gesture he never thought he would have one day, Camus hugged the younger man tightly and rocked back and forth, unsure of what he was supposed to do to comfort someone, or even if it was possible to consolate a person who suffered such an extent of misery.

Letting his instincts take over for the second time in that day, the ice saint whispered into his lover's ear : "Shhh...everything is going to be okay now...Let me help you out of Hell..."

 

Milo buried his face in Camus's neck and curled up against him, seeking the safety that the older saint's warmth conveyed.

 

And he finally cried.

 

Camus couldn't tell just how much of everything Milo did understand, through the veil of the drugs and his semi-conscious state, but he wished more than anything to help the younger man to forget it all.

He was even ready to abandon his mask of cold self-control if he had to. No price would be too big to pay for Milo.

 

He only regretted not having found him earlier. And not having been able to tell him much sooner just how much he meant to him.

 

 

 

 

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For those who are interested to know what originated that fic, here it goes : I created a while ago a whole AU universe where the gold saints end up falling, stripped of their cosmo and powers (plot excuse to make them vulnerable to a bunch of stuff… ^^;; ), and there was a whole story about what happens to each of them until they manage to regroup and go save Athena. It was all a big doujinshi (fanzine) idea that I created just for fun, because I wouldn't have the time to draw/write the whole thing anyway.

 

But as I was talking about this idea to a friend on my LJ, she mentioned she was interested and would like me to write a chunk of that story for her in a fic challenge. ^^/

So here it is.

 

There will most likely not be a sequel, although… who knows. ^^ *lol*

 

If anyone is interested in what happens later on the story, here it goes : Milo is still addicted to the drugs, (and almost dies from withdrawal) and Camus will go through a bunch of problems trying in vain to get him back to normal. Eventually, and even thought Milo doesn't remember anything, he ends up falling in love (again) for Camus.

But only when the mafia that controlled the brothel tracks them down and almost kills Camus, Milo gets such a big shock that he breaks out of it and gets back his memory AND his powers… So the entire mafia groups dies by Scarlet Needle. *lol* And Camus is saved. ^_^

 

 

 

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Sagakure, April 9th, 2005