This one-shot is a bitter, somewhat dark prequel to my shounen-ai fic Journey of Discovery, but it can stand alone as well. It was just a random idea...I seem to like delving into Zelos' younger years lately.
Five years before Symphonia, Kratos trained Zelos to fight, but couldn't be the role-model Zelos needed at the time. Ever wonder why Zelos wears such long gloves? Rated for themes and Zelos' mouth.
I don't own them.
"You're so harsh, man! How the hell do you manage to do anything with that stick so far up your ass, anyway?" As soon as Zelos said it, he knew he'd said something wrong. Perhaps it was just the straw that broke the camel's back – Zelos had been bitching a lot today – but the sudden flare of anger in the older swordsman's face told him he'd gone too far.
Kratos reached out, lightning-fast, and grabbed Zelos' forearm, his grip firm but not so much so that it would leave a bruise. "Chosen. Insult me all you like, but I have been hired to teach you self-defense, and I will accomplish that goal…even if it costs us both what little sanity we have left." Zelos' indignation faded in the face of his determined fury.
Trying not to wince, the Chosen tried to tug his arm out of his teacher's grip. "Sorry," he muttered contritely, doing his best not to let his pain show in his voice, "I didn't mean it, you know that. …Let go, please?"
Unfortunately for Zelos, Kratos had noticed his reaction. "I'm not holding on that tightly," he observed perplexedly, "and I know I haven't left any bruises there. This should not be causing you pain." He switched his grip to Zelos' bare upper arm, and ignoring the teen's indignant and slightly panicked protests, peeled back the glove that covered his arm up past the elbow.
When he saw what was underneath, Kratos went very, very still. Zelos watched him with wide, frightened, guilty eyes, looking for some sign of the supposed mercenary's reaction. Finally, in a low, unreadable tone, Kratos asked, "How long?"
That wasn't what Zelos had been expecting, and it threw him for a bit of a loop. "What?" he asked, startled.
Kratos examined more closely the slowly-bleeding cuts on the boy's arm, noting the criss-crossing network of healed scars beneath them. His grip seemed to have reopened the newest ones. "How long have you been doing this?" he clarified in the same tone, still trying to decide if he was furious or concerned.
"Oh," Zelos said, then continued in a small voice, "…I, uh…a while now. I don't really know." What's he going to do to me? Dammit, I can't read him at all!
Kratos was silent for a long moment, still trying to sort out what his reaction should be. Finally, he simply called upon his mana, muttering, "First Aid," and watching the cuts close, the magic preventing them from scarring. He released the boy and held out his hand, "Your other arm?"
Reluctantly, Zelos peeled off his other glove and held out the scarred, scabbed forearm, looking down at his feet in shame. On this arm were words, words which produced an unmistakable – and rather unnerving – reaction of sorrow, regret, and concern in Kratos. There, on Zelos' right arm, the scabbed cuts spelled out "just die".
Kratos was at a loss, but looking at the young man's painfully ashamed expression, he knew that any sign of condemnation would cause irrevocable damage to what had turned out to be Zelos' rather delicate self-esteem. He couldn't allow himself to get close to the Chosen One, couldn't bring himself to offer comfort directly…but he could at least offer silence, and hope that he would be understood. "First Aid," was all he said, erasing the words completely with a slight touch of healing mana. When Zelos looked up at him uncertainly, Kratos allowed him to see just a hint of the remorse he felt for placing this fragile person in such a situation.
Zelos' eyes reflected surprise – and had the pain in them faded a bit, or was Kratos imagining things? – but he just nodded as he pulled his gloves back on. "Thanks," he said softly, "Don't…don't tell anyone? Please?"
Kratos nodded, "Your secrets are safe with me, Chosen." I have no reason to spread rumors which would undermine the Chosen One's authority…and what Lord Yggdrasill doesn't know won't hurt Zelos further.
"Thanks," Zelos said again, then thought to himself, Okay, that was random. Why did I bother to ask? Of course he won't tell anyone down here, no one's going to believe a mercenary over the Chosen One…and I can't really trust a Seraph's word about anything. I'd better count on Yggdrasill finding out about this anyway… He considered for a moment the angel lord's likely reaction, …Shit.
Kratos was still watching the other, and didn't like the sudden distance and pain he sensed from the young man. Perhaps he doesn't believe me? "Zelos," he said, causing the Chosen to look up at him, startled by the use of his given name, "I will tell no one. You have my word of honor on that."
Zelos snorted, suddenly fed up with all the pretenses, "Sure. And what sort of honor does a Seraph have, anyway?"
Kratos was floored. Of all the things he hadn't expected to hear from the surprisingly clever young man before him… "…You knew?" he managed finally. How could he have discovered that?
Zelos smirked at the Seraph's surprised expression, "Yeah, I knew. I've been up to Derris-Kharlan before, remember? I got into the memory banks when I was bored. You guys need a better security system. Anyway, I found out a lot of interesting stuff…including the names and pictures of the Seraphim. So don't bother trying to pretend you care about me; I know you're just here to make sure the idiot Chosen doesn't get himself killed."
Kratos blinked at him. He couldn't refute that, not without revealing things that he wasn't ready to acknowledge yet, even to himself. Eventually, he turned away, saying to the air before him, "Your lesson tomorrow will be right here, at the same time. Don't be late again."
"Of course, sir," Zelos said with a mocking tone, feeling the bitter taste of a victory he hadn't wanted.
"This changes nothing," Kratos added.
But they both knew he was lying.
...Review, please.