YaoiYaoiYeah: I never said I didn't like to write Ikki/Shun, I said I wasn't gonna. I may, eventually, reconsider that. I doubt it, since the only incest type thing I've ever written involved Raditz and Kakarot, and I think I would prefer that pairing. Hyoga/Shun? Hmm…. *goes off to contemplate that*

Blade-Chan: Yeah, incest does tend to squick me. Except for the above mentioned couple, but they're Saiyan, not human. J Ohhh… Ryou and Bakura… *drools* I LIKE that couple. Ahem. Excuse me. Must get head out of that anime.

Musouka: Ah! Holy robes for the saints. Thank you that makes so much more sense now! HE DIED???? THAT'S NOT ALLOWED. This fic just officially went AU. *scowls* Killing off the gorgeous bishounen, especially the bad boys with the golden hearts, isn't allowed. Torture them all you want, but DON'T KILL THEM. Yes it was a bit short, I really hadn't seen a whole lot of the show, and that particular episode just kinda hopped out and said "Hello! Use me!" and so I did. I still don't think I'm quite following what's going on, which is another reason it's going to be AU from here on out. But… since you have seen the original, did Hyoga's master die or not? The lovely screamed "no" so horribly, and then they had Seiya yammering like he just needed a long nap to recover completely. And, although I'm fairly certain Ikki died, I'm not sure if it's only the Phoenix cloth that revives, or the knight as well?

Now, I know I got a few more reviews than this, at least one other that asked me to pretty please continue. And since I happen to like these beautiful ones, I think I will. As per my usual, though, lemons will be few and far between, and highly glossed over. At least, any posted here… *contemplates the fic she's considering getting an adultfiction account for* But, the reason the rest of you didn't get a shout out is because I only had these downloaded… and I've lost my internet connection until I catch my phone bill up. Me and the phone company hate each other. *pause* Okay, I hate the phone company, and to them, I'm just a number that owes another number.

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He ran the brush through green-black locks, remembering how he had combed his fingers through blue-black. Remembered the feel of the firm body against his own, the touch of the lips. The other's body a perfect match for his own. He sighed, laying the brush on the dresser, leaning forward to examine his eyes.

Perfectly ordinary, they were, not like the exotic black on blue of his dark double. He'd said he'd see the other again, had even gone back after the fight with that gargantuan from Greece. But, Black Dragon hadn't been there. And the falling snow had covered his tracks. He searched, but hadn't been able to find his weakened double. Over a year had passed, and while he still hoped the other would come to him, he was doubting it would happen. Beginning to wonder why he still felt such things for a man he'd met exactly once, and fought nearly to the death.

And with the way Shun sometimes regarded him, Shiryu was wondering if his attraction for the man wasn't a waste of time. Perhaps it was time to find out what those looks meant. He was… lonely.

He swayed unsteadily, not sure where he was, or why he was going there. Gates barred the road, he realized dimly that it was a driveway now, he turned, walking along the sidewalk until his legs finally gave out. He collapsed against the wall, a stone fence, ashamed of himself for displaying the weakness, wondering why he was ashamed of seeming weak.

He was hungry, he thought. But he wasn't really sure, his stomach had stopped reminding him it was empty some time ago. A few days, at least. He was fairly certain he hadn't eaten for at least a week, but how had he managed to travel as far as he had if he hadn't eaten. He had traveled a long way, hadn't he? He moaned softly, pressing his hand to his forehead, curling himself against the wall.

His hair was all he had to keep warm with, but the filthy, tangled mass was hard to separate and pull around his thin frame. Had he always been so thin? So frail and weak? Surely he hadn't always been so filthy, had he? He'd be cleaner if he washed in the water in the gutter. Except the water had frozen again. He was tired of being cold. Yes. That much he really was sure of. He whimpered a little when the wind cut through the rags that remained of his clothes, desperately trying to untangle the knots in his hair with his fingers.

Why was he here? His fingers paused in their work while his mind tried muzzily to understand what the question meant. That problem dealt with, he tried piecing together what was left of his memory to answer the question. But the chill wind drove him to other matters, his fingers moving against the tangles again as he tried to get his hair separated enough to pull around him. Hadn't he done that once before? More than once?

He couldn't remember, and his fingers were too numb to comply with the demands he gave them. He struggled back to his feet, grabbing the stonework of the fence to hold himself erect, to support him as he forced his feet to move. He came back to the gate. Why was he back at the gate? Was he supposed to go to the house? He pushed ineffectually on the gate, his slight form crumpling to the ground when his attempts to open it failed. What strength he'd had was gone.

What kind of prank is this? Shiryu gazed in disgust at the filthy creature lying in the middle of his bed. Who decided to put that in my bed???! He approached slowly, his nose flaring slightly as he realized he could smell the stench from across the room. He'd have to wash all the bedclothes, now, and he'd just done that this morning! Incensed, the now furious male strode to the edge of the bed - and got a good look at its occupant.

The rags he wore were barely enough to keep him decent, certainly not enough to keep out the cold of winter. He wore no shoes at all. Snarled, matted hair shielded his face, which was undoubtedly as filthy as the rest of the easily visible, wind-chapped and bruised skin. Shiryu eyed the bruises, they stood out sharply against otherwise white pallor. And now that he was close enough, he realized how horribly thin the… boy?… was. Teenaged, probably, or very early twenties, starved and beaten. (A/N: Shiryu is hereby declared to be 20. So's Iryu.)

Shiryu discovered his anger had left, replaced by pity for the other. "How did you get in my bed?" he asked quietly, not expecting any answer from the limp form so soundly asleep. Yet, the pitiful body stirred at his voice, the wiry muscles tensing as the other snapped from sleep to full wakefulness and tried to block and escape a blow that never came. He crashed to the floor.

"Shh, I won't hurt you," Shiryu reassured the other, going to the other side of the bed and lifting the huddled, crumpled form back onto the bed. "How did you get here? Who are you?"

Only silence answered him, he realized the man had passed out. Sighing a bit regretfully, Shiryu entered the bathroom, deciding if the man was staying, he would be getting cleaned up.

Water. All around him. Warmth. How long since he had been warm? Had he found… found what… what… what it was that he was finding? What was he finding? Was he finding something? He must be, he remembered searching. He'd been searching hadn't he? For… what?

Something touching him. He whimpered, trying to draw away, associating touch with pain. He knew touch hurt, didn't he always hurt when he was touched? He was sure it hadn't always been that way, just since… but he was being touched, and he had to get away before he was hurt.

He couldn't. A strong arm was wrapped around his shoulders, holding him in place. His whimpers grew more fearful when he realized his pitiful rags were gone, and that whoever held him was touching him everywhere. A soft voice spoke to him, his mind was too frantic to understand the words of reassurance. His fingers scrabbled at the roving hand, trying to push it away. He couldn't talk, only whimper and cry as the man - he knew it was a man - kept touching, ignoring his attempts to get away, continued to make those soothing sounds he couldn't believe. He'd heard such sounds before, and all they meant was he would be hurt.

He cried broken, nearly silent sobs. He would have screamed, but he wasn't able to scream. Not anymore. He knew that, knew it the way he knew he couldn't talk above a hoarse whisper that hurt him to use. He knew he would try, that his throat would bleed again when he did. He felt himself lifted, let it happen, knowing he was too weak to resist anything that would happen to him.

Maybe this time, he would die.

Shiryu wrapped a towel around the sobbing man. His teeth were gritted, his eyes narrowed. He'd caught only a glimpse of those black on blue eyes, but coupled with the blue-black of the hair he'd finally gotten clean, he had no doubts about who his mystery visitor was.

What had happened to Dark Dragon?

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Miserable place to stop, ne? But, I'm tired, and I'm angst-ed out at the moment. Iryu's had a hard time of it since Shiryu last saw him, and now Shiryu must help him get all better. Unfortunately, he's got a lot to help his dark double overcome, and I can't deal with it right now!

Besides, after I get some sleep, I have got to get that bloody het fic updated.