Work Text:
Patroclus had honestly thought sipping on beer would be the height of his teenage rebellion that day. When Achilles had made that crazy suggestion, he really had assumed he was joking. It was naïve of him, a rookie mistake, given that he’d known the boy for the past eight years.
At the sight of Achilles hefting a huge black duffel bag across the grass towards him, he felt his stomach drop. He jerked and knocked a can off the log he was sitting on. "No," he said under his breath before he tried more audibly. "No. Achilles, no. No! No way!"
The blond reached him with a familiar, mischievous grin. He threw the bag down like the contents weren't insanely dangerous. "Yes," he responded simply.
"Achilles," Patroclus warned. He slowly stood up and held out his hands like he was cautioning a dog. Often that's how it felt being with Achilles; like he was talking to a huge, overzealous Labrador. "You need to go put that back before anyone notices."
"No one will notice," Achilles countered with a dismissive wave of the hand. He crouched down and unzipped the bag, making Patroclus take in a sharp breath. Black metal gleamed menacingly at him while Achilles haphazardly moved things around.
Guns. So many guns. Pistols, revolvers, a bunch of rifles, a fuck ton of ammo even though every piece was already fully loaded. "They'll notice," he murmured, more to himself because Achilles was barely listening. They always got caught when they did something really bad.
They got caught a couple of years ago when they drank all of Peleus' fifteen thousand dollar bottle of whiskey from the top shelf of the locked liquor cabinet. Back then it had probably been for the best - hours later Patroclus got rushed to the hospital to have his stomach pumped.
They got caught last year when they'd torched Agamemnon's new Mercedes in the school parking lot. That, again, had Patroclus whisked off to the hospital, this time for third-degree burns that had left an unsightly scar on his forearm.
They would get caught for this, he knew it. The potential consequences of swiping all these guns from the chief of the Phthian police were dizzying to think about. He often let himself get carried away in the midst of Achilles' spontaneity, but this… This was far too much.
"Patroclus." A calm voice pulled him out of his flurry of thoughts. Achilles already had a nine millimeter pistol in hand, probably already cocked in the time Patroclus was in his head. He raised an eyebrow. "Look around."
Patroclus did, even though he didn't need to. They were in the middle of the large meadow behind Achilles' house, surrounded by forest on most sides. The mansion itself was a good distance away, the most inorganic thing present being the beer cans littered around the log they'd been sitting on. The nearest neighbors could only be reached by car. All was silent except for the sounds of birds and cicadas. There was no one in sight.
"They'll probably hear us," he countered.
"It's hunting season," Achilles reminded him with a roll of his eyes.
"Exactly. What if there are people in the woods? What if… what if…" He was grasping tenuously at excuses, feeling his sanity slip through his fingers. As he trailed off his eyes fell on the terrifying duffel bag at their feet. He looked up to find Achilles watching him with his head tilted to the side and a furrowed brow. Their eyes met and Patroclus watched the green soften in real time.
Achilles sighed, using the gun to scratch his head. The harsh metal running through his soft blond hair was a strange juxtaposition. "Look, you don't have to shoot anything if you don't want to," he offered through pursed lips.
That's how easy it always was. Achilles could be incredibly manipulative when he wanted to be, but whenever he offered Patroclus an out he meant it. It made Patroclus melt. In their earlier years, Patroclus had blamed their two-year age difference for how malleable Achilles made him. He was just such a cute kid. Now…
Well, he was still cute.
"I won't use them," he finally said, "but I'll stick around to make sure everything's okay." Achilles lit up, and with that dazzling smile demolished any of Patroclus' remaining sense.
They'd gone through two packs of beer, giving them a fair amount of targets to go through. Patroclus lined up half the cans on the logs while Achilles walked off, continuously flicking the safety on and off. It was strange how unafraid Patroclus was of Achilles hurting either of them. Any other 14-year-old with a gun was a disaster waiting to happen, but this was Achilles.
He brought the bag closer to Achilles and stood a good few steps behind him. That still wasn't enough to prepare him for just how loud the first two shots would be. He had no memory of ducking, but opened his eyes to find he was crouched on the floor with his hands over his ears. Achilles had turned to look at him with a crooked, excited grin. "It kinda pushes you back," he announced. He sounded fascinated, like a kid looking at roadkill.
"Really?" Patroclus asked half sarcastically. "Did you hit anything?"
"Not yet. At least, I don't think so."
He sighed with relief. "Could you at least warn me before you start next time?"
Achilles gave him a soft smile and nodded before turning back again. He raised his arms, closing an eye. "Fire in the hole!"
Patroclus had a second to wonder if that's what you screamed before gunshots before there was a barrage of loud pops. He still covered his ears and flinched with each shot, but he felt he was getting used to it. He was even standing by the time he heard the sound of metal after one of the shots.
Achilles immediately whirled around to him eagerly. "I got it!"
One of the cans had been knocked off the log. It really was an impressive feat, considering the cans were small and they weren't at all close to them. Of course, this was Achilles. A proud grin tugged at Patroclus' lips. "Nice shot," he said.
"I bet I could knock the rest off with the next five shots."
"I bet you could," Patroclus agreed, never one to underestimate him.
He shouted a warning again before shooting. The remaining five cans fell with a single bullet each. Patroclus had to remind him to point the gun away while he ran to load the next six cans. When he was back at Achilles' side they all got knocked down within six shots.
He dutifully lined up six damaged cans once more while Achilles swapped the pistol for a six bullet revolver. By the time Patroclus approached him, he'd shoved it in his pocket and had a long blade of grass between his teeth.
"This town ain't big enough for the both of us," he said in a ridiculous accent. Patroclus rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh. Impressively, he managed to draw, shoot, and reholster pretty smoothly with no real practice. Even more impressively, he actually hit his mangled target.
In celebration, he twirled the gun around and blew on the barrel. Patroclus should have been worried about how dangerous that action was, but he laughed instead.
He played cowboy for a little while longer after reloading the revolver, shooting at the log rather than hitting any cans, then got bored and pulled out one of the intimidatingly huge rifles. "How do you hold one of these things?" he asked while he inspected it.
"Hell if I know," Patroclus answered defensively. He felt uncomfortable again and made sure he was well behind Achilles while he figured it out.
He had to use his whole upper body to hold it. Patroclus watched him heft it up and lean his head to the side to aim. The stock pressed into the flawless pink skin of his arm, angelic blond hair once again looked jarring as it fell against the black metal of it.
He felt queasy.
The first shot actually jolted Achilles back, so he readjusted and aimed again. He shot down some beer cans with three quick shots, then the sand in front of the log flew up in a spray of bullets. He straightened up and looked at the gun thoughtfully.
"What is it?" Patroclus asked. He felt his nerves fraying every minute.
Achilles frowned. "This one's… different."
"Is it bad?"
"No," Achilles said with a shrug. His thoughtful expression softened to something apathetic. "Just different. Weird."
"Maybe it's because it's so big," Patroclus supplied unhelpfully.
Achilles looked at him and grinned, his brow raised. "I know you said you didn't want to use any but-"
"No way," he asserted, crossing his arms.
Just then Achilles held his hand out. His hair fell into his bright eyes and he was giving Patroclus that devilish, mischievous, convincing grin. "Come on," he said. "I'll help you hold it."
Like he was possessed (and maybe he was a little mesmerized by it), Patroclus took a step forward, then another. He took Achilles' hand and let himself be led forward. Before he could really process it, something metallic and heavy was being put in his hands. He would have panicked were it not for the contrastingly soft arms that now surrounded him, moving the gun into position. He felt his index finger moving into a curve and straightened it out, but then he heard a whisper in his ear telling him to relax and he had to listen.
The steel was hot from the sun. Achilles' skin felt hotter. Sweat was beading at his temples, on his neck where he felt the hot breath of his best friend, on his fingertips where he gripped the deadly machine. He could hardly be focused on aiming like he was supposed to. He wasn’t even looking through the sights. He only knew the gun was pointed in the log's general direction when he felt a finger pressing his down on the trigger.
The gun kicked painfully into his shoulder. Had he not had a sturdy body behind him he would have fallen to the ground. Still, he winced. "Shit," he hissed.
He felt Achilles nod and start to let go. "Yeah, this one hurts a lot more than the others." He was wary of lowering it, so his arms were still up when Achilles appeared in his vision. "How was it?" he asked.
Patroclus felt the uneasiness build up in him again. He grimaced at the gun in his hands. It was uncomfortably hot from being used. "Yeah, I don't think I'll be joining the military any time soon."
Then it all happened so quickly. In his haste to be rid of the damn thing, Patroclus had practically thrown it down, but his finger had been caught on the trigger. A couple of bullets flew into the ground at their feet and a few more went off into the air as the gun landed.
They both stared at it frozen in disbelief. Achilles slowly crouched and picked it up, flipping the switch on the side. "Uh, remember to put the safety on," he said casually.
"Right," Patroclus said with a more shaky voice. "The safety."
They stood in silence for at least a minute listening for… something. There was nothing, just birds and cicadas. Achilles was the first to let out a deep breath. "I want to see if I can knock the other cans down."
He was acting as if nothing happened for Patroclus' sake, but Patroclus himself was too shaken to respond. He simply nodded and put some distance between him and the gun, and hopefully any guns forever. Achilles successfully shot two cans down, but after the third sound of aluminum bending they heard shouting.
An older sounding voice shouting for help.
Patroclus' heart pounded in his ears. They gave each other a similarly worried look before setting off in the direction of the sound. They didn't have to run far. The shouts were coming from way, way closer than they would have wanted.
Just on the edge of the meadow, hunched on the ground against a tree, was the familiar form of an old man. Their approach was audible, and when he looked up to see them, Phoenix looked like he was flooded with relief. "Oh, thank god. Boys, you need to get Machaon on the phone -"
Patroclus could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears, perhaps a delayed effect of the gunshots, perhaps the blood rushing to his head. Their tutor was still writhing in pain, one leg bent and the other stretched out. The material of his khaki pants on the leg that was stretched out was dark, dark, crimson red at the knee, and the red was spreading, and within the red there was something... something white, and on the leaves next to him there were red splatters and chunks of-
~
He came to in his bedroom, his own bedroom that he barely ever used. He was in flannel pajamas and there was a cold compress on his forehead and a glass of water on the nightstand. His phone buzzed next to his pillow. It was the same day. He felt a little dizzy sitting up but was otherwise fine.
Though he dreaded it, something in him sensed that he was supposed to go down to the living room. He was right, because when he got there it was occupied by all the expected parties. Peleus was sitting in his big chair by the fireplace. Phoenix was sitting opposite him with his eyes closed in a smaller chair, his leg in a cast propped up on an ottoman. Achilles' blond hair appeared atop the back of the sofa he was sitting on, but he spun around when he heard Patroclus approach.
"Ah, Skops. Glad to see you up and about," Peleus greeted with a terse smile. He indicated the spot next to Achilles. "Please join us."
He shuffled to his seat and immediately had Achilles' hand on his knee. "Are you okay?" Achilles whispered in his ear. He stared at the hands balling in his lap then nodded shortly. He wasn't quite ready to look at him yet but he left the comforting hand where it was.
He could sense Achilles frowning as he turned to Peleus. "Like I was saying, Dad-"
"We've heard quite enough from you, Achilles," Peleus interrupted, more stern than he tended to be with his son. "Patroclus?"
That too was a surprise, that he'd use Patroclus' name. He slowly looked up to see the man staring at him with an unreadable expression. He glanced at Phoenix who was watching him with hooded eyes, huge dark circles marring his expression of already pure exhaustion.
Guilt and despair welled up in his chest, closing his throat and bringing tears to his eyes. Oh god, they were going to send him away. There was no getting out of this. He tried to gulp down the knot and offer a heartfelt apology, but he opened his mouth and the words couldn't come out. He shut his mouth tight and closed his eyes.
"Alright," Peleus said with an exasperated sigh. "Well, Phoenix had something he wanted to say to you. Phoenix?"
Phoenix winced as he slowly adjusted himself in his seat. His gaze looked somehow even more tired as his gaze shifted from Achilles to Patroclus. His mouth formed a thin line.
"Menoitides," he began, his voice low. "You're older than Achilles."
Patroclus gulped again and nodded. It was such a predictable beginning to his speech, something he'd heard over and over, whether he'd been involved or not. Patroclus, you're the older one. How could you let this happen?
"I've told you many times that while Achilles is the heir of the house, you should be the one to offer him guidance. I know you're a very intelligent boy. Surely you knew better than-"
"He's not my babysitter," Achilles interjected indignantly. His grip on Patroclus' knee tightened. "I make my own decisions and so does he. None of what happened was his fault. I got the guns and I was the one shooting them."
Patroclus felt the knot in his throat loosen. "But-"
"You got shot because of me," Achilles continued. "Patroclus has nothing to do with all this."
Patroclus' heart raced. He shook his head frantically but Achilles either didn't notice or was ignoring it. Phoenix let out a deep breath. Peleus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Achilles, and we appreciate your honesty. The fact of the matter is, Patroclus was still there," he emphasized.
"He's… That's not…" Despite Patroclus' need to clarify the truth, his voice came out weak. "I-I was the one who -"
"So what?" Achilles argued. "I was bored. I would have gone out with the guns anyway, whether he was there or not. Patroclus fainted. He should be up in our room resting."
"Watch your tone, young man. Phoenix may never walk again because of this."
"Because of me."
"Achilles," Patroclus implored, grabbing his arm. Achilles gave him a look that was firm. Or stubborn. Either way, Patroclus could tell it would take a lot to change his mind about what he was doing, and he certainly couldn't do that in front of the men.
"Phoenix, Chief Peleus, can I have a word with Achilles in his room please?" He asked desperately. They certainly didn't have to permit him, not with the situation he was in, but seeing his distress they nodded warily. Perhaps they also wanted to let Achilles cool down and knew Patroclus would be best at that.
Achilles was the one to bolt up and lead Patroclus out of the room by their joined hands. With great self-control, Patroclus managed to keep his thoughts to himself until they were alone.
He was all too ready to unleash them all when the door shut behind them. "Achilles, what the fuck?!"
Achilles again ignored his distress in favour of pacing the room. "Here's the story," he explained. "I was playing around and I shot into the forest not knowing Phoenix was there. You tried to stop me, I didn't listen. Simple."
"What the fuck!?!" Patroclus repeated.
Achilles stopped in his pacing and frowned. "It's not all a lie."
"You can't just... This is serious. You could get in real trouble. You can't take the fall for me this time!" Patroclus took a deep breath and stared into Achilles' eyes with as firm an expression as he could muster. "I was careless and something really, really bad happened because of it. Even you can't get away with this and I… I deserve whatever's coming to me."
"No you don't," Achilles asserted, grabbing him by the arms. His eyes were glossy before he turned them away. "If you take the blame then they'll take you away."
"To juvie, probably," he added. He'd meant to say it with some levity but it came out sounding grave.
Achilles bit his cheek and blinked his eyes rapidly, but he was no longer avoiding eye contact. "I can't let them do that. I won't, I…" His expression became something more determined, his fiery eyes made Patroclus' heart thump in his chest. "I'll take the ass-whooping, the yelling, the community service, whatever. But I won't let them have you."
Patroclus bit his lip and it was his turn to look away. "I already have a record," he said quietly, with great difficulty. "If this gets added to it, it doesn't matter. But you're still clean, you're still-"
"Stop," Achilles interrupted, shaking him by the shoulders. "They'll never write me up, you know that. Just stop panicking and trust me, alright?"
Despite a million doubts and questions buzzing in his mind, Patroclus nodded slightly. "Look at me. I need to know you're going to go along with it."
He looked back at Achilles, slightly down since the latter was the shorter of them. His green eyes burned bright and steadfast, and his expression was so confident he found himself able to believe everything Achilles said, only because Achilles said it. He nodded again.
Achilles let go of him and breathed out a relieved sigh, walking back and falling on his bed, his arms spread out. Patroclus followed him so he could lay beside him, shifting lower so he could be positioned under his arm with half his body hanging off.
After a brief moment of silence, Achilles spoke again abruptly. "I would have covered for you. If I was there, I mean. I would’ve helped you hide the kid’s body."
Patroclus felt stunned. He choked on his words only managing a small, "Achilles-"
"And I'm glad he’s dead. It brought you here."
His arms moved to cross over his chest and offered Patroclus a view of his face. His cheeks were puffed out and he was pouting, petulant, like they weren't talking about the violent, untimely death of a child. The conversation was making Patroclus' chest feel tight so he stared up at the ceiling and kept quiet in the hopes that Achilles would drop it. Thankfully, he did.
Achilles’ honesty was one of the things Patroclus admired most about him, but his cavalier attitude toward death often gave him a bad feeling that penetrated his bones. It was probably because he’d been shielded from it his whole life. Patroclus was more intimately familiar with death than he ever wanted to be. What had happened that day, holding a tool that was capable of so much devastation, would settle more deeply in Patroclus’ mind than it would Achilles.
“I never want to touch a gun again,” he said quietly.
He didn’t think Achilles understood the depth of his statement, but he was grateful for the comforting hug he received anyway. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you never have to.”