Work Text:
"Oh my gods, you're awake!"
Achilles’ eyes flashed open and he instantly got up from his chair as soon as Briseis’ words reached his ears, his restless gaze immediately fixed on the man laying in front of her, that poor thing wrapped in so many robes and yet he still trembled as if he had been forced to survive the coldest of all winters. Patroclus was slowly sitting up, and his shaky hands made Briseis ask for someone to increase the fire that crackled nearby, desperately making all possible attempts to warm him up.
“Thank the gods…” Achilles murmured to himself, and a bitter thought crossed his mind, all the gods except for Apollo, the one who brought this upon us, but he brushed it off. It wouldn’t be wise to send a curse on the god who was currently targeting them, especially now that Patroclus was in his illness’ tight grip. Achilles crouched beside him, cupping his face with one hand and inspecting him, his heart beginning to ache even more. He always thought Patroclus carried this sort of glow with him, a light, not a blinding flame like many heroes are described to be but rather something smaller, a candle bathing the environment with a gentle orange, a feeling of softness and peace that belonged to Patroclus and only him, but now that glow was gone – replaced instead by a darkness that plagued his entire face, from the dark circles under his eyes to the horribly dry state of his lips and the redness around his onyx-black irises, and the expression of utter exhaustion he now had, as if his life was being drained right in front of Achilles’ eyes.
“How are you feeling, dear?” He asked lowly, trying his hardest to remain where he was and not take Patroclus in his arms, out of plain relief that he was still alive. He had passed out not so long after coughing concerning amounts of blood, and soon everyone knew the illness had gotten into him. Achilles had freaked out and had to be held by force in order to let the other medics work, and that had been the first time Briseis had seen him cry. At least we have that in common.
“Water…” Patroclus replied, his voice so low, so tired and so weak Achilles’ heart was filled with even more pain, he wanted to see Patroclus glowing again, with his soft smile and his enthusiasm and kindness that made Achilles feel, even for just a moment, as if he was back home. That had been ripped from him so abruptly, it awoke some sort of primal rage deep inside his soul, how dare they try to take you from me like this?
Achilles wanted to lash out and scream at the world, and at the gods, but instead he asked Briseis for the water Patroclus clearly needed so much, and she quickly complied. The wait was short, but as Achilles let him rest his head on his shoulder, unconcerned about contagion since he knew he wasn’t able to die yet, he realized Patroclus’ breath didn’t even sound right. It was the breath of infection, polluted and cut, and frantically he tried to search every corner of his mind for what was good for these, but Patroclus had always been better with medicine than him. He watched as he drank the water so eagerly he looked as if he hadn’t drank it in weeks, even though the last cup he had was mere hours ago.
He slowly put down the cup and Achilles watched him closely, and as he fell silent, Achilles couldn’t help but feel even more tense – Patroclus wasn’t the type to forget what others had said so quickly after he had heard it. The illness was having an effect on his mind as well. “Love,” he reminded him gently, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “How are you feeling?”
Patroclus blinked slowly, as if processing the question. “I feel like I’m dead.”
Achilles’ mouth curved down into a frown. “What do you need right now? Please, tell me how to help you.” He leaned closer, gazing at his eyes, hoping for some form of guidance – a need which annoyed him, for he was the one supposed to know what to do, to help, because Patroclus was the patient. He couldn’t be both the patient and the medic, that was too much pressure. But in the end, he knew those things best, and he knew what he felt best, even though Achilles could almost feel it all in himself as well. Patroclus’ pain was his pain too.
Patroclus looked at him and for a split second his gaze sparked at the sight of his lover, a change barely noticeable but still there, to Achilles’ small delight. His voice was still heavy with illness when he spoke, “This disease is an infection, so…” His thoughts were clearly slower now, but Patroclus would never shake Achilles’ patience. It was short for others and endless for him. “I need treatment for… Coughs, my chest, and…” His gaze became distant, as if he was hunting something in his mind he couldn’t seem to find. “Was I coughing blood earlier?”
“Yes,” Achilles nodded, taking his hands and holding them. “And you passed out afterwards.”
“Alright,” He visibly became tense. “So, blood loss, as well.”
Achilles didn’t even need to turn around because Briseis was already looking for the needed medicine, and although her and Achilles had a complicated relationship he was thankful for her devotion to helping his beloved. It certainly made things easier for everyone.
He raised his hand to touch Patroclus’ forehead, and he gasped and almost recoiled – it burned as if it was literally on fire. To his surprise and slight amusement, Patroclus let out a cracked, short laugh. “I suppose my body is trying the hardest it possibly can, this frail thing.”
“You’re not frail,” Achilles’ hand pressed his even more firmly. “You’re the best of all men and stronger than anyone I know.”
“Oh, stop…” His voice trailed off as he suddenly shut his eyes, and Achilles quickly figured it was from some sort of pain, and he felt that same aching in his heart from before. “My head… Hurts…”
“And burns,” Achilles added, and as Briseis reappeared to listen, he called her, “Can you bring something for fever? His is getting too bad…” He stopped talking once he realized the very audible concern in his voice, something inside him screaming at him to remain strong and to not seem weak, and as much as he wanted to brush it off, it was too ingrained in him and too powerful. He cleared his throat as Briseis quickly nodded and left once again.
He offered to help him drink the treatments once they arrived and Patroclus gladly accepted, leaning closer into Achilles’ chest while he gently held his chin and let the herbal mixture slowly drop into his mouth, and he was seemingly unbothered by the taste, instead closing his eyes and letting Achilles do all the needed work. He brought him more water, more blankets, and always stood close to him, guarding him almost like a hound. Briseis was present as well, though she also had to often occupy herself with the other patients of the same plague that weren’t nearly as lucky as Patroclus.
After some time, though, some medics alerted she should take a break, and though she protested, arguing she needed to stay and help Patroclus, he himself told her, with that sweet and kind little voice of his, that she shouldn’t stay near him or the patients for too long otherwise she could get sick too. Achilles knew that, deep down, the reason why Patroclus wanted her to leave was because she could die, while he couldn’t, and he sighed. Patroclus’ kindness and concern for everyone around them was something Achilles could never see himself having, his temper was too short, his patience too limited, and it was one of the things that made him love Patroclus so much. He was a bright, burning pyre and Patroclus was the soft, cooling rain that put out that fire.
Several times Patroclus fell asleep in his arms, and Achilles slowly ran his thumb across his cheekbones, praying that the color in his face would not take long to return, that the life in his eyes and his demeanor would be restored soon, for seeing him like this was just as painful as being stabbed by the sharpest of spears. And several times Patroclus woke up, blindly seeking Achilles’ hand, which was always there waiting for him, while they cuddled and Achilles asked how he was, always.
“Are you hungry?” He asked, realizing all that Patroclus had consumed that evening after he woke up was liquid, and not being fed certainly would be precarious. He rejected all food offers then, but it’s been hours. It couldn’t remain this way.
“There’s no need to bring me anything…” He started, but then broke out in a short series of coughs, and Achilles tapped his back to help him out. Immediately he checked the blankets and, to his dismay, he saw a couple drops of blood. Still much less than before, but any sign that Patroclus’ state was still severe was enough to make Achilles want to freak out and scream.
“Patroclus, dear…” Achilles gently wiped the blood off his mouth, fighting the tears that threatened to stream through his eyes now that they were alone and his necessity to not seem vulnerable had vanished. “You need to eat something, you know it…”
“I don’t know if I can eat.” He said, avoiding his gaze. He was right – there was a risk of him vomiting, possibly vomiting blood, but starving wasn’t a great option either. Achilles slowly kissed him, before getting up and beginning his search for some sort of meal, preferably one that wasn’t too unhealthy for Patroclus’ decrepit state.
His search was short-lived, and he concluded that he didn’t want to give Patroclus a strict diet, that was something for the medics to decide; instead, he simply wanted Patroclus to feel better, and so he decided to take something that would make him happy. He came back with a plate of figs and sat behind him, letting him lay on his chest and wrapping his legs around him. Although Patroclus let out a sigh, he didn’t decline the fruits, and ate them slowly, as if his appetite was also being killed by this illness, but Achilles hoped that this could help at least a little.
“Why do you two even bother?” Patroclus suddenly whispered, his voice’s weakness still deeply upsetting to Achilles’ ears, but the words were even worse. How could I not bother? You’re my everything, my world, my stars, I couldn’t just let you get ill and leave you to die!
But Achilles knew, he knew the hatred that Patroclus felt towards himself, deep down, a darkness that although smartly occulted, still manifested in small gestures of self-neglect, of talking down on himself, of not knowing how to react to compliments. “Because you matter, Patroclus.” He said, instead of his more truthful, more fiery thoughts, although those words were just as true. “To me, and to Briseis, and to everyone else. We care about you.”
Patroclus went silent for a moment, as if the words had struck him. “But there’s several patients that are dying around me… They’re warriors, I’m not, so they should be treated instead…” He insisted, and Achilles sighed. He’d fight the entire mount olympus to cure his lover’s insecurity, to make him love himself just as much as he loved him.
“We are treating them too, dear,” Achilles wrapped his arms around him, his voice turning into a comforting purr. “Thanks to your exceptional work, we have more than enough on stock to help everybody.” Although it was technically true, Apollo’s plague had shown itself to be reckless, and despite their best efforts several patients had been lost to it. He hoped, he prayed and he begged that Patroclus would not join them, that he wouldn’t leave Achilles here as he departed into the world of the dead, taken away from him too soon. “And you’re our best medic. We can’t afford to lose you. You’re more important than you think, love.” Especially to me.
Patroclus didn’t reply, instead shifting in his position and digging himself further onto Achilles, snuggling closer to him as he wrapped himself in all of the fluffy blankets, and the thought of being Patroclus’ bed for a night made Achilles’ heart soften. He gently began to pet his hair, and quietly hum a melody that could perhaps help him sleep once more.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Patroclus whispered after a while of silence, and Achilles could tell he was just almost falling asleep by the tone of his voice. “I need to take another dosage of all my treatments before sleeping, they said it’s five a day.” He sniffed, and that pollution in his breath was audible again. “We messed up the time already since I became ill at sunset, but…”
“Of course, dear,” Achilles gently adjusted him so that he could get up and grab the medicines, but as he was making his way back with the cups in hand, Patroclus suddenly had a coughing attack, and Achilles had to rush over to help him. Tears threatened to fall again once he realized he was coughing blood again, more than before. This illness is unpredictable, Patroclus himself had described when it first started to spread.
The coughs slowly stopped, but he had woken up some patients with the noise, who shifted uncomfortably in their beds. Without saying a word, Patroclus picked up one of the cups, that was still hot from the boiling water, and held it below his nose, letting the steam float up his nostrils for some minutes, because they both knew it would help with internal cleaning. Achilles’ eyes stung. He truly hated all of this, hated seeing his lover sick, but he was at least happy that Patroclus wasn’t completely gone yet, he was still himself, smart and clever and focused, taking every measure possible now that he was forced to use everything he had learned, on himself, while other patients unfortunately were completely dependent on the medics, unable to take care of themselves at all.
“How’s your fever?” Achilles asked after a while of watching him, and he was not that surprised by how tired his own voice sounded.
Patroclus seemed concerned about it, though, because he looked at him and frowned. “It’s still here, but better, and we should let it be, but…” A pause as he took a sip from the mixture. “You’ve been here with me all day, you should get some rest…”
Despite it all, Achilles smiled. “Honey, I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here and taking care of you, like I always did, okay?” He gently touched his cheek as he spoke.
“But you’re not going to be any better if you stay awake all night like this…” He scolded, although he was way too sleepy for the phrase to have a real effect. Achilles laughed.
“Love, I’m the aristos achaion. Apollo might be angry but I doubt he’ll mess with me anytime soon, at least not while Hector is alive. I’m not going anywhere,” he repeated with a purr, “And I’m not letting him take you from me.”
A smile slowly formed on Patroclus’ face, a tiny, brief, weak smile on the corner of his mouth, but it was enough for Achilles to throw his arms around him and hug him for a long moment. Then, they separated, but Achilles took his hand and didn’t let go. As Patroclus finished all of his dosages, he laid down and rested his head on Achilles’ lap, and Achilles caressed his hair again.
“Now you must rest, my dear,” he said, “and tomorrow we’ll do everything we possibly can to make you feel better, and I know we will.”
Patroclus’ eyes were half-closed. “How do you know?” He whispered.
“Because I’m here, and for you I’d fight every single shade in the Underworld,” Achilles replied, stating it simply, like a plain and pure fact. Because it truly was, to him. “And I’ll always take care of you, no matter what.”
Patroclus’ eyes opened one last time after those words left Achilles’ mouth, and as he looked at him, Achilles felt like he could carry all the stars of the sky in those eyes. “Thank you.” He whispered, his voice heavy not with illness, but with a warmth.
“I love you and I always will.”
“I love you too.”
Achilles smiled, and Patroclus closed his eyes. “Good night, love.”
He got no reply, for Patroclus was already asleep, but as Achilles watched him he could swear that right there, in the dark, sleeping close to him and resting on him, Patroclus seemed much healthier, and that alone was enough to him.