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Achilles closed his eyes as the warm cloth was moved carefully along his skin, tepid water running in red ribbons down his chest. It was a ritual he and Patroclus shared every night after he had returned from battle. He would whisper every detail of what happened to Patroclus, as if airing what happened would help settle him back into his normal self rather than his war self, all while Patroclus carefully cleaned the blood from him, the blood of the men he had slain that day. By the end of each night, he had all but melted into his lovers arms. Already his head was beginning to bob sleepily as Patroclus softly hummed a tune he had heard Achilles working on, one dark arm had already wrapped around his middle, Patroclus sleepily nuzzled against his neck as he washed the blood from his shoulder.
Achilles groaned when the messenger stuck his head into their tent. "What is it now that cannot wait until the morning?"
"King Agamemnon wishes to have a word..."
He sighed and nodded, grabbing a tunic. "Alright, I will be there in a moment."
The man twisted the hem of his tunic nervously. "It is not, um, you that he wishes to see, prince Achilles..."
He and Patroclus looked at each other a moment. He had hoped Patroclus would know what was going on, but he seemed just as confused if not more. Achilles continued to get dressed as if nothing was amiss.
"I shall be joining him anyway. Tell Agamemnon we shall be there in a moment." The messenger nodded and quickly ducked out, leaving them to dress. "What do you think has happened?"
Patroclus frowned. "I do not know. I can't imagine anything that would need my attention. Truthfully, I was not sure that he knew my name in the first place." Patroclus grinned at him and he grinned back, tossing a pillow at him before they left for the Agora, yawning. It was getting late quickly and they had been up early. He hoped it would not take more than a minute, their bed was calling to him. Plus, it was not yet too late for other pleasures beyond sleep.
Agamemnon and Odysseus stood around a table with a disheveled looking man beside them, drawing quickly on a piece of parchment, their faces lit by the fickle flames of a few lanterns. Agamemnon looked up at their approach.
"Good Patroclus, and our prince Achilles as well I see, I do apologize for taking you from your bed- or beds, pardon me- but your unique services are needed this night on a very time sensitive issue. A spy with what we believe is necessary information has been captured, and we believe he is wounded and will be executed at sunrise after he has given away all his information on us. You are the only man who is both soldier and healer, we need you and a small troupe of men to retrieve him before he can be killed and we lose whatever he has learned that the Trojans do not want us to know." He rolled up the map that the other spy had been drawing.
Achilles frowned. "I can go instead. I was trained by Chiron just as Patroclus was, and I have more experience with battle. Let me go in his place."
Agamemnon sighed and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "He has been working in the tents for years now, Achilles. We need that experience, we cannot take any chances at losing this advantage."
"Then forget the troupe, I alone will go with him. I can keep them both safe and it will be far safer with just one extra man." He set his jaw, unyielding under Agamemnon's anger and disapproval. They stared at each other a moment before Agamemnon shrugged.
"Alright, whatever gets this done fastest. You shall be given horses and the map our second scout has created, he shall tell you where we believe the spy is being held in an abandoned farm house. Do try to be quick about this."
Achilles nodded smugly and turned to follow the sentry leading them to their horses when he noticed the way Patroclus was frozen to the spot, hands trembling slightly.
"I can't do this, Achilles. I'm not a soldier, I cannot fight my way out if things go badly, I'll be useless..." He licked his lips nervously, looking into his eyes pleadingly.
"Do not worry, you will not be alone. I will do any fighting that needs to be done, you simply focus on saving out spy. We shall be back before sunrise." He pulled him close for a moment before they had to begin moving, readying themselves for the long night ahead of them.
--
The map was shakily drawn and they were both exhausted, but they still found the cluster of abandoned farm houses hidden among the trees. Their spy said it was where the Trojans took people they did not think they would keep alive long enough to bother taking within the walls. They left their horses far enough away that they would not be heard, but this meant a long walk on foot, Patroclus trembling the closer they got to the dark, half burned houses.
They were about to step out of the covering of the trees when Patroclus tugged at Achilles' arm.
"I promise, Patroclus, this will be fine..."
"No, your hair." He gestured to his head. "It's too bright, they'll be able to see it. We need to camouflage it with something." They looked around for a moment before Achilles found some mud to smear over his hair, darkening it. Patroclus clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound of a snort coming out.
"Shut it." He grinned and flicked some of the mud at him before they began again, Patroclus at the very least a little more relaxed now that they'd eased the tension a little.
Patroclus tried to keep his eyes and ears open to everything like Achilles, to try and be as perceptive to every sound and movement, but all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the rapid beating of his heart. He did not want to be here. They should have just let Achilles go, he knew how to stabilize a wounded man in time to get him back to camp. He would just be in the way here, slowing everything down. Trailing a hand along the outer walls of the barn, he tried to feel for an opening that could have been made after the raids to hide a prisoner in, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
There was no moon, no stars visible from behind the clouds. He was glad Achilles was hidden from prying eyes but that meant he was hidden from Patroclus as well, the only evidence that he was still there at all being the gentle sound of his feet touching the ground as they walked past old barns, crouched behind trees, and slid along half collapsed walls. Of substance or use, there was nothing.
Nothing, until he found the wood beneath his hand abruptly ending beside a large hole, a foreign hand springing out and covering his mouth, another dragging him into the darkness.
He couldn't see anything, couldn't see where he was being dragged or who was dragging him. He couldn't even see Achilles through the quickly receding doorway, his mud darkened hair making him invisible in the darkness.
"Who is it?" A low hiss came from somewhere to his right as his captor continued to pull him along deeper into the building.
"Greek spy, probably come to find out what happened to the last one." He was pushed to his knees onto what felt like a dirt floor, a terrible stench hitting him.
"Well he'll be pretty disappointed then, won't he?" A lantern was lit and even with it being a relatively small source of light, the sudden brightness after the dark stung terribly, and he had to shield his eyes a minute before being able to look around. He seemed to be kneeling in a stall where perhaps oxen would have been kept, his stomach pitching as he saw the dead spy not far away, throat cut open. So they hadn't been planning to wait until dawn then; the man had obviously been dead even before Patroclus and Achilles had been told of his existance. This was all for nothing.
He flinched, something cold touching his neck, his heart seizing when he recognized it as the broad side of a sword, a soldier tapping it against his neck rhythmically.
"Well, what should we do with him? We could kill him, that would be pretty easy. But he doesn't really know anything, and we might not want to antagonize them anymore than we already have."
"But he knows we've killed the other spy, so if we let him go, he might go back and rouse everyone to come for revenge over it." The blade was now tapping against his cheek, cutting into the soft flesh, a slow line of blood beginning to run down his face in the shape of the swords outline. Achilles would not be happy about that.
"Either way, I don't think we should be deciding with him watching us like that."
"Right, good idea." He felt something thick and heavy make contact with his skull, then nothing.
--
Achilles was dying. Or at least, that was how it felt as he ran about the compound, frantic. He had been murmuring to himself as he and Patroclus had circled the farmhouse, trying to keep his eyes peeled for anything suspicious.
"Think they might be keeping him in the house? That's where I would keep someone, if I had to keep an eye on them overnight. That way it would be more comfortable, and there would be less room for him to run, more places to hit dead ends if he didn't know where he was going. What do you think, Patroclus?" He had turned to look at his companion, who had been strangely quiet behind him for some time, only to see him no longer there. "Pa-Patroclus?" He turned quickly in every direction, trying to see if he had stopped a few feet away to inspect something he had missed, hoping he had just gone outside his line of vision, but there was nothing. No one was in sight.
Patroclus was gone.
He couldn't call out for him like he usually would, he could not make a torch to see better. If it was just himself he had to worry about he would have done it in a moment. But he could not call attention to Patroclus in case they found him before Achilles did. Unless they already had, in which case he was just standing around, wasting time while they did gods knew what to his unprotected Patroclus...
No! He was fine, he had to be fine. He would know if something had happened to him already, he would have felt it in himself as his own wound, his own life ending. Patroclus was alive, he just had to find him. Perhaps he simply had followed a different path and was looking for him as well in that moment. He would be of no use to anyone frantic, he had to keep his head.
He slipped behind a wall as he heard approaching footsteps, too heavy and numerous to be Patroclus coming back for him.
"Have you heard about the spy?" The footsteps began to get closer, Achilles pressing deeper into the shadows.
"I've been here all night, haven't I?"
"No, they've caught a second one now, looking for the first one they think."
"Do you think they'll kill him too, or try to get more out of him first?"
"I don't really know, I think they haven't decided yet."
Achilles dug his fingernails into the rotting wood. He'd been dead this whole time, they'd been sent out for nothing. And now they had Patroclus and were deciding whether or not to kill him. He would flay them all before he let them touch one hair on his Patroclus...
He waited for them to pass his hiding place before following, pulling a small dagger from where he had strapped it to his thigh. It was the largest weapon they could bring and keep concealed. He wished for his ashen spear, something he could hurtle at the men deciding whether Patroclus should live or die, but what he had would have to do. He knew his mother would not aid him in this, she was probably more than happy to see Patroclus in such peril, so he would have to fight however many guards there were alone, with his hands. He would welcome the challenge, gladly.
As they continued walking, he noticed a spot of light near the back of what seemed to be an abandoned barn, glimmering through the slats of the rotting boards. That must be it. Abandoning the guards he was trailing, he followed the light and made his way into the dark building, much more complex on the inside than he had assumed. It must have been used as a base of operations for years after their initial raids, makeshift walls made twisting rooms and hallways he had to silently maneuver through, careful of each step, lest he put a foot down and cast a shield or helmet barreling and clanging down a hallway.
At the achingly slow pace, he was finally able to find the lit room and peer inside. Two soldiers were standing outside what used to be an old stall, talking quietly to themselves. The smell of death was thick in the air, and he could see dried blood on the tunic of one, smeared as if he had wiped it off from his sword. More dried blood was sprayed over the walls.
And there on floor was Patroclus, unmoving, blood pooled beneath his head.
--
Patroclus felt himself lying awkwardly on the floor, felt the twist of his limbs and the hardness of the packed earth beneath him, but he could not wake up, not fully. His eyes would not open and he could not make his body move. He felt as if he were half awake and half dreaming, time passing strangely, the words being spoken above him sounding foreign to his ears despite the familiar language they were spoken in. He wished he had declined the mission, insisted on staying and waiting for Achilles. He was no fighter, no warrior, nor spy nor soldier. He should not have thought he could truly have survived this journey, even with Achilles. And now he would die on the floor of a stable of all places. Wouldn't his father be proud of his son's end.
The soldiers overhead had begun to finish their discussion, seeming to think that killing him would be the best way to deter future spies. He felt the cool metal of a sword being pressed to his neck, tapping against it once again almost as an afterthought as the soldiers shared a final thought he did not catch, the reality of his encroaching demise the only thought on his mind, along with the thought that he would not see Achilles again. The metal swung away, about to come back to be plunged into his throat, when a loud, animalistic cry of agony was heard from outside the room, followed by the sound of scuffling, then of things being thrown, of flesh hitting hitting hard wooden walls. A man ran into the room, heavily wounded and bleeding. He pointed outside of the room shakily before collapsing to the ground.
The soldiers swore and moved to react when a dagger hit one man in the throat, the force knocking him backwards into one of the other stalls. The other man quickly drew his own sword, looking around.
"Who is there? Show yourself!" The man turned wildly, looking around. Patroclus could hear the commotion dimly but did not understand what was happening, fighting the stronger unconsciousness pulling at him, trying to take away what little wakefulness he had at the moment. It would alleviate the pain, but he did not want to go anywhere without Achilles.
Achilles came through the door then, chest heaving, covered in mud and blood, eyes wild. The soldier seemed at a loss, unable to imagine who this second man could be. Achilles lunged forward, grappling with the man, easily knocking the sword from him and throwing him to the ground, stalking his every move like a cat playing with a mouse.
"You're the only one left." The man swallowed at the words, that no one else could come to his aid. Achilles slowly lifted the sword from the floor, brilliantly wild eyes never leaving the mans face, voice hard and cold. He clubbed the man on the side of the head and watched him slouch down before running to Patroclus, falling to his knees beside him, hands hovering over him uselessly, a choked sob in his throat.
"No no no no no, you are alright Patroclus, you are perfectly alright, nothing that bad has happened, you just need to wake up and we can go." He tore at his tunic, pressing it against the source of the blood on his head, darkening his hair and the floor, seeping through his fingers.
"Patroclus, you have to wake up now, we have to go." He pressed a trembling hand to his cheek, feeling the soft breath on his palm. "See? You're still alive, so you must be alright. You've just got to wake up now and we can go home." He threaded his fingers through Patroclus' hair as best he could, lifting him so that he could cradle Patroclus against his chest, tears falling onto his cool neck like warm rain. "We can go once you wake up, so please wake up, Patroclus. I need you to wake up for me, please. I can't- Without you- I can't-" His sentence broke with a sob, curling around Patroclus protectively, holding him tighter. "Patroclus please you must wake up for me..."
Patroclus was at a loss, struggling to find a way back, to make his eyes open so that he could return to this miserable weeping god who held him so lovingly. How could he refuse such a sad voice, such an earnest plea to not be left alone on this earth. He could not wake up for himself, but for Achilles he could do anything, all he ever had to do was ask. So, with a great effort, he found his way back to himself, groaning as the pain in his head intensified terribly.
Achilles peppered his face with kisses as he awoke, holding him closer. "It's alright Patroclus, you are alright." He continued to repeat the words softly, as if trying to convince himself of their truth, that his Patroclus was truly alright and would not be leaving him.
He looked up at Achilles, at the still weeping green eyes and his blood covered face. "Yes, it is alright, I am alright." He tried to smooth the mud-darkened hair away from his distraught face, tried to make Achilles believe that he really was alright. His head throbbed again and he winced slightly. Mostly alright, anyway.
Achilles' eyes raked over him, touching the bleeding wound on Patroclus' head again gently. "The spy is dead. You were hurt for nothing." He swallowed thickly. "I'm so sorry Patroclus, it's my fault this happened, I should have..."
He shook his head. "It is no one's fault, let's just... Go home." He looked to the injured soldier in the corner. "Leave him, take the body of the spy. We can be back before dawn."
Achilles pressed their foreheads together a moment, trying to get control of his erratic breathing, then helped Patroclus stand, supporting him until they were sure he could stand on his own, though dizzy. Achilles lifted the dead spy over his shoulder and they made their way out of the old barn and into the darkness, leaving the lone soldier with his sputtering lantern.
The ride was longer going back, both too weary to urge their horses faster, needing to be careful to keep the body of the spy from falling during the journey, lest they lose him on the way and need to find him again in the black oblivion surrounding them. Neither could speak a word beyond the exhaustion that had seeped into every aspect of their beings, dragging them down and heavying their limbs.
Upon finally arriving back at camp, Achilles gave the body of the spy to the nearest guard, explaining in minor detail what had happened and that only one soldier remained alive in the hidden enemy base. Once they had dismounted and given their horses to a young man Patroclus forgot the moment he left, Achilles took his hand and lead them roughly to their tent, refusing to speak to anyone on their way, ignoring the questioning looks and comments about the mud and blood, or the injury to Patroclus' head, which seemed to still be bleeding a little and running down the back of his neck, making his hair feel sticky.
Once safely within their tent, away from prying eyes and ears, Achilles grasped him tightly, pushing them both onto their bed, fingers digging into Patroclus' sides.
"I thought you were dead. I could see you on the ground with the blood and you weren't moving and I could not wake you and gods Patroclus if you had not woken, I would not have left that room, I would not have gone on without you, knowing that it might as well have been I that killed you..."
"Achilles, it was not your fault, we didn't know what we were getting into, and they should have known there was a good chance that the spy would not have been kept alive that long..."
Achilles shook his head. "I told them we would go together so that I could protect you, I told them not to send anyone else. I was so stupid, I wanted it to be just the two of us to save the day, no one else. If there were others, we could have had help, you would not have been hurt. I am the one who knows he is invincible until Hector is killed, you could be hurt at any moment. My pride nearly killed you. If I had not gotten there when I did, just a second or more later..."
Patroclus pulled him close, pressing their mouths together firmly, silencing Achilles. After a moment he began reciprocating passionately, the fear and adrenaline funneling into their kiss, wanting nothing more than to prove to himself that Patroclus was truly alright, that he had not left him alone in this world.
"I will never leave you, Achilles, I promised this long ago and it is still true. It will be like this, always." He gently sat them both up, kissing Achilles' blood covered forehead before reaching for their bowl of water the cloth, dampening it and once again beginning their ritual of slowly cleaning the blood from Achilles, the fear finally seeping away from his mind as the warm water washed the remnants of the night from his body. Achilles dipped a cloth into the water and began doing the same for Patroclus, leaving them both clean and whole once again.