Chapter Text
Odysseus has come to the conclusion that airplanes are truly his least favoured way of travelling. It’s cramped. It’s in the sky. He’s not allowed to pilot it. And, worst of all, they tend to crash.
As he’s seen first hand. Experienced, first hand.
“We’re gonna die out here,” says Diomedes ruefully beside him, and, yeah, that’s one possibility. “Shit.”
Odysseus rolls over—he’s on his front, now, and an ache in his back really starts to set in—before swatting Diomedes’ pinched face staring up at the sky.
“Stop talking,” Odysseus gets out, not managing to add for one moment, but he’s thinking, and that’s very important.
The moment of silence he wants passes all too quickly, and Diomedes barrels on.
“Dude,” he says dazedly. “I’m seeing a light.”
“Yes, my friend, they call that the sun.”
A groan. (Not of pain, thank the gods, Odysseus is no good at the art of remedies.) “You hit your head and still talk like that?”
He thinks about it. “I didn’t hit my head.”
“Really wish you did, buddy,” Diomedes grits out, hauling himself up. He slouches forward, rubbing his face. Sand falls around him like snow. Right, because they’re not in aircraft anymore, this is a— a beach. “Oh, man. I bet Palamedes’ll be glad he got chased out of the airport, huh?”
Why, why does he have to bring that up now?
And then Diomedes asks, because talking seems to be all he can do right now, “You think we’d be able to fly the plane out of here?”
How delirious do people in pain become? Is this a sign he’s dying? Or maybe he’s just a hallucination, how about that. But why is Odysseus hallucinating? He’s thirsty? Does he feel thirsty?
“I’m real, don’t worry,” Diomedes says, his voice smiling. “But, um, are you thirsty?”
Hallucinations don’t actively sabotage you, right?
“Odysseus. I’m real.”
“Okay,” he mutters. They’ll see to it. “You don’t remember the fire, then?” Certainly suspicious. It was a rather big fire, you know. Took the whole left wing with it. No way that plane is getting its big fat wheels off any ground ever again, which Diomedes would know, if he were real.
“What? Look, man, I don’t know, I don’t remember, I think I was asleep. We crashed! Do you know how insane that is? You don’t look like you know how fucking insane that is.”
Very, very suspicious.
They aren’t alone, thank the gods, but surprise surprise, on this island bears the most insufferable sixteen year old of all time.
“We’ll build a boat,” Agamemnon announces, standing on small driftwood. Only Odysseus is shorter than him like this. “We’ll sail back to Greece.”
“No, no we won’t.” Menelaus watches his brother with a strange expression. He looks worried, maybe, but that doesn’t sound right. “Where are the others? We need to look for them first.”
He means Helen. He’s talking about Helen. Suddenly him being worried is a sound possibility.
Agamemnon begins to say something, probably to reiterate the boat thing because he only speaks the language of stupidity, but Diomedes cuts him off: “Yeah, where’s Sthene?”
Menelaus glances at him. “Who now.”
“Sthenelus!” He looks around, fascinated. “You guys don’t know Sthenelus?”
“He’s the one who likes horses,” supplies Odysseus. Like maybe isn’t the suitable word, but the only conversation he’d had with the guy was about. Horses, so.
Yes, he remembers Sthenelus. And the horses.
“Um,” Diomedes cocks his head. “I guess? But he prefers—”
“Do you want to go home or not?” Agamemnon suddenly yells, like those eight words have been waiting by the roof of his mouth for a while, like someone’s provoked him—which nobody has, alright—and it’s rather rude, isn’t it. They were about to reminisce. “If you go running around looking for more people now, you’ll get tired, and what’ll happen when you get tired? You’ll lay down, and then end up thirsty, but you’ll be too tired to go fetch any water. And what’ll happen then? You’ll pass away pitifully in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, with no boat, no water, and no friends, that’s what, Menelaus! I’m not going with you. It’ll be easier for me anyway—”
“Gods above,” Odysseus says in awe. “Why are you still talking?”
“—building one raft for myself, and if I find rescue on my way, I’m not coming back for you. And you know what? Fine! I’ll take all the money, all the—“
“Agamemnon,” interrupts Diomedes. “You’re right.”
“Yes. I know. All the—“
“No, like, the water thing.”
“Yes,” Agamemnon repeats loudly. Eyes narrowed, squinting. “I know.”
“I’m not leaving Helen,” Menelaus says lowly to the pair of them, crossing his arms. To appear threatening, maybe? His two-foot older brother perched on a slab of rotting wood sort of diminishes the image. Shame, he’s kind of getting there. “Or like, the rest of our year group? On an island? In the middle of— oh, only Zeus knows where we are! Are you crazy?!”
“Long been,” Odysseus chirps, ignoring the weight of Agamemnon’s glare pressing into his head.
Shaking his head rapidly, like the movement will dispel all traces of dissent in the nearby continents and out to galaxies where the clutches of humanity cannot grasp them, Diomedes bats Odysseus’ arm. “No, no, hear him out! What he’s saying,”
“Mmhm,” Agamemnon smiles, infuriatingly smug, and Odysseus has no idea why they tolerate this.
“—is that we split up—“
“Mmmmmhm.”
“—so two of us look for fresh water, and the other two look for more people! Duh!”
“Mmmmno,” it’s Agamemnon’s turn to shake his head, but it doesn’t look as great as it did his predecessor. “No, I’m not looking for anything, I’m building that damn boat!”
“Oh, come on! If we get more people do you know what that means?”
No amusement in sight.
“Odysseus, tell him what it means.”
“You’ll have at hand more prisoners to build your boat,” he says. And then thinks it’s worth mentioning, “Enough to build a cruise, if you so wish.”
“Stop talking like that,” Menelaus mutters, but what’s the hate for, his propaganda’s working considerably well.
Look, Agamemnon’s even thinking for once! Looking up at the sky, finger on his chin and everything. “Yes, I guess so…”
“Yeah,” Diomedes nods, “so?”
“Okay. Fine, because you guys are peer pressuring me. But I’m looking for the water! I’m not dying first, that’s so weak.”
The high five that follows is deserved.
Whoever wrote in books that children climbing trees build character needs to be arrested, because what the fuck. Why do they do that?
Why does Agamemnon do it, is the real question here, but alas. He climbs the tree, swings around for a bit, then leaps off the branch expecting the gods to like, intervene divinely or whatever. He’s trying to prove his favour, he says. Favour of the monkeys?
But luck proves to be utterly non-existent in the presence of this guy. Because it’s only now that they notice the other kid—he’s blonde with freakishly long hair, Diomedes, that’s not Sthenelus—darting through the trees with an impressively high stack of berries cradled in his arms, before quickly letting out a bewildered scream bats envy the pitch of.
Agamemnon falls to the floor face first, right behind the kid. Somehow, blondie remains standing.
“The fuck’s your problem, man?” He yells, whipping around. A good seven or eight of his berries tumble over. “Can’t you see I’m walking?” Hardly walking, someone should point out. (No one does. Unfortunate, but probably for the best.) “You tryin’ to kill me? Come at me straight, bitch, don’t be a pussy!”
“Chill out!” Diomedes intervenes, scandalised, but stands completely still and makes no effort to offer any defence for their collapsed soldier down.
From the ground, there’s an ow, and then another ow as a handful of berries are thrown at Agamemnon’s head, and here their weak offense is proven as they just continue to stand around. It’s okay, though. This is just building their tolerance.
And then violence ceases.
“Great heavens,” Odysseus murmurs to empty air and the trail of berries left in their attacker’s wake. He leans forward, squinting, ignoring the way Menelaus tries calling out for the assaulter. Dumb move, stop that. “Are these poisonous?”
They split after that. But that kid—where’s he gone?