Collection of Patrochilles Shorts

Remember When...?

"You're so stupid," Patroclus said, scrubbing furiously at his face. Achilles head rested in his lap, and the utter idiot had the gall to be smiling. Achilles reached up to pull one of Patroclus' hands to his lips, kissing each bruised knuckle.

"Are those seriously your last words to me?" he asked, casual and mock-offended like this was a normal day, like they were laying out at their safehouse on the farm and listening to the crickets sing. Like they didn't have a care in the world.

Patroclus wanted to call him stupid again, out of spite, but he bit his tongue; ran a shaking hand through Achilles hair. He wanted to say "I love you, I've loved you more deeply with every moment I've known you" but even that didn't seem like enough. He said it anyway.

"I love you too, Pat," Achilles said, the weight of the words cracking something in Patroclus' chest. He took in Achilles' pale face, golden skin wan. The metal of the truck bed dug into Patroclus' legs and back, thought it felt more like an open coffin than a hiding place, now. He thought he'd gladly sit here forever if it meant Achilles would never leave him. "Remember that summer, after high school? When Paris and Helen eloped?"

Patroclus laughed in spite of himself, one hand cradling Achilles' head, the other resting lightly on the other boy's chest. "How could I ever forget that?" he quipped, rolling his eyes. "Menelaus got blackout drunk and broke into their motel room--"

"--and threw one punch before puking his guts out onto Paris?" Achilles finished, nearly to the point of wheezing through his laughter.

"I still can't believe Hector came as 'moral support' and had to drag him to the car after he passed out," Patroclus muttered and Achilles' eyes went wide.

"He passed out? I thought he managed to get back--"

"Nope," Patroclus said, "he hit the floor like a sack of bricks and Hector pulled him, feet first, down the steps. He had the bruises to prove it." Achilles gave a low whistle at that. They lapsed into a momentary silence, thinking of the friends they'd lost and lost track of. Hector had made for California, Odysseus for the coast; Paris and Helen for Canada.

"I wonder if anyone's still out there," Achilles muttered, right before his face scrunched up in agony. His grip on Pat's hand was tight enough to crush the bones in his palm. All mirth vanished immediately, reality rushing back. Patroclus glanced down at Achilles' right ankle--at the slow seep of red through his jeans; glanced back at his face, at the sweat beading across his hairline, the flush of his cheeks faded completely. It wouldn't be long now. They had a few minutes, at most.

"I don't know what to do," Patroclus whispered, because it was true. He had now idea what he'd do without Achilles, how he would survive in this new, horrifying world alone.

He'd never been the agile one--wasn't fast enough to move out of the way of a biter, so Achilles had leapt in front of him and got bitten instead.

He didn't know how to express the feeling bubbling up like hot tar at the back of his throat. He didn't know who he was without Achilles by his side.

"You're going to survive," Achilles said, certain and simple. "You're going to survive and find new people to call stupid and I am still going to love you."

Patroclus let loose a sob, leaning down to kiss Achilles' forehead; agonizing over the heat, there. How it burned against the chill of his lips. "Remember what I said, the night I thought you were going to leave?" Patroclus breathed, watching as Achilles' eyes fluttered shut.

Achilles smiled again and Patroclus swore he'd trade the world for it. "Yes," Achilles said, tears trailing clear paths down his temples.

"I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday," Patroclus said, reaching for the gun beside him. The metal was cold, and Patroclus glanced up at the sky, now overcast. Like Achilles had decided to take the sun with him.

"Then I'll see you next Tuesday, Pat," Achilles said, still smiling.

"Next Tuesday," Patroclus promised, hand pressed to Achilles chest, feeling as he breathed in. Out. In. Out...silence.

Patroclus raised the gun.

Epilogue:

Miles away, Briseis startled at the sound of a lone gunshot from the East. She immediately ducked behind a tree, heart hammering, axe clutched in trembling fingers. When no other shots followed, she stood, squinting in the direction of the shot.

Guns meant people. People more often than not meant danger. But the quiet and the constant terror of having to watch her own back was wearing thin. Life was all about calculated risks now.

She looked at her axe again, hiked her bag further up on her shoulders, and decided that this was a risk worth taking. 

***Hi there - I bring you more angst! I had the sudden urge to write a zombie story for these two, so here we are :)

For the prompt: "I will love you if I never see you again, and I will love you if I see you every Tuesday." - Lemony Snicket

Thank you for reading!***