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Part 6 of we could be kind
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2025-04-02
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3,153
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1/1
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things you've had to suffer

Summary:

The bruises and scars left by the suitors fade far more swiftly than the memories of how Telemachus got them.

or,

Telemachus has a nightmare about the suitors that sends him spiraling shortly after, unable and unwilling to reach out for help.
Today, he's not alone.

Notes:

hi it's once again 3:30 am and i am back on my bullshit. finally, a fic in the series focusing on telemachus! like with all other fics in this series, this can be read as a standalone, though if you want context you can have that from the first fic in this series - but you do you, this perfectly understandable without it! all you need to know is that athena and hermes are chilling in ithaca for a bit post-canon for reasons that are in no way harmful to the characters because i would never make characters suffer in anything i write, please, - title obvi a lyric from i can't help but wonder, because i've Gotta

tw: telemachus has a nightmare about being attacked by the suitors. there is a possibility of interpreting some of it as SA, but it is vague on purpose. there's also a brief tiny nod toward odysseus' experiences with calypso. there's also some non-graphic mentions of throwing up.

this fic contains depiction of a panic attack triggered by PTSD (obligatory “this is technically acute stress disorder bc it hasn’t been six months necessarily” disclaimer). while i am a therapist and someone who has had panic attacks, know that everyone is unique and may display reactions to triggers/attacks themselves differently. in telemachus this displays as feeling as though he is dying as well as strong anxiety and some negative self-talk, and a sprinkle of implied dissociation/depersonalization. please treat yourself with love.

we... we have fun here,

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The palace was disturbingly quiet. Too quiet. Telemachus knew it should be louder, even though he didn’t want to have to hear all of those voices again. It was dark, and he knew the layout of everything by heart, but it was still… unnerving.

“You’ve made your worst mistake here… might be your last one too.”

A foot shot out and kicked him square in the back, throwing him face-first into a wall. One, two, four - ten pairs of hands grabbed him all over; they grabbed his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his waist, his legs-

“Hold him down while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith and his bones-!”

The hands shoved him down against the wall, face and knees skidding painfully against the floor as he was forcibly held to it. Greedy hands grabbed at and ripped his clothing, claws sharp like knives digging into his skin and leaving mark after damnable mark.

“Capture him, he’s our greatest chance!”

Someone pulled sharply on his hair, yanking his head back.

“Fight ‘til the prince can barely stand!”

A knee dug into his back, pinning him.

“Hold him down, hold him down!”

His neck was being squeezed. Stars flew across his sight as his limbs were spread out on the floor, bloodied fingers holding tight while others grabbed, dug into his flesh.

“Make the king obey our command-”

Bile rose in Telemachus’ throat with the tears that did in his eyes. Someone would come. A servant, a guard, his mother, Athena - someone always came, always intervened before the suitors were too rough with him, went too far with him-

“-‘Cause if he won’t, I’ll break the kid’s hands!”

There were too many. There were too many, and Telemachus could barely breathe, could not stop the scream that mounted in him and was torn from him as though it was something bloody and physical.

“Die little wolf-

Die little wolf-

DIE-! ”

 

6 0 0

 

Telemachus woke up with a start, immediately retching over the side of his bed. It was dark out, clearly still night, slightly cooler than it was earlier in the day - though, then again, he was drenched in sweat.

He could still feel hands all over him, hot and rough and heavy. Suddenly the idea of staying in bed was overwhelmingly nauseating.

His wound was healing, but it still ached. Perhaps it was too early for Telemachus to really be up and about, but… he felt so antsy laying in bed when he was in a good mood. It was just a minor stab wound, and it wasn’t as though he’d never been hurt before, anyways.

It had just been a dream. It hadn’t been reality. The things the suitors did had never gotten that brazen, not until the day his father had finally come home, and he had been saved then. But never had he been stabbed like that - beat up, sure. Punched and kicked until his body was so bruised he couldn’t hide it from his mother, certainly. Handled so roughly that the imprints of hands had remained on his skin for a week-

Telemachus stood abruptly, blinking away the dizziness that followed. He needed some air.

He hobbled down the hall, not bothering to try and hide the awkward limp to his gait. He did enough of that when he had to move around his parents to eat, bathe, and relieve himself. He tried to do it around Athena, too, but… she always stared right at him, face upsettingly blank.

Maybe if something had happened now, she wouldn’t come to help him. The first time had been out of pity for his father, anyways. She hadn’t shown up physically at all when the suitors tried to kill him outright-

-she was too hurt, she did what she could, she watched over him, she tried-

-and everyone was preoccupied with someone else, right now. His parents were focused on each other, and who could blame them? Twenty years of separation, twenty years of his mother being lonely, twenty years of his father going through unspoken horrors… and Athena was a goddess. Just because she was resting in Ithaca didn’t mean she didn’t have more important things to do than mind him. He was just her, what, ex-mentee’s son? Her great-great-great nephew? They were - well, she seemed to play along with them being friends, but what did friends really matter compared to family? Gods didn’t have friends, and Hermes was way worse off than he was. Sure, Hermes was immortal, but that had been tested too severely. It only made sense that Athena was likely minding him if she was even awake, keeping her woven blanket tucked in close around him and making sure that he was healing well. He was her little brother, if only half, and Telemachus was just-

A broad hand grabbed-gripped-held-tight gently rested on his shoulder. Telemachus flinched heavily, breathing in sharply as he whirled around to throw a punch at the assailant-suitor-intruder one that dared to strike-pin-harm touch him.

“Get off me - get off me!”

Odysseus instinctively caught his fist in his other hand, blinking at his son in surprise as the words processed through his mind. In an instant, he pulled both hands back and away, face writ with malice-hatred-disgust concern as Telemachus tripped over his own feet to stumble further from him.

“Tele-”

Antinous-Eurymachus-Melanthius Odysseus could not finish calling out to his threat-prize-obstacle son before Telemachus was back on his feet, running down the hall. He made a sharp turn out into the gardens as soon as he could, bracing himself against a tree when he practically fell into it, scraping up his hands with the wood.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, and he didn’t know where to go next; he couldn’t bother his mother, couldn’t bother anyone, he was an adult, he had to take care of this himself or it was plain weakness-

Yet his stomach rolled again, leading Telemachus to spit more bile into the closest bush. Hyperventilation fully set in, vision going blurry and fingers numbing as the ambient noise of the night was slowly interrupted by muddled, indistinct voices. His heart hammered in his chest, threatening to break free entirely.

He was going to die. He was going to die.

 

6 0 0

 

A voice, slow and steady, came from nearby. Telemachus was not sure how much time had passed, but he could almost understand the words that reached him through the shrill siren that resounded through his head.

“Tel…us, bre… S… u’ll not c…”

It felt familiar.

“Tha… with me, one, t… eep and slow…”

It felt safe.

“Excellent, little wolf. Keep breathing, that’s it. In and out, take your time.”

Athena.

A sob tore from Telemachus’ core as he clumsily dipped over where he sat to be closer to her, fists full of grass where they rested on the ground. Athena knelt a few feet away, not close enough to touch him - and behind her, a bit further away, sat Odysseus, both of his hands resting palm-up on his knees in plain sight. Both looked tired, though Odysseus’ face was more expressive than the goddess’s, showing his deep worry and something close to understanding through the fog of exhaustion.

“There you are. There you are, Telemachus. You’re doing such a good job.”

But his lungs still burned, and his head still swam. He could hardly see from the tears, but Athena still sounded so patient, even when he failed to respond. If anything, she softened more, lips thin before she tried again.

“Telemachus, tell me: what are five things you can see?”

A question - not one that he had been expecting. The panic within him startled at it, but he couldn’t let her down. Not now, not when he was already more pathetic than any prince had right to be. It took a few minutes to find his tongue, but eventually Telemachus was able to rasp out the words, knuckles white with his balled fists.

“Y-You. You and, and F-Father. The… the grass, and the palace, and my… my hands.”

“Thank you. Name four things you can feel.”

Another? Telemachus gasped in a breath, trying to let the numbness leave enough to answer her. “Grass, grass blades, in my hands, um, and… and dirt, under my nails. The, the sweat dripping down my neck, and the breeze on my skin.”

“Three things you can hear, then.”

He closed his eyes. “I can… I can hear you. The waves in the distance. And, um, my, I can hear my heartbeat, it’s… it’s loud.”

“Better a loud one thumping proudly in your chest than none at all,” Athena reassured with a nod. “Two things you can smell.”

“Sweat.” That was the easiest response, though the other lingering scent made him grimace, teeth clenched tightly. He pushed it away, reaching for something more soothing. “The grass, again.”

“Very well. What is one thing you can taste?”

No beating around the bush, then. Telemachus’ lip curled, skin rapidly cooling now that the perspiration had blessedly begun to stop. “Vomit.”

“I imagine so,” Athena echoed, eyes slowly looking him up and down. With clearer vision, now, Telemachus could see the bags under her eyes, the stiff way she held herself. He shifted so that he might sit a bit more properly, hand beginning to sting from the scrapes from the tree.

“Is that better?” At the small nod, Athena gave the barest smile. “Sometimes when one is trapped in their mind, it is best to reacquaint them with their body.”

“I’m sorry,” Telemachus whispered, missing the absolutely broken expression that passed over Odysseus’ face as he did so. “I shouldn’t be behaving like a child.”

“You are not,” came the simple rebuttal. The goddess of wisdom paused another moment before continuing, giving Telemachus room to breathe before amending her words. “Not acting like a child, I mean. Do you feel well enough to return to your room? It would likely be more comfortable to continue this conversation indoors.”

With his nod, all three of them stood up, Odysseus still keeping his distance from them both. With the first step forward a jolt of pain tore through Telemachus’ abdomen, leading him to look down to see red staining through his bandages. “Oh.”

“Athena,” Odysseus spoke softly, gently, not daring to raise his tone or volume. “If you are able to bring Telemachus inside, I will go gather some supplies for the injury.”

“That I can most certainly handle,” she agreed, turning back to the young prince as Odysseus retreated inside. “Do I have permission to carry you, Telemachus?”

A small coil of anxiety flared back into life, but it was Athena. Telemachus nodded once again, letting the warrior pick him up as though he weighed nothing. Her hands were tough and scarred, but they were thinner, lighter than those the suitors bore.

It wasn’t long before Telemachus was sat down on his bed again, though Athena had moved slowly. Fresh linens had already replaced the sweat-soaked ones, Odysseus folding those over a chair. The remnants of the mess Telemachus had made upon waking were gone as well, lit incense on one of the tables smelling of herbs.

“Is it alright if Odysseus tends to your wound reopening? My hands are large and still unsteady, and I would not want to cause you more harm.”

“Athena,” Odysseus warned, having clearly told her about what had set Telemachus off in the first place. Even so, Telemachus stared at his father and his concern, his endless love and devotion that he had for his family. For him.

“It’s okay, Father. I trust you.”

Something in Odysseus’ face melted at that, the king cautiously moving over so that he could begin the process of redressing his son’s wound. After a few minutes of soft silence, the admission escaped from Telemachus’ head and into the world:

“I just - I just had a nightmare. I’m too old for that, I’m sorry that I tried to hit you.”

“Too old for nightmares… imagine that,” Odysseus hummed, careful not to apply the bandages too tightly. “Son, the only reason I was awake was because I was returning to my room after having left from one myself.”

“As I have told the both of you, there is no shame in such occurrences. If you are too old for such bad dreams, what would you say about my own? Have you not seen Hermes react to nightmares in our time here, as well?”

As if summoned by his name being spoken aloud, the godly emissary shuffled into the room. The tortoiseshell blanket Athena had made was tucked around him and trailing on the floor, his faintly-glowing eyes half-shut and still too dim from behind the fringe of his hair as he dropped into the chaise Athena had already sat in without a word. Though it was hard to meet his gaze, Telemachus could feel the energy coming off of him as though his intention was as clear as Athena’s Quick Thought: If sleeping was so easy, darling, I’d have kept doing it in the bed you’ve set aside for me.

Athena moved her arm to wrap around her brother as he settled against her side, looking more like an unwell youth Telemachus’ age than some mighty, powerful god. Even so, he appeared better than he had been of late - he had managed walking over, after all, which was a great improvement from before. Usually when left alone Hermes was quick to spiral into a panic himself, conscious or not, as they had begun to notice. That Athena had come to coax Telemachus out of his own episode was beyond his understanding, knowing that she would be leaving Hermes. But both she and Odysseus had come to him, and not only did Hermes appear to have some concept of what had happened - whether from Athena or simple context clues, Telemachus was afraid to ask - but didn’t even seem upset.

But then… was Hermes not an exact example of how he felt? He was still recovering from what he had gone through - and so was Telemachus. If a god could have no shame about bursts of anxiety from the trauma he had experienced, if a god did not care about the image he presented when he clung to his sister and great-grandson…

“We… we know how it feels, my joy,” Odysseus murmured, double-checking his work before pulling back. “No one blames you.”

His father had always moved away from him when he lashed out, had kept his distance while Athena talked him down, had kept his hands visible and nonthreatening the entire time-

-would flinch away from his mother, sometimes, or even Athena, always tense when grabbed suddenly. Of course his father was so careful of minding his space, now. He knew just how he felt, if brought about by slightly different situations. He knew.

Telemachus palmed under his eyes, hating the dampness that hit his skin from the tears. “How do I… how do I go back to sleep?” Maybe he would know the answer, since the same plight assailed him? “How do I just… rest when every time I close my eyes, all I see… all I hear… I, I no longer dream, it’s only nightmares of the… the suitors. Over, and over, and over…”

Odysseus shook his head, smile sad. “Even all of Athena’s wisdom can’t answer that.”

“Sleep is not my specialty,” Athena shrugged with faint humor, even as a lithe hand reached out from under the blanket with a quick twist.

The caduceus manifested in Hermes’ hold, though its tip rested on the floor, grip slack. The faintest of chuckles echoed from him as he shifted, other hand reaching out as though he was once again offering moly or freedom to Odysseus, beckoning them to take it and trust him.

“A dreamless sleep. I can…”

His voice was still faint, small scars stretching slightly as the trickster offered a tiny grin. Telemachus blinked at his forefather owlishly, scratching at the back of his neck in a nervous tic. He lay back down regardless, taking a moment to appreciate the surrealism that came with his father tucking him in for the first time in his life that he could remember.

“I’ll take a power nap too,” Odysseus offered, easing Telemachus’ nerves as he went to sit in a chair near the bed. The gesture of also agreeing to the help being given was a show of solidarity and compromise that Telemachus appreciated, knowing that his father was doing his best to lead by example.

It wasn’t easy to use the assistance people gave, especially when it was being used to heal or better oneself against the nature of pride - but often was Hermes described as a shameless god, and perhaps that trait had its usefulness at the right time, even in his descendants. Taking a step forward together was easier than doing it alone and better than taking no step at all.

With a bit of effort Hermes managed to wave the golden staff, sending both Ithaca’s king and prince into a swift slumber. The second it had been done the caduceus slipped from his fingers, dissipating as it left his hand.

Athena dragged her fingers back along Hermes’ scalp, combing through his hair with a quiet fondness. “You likely only had the strength to give them a few hours of sleep, like this. That should be just enough to help set them both on the right track, again.”

A cold hand curled on her knee as Hermes slumped against her more, soft pant from the exertion the spell cost him belying any attempt to seem unaffected.

“You as well, oneiropompus.”

She led him down so that he could rest his head in her lap, closing his eyes as the fatigue from the magic and movement enclosed around him. Athena smoothed fluffy locks back once more, hoping the action was as settling for him as it was her. She was content to watch over all three of them in relative peace, no doubt offering a hushed explanation to Penelope when the sun finally rose and she went searching for her husband. She could rest just as easily like this, the constant droning of her own past hurts quiet in the back of her mind with everything at ease around her.

“You’re alone!”

Athena shut down the blistering remark when it tried to rear its head anew, pitiful in its attempt to disrupt her peace. Hermes was safe at her side, and Telemachus would recover all the better with the support around him. She spared a glance to Odysseus, the man sideways and curling into the chair he sat in, considering the harsh jab that he had once thrown at her. The answer that had eluded her then was plain as day, now: she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

Notes:

ohhhh god i gotta wake up in less than eight hours and i am nowhere close to being in bed uh. i am blowing you all kisses and before i forget, this fic's obligatory hermes epithet oneiropompus means "conductor of dreams," most likely in reference to the caduceus having the ability to send people to sleep/wake them up.

"five senses" is a very useful intervention that can be done when you or someone else is having an anxiety/panic attack. by running through their senses with them they become grounded in their body again, taking focus off of their mind.

head in hands. i. i am going to sleep now i swear. i hope you all enjoyed this bit of tele focus, i am so thankful for your kudos and comments <3 i am going to stop typing now and just Post This,

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