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Chapter Text

“I have to see her,” Odysseus says quietly. 

“But we’ll die,” Eurylochus says, voice breaking. 

Odysseus hesitates. Zeus watches above them, his fist already crackling around lightning. He has to choose. He has to choose.  

He is, for a full second, determined to sacrifice his men. But Eurylochus’s eyes beg him to reconsider, and there is already so much blood on his hands - and then, in the midst of his desperation and fear, Odysseus has an almost violent epiphany: he has been given no time limit. 

And so he shrugs lightly. “That’s true, actually. I don’t want you all to die either.” He looks pointedly away from the swords pointed in his direction, meeting his second-in-command’s gaze with a beam bright enough that the man recoils. “Thanks for bringing that up, Eurylochus. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” 

Zeus’s smile flickers like a guttering candle. “Have you made your decision, King of Ithaca?” 

“Nope!” Odysseus says cheerfully, and sits down on the deck. 

“What are you doing?” Eurylochus hisses. 

“Being mutinied against and then being asked to navigate a variant of the trolley problem is exhausting,” Odysseus says, leaning back. “I’m just resting my feet.” 

“What do you mean, rest your feet?” Perimedes demands. 

Odysseus frowns innocently. “You’re the one who stabbed me a few hours ago, Perimedes. I’m all for burying the hatchet if you are, but my body’s having a harder time forgetting the wound.” Perimedes flinches. “And anyway! It’s a big decision, isn’t it? I’ll definitely need some time to think it over.” 

Zeus huffs, but seems willing enough to wait. So Odysseus thinks about it. And thinks some more. And thinks some more. 

“You can probably sheathe your swords,” he says, because once ten minutes have passed he sees the muscles straining in his crew’s arms with the effort of holding them up towards him for so long. “I’ll give you some warning before I choose, if you want.” 

After a slight hesitation, it’s Eurylochus that sheathes his sword first. Surprising. Odysseus lets his head fall backwards against the side of the ship, sighing as the rest of the crew follows suit. He’s so tired, and he doesn’t think it’s just the wound and head injury. Even Zeus’s stern visage beside the ship isn’t enough to stop him from closing his eyes in the hopes of regaining some of his energy. 

He’ll find a way out of this, without sacrificing anyone else. He has to. The part of him that was prepared to sacrifice his crew shuddered and died when he met Eurylochus’s eyes, but he’s not sure he’s willing to give up his own life just yet. 

He hears muttering from the crew and footsteps coming closer, but his body is too heavy to react to any of it. Zeus would probably stop whoever it is before another sword lands in his gut, wouldn’t he? The fact that he trusts the king of gods more than his own men is not lost on him. 

He startles when something cool touches his hand. He sputters out of half-consciousness, disoriented by Eurylochus’s sudden closeness until the man gestures to the cup of water he’s holding. “You’re dehydrated, captain.” 

Odysseus reaches up to take it, but his hands tremble so badly - with stress, maybe, or blood loss, or the awful combination of fear and hope in his chest - that he can’t grip the cup. He gives up after barely a second. “It’s fine, Eurylochus.” 

Almost tenderly, telegraphing his movements, the man raises the glass to his lips. Odysseus drinks by instinct, and realizes just how parched he is halfway, finishing it quickly. Eurylochus’s hand moves forward so the palm presses against his forehead, and the cool touch clears Odysseus’s fevered mind. 

“What are you doing?” he whispers hoarsely. Eurylochus’s bulk blocks him from view of the men, and it must be by design. “You fight me, then you give me water?” He is ashamed of how he chases Eurylochus’s touch as his hand moves away. He’s just so exhausted. “I will not kill you, Eurylochus, by my hand or that of Zeus. You need not pander to me out of fear.” 

“And if I help you, out of care for your health?” 

Odysseus looks at him, bewildered to see no sign of deceit in his face. He thinks about mentioning the wound in his side, the spiking pain in his head, the ache of betrayal in his heart. He settles for sighing quietly and looking away. “Then you are more foolish than I imagined. I will be dead soon enough, and your concern will not save me.” 

Eurylochus looks at him, expression uncertain even as he understands Odysseus’s meaning. “And your desire to see Penelope again?” 

Odysseus closes his eyes. “You are my closest friend, Eurylochus, and you turned on me when you realized I sacrificed my own men to Scylla. Who is to say she will not do the same?” 

“You really think-” 

“I don’t know. But I-” He swallows. “I let Polites die, Eurylochus. I killed so many men, eleven ships worth, and- I- I can’t let you die too. I can’t.” 

“We won’t. None of us will,” Eurylochus says firmly, and Odysseus laughs. The sea air tastes like helplessness. 

“The king of gods is still waiting at the port side of our vessel, in case you’ve forgotten. He won’t leave until I choose.” 

“You shouldn’t need to have a conversation about this,” Zeus says loudly, annoyance clear in his voice. Odysseus thinks for a hair-raising moment that he’s overheard their whispers, but a quick glance at the god-king’s disinterested face makes it clear that Zeus is simply bored. “It’s your choice, mortal. You’ve had your time to decide. What’s it going to be? You, or your crew?” 

Eurylochus pulls him up, and then embraces him tightly. Odysseus stiffens at both the tight hold and at Eurylochus’s quick whisper: “You were a champion of Athena, captain. Her favor may have faded, but your mind has not. You will think of something.”

Odysseus watches as Eurylochus walks back to his crew, hand off his sword, his casual, unconcerned posture quickly echoed by the waiting crew. It seems that his second-in-command is a better leader than Odysseus ever was, and for a long moment, Odysseus finds himself overwhelmed with shame. 

And then Eurylochus looks to him, gaze steady and trusting, and Odysseus grasps the flimsy beginnings of a plan. 

“Zeus, king of gods,” he pronounces, and he knows how to imitate the voice of a king even if his men do not see him as one. “My men and I have all made mistakes in our journey to our homeland. If I request mercy and forgiveness, will it be granted?” 

Zeus crosses his arms. Thunder booms somewhere in the background, dark and foreboding. “It will not. Someone has to die today, and you have got the final say.” 

“Says who?” Odysseus says, injecting naive curiosity into his voice. 

Some of his men choke audibly behind him. Zeus himself looks startled. “Says- Says me!” 

“With all due respect, god-king,” Odysseus says, eyes wide, “as powerful as you are, your words alone do not shape reality. I cannot be forced to make a decision simply because you told me to.” 

Zeus’s eyes flash angrily. “I do not recall you saying this when it was the son of Hector whose life was in your hands.” 

“That was a prophecy,” Odysseus corrects. He ignores the phantom screams of a child and its mother ringing in his ears. “That’s different. It’s not as if there is a prophecy that says I need to kill myself or my crew, is there?” He glances at Eurylochus slyly. The man looks half proud, half terrified. Most of the crew dons similar expressions. 

“Oh, but there is.” 

Odysseus hesitates. “Excuse me?” 

“It is divinely ordained!” The skies shake with the god’s proclamation. “You must choose!”

“Oh,” Odysseus says.  “That changes things.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his men’s hands flinch to their swords. Eurylochus puts out a warning hand, stopping their movements. “So what you’re saying is that it’s fated that someone has to die today?” 

“Yes,” Zeus says, relieved. “Now, choose.” 

“Okay, I’ve chosen!” Odysseus says cheerfully. Eurylochus’s eyes widen. 

“Captain-” 

“I choose that cow,” Odysseus declares, and Zeus’s head snaps to the side to take in the sight of the slaughtered cow of Helios on the deck of the ship. “It died today. Surely that counts.” 

“It’s already dead!” Zeus screams. Odysseus raises an eyebrow at the manic fury emanating from the god. “That’s why I’m here! That doesn’t count!” 

“Oh, okay,” Odysseus says, pursing his lips and scanning the island. “That makes sense. I choose that cow, then.” 

“What?” 

“That cow,” Odysseus says, pointing to a grazing cow a few paces away from the shore. “Can’t you see it?” 

“Of course I- What are you-” Zeus is redder than usual, almost catatonic with rage. “You can’t do that!” 

“You said someone, my lord,” Odysseus says, every inch of his body language projecting submissive confusion. “The cow is someone.” 

“It’s- It’s not a human! It’s not you or your crew!” 

“True,” Odysseus acknowledges. “But it’s alive, isn’t it? You never said that it had to be one of us, or even human. It’s not as if the prophecy specifies.” 

Zeus breathes heavily through his nostrils. “Ughhhhhh, FINE,” he snarls, and makes a quick gesture that charbroils the cow. When Odysseus looks back, all that’s left of the god is a curl of smoke. 

Odysseus turns to stare mournfully at the well-done meat before him. “Sorry, cow,” he says mournfully. Then he turns to his shell-shocked crew with a wide grin. “Who’s hungry?” 

Chapter Text

“No thank you,” Odysseus says, pushing the plate back towards Eurylochus. The man frowns. 

“Captain, you need to eat.” 

“The crew’s afraid of me,” Odysseus says quietly. Helios’s island is small, their temporary camp for the night is smaller, and voices carry. “Their lives were in my hands, and they’ve realized how much their mutiny could have cost them. If I eat their food, it’ll only increase their resentment.” 

“They’re not afraid,” Eurylochus retorts. “They feel guilty.” 

Odysseus can’t deny the twinge of satisfaction he feels at his second-in-command’s words, but he shakes his head regardless. “They feel indebted. That’s not the same thing.” 

“Captain-” 

“I’m not hungry,” he says, loud enough for the men on the other side of their camp to hear. “Distribute any remaining meat among the crew.” It’s a trick he used during the war - raising his voice enough for any dissent to be perceived as direct insubordination. Eurylochus never openly challenged him then, but now-

Eurylochus sighs as he turns away. Despite his misgivings, he knows as well as Odysseus that any hint of public conflict between them so soon after a mutiny will only break the fragile peace. “Of course, captain,” he says, and only Odysseus can hear the minutely fond irritation in his voice. He tucks a half-smile into his fist. 

The crew don’t speak to him, which Odysseus understands. They do watch him while they think he’s not looking, whispering amongst themselves. Odysseus clings to the high spirits escaping Zeus’s wrath has inspired within him, trying to ignore the hunger and loneliness clawing at his insides. 

- - -

Between the hunger, the guilt, and the fear of another mutiny - although would it really be mutiny if Odysseus isn’t sure what his current standing is among the crew? - Odysseus doesn’t sleep well that night. He drifts off a few times but something - the crashing of waves, or a man’s shout in his sleep - always startles him awake, and after a few hours, he stops trying. 

He had gratefully accepted the offer of sleeping in the captain’s tent when Eurylochus offered, but the air inside tastes like blood and guilt, and not half the night has passed before he drags himself outside instead, pacing and staring at the sea blocking their way home. He is alone as he does so. Eurylochus hadn’t instituted a night watch - why bother, when they’d just escaped a wrathful god and there was no civilization on the island to endanger them? Odysseus is therefore the first person to notice Zeus materializing a stone’s throw above the captain’s tent. 

“Zeus, god-king, lord of the heavens,” he shouts, loud enough that he hopes his crew take the warning and wake. “Thank you for blessing us with your presence.” 

“Right, right,” Zeus says, waving his hand as if to dismiss Odysseus’s formalities. “I come with another prophecy.” 

Odysseus stares in disbelief. “What?” 

“See, I just realized - you killed another cow, didn’t you? That means the curse upon you is doublefold.” Zeus grins, teeth sharp. “So I ask you again: You? Or your crew?” 

“…What?” Odysseus repeats, bleary-eyed. “Are you- Are you making me choose between my crew and myself again?”  

He probably shouldn’t be talking to the king of the gods with the same tone he took with Argos when he was young and his dog had dragged in his fifth dead bird of the week, but he can’t stop himself. Why couldn’t the gods leave him alone? 

Zeus, thankfully, doesn’t seem to pick up on his tone. “Yes. And no tricks this time. You can’t just choose some random cow. What do you choose?” 

“Well, that’s difficult,” he says, straining for a way to stall. “I’ll, um. Need to think about it.” 

“Again?” Zeus asks - whines, really, like a petulant child. Odysseus stares at his crew, who as a whole are looking far more bewildered than alarmed as they stumble out of their tents. He raises an eyebrow at them. A few shrug back. 

“Yes, my lord,” he says eventually. “Please, grant me this freedom. I must be given some time to think before making this, uh, exceedingly difficult decision.” 

“Fine,” Zeus grumbles, and goes to the shore to sulk. 

Eurylochus, with wild bedhead and brows so high they seem to have joined his hairline, meets him privately. 

“What will you do, captain?” 

“I don’t know, Eurylochus,” he says, groaning. “I thought we were done with this. I can’t believe-” He blinks at how Eurylochus’s posture has tightened. “What.” 

“You don’t know what you’ll choose?” 

It takes a few minutes for the words to land, probably because he’s hungry and exhausted. He doesn’t have the energy to flinch back when they do, so he settles for a glare. “Are you serious? No, I’m not going to choose to kill you. Or myself,” he amends, when Eurylochus still looks concerned. “Why would I do that when I had the chance yesterday?” 

“Well- you heard Zeus,” Eurylochus reasons, though Odysseus’s words have caused all the tension to drain from his figure. “You have to choose one or the other, and he said he won’t let you choose a random cow like last time.” 

“I know, I know- Wait.” He looks up slowly. 

Eurylochus meets his eyes, a grin of anticipation slowly spreading across his features. It’s the same look Eurylochus gave him before Odysseus drew up the plans for the wooden horse, and nostalgia curls bittersweetly in Odysseus’s gut. For a moment, it’s like nothing’s changed. “You have an idea?” 

“I think so,” he says. “But… I’ll need your help.” 

- - -

An hour later, Odysseus stands and clears his throat. Zeus whirls towards him, eager. 

“Yes?” he demands. “Who do you choose?” 

Odysseus turns towards Eurylochus and the thirty-five other men that make up his crew. “I- I’m so sorry, Eurylochus,” he says, voice breaking. 

Eurylochus startles. “No. Wait, Captain, no, you can’t.” His sword climbs an inch out of its scabbard. “You promised to keep all of us safe! You promised!” 

The crew, previously lulled into a complacency by Eurylochus’s calmness, immediately draw their swords in unison and begin shouting. 

Odysseus shakes his head, dizzy. Is he crying? He thinks he’s crying. “Eurylochus, you heard Zeus. I don’t have a choice.” 

“You- You bastard!” Perimedes screams. “You’d spare us one day, only to execute us the next?” He lunges forward, but Eurylochus grabs the back of his tunic. “Let go of me!” 

“It’s no use,” Eurylochus says, grim. “There is no stopping the will of the gods.” 

“We can’t just-” 

“The second-in-command is right, boy,” Zeus booms, and Perimedes stills as all of Zeus’s attention centers on him. “There is no thwarting my will, nor that of fate. Now, mortal, tell me what you have chosen.” 

Odysseus clenches his jaw, trying to hold back his emotion. “I choose… Buttercup.” 

“NO!” Eurylochus howls, and falls to his knees sobbing. “Captain, please, not her! WHY?” 

“It’s for the greater good!” Odysseus screams back, voice cracking. “It’s so we get home safe!” 

Zeus’s jaw has dropped. “Who- Who’s Buttercup? What are you talking about?” 

“That’s Buttercup,” Eurylochus says, and points to- 

A cow. It’s grazing near where the boat is docked, visibly unconcerned by the bawling men, the baffled god, or the stunned crew. 

Zeus stares at it, then at Odysseus. “Explain.” 

“She’s our cow,” Odysseus explains wearily, even as his tears fall. “She’s been with us through thick and thin, and survived great tragedies. We raised her since she was young, and she’s-” His voice breaks. “She’s the most precious cow in the world to me. I can hardly imagine life without her.” 

“And still, you sacrifice her to appease the gods,” Zeus says, looking pleased. “Though, she looks rather… golden. Is she not one of Helios’s-” 

Eurylochus wails loudly, cutting Zeus off. “She is worth her weight in gold, yes!” he cries, distraught. “And she has a heart of gold, forever mild and gentle. We all love her and cherish her like nothing else in this world!” 

“All of you?” Zeus asks slowly. A thread of suspicion enters his voice. “The rest of your men seem… less than sympathetic to this bovine’s plight.”

Odysseus tenses. “They- They will soon become agitated, my lord. They are just… slower to react than my second in command. They do not yet realize what I propose.” 

“You FOOLS!” Eurylochus cries to the men gathered around him, his shaking voice touching the sky. “Do you not see what the captain is doing? He seeks to sacrifice Buttercup, our most beloved animal companion, to save our wretched skins for another day! Would you not rather die here and now?” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

And then Perimedes steps forward, pointing his sword at Odysseus in a way that evokes a stunning amount of deja vu. “You villain!” he shrieks, voice pitched high. “Not Buttercup! You can’t!” 

Odysseus makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, one that sounds just as much like laughter as it does a choked sob. “Perimedes, I-” 

“Buttercup taught me the meaning of love!” another crewman screams, and Odysseus clutches his heart in what looks like a paroxysm of agony and guilt. 

More voices join the chorus quickly: “That cow has saved my life ten times over!” 

“I love her more than I love anyone on this godsforsaken ship!” 

“If Buttercup dies, my heart dies with her!” 

Odysseus is shaking where he stands, face buried in his hands. “My crew, please-” 

“You have made your choice, Odysseus of Ithaca?” Zeus asks, visibly delighted by the crew’s preemptive mourning and fury.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” Odysseus begs, feeling faint. 

“Choose!” Zeus demands, and Odysseus points to the innocent cow. 

Zeus laughs and snaps his fingers. In a moment, Buttercup is nothing more than charred, dead meat. Eurylochus wails, fever-pitch, and Odysseus falls to his knees. Zeus disappears in a puff of smoke. 

For a moment, there is nothing but ringing silence. 

And then Odysseus snorts into his hands, and Eurylochus’s crying morphs into snickering, and Perimedes hesitates and says, “Wait, Buttercup wasn’t really our cow, was she?” and then in an instant, all thirty-seven men are howling with laughter. 

“I can’t believe that worked, Odysseus, thank the gods - or rather, thank you,” Eurylochus says breathlessly. He clasps Odysseus’s hand and yanks him up, sending blood rushing to Odysseus’s head. “I never would have thought to- Captain? Are you alright?” 

Odysseus opens his mouth to respond, dazed, and then the world flickers dark. When his eyes open next, he has a beautiful view of the clear sky. There’s shouting somewhere, distant. Eurylochus’s face appears, swaying dizzily. He looks panicked. 

Just keep your eyes open, someone begs him, either in the confines of his own mind or outside of it, but tiredness sweeps over him in waves and he’s helpless to its pull. The sky is so blue, and then so black, and then he’s gone. 

Chapter Text

Odysseus wakes slowly. 

It’s a rare thing. In the years of war, he’d grown to be a light sleeper, awake at a moment’s notice. The horrors of the past three years have only increased his tendency towards insomnia. He feels a muted kind of alarm, trying to crawl out of unconsciousness surely caused by sickness or injury - and then he feels soft hands on him, smoothing back his hair and pressing cool cloth to his forehead, and hears familiar voices. 

One part of him knows that these voices mean danger, mean a bruised heart and broken bones. Another part, a larger part that is exhausted and hopeful and yearning, begs him to stop being afraid. Greet the world with open arms, he hears, or thinks he hears, and feels tears gather in the corners of his eyes. Polites?

“-lirious with hunger and thirst,” someone says, the words scattering across Odysseus’s mind before they can be assigned any meaning. Something gets pressed to his lips and he drinks greedily. 

“-st time he slept?” he hears when the cool liquid is gone, and he moans, lips dry. A hand tightens in his, broad and familiar. It hurts to remember whose. “More water, we need-”

He doesn’t get more water, even these pieces of the world dissolving before he can cling to them. He sinks back down into the dark. 

- - -

When he next wakes, he looks like crap. He knows this because Perimedes says so. 

“You look like crap, captain,” he says, staring down at where Odysseus has laid in his tent since he apparently fainted that morning. It’s treason. It’s rude. It also brings tears to Odysseus’s eyes for a completely different reason. 

“Captain?” he echoes. 

Perimedes scoffs. “One of my best friends was holding a torch yesterday.” 

Yesterday. Scylla was yesterday. It feels like ten years ago, and like half a minute. Odysseus feels the breath torn out of his throat as guilt swarms to replace air. He startles when a hand grips his shoulder, jerking him upwards with his back against the side of the tent. 

“You were trying to get us home. You were still trying, yesterday and today, with the cows. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. I get it,” Perimedes says roughly, not meeting his eyes. “I hate it. I hate it. But… I get it.” 

Odysseus nods slowly. “Thank you.” 

Perimedes nods, kicking something on the ground. He opens his mouth, then closes it awkwardly. “But Buttercup? Really?” 

Odysseus barks a laugh before he can stop himself, and then snaps his mouth closed, terrified he’s overstepped. Perimedes doesn’t look at him with anger, though. His eyes glitter with emotion Odysseus can’t read, and Odysseus certainly harbors no illusions as to whether Perimedes has truly forgiven him, but- it’s not open hostility. Odysseus will take what he can get. 

“It was risky,” Perimedes says only, and Odysseus nods. 

How much longer ’til your luck runs out? Eurylochus had once asked him. And now, his luck had well and truly run out, and yet his men were still here. His memories of the previous day were hazy, and he was half-sure his memories of Eurylochus howling with grief were delirious imaginings - but he did remember the overwhelming support of his crew. 

“It was. But it saved you,” he says, and is suddenly fixed by Perimedes’s intense stare. 

“Take this,” Perimedes mumbles, and shoves a cup of milk at him. “Eurylochus said you passed out because you haven’t eaten more than a bite for days. I’m pretty sure you haven’t slept, either. That’s idiotic. We need-” He hesitates. “If we’re going to get home, we need our captain fed and rested.” 

Odysseus opens his mouth to speak, but Perimedes cuts him off. “I’m finding Eurylochus to tell him you’re awake.” He glares at him, and points at the milk. Odysseus obediently brings the cup to his mouth. “Don’t die, or I’ll stab you again.” 

Odysseus nods hesitantly. Perimedes scowls and leaves. 

That, of course, is about when Zeus shows up for the third time. 

“Odysseus of Ithaca!” he booms, and Odysseus yanks open a flap of the tent. Thunder crashes, and though it must be late afternoon, the sky darkens until Odysseus can make out the stars, although that might just be the lightheadedness. “Have you lied to me?” 

Odysseus drags a hand down his face, then pastes on a look of polite curiosity as he sets the untouched cup down and stumbles outside. “Lord of the sky, king of Olympus,” he greets. He struggles to his feet, gesturing for his alarmed crew to stay back. “I never desired to deceive-” 

“You said that Buttercup was yours!” Zeus snarls. “But I was talking to Hera, and she said only holy cows are golden! That was one of Helios’s cattle, wasn’t she?” Zeus doesn’t wait for a response, and to be fair, he shouldn’t need one. “Why shouldn’t I smite you here and now for your falsehood?” He grows in size until he can pick up Odysseus with two fingers, which is what he does, manifesting a lightning bolt in his other hand. 

Odysseus kicks out once, weakly. His chest wound spikes with pain where the god squeezes him. “God-king, wait, please-” 

“Punishment will be served!” Zeus yells, raising his glowing fist high-

“HEY!” a voice yells, and Odysseus squints to see- is that Anticlus? It’s one of his crew, surely - raising his bow high, arrow nocked. “Put him down!” 

Odysseus’s heart pounds, and he feels the seething fury on Zeus’s face before he even turns to look at it. “No, please, god-king,” he begs. “Don’t- He is foolish, and- and out of his mind with grief, don’t hurt him, please.” 

Zeus lip curls. “Grieving? Not the cow, surely.” 

Odysseus closes his eyes. Does he have to explain what Poseidon has done to their numbers? How he himself doomed six of his crew? And then he has an idea, an idiotic, reckless one that might just work, and clears his throat and says-

“Yes, the cow. Buttercup was our own, wasn’t she? She was blessed by Helios, of course,” Odysseus corrects hastily at Zeus’s glare. “But we took her in as our own when we first arrived. We felt an instant connection, and could sense her gentleness and kindness immediately.” 

“You said you raised her since she was young!” 

“We had,” Odysseus says quickly. “A day younger than she was when she died, which while a heartbeat to one so great and long-living as you, was an eternity for fragile mortals with short lifespans such as ourselves.” 

Zeus drops Odysseus back on solid ground. He’s supported immediately by Eurylochus, who is watching them with wide eyes. 

“I see,” Zeus says, stroking his beard. “And when you said she survived great tragedies?” 

“The death of her sisters,” Odysseus says, shaking his head solemnly. “We saw how their loss pained her.” 

Zeus squints, and then straightens. “Alright, I’m convinced.” 

Someone behind Odysseus breathes a sigh of relief and then audibly gets kicked. 

“Still, that doesn’t solve your problem,” Zeus says. “Another of Helios’s cattle is dead, and you must choose. You, or your crew?” 

Odysseus wants to scream. He settles for a low bow. “Again, lord?” 

“Indeed,” Zeus says gravely. 

He can’t think of a good way to stall, but he tries. “God-king, thunder-bringer, Zeus of the clear sky, I hear your wish and come to meet it. Oh benevolent rain-giver, sky-lord-” 

“Oh, get to the point,” Zeus says irritably, and Odysseus feels a flicker of panic. He glances at Eurylochus, who looks worried. 

“Of course. I- I choose-” And Odysseus coughs. 

He’s grateful, at first, because every second not speaking is a second to think of a plan. And then he coughs again, and again, and almost chokes on the dryness of his throat-

He grips Eurylochus’s shoulder so tightly he feels bone. “Eur-” he gasps hoarsely, unable to find enough air to pronounce the rest, knees growing weak, and the man jerks as he realizes that his captain is not faking his sudden weakness. 

“Captain!” Eurylochus cries, and Odysseus dimly hears a call for water start up. In what feels like hours but is probably seconds, Eurylochus tips a glass into Odysseus’s throat. 

Odysseus gasps, sputters. Relief is quickly replaced by mortification - no captain should fall apart like that in front of his crew - which is pushed aside in favor of a sudden idea. 

“Zeus, thunder-bringer,” he says, breathing raspingly. “I am vastly ill. I need-” He coughs again. “I need some time to recover before I decide.” 

“Time to recover? No!” Zeus says, brows furrowed. “Just tell me your choice now!” 

Odysseus wheezes, his eyes meeting Eurylochus’s for a half-second before they lose focus. “I- I feel so weak-” He hacks out another cough, clutching his chest. “I think- I think this is the end, Eurylochus. Hold me.” 

“Odysseus! No!” Eurylochus cries with what sounds very much like genuine fear as his captain swoons and becomes dead weight in his arms, and Odysseus hopes to high Olympus that Eurylochus knows he’s faking it. “Hang on, please!” 

“What’s wrong with him?” Zeus asks curiously, moving closer. Odysseus goes very still, the skin on his arms prickling at the static and smell of ozone in the air. 

“Uh, well, he-” Eurylochus is terrified of the gods and even worse at lying without prior preparation. “The captain- He, uh-” 

“He’s dying,” Anticlus’s voice interrupts neatly, and Odysseus twitches. “I’m the ship healer. I diagnosed his illness last night. It’s, uh… fatal.” 

Anticlus is not the ship’s healer. He is as far from being the ship’s healer as he can possibly be. He is a skillful archer, a legend in battle, a brutal killer who prefers to destroy his opponents from afar, and the reason for this is that he faints immediately when confronted with the stench of blood. Odysseus is pretty sure he’s the only man who didn’t attempt to fight him during the mutiny because he’d knocked his head on the ship’s railing when Perimedes ran him through. 

When Odysseus opens his eyes a fraction, Anticlus is standing above him, chin raised towards Zeus. “He has, uh-” 

“Fainting All The Time Syndrome,” another crew member squeaks. 

“Yes! Yes,” Anticlus says quickly. “Fainting All The- uh, that. There’s only one cure.” 

Zeus raises an eyebrow. “And that is?” 

“The blood of a bull. Our captain must drink the blood of a bull he has slain before the sun sets, or he will surely die,” Anticlus says, finding his groove. When Odysseus squints up at him, he sees a small grin on Anticlus’s face. 

His crewman is lying to the king of gods and enjoying it. Odysseus should be furious. Concerned, at the very least. 

(He’s so proud.)

“But where are you going to find a bull?” Zeus asks, audibly puzzled. Odysseus almost opens his eyes in disbelief, but keeps them closed at the last second. 

“That’s a good question, my lord,” Anticlus says, voice level. “What about- Oh, what about that one?” 

He’s pointing, probably. Odysseus can’t see it from his angle on the ground. Zeus hmms. “It’s large. It looks difficult to kill, especially for a weak, ill mortal.” 

“Wait, I know,” Anticlus says with a tone of what sounds like dawning realization, although it’s probably just the effort to hold back hysteria. “What if our captain made the choice to  kill the bull? Then you could save him, god-king! We would be eternally grateful!” 

“I do like the sound of eternal gratefulness,” Zeus says slowly. “But would it even count if my lightning killed the bull as opposed to your captain killing him with his own hand?” 

Anticlus nods furiously. “Oh, yes, definitely. There are, uh, failsafes put into the illness for this very occurrence.” 

Zeus has a broad grin on his face, already gathering lightning. “Alright, I- Wait a second. Wait a second.”

Anticlus freezes. 

“Your captain is near death,” Zeus says dubiously. “I guess I’ll kill the bull if that’s what he chooses, but by the looks of him, he probably won’t survive long enough to tell me his choice.” 

On cue, Odysseus stirs, groaning and coughing weakly. “Anticlus? My trusted healer, is that you?” 

“It’s me,” Anticlus says warmly, leaning over Odysseus. He winks, and the choking sound Odysseus makes isn’t entirely faked. “Captain, you are on death’s door.” 

“I feel it,” Odysseus says, his hand unconsciously drifting to his chest wound. Anticlus goes green, and looks away for a long moment. It looks like he’s gathering his confidence, but Odysseus knows he’s swallowing back bile. 

“Uh, yes,” Anticlus says a trifle unsteadily, fixing his gaze firmly above Odysseus’s neck. “So, uh, Zeus is saying that someone must die today, and that you must choose. Again. And you should choose that- that bull.” 

“Why, my faithful physician?” 

“What do you mean, you heard- Oh!” Anticlus flushes at Odysseus’s minutely raised eyebrow, hidden from the god-king’s gaze. “Of course, you were unconscious, captain.” He laughs nervously. “Uh, killing the bull and drinking its blood is the only way to survive your dreadful illness.” 

“Then let it be done,” Odysseus says weakly, letting his head fall back to the ground, his eyes closing. “Zeus, god-king, I choose the bull.” 

There’s a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, and Odysseus hears a startled low and then a thump. He keeps his eyes closed until the smell of ozone disappears. 

Then he pushes himself up on an elbow, grinning weakly. “Well?” 

“You were faking it,” Eurylochus sighs, then punches him lightly before giving Odysseus a hand up. “I was worried.”

“Your talents were wasted as a general, captain,” a crewman says, his eyes wide as Odysseus stands. “In another life, you could have been the best tragedian in all Ithaca.” 

Odysseus laughs. He thinks there’s been enough tragedy in his life without wishing to stage more, but knows better than to say so. “I couldn’t have done it alone. Thank you- Anticlus? What’s wrong?” 

Their bowman is curled up in a tight ball on the ground. “We lied to Zeus. The king of the gods. The lord of the sky. I- I lied to the divine.”

“First time?” Odysseus asks sympathetically. 

Anticlus jerks. “First- You’ve done this before?”

Odysseus thinks about sneering in the face of the goddess of wisdom, calling her selfish and prideful and vain. Odysseus thinks about telling the god of the seas that he took no pleasure in blinding the monster who butchered his friends. Odysseus thinks about Scylla - of the feeling of looking her in the eyes, of knowing that deep down they were the same, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

He shakes away those thoughts and beams, slinging a hand around Anticlus’s shoulders, and pulling him up. “You remember when you got turned into a pig? Well, to save you, I told Circe I was a god.” 

Anticlus’s eyes are as round as the sun. “And she believed you?” 

“Well-” 

“Not for a second,” Eurylochus interrupts. 

Odysseus frowns. “You weren’t even there!” 

“I was listening from outside!” 

“Hey, Captain!” a crewman calls, and Odysseus glances up. It’s Lykos, who stood behind Eurylochus as they fought. His boots are still stained with Odysseus’s blood. “This one looks too charred to eat. Could we try to make glue with the cleaner bones? We probably won’t be able to make much, but it could come in handy, and it’s not like we have much else to do.”

Odysseus stares at his expectant face, and at how Eurylochus doesn’t jump to answer for him. Captain, the man says, a day after a mutiny, and he should feel irritated or off-balance but he can only muster up relief. “Ah- why not? Something tells me we’ll soon find ourselves with more cow bone than we know what to do with, anyway.” 

Lykos salutes. It’s casual, but not mocking. Something about the gesture makes Odysseus feel warm. “Doubt you’re wrong there, sir. We’re on it.” 

Chapter Text

Zeus comes again the next day, which is to be expected: after all, they’ve killed another cow. 

“After all, you killed another cow. Or bull, I guess,” he says, looking almost awkward about it all even as he towers over Odysseus and his men. “Even though it seems to have saved your life. Congrats, and all that. So. What’s it gonna be? You? Or your crew?” 

“That cow over there,” Odysseus says, pointing. 

“You- You can’t do that.” 

“I’ve been wondering. Does the prophecy say I can’t? Or is it you, my lord?” 

Zeus makes a weird, shifty look. “Uh…” 

“You said I have the final say,” Odysseus reminds him. “I choose the cow.” 

“Just one person,” Zeus says, almost begging. His feet touch the ground for the first time, and despite his massive physique, he looks oddly human when he’s not floating godlike in the sky. “What about him?” He points at a crewman named Pavlos, who startles violently. “He looks annoying.” 

Odysseus frowns at how the man’s face has contracted with terror. “Pavlos is a good swordsman, my lord, and a strong rower. In the war, he saved my life thrice against Hector. I would be sorry to lose him.” 

Pavlos’s expression flickers through several emotions - shock, disbelief, gratitude - before landing on something entirely unreadable. 

“And him?” Zeus asks, gesturing to another man. “He seems small and weak. And look, he’s injured. Cut away the weak link, that’s what I always say.” 

“Argyrios was injured while fighting the sirens,” Odysseus says, cutting the man and his bandaged arm a quick glance. “It was my own fault. I trust no one more with a shield and dagger.” 

Zeus groans. “And you’re sure you don’t want to die?” 

Odysseus tries not to hesitate, he really does. Eurylochus glares at him anyway. “No, my lord.” 

“Fine,” Zeus grumbles, and kills the cow. Odysseus slumps once he disappears, squeezing the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. 

One more day. They have one more day. Zeus will be back, once he puts together that yet another cow is dead, but Odysseus has bought about one more day for all of them. They should plan to escape this island before then - in fact, he can’t imagine why the crew hasn’t fled already-

But as he walks towards his ship and sees it clearly in the light for the first time since they landed, he sees the reason. The pitch smeared across the hull is cracked, revealing wood half-rotted from the rain. The bow is shattered from Zeus’s thunderous arrival. The deck is stained with blood from the race past Scylla and the mutiny that followed. The boat, their only home for over three years, has taken far, far too much damage to be serviceable. 

His breath leaves him. 

They have no way to leave. They’re all trapped, and Ithaca is hundreds of miles away, and Poseidon is still after them, and Telemachus will already be thirteen and Penelope will never know what became of her husband-

He resists the urge to put his head in his hands, hyperaware of the crew watching him. 

He cannot fall apart more than he already has. He is physically stronger now, better rested and without hunger and thirst and lack of sleep scraping away at his sanity. His mind is still intact, and he is yet a warrior of the mind. The declaration rings hollow, but he clings to it regardless. He will get home. With plentiful meat for the eating, his only enemies are the crew’s distrust, Zeus’s prophecies, and time itself. If he orders his men to begin the construction of a new ship, the last may cease to be an issue, and he will find a way to defeat Zeus’s constant challenges once and for all, but as for the crew-

“Sir,” a voice says, and he turns to see Pavlos and Argyrios standing stiffly before him. “Can we talk?” 

He does not flinch or step back. Argyrios had pulled out his own dagger when Eurylochus had raised his sword against him, and Pavlos was the one who’d tied him to the ship’s mast. But Odysseus is their captain, or was, and he will not show fear. “Yes?” 

Argyrios clears his throat. It sounds like thunder, and Odysseus’s nails bite into his hands. “We wanted to apol-” 

“Ah, actually,” Odysseus says, distracted, because his heart is beating too quickly and his broken ship is at his back and he needs to find a permanent way to avoid Zeus’s wrath without killing anyone else even though he isn’t quite certain anyone else here would do the same for him, “it’s good you came by. Pavlos, could you arrange a team to find more edible plants on this island? Red meat alone won’t keep us alive for long. And Argyrios, see if there’s any older, hardier trees in the nearby vicinity we can use to build a new ship. And check on the glue produced from yesterday’s cow, see if it’ll hold wood together in the water or if we need to look for something else.” 

He doesn’t meet their eyes. He should, to know whether they’re looking at him with irritation or fury or dispassion, but he can’t look at them, not now, when they’re so close with their hands on their weapons and the scent of ozone still lies heavy in the air. 

There’s a slight pause. “Yes, sir,” Pavlos and Argyrios say in unison. 

Odysseus nods at them like how he thinks a captain should, turning around- and startles at a hand on his shoulder. “Wh-” 

Argyrios shifts back, uncertain. “Ah, sorry- that is, we just wanted to thank you.” 

It feels like a trick. It must be a trick. “Excuse me?” 

“Zeus… he- what he said, what you said-” 

Pavlos cuts him off. “We haven’t given you a reason to spare us, but you did. Thank you, captain.” 

Odysseus shakes off the dizziness at being called a captain. His hand fights against the urge to stray to his knife wound. “It’s nothing.” 

“No, it’s-” 

“I know I have made mistakes,” Odysseus grits out, closing his eyes for a moment before the fear of another sword in his gut forces them open. “I don’t plan on repeating them. I would have done the same for anyone here.” 

Pavlos and Argyrios stare at him. Odysseus can’t meet their eyes. 

“So,” he says unsteadily, “are you willing to lead your teams today, or should I ask Eurylochus to assign tasks instead?” 

He speaks casually, but it’s a test, of course. Will they accept his authority, or will they seek another’s? False apologies aside, how loyal are they really? 

“No, sir,” the men say hastily. “We’re willing.” 

Their immediate acceptance of his orders catches him off guard, as does the almost frantic way they return to the rest of the crew and split up to search the island, exactly as Odysseus commanded. He’d expected more hesitation, more visible displeasure. Strange. 

Within a few hours, Pavlos’s group comes back laden with fruits, small root vegetables, and an abundance of herbs. Argyrios and his men return later in the evening, tugging two neatly felled trees behind them. Both groups report to him immediately, and he gives them his approval. 

After their beef stew is seasoned and warmed, Lykos approaches him with the first bowl. The man’s visibly nervous, but not afraid. He gives Odysseus his bowl and immediately scrambles back to the rest of the men. 

The crew stares at him as he raises the bowl to his lips. Poison, maybe, he thinks, but he’s so tired, and he knows Eurylochus was supervising them as they cooked, and if Eurylochus wants him dead, Odysseus is too weak to disagree. 

The herbs’ spice tastes vibrant against his tongue, so used to wartime gruel and unseasoned meat, and the liquid warms him from the inside out. He smiles despite his suspicions. 

He’s confused, later, by the way the sight of him eating made several of the men sigh, their moods almost visibly lightened as they turned back to their own meals. He’s not entirely unconvinced of the poison theory, even when he wakes up the next morning and he feels better than he has in months. 

His men should hate him. His men do hate him, he knows, and he has the stab wound to prove it. Now, if only they could act accordingly, so he could keep this damn hope from rising in his chest.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the crew stares at him as Eurylochus walks up with a plate of fruits and charred meat. Odysseus takes a tentative bite, ignoring how a few of the men smile when he does. His stomach has shrunk enough that the thought of finishing his plate makes him feel nauseous. 

Eurylochus sits by him. “Captain, I’m not sure what you did, but it’s working.” 

“What?” 

“Haven’t you noticed? The crew’s taking orders from you just like during the war. They trust you to get us through this, to get us home.” 

Odysseus blinks. “Why?” 

“What do you mean, why? You didn’t sacrifice the crew yesterday, did you?” 

“That-” Odysseus puts his plate aside, feeling a headache coming on. “That’s the bare minimum, Eurylochus. I’ve killed their friends.” 

“You have,” Eurylochus agrees. “And you’ve also saved them, several times over.” 

Odysseus bares his teeth. “That’s not enough. That shouldn’t be enough - it wouldn’t for me. I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“Me?” Eurylochus says, startled. “For… the mutiny? Listen, Captain, I’m sorry, but I-” 

Odysseus bites down on the snarl building in his chest. “You don’t understand. Remind me, who begged me not to rescue our men from Circe? Who told me that we should just cut our losses and run? And who,” Odysseus hisses, jerking to his feet, and maybe it’s now that there’s food in him that all the forgotten pain and rage floods back, “raised his sword on me for doing the same - the exact same thing - with Scylla?”

Eurylochus clenches his fists at his side, rising slowly. “Captain, you- you hadn’t even told me that was your plan. I was afraid-” 

“No, you were a hypocrite,” Odysseus growls, jabbing a finger in his chest. His men are staring. He can’t bring himself to care. “You lecture me about risk, and then you kill the cow after a day of hunger, despite knowing the consequences. You tell me to trust you, and then you stab me in the back!” 

“You can trust-” 

“Who opened the wind bag, Eurylochus?” 

Eurylochus flinches. The island falls deathly silent. 

“It’s your fault we’re not in Ithaca right now, just as much as mine,” he snarls. “I don’t need your pity. You sure as hell don’t have mine.” 

Odysseus turns to stalk back towards his tent, but a tall figure blocks him from moving forward. He smells ozone and growls, pushing past. 

“Not now, Zeus.” 

“You’re fighting!” Zeus says excitedly. “You want to kill him!” 

“I don’t!” Odysseus screams, whipping around. Zeus looks taken aback by his anger. Good. Someone else around here deserves to be afraid. “I don’t want to kill him, even though he tried to kill me! I don’t want to kill any of them, even though they’d kill me in a heartbeat! I am trying to cling to this one tiny shred of my conscience so I don’t become more of a monster than I already am! Not that you would know anything about that, god-king!” 

Zeus looks startled, and then furious. Thunder crashes. “How dare-” 

“Leave us alone!” Odysseus cries, even as the sudden wind tears his breath from his lungs. “Give us some peace! I choose the cow! You know I was going to choose the cow! Why even bother with these dramatics?” 

He shoves past the king of gods and enters his tent. He hears, dimly, the sound of Eurylochus scrambling to come up with a lie explaining his actions, but Odysseus doesn’t care enough to listen closely. Zeus’s voice rumbles something, and then there’s the now-familiar crash of lightning. The scent of charred meat drifts through the tent flaps, and Odysseus stiffens slightly, untensing only when he hears low murmurs from the crew - still alive, then. Another cow, charred. Another day, bought. 

And then, he’s alone, with the knowledge that every ounce of goodwill he’d gained - with Eurylochus, with the crew - is lost. 

Odysseus screams soundlessly into his hands. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t. He’s so full of hate, and rage, and pain, and- and he doesn’t regret what he said to Eurylochus, and he can’t regret Scylla, not really, but all he wants is just to be home, with Penelope, who- who-

He bites down on a low keening sound. He doesn’t remember what Penelope looks like anymore. Thirteen years gone, and all he remembers is a snatch of black hair and wrinkles around eyes, an empty myth of a woman he remembers he once loved. He’s killed over five hundred men for a phantom. His men are right to despise him. 

Nobody comes into the tent, even after hours pass. Odysseus sits, knees pulled up to his chest and mind blank, feeling the yawning jaws of loneliness open to swallow him wide. His stomach rumbles, at one point. He ignores it. He doesn’t want to leave. Leaving means he’ll have to face the crew’s anger and Eurylochus’s disappointment, and he’s not ready. 

He startles when his tent flap is pushed aside. He flinches when Eurylochus himself steps in. 

“I’m sorry,” Eurylochus says quietly, before Odysseus can even open his mouth to speak. “It- It’s not enough. I know. Here’s lunch.” 

He puts a bowl in front of Odysseus, who stares. It’s full to bursting with stew, made with the best of the meat, the best of the greens. His gaze drifts to Eurylochus’s face, which is creased with a tentative smile. 

Humiliatingly, after hours of holding back, this is when his tears spill over. 

“Gods,” he chokes out, shoving himself backwards and covering his face in his hands. “I- Eurylochus. Why?”

Eurylochus sighs and sits down, out of arm’s reach. “Would you do the same for me?” 

“No,” Odysseus barks, incredulous. “I’d leave you to starve. I’d leave you to rot. I’d- I’d kill you, Eurylochus, for treating me the way I’ve treated you.” 

“And yet, you told Zeus you didn’t want me dead.” 

Odysseus groans, bending forward. His stomach is empty. His heart is aching. He’s crying so hard he can barely breathe. “Eurylochus, please.”

“Please what?” 

“Just- Just let me die,” he whispers, voice wet. He squeezes his eyes shut. “You know I deserve it.” 

“I don’t, actually,” Eurylochus says, and there’s a soft sound as he bumps the bowl forward. “Eat. You’re hungry.” 

“I’m not-” 

“Yes, you are.” Odysseus hears Eurylochus pick up the bowl. “Open.” 

“’M not a chi- mmph!” Eurylochus shoves the spoon into his mouth and Odysseus chokes off, his eyes flying open. The warmth of the soup is dwarfed by the warm humor he sees in Eurylochus’s eyes. 

“Seriously?” he sputters, wiping his mouth. 

“What?” 

“I said-” Eurylochus gives him another spoonful. Odysseus laughs shortly despite himself, reaching up to cover his mouth as he swallows. 

“Stop it!” 

“Eat it yourself, then,” Eurylochus says, giving him the bowl. Odysseus wipes his tears and takes it, reluctance melting away. 

Eurylochus waits silently until he’s finished, then rolls his shoulders. 

“Alright. We need to talk.” 

And they do. It takes hours, and the conversation threatens to break up into an argument half a dozen times, but they make it through. Eurylochus doesn’t trust Odysseus to look after himself, he learns. Odysseus tells Eurylochus that he doesn’t trust his men not to kill him in his sleep. Eurylochus says that there were long hours, after Scylla, when he wished him dead. Odysseus tells him about his second of hesitation when Zeus first gave his ultimatum. Eurylochus is haunted by his friends’ deaths. Odysseus tells him that all his dreams end in screaming. 

Eurylochus doesn’t believe they’ll ever get home. Odysseus refuses to believe there’s a world in which he doesn’t. 

Eurylochus… considers him a brother. “Despite Scylla,” he whispers, a tear running down his cheek, because of course they’d both started crying in earnest during their conversation. “Despite… everything. All the ways we’ve hurt each other. You're like the brother I could never do without.” 

“And you’re mine,” Odysseus says hoarsely. 

“I want to trust you.” 

“And I want to trust you, and to be worthy of your trust,” he says, after a hesitation. “But we- we tried to kill each other, not one week ago. Do you think we can trust each other again?” 

It’s a genuine question, and Eurylochus takes a full minute to consider it. “I’m going to try,” he says finally. “I don’t want to die not trusting my brother.” 

Odysseus nods. Their long conversation has left him weary, but even through his exhaustion, he feels the stirring of renewed hope. “Then I’ll do the same. I- I love you, Eurylochus.” 

Eurylochus lets out a choked sound, then pulls him into a tight hug. “I love you too, brother. If we make it home-” 

“When,” Odysseus corrects. 

“When we make it home,” he echoes, “I will ensure you are seen as the best king Ithaca has ever known.” 

“And you, the best second-in-command I could have ever wished for.” Odysseus draws back, touching their foreheads together. “Thank you for keeping me in check, Eurylochus.” 

“Thank you for making the choices that needed to be made, captain.” 

Odysseus smiles genuinely, moving to stand. “What do you say we get out of this stuffy tent before the crew start to think we’ve tried to kill each other again?” 

Eurylochus startles, then grins, wiping away his tears. “Too soon, Ody.” 

The rest of the men startle to attention when they push the flaps of the tent aside. Odysseus licks his lips, taking a moment to collect himself. 

And then he beams, wide and genuine. “Alright, my brothers! Who wants off this island?” 

Eurylochus stands at his shoulder, steadfast as always. Odysseus feels drunk on his support as his brother throws a fist into the air. “I know I do!” 

The men take half a second to gape at their captain and second mate in lockstep, and then their expressions flash with relief. Odysseus senses the release of tension like a physical thing. 

Pavlos is the first to step forward. “I’m with you, captain!” 

Argyrios throws his uninjured arm in the air. “So am I!” 

Perimedes grins, expression bewildered but determined, and hoists his spear high. “For Buttercup!” 

Eurylochus snorts with laughter. “For Buttercup!”

The men take that as a cue to yell their support, echoing the cry. For the first time in years, the screams ringing in Odysseus’s ears are pleasant ones. 

Chapter Text

When Zeus comes the next day, they are prepared. 

“Zeus, god-king,” Odysseus says, kneeling with his head bowed. “My sincere apologies for my disorderly conduct last we met. It was unbecoming, and I meant no disrespect.” 

“Why shouldn’t I smite you where you stand?” Zeus thunders. 

Odysseus looks up, eyes wide. “It was the vestiges of my illness, my lord. Surely my second-in-command told you of it.” 

“Yes, he mentioned… what was it? The Fainting All Over the Place Syndrome?” 

“Uh… Fainting All the Time Syndrome, yes, Lord Zeus.”

Zeus squints at him. “But you didn’t faint. You- You talked back to me.” 

“Yes. Alas, the condition has a side effect - after it is cured, the victim suffers from spells of, ah, blatant insolence to any and all gods they meet. It’s unfortunate, but there’s no cure. The condition’s proper name is Fainting All the Time and Also Being a Huge Pain in the Gods’-” 

Eurylochus coughs violently. There are vague choking sounds coming from the crew. 

Odysseus blinks up at Zeus, eyes guileless and innocent. “Well. You get the point, my lord.” 

“Hmm,” Zeus says, and Odysseus holds his breath. “You say you have no control over it?” 

“None.” 

Zeus stares at him. Odysseus tries not to sweat. 

“Well. I’ll forgive you this once,” Zeus says eventually. “But I expect you to at least try to hold back these… verbal outbursts in the future. Understand?” 

Odysseus smiles innocently. “Of course.” 

“Well, then. Now that that’s resolved, back to the business I came here for.” For a moment, Zeus looks confused, as if he’s forgotten. Then his expression clears. “The cow!” 

“That’s no way to speak about your wife, my lord.” 

Eurylochus wheezes. Zeus looks confused, and then furious, and then conflicted. “Is this- Is this your condition again, King of Ithaca?” 

“Must be,” Odysseus agrees. “Oh! You meant the holy cow. That we killed.” 

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well. I choose-” 

“No,” Zeus interrupts. His nostrils flare. “You are not in your right mind. There is no need for you to choose.” 

“Oh- Okay.” He glances incredulously at his crew, who stare back. Was this all it took to get them out of this endless cycle? “Well, then. I thank you-”

“You.” Zeus turns his glare on Perimedes, whose eyes widen. “Choose. Your captain, or his crew.” 

Perimedes, who hates Odysseus. Perimedes, who gave him the stab wound that prevents him from hard labor even now. Perimedes, whose friend had fallen to Scylla on Odysseus’s orders, who has every reason to want his former captain dead, who hears Zeus’s order and cocks his head and smiles.

“What?” Odysseus and Eurylochus cry. 

Odysseus lunges to stand between Zeus and his crewman. “Please, god-king, I’m actually- Really, I’m well enough to-” 

“Don’t ask him, please,” Eurylochus begs, “he doesn’t- he won’t-” 

An ominous clap of thunder silences them both, and in its wake Perimedes steps forward. 

“Why me?” he asks, voice steady. He meets Zeus’s eyes with no fear in his own. “I’m not the second-in-command.” 

“Right, I am,” Eurylochus says quickly. “God-king, please-” 

“Silence!” Zeus commands, and Eurylochus swallows his words, looking pained. Zeus turns back to Perimedes, voice hard. “I cannot trust your king or his lieutenant to make a decision that is best for themselves and their men.” 

“And you trust me?” 

“I was watching during your mutiny. I believe you understand the need for sacrifice,” Zeus rumbles. Odysseus tries not to flinch. “So what will it be? Odysseus, or yourself and the rest of his crew?” 

Eurylochus clutches Odysseus’s shoulder and Odysseus shoves him away. The force is enough to send him crumpling to his knees. 

“Don’t,” he whispers, voice breaking as he meets his brother’s eyes. When the lightning hits, he doesn’t want it to stop Eurylochus’s heart too. “Don’t. Please, brother.” 

Eurylochus breaths unevenly, whipping instead towards Perimedes. “Listen, Perimedes, I know- I know what you’re going to choose, but-” 

Perimedes raises an eyebrow, eyes hard. “Then you know you won’t be able to change my mind.” 

Eurylochus flinches. Zeus laughs, his voice booming like thunder. 

“I like you, mortal. Who will it be?” His smile is sharp. “I think I know.” 

But I’ll die, Odysseus thinks, an agonized echo of Eurylochus so long ago, and closes his eyes. He deserves this. He knows he does. 

Penelope, forgive me. 

Perimedes clears his throat. “I choose Odysseus.” 

Crewmen startle audibly. Eurylochus keens. Odysseus shudders, waiting. 

“Junior.” 

What. 

“What,” Odysseus says blankly, and then thinks of Telemachus, and rage like nothing else fills him as his eyes fly open. “Perimedes, how dare-”

“Over there,” Perimedes says, pointing, and Odysseus whirls, half-expecting his grown son inexplicably appeared on the cursed island only to fall to the wrath of a god- 

He blinks. 

He looks back at Perimedes, whose expression has altered only by the fraction a side of his mouth has lifted. 

Odysseus blinks again. 

“That is a cow,” Zeus tells him, almost gently. His voice creaks with repressed frustration. “Did you mean-” He points at Odysseus. “Him?” 

“Not Odysseus,” Perimedes says, wrinkling his nose. “Odysseus Junior. Right over there.” 

“That is a cow,” Zeus repeats. “Have you gone mad? Have I gone mad?” 

“You were right, Lord Zeus. Sacrifices have to be made. After all he’s done, death isn’t good enough for the captain.” Perimedes' eyes glint. “I want him to hurt.”

Zeus takes a long breath. “And how is killing yet another cow going to achieve that?” 

“Not just any other cow,” he corrects. “Odysseus Junior. The man’s adopted it. He plans on instating it as his heir once he returns to his kingdom.” 

Odysseus chokes. 

Perimedes glances towards him at the sound, eyes glinting in the dawn’s light. “Isn’t that right, king-mine?” 

Odysseus puts his head in his hands, shaking. 

“See? He’s miserable at the mere thought of it. Do it, Zeus. I dare you.” 

“You dare me?” Zeus demands. “Wh- I am your-” 

“Oooh, you scared?” Perimedes taunts, and Zeus makes a completely undignified noise. 

“I am not-” He blasts the cow with lightning. “-scared.”

“Whoa, guess you’re right,” Perimedes says, turning his lip up at the smell of charred meat before bowing shallowly. “Thanks a bunch, god-king.” 

“I don’t think I like you anymore,” Zeus mutters, and vanishes. 

Perimedes wastes absolutely no time in striding over to Odysseus and yanking him up. “Thought I was going to kill you, did you, captain?” 

Odysseus shudders. “I- Perimedes, I don’t know what to say.” 

“Don’t say anything,” his crewman says easily. “Sorry about the Odysseus Junior thing. Wanted to scare you a little.” 

Odysseus smiles faintly. “Yes. You… succeeded.” 

“Good. Then that’s my payback for Scylla,” Perimedes says, voice light. “I’m over it now.” 

“Perimedes, I-” 

“You’re safe from me,” Perimedes says, and for a second his voice is utterly sincere, “so long as you don’t send any more of us to our deaths. I-” He hesitates. “Look, I get what you did. I might’ve done the same, given half the chance. I just don’t want to see it again. Got it?” 

Odysseus nods shakily. “I- I wasn’t going to, anyway. You have my word.” 

Perimedes clasps his shoulder. “Cool.”

And it’s about at this point that Eurylochus steps forward and punches Perimedes in the jaw, then immediately pulls him into a hug. “You idiot,” he hisses, crying. “I was terrified.”

“Hey, the captain forgave me!” Perimedes yells, trying to squeeze out of Eurylochus’s bear hug. His eyes widen as he sees the rest of the crew inch away, leaving him to his fate. “Hey! Hey, someone help! Captain?” 

Eurylochus shakes his head over Perimedes’s shoulder. Odysseus hesitates, taking a step back. “I think I’ll defer to my second in command on this one.” 

“I’m gonna kill you for real!” Perimedes howls, and immediately squeaks at how Eurylochus squeezes painfully tight. “Wait, no, I didn’t mean that! Eurylochus, cut it out-” 

Odysseus throws his head back and laughs aloud. The noise startles Perimedes, Eurylochus, and even himself- and then Perimedes uses Eurylochus’s hesitation to elbow him in the stomach and run for it. Eurylochus lets him go, moving to Odysseus’s side. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you laugh like that,” he says softly. “It’s… nice. To hear you happy.” He frowns. “I’m still going to end Perimedes, though.” 

Odysseus laughs again, heart feeling light. 

Chapter Text

Years before the war, Athena once told Odysseus that the purest form of insanity was doing the same thing over and over in hopes of a different result. 

As Zeus materializes in front of them once again, Odysseus wonders idly what she’d think of her father’s actions now. 

“You!” Zeus declares, pointing at Lykos. “Your captain, or your crew?” 

“Uh,” Lykos says. “Well. Neither. I want to kill a cow.” 

Zeus groans. “Fine. Okay. Whatever. The one over there?” 

He gestures, already drawing his lightning back- but Lykos cries out, running in front of the calf like he’s not afraid about accidentally getting hit by lightning. “No, not that one! She’s barely grown!” 

Zeus halts, frowning. “Fine. That one?” 

Lykos cranes his neck to see where Zeus is pointing. “Oh, but she’s a beauty, isn’t she? All… golden, and stuff. She’s too pretty to sacrifice.” 

“All of the cows are golden,” Zeus says, gritting his teeth. “Which one do you choose?” 

“Hey Lykos,” Anticlus calls, holding a pail of milk. He, like most of the crew, haven’t stopped their own duties for something as trivial as the king of gods showing up at their camp again. Several men are working on flattening the wood they need for their boats behind him. “Don’t forget to tend to Devil.” 

“Right,” Lykos hums, and then brightens. “Oh! Lord Zeus! I choose the devil cow!” 

“The what.”

“Devil. The devil cow,” Lykos repeats, as if it clarifies anything. “Come on, man. You know the one.” 

“I- What?” 

“What?” Lykos cocks his head. “Aren’t you the king of gods? I thought you knew everything.” 

“I- I do!” 

Odysseus snorts and quickly disguises it as a cough. Lykos mock-glares at him, then turns politely towards Zeus. “Well then, lord, you must know about the devil cow. Everyone here does.” 

“I, uh.” Zeus pauses for a long moment. “Of course I do. I know, uh, all about it. I just, uh.” Another pause. “Could you… tell me what it is? Just so-” He brightens. “Just so I know you know what it is?” 

Lykos nods sagely. “Of course, my lord.”  He turns around, gives Odysseus a huge thumbs-up and a wild grin, and turns back to Zeus with the solemnest expression Odysseus has ever seen on a human person. Odysseus takes his cue and leaves for the makeshift stables. 

When Lykos and Zeus step in, Zeus is fuming. Odysseus is alarmed for all of the one second it takes him to realize that Lykos has everything well under control. 

“What do you mean, you won’t tell me why Devil’s called a devil cow?” 

“Well, you know why already, of course,” Lykos says knowledgeably. “King of gods, and all. And we don’t like to say it aloud. Bad karma, you know.” 

“Bad wha- And why do you have stables? All the other cows are roaming!” 

“Well, we’re not going to let the devil cow roam,” Lykos says, rolling his eyes. “Really, Lord Zeus. I understand that you’re testing me, but you don’t need to ask me questions with such obvious answers.” 

Zeus sputters. “I- But-” 

“Alright, I think this is her!” Lykos says, stopping in front of the singular wide pen in the stables. “Hey, girl,” Lykos greets, his voice gentling almost imperceptibly. “How’ve you been?” 

The cow inside huffs heavily, rising halfway on her feet before slumping back down again. 

“Yeah, I know,” Lykos agrees, sounding oddly choked. Zeus doesn’t notice. “Love you too, girl.” He runs a hand down her flank, and only Odysseus notices the minute trembling of his fingers before he stills them and turns back to the god with a wide smile. “Come on, say hi.” 

Zeus squints, then reaches out slowly. He’s further in front, so rather than touch her side, he reaches out to pat her head. 

Big mistake, of course. The cow jerks forward and chomps down on the god’s hand. 

Zeus shrieks.

A lightning bolt crashes through the stables, instantly demolishing it and the cow inside to ash. Odysseus tackles Lykos out of the structure, protecting his head as he rolls them away from the debris. When they’re far enough away, they smoke and ash in the air clears enough for them to see Zeus swearing furiously at the golden ichor running down his hand before vanishing. 

Lykos leans heavily against Odysseus once he’s pulled to his feet, all his manic humor gone. “Gods,” he whispers. “I can’t believe she’s dead.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Odysseus tells him. “She died quickly. It was merciful, if anything.” 

“I know, I know. She’d have died in a day or two anyway,” Lykos mutters, swiping at his eyes before his tears can fall. “Zeus is an idiot, not understanding why a cow might be quarantined. Gods, but she was such a good girl.” 

Odysseus nudges him. “Didn’t you call her a devil cow?” 

“She was that too, yeah,” Lykos says, a small grin on his face. “She was sick and in pain. Of course she’d be a biter.” 

Odysseus thinks of the Cyclops screaming after them with a gaping hole where his eye should be, of himself lashing out at Eurylochus because of all the guilt and fury eating him up inside. “That’s true enough. And what a way to go out, biting a god’s hand.” 

Lykos smirks. “I hoped she might. It was all gum, though. Zeus’ll be fine.” 

“I can honestly say I wasn’t worried about that,” Odysseus says lightly. “What about you? You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me,” Lykos says, sighing. “It’s weird, though. These are holy cows, aren’t they? I wouldn’t have thought they’d get sick, not if they had a god’s favor.” 

Odysseus laughs, thinking of all the stupid things he’d done the last time he’d had a goddess’s favor. “I don’t think it works like that.” 

Lykos shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. If there’s one thing this month has taught me, it’s that I’ve been giving the gods way more credit than I should have.” 

Odysseus’s eyebrows furrow. There’s a thought somewhere there. A plan. Something-

“See you around, captain,” Lykos says with a smile that Odysseus knows is genuine. Odysseus smiles back and waves him off, thinking hard. 

- - -

“I suppose… if I must make a sacrifice… I- I choose Buttercup,” Argyrios whispers. He’s trembling as if trapped in a violent wind, which is interesting given the fact that the weather’s actually quite pleasant. 

Zeus frowns. “Buttercup is already dead.”

“What?” Argyrios gasps, eyes rapidly filling with tears. “She’s what?”

“I killed her,” Zeus says, confused, and Argyrios collapses to his knees and howls in grief. Eurylochus rushes to his aid, giving Zeus a dirty look as he pats his back. 

“How dare you?” Odysseus hisses to the king of gods. “He didn’t know.” 

“He didn’t know the third cow to die was killed?” 

“We kept it from him! We told him that the cow over there was Buttercup!” Odysseus takes a risk. “How dare you shatter his beautiful bubble of innocence!” 

Zeus blinks rapidly, as if it will help him comprehend the situation. “I- How dare I- Is this your Fainting All The-” 

“He’s hurt,” Odysseus interrupts dramatically. “You’ve hurt him. You don’t know how long Argyrios keeps crying when he gets started. Now none of us will get any sleep tonight. Thanks a lot, Lord Zeus.” 

Zeus flinches back slightly at his anger. “I- I didn’t mean-” 

“I think you should just go,” Odysseus tells him, voice thick with disappointment. Zeus only nods before sending a quick lightning-strike down and vanishing in a puff of smoke. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then Eurylochus stands from Argyrios’s side and punches Odysseus in the shoulder. “You’re utterly mad. Both of you.” 

Odysseus grins, rolling his shoulders. “I thought it was fun. Good plan, Argyrios.” 

“That was amazing.” the crewman whispers, a manic light in his suddenly tear-free eyes. “I lied to the king of gods. I’m incredible. I’m invincible.”

Odysseus wastes no time in smacking him on the head. “Hey. What have I said about indulging in delusional levels of hubris?” 

Argyrios slumps. “Only you’re allowed to do it.” 

“That’s right. Just for that, you’re cleaning the latrines tonight.” 

“But captain-”

- - -

“You,” Zeus says, pointing at Theotimos. “Who’s it gonna be?” 

The crewman bows deeply. “That cow, please, Lord Zeus.” 

Zeus rolls his eyes. “Are you sure? Not too pretty, too young, too- anything else?” 

The crewman bows deeply. “Yes, my lord.” 

Zeus frowns. “You’re awfully polite.” 

The crewman bows deeply. “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.” 

Zeus squints at him, then turns to Odysseus. “Is there something wrong with him?”

Odysseus shrugs. “Don’t ask me.” 

Zeus sighs and snaps his fingers. Another cow bites the dust. “I must say, though your illness manifests at the strangest of times, I find myself much less disturbed by it than before. You have grown less vexing, against all odds.” 

“You too, bestie.” 

Zeus blinks as if malfunctioning. “I- I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Not if I see you first,” Odysseus chirps, snapping finger guns in his direction. Zeus frowns and vanishes. 

Odysseus’s smile immediately falls as he turns to the crewman. “Theotimos! What was that?” 

The crewman begins to bow deeply, hesitates, and blanches. “Um. I don’t- What?” 

Eurylochus comes up behind him, frowning. “You’re going to get us all killed, acting that way. At the very least stop bowing.” 

“He’s- He’s a god!” Theotimos stammers. “I can’t just- How can you all act like that towards him? Especially you, captain! Aren’t you afraid?” 

“Afraid?” Eurylochus scoffs. “Theotimos, yesterday a crewman convinced him that helping us reinforce the ship’s frame and lift the masts into their position was a ‘necessary prerequisite’ for choosing which cow to kill. And he bought it.” 

“But- but that’s the thing!” Theotimos wails. “He comes here every day to kill us! And you all just- just lie to him, and laugh at him, and- if he figures it out-”

“Alright, wait,” Odysseus says gently. “There’s been a misunderstanding. You think we’re harassing the king of gods because it’s fun, don’t you?” 

Theotimos sniffles. “Aren’t you?” 

“Of course not,” Odysseus says, then rolls his eyes at Eurylochus’s little scoff. “Okay, that’s part of it. But a small part of it. Do you want to know the real reason I’m telling the crewmen to mess with Zeus? To keep him off his guard?” 

Theotimos looks up at him, eyes bright. 

“We’ve been here for nearly two months,” Odysseus explains. “Our little standoff has been going on for so long, Zeus has forgotten how mortals are supposed to act around him. He’s forgotten that he’s supposed to be forcing us to choose between each other, and that he can hurt us if we hurt him. If we remind him of the power he has over us, we threaten everything about our situation.” 

Theotimos bites his lip. “I- I guess that makes sense.” 

“And there’s a reason I make sure I’m around when Zeus shows up,” Odysseus adds on. “I don’t think anything will go wrong, not at this point. We’re in too deep, and so is he. But in case anything goes wrong - a crewman goes too far, or he pieces something together - I’ll be there to fix things. This crew is my responsibility, and I’ll protect all of you to my last breath.” 

“Which won’t be necessary,” Eurylochus cuts in, shooting him a glance that tells him just how keen he is on Odysseus’s wording, “because he has it well under control. You trust the captain, don’t you?” 

“Of course,” Theotimos says, without blinking, and though it’s been weeks and Odysseus has grown to understand his crew’s renewed faith in him, it makes his heart swell regardless. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve it - or, rather, he does, because Eurylochus in particular has taken to reminding him nearly every day - but he’ll never stop being grateful. 

- - -

Of course, there are still bad days. 

“What if I’m the monster?” Odysseus whispers, staring at the blood on his hands. He promptly gets whacked over the head with a clay plate. 

“It’s just a cow, edgelord,” Perimedes scoffs. “Wash up in the sea and come in for dinner.” 

- - -

Two months after they’d first arrived at Helios's island, Odysseus is feeling good. They’re nearly done with the construction of their new ship, all of Zeus’s visits have been mildly irritating but ultimately benign in nature, and if they manage to escape the cycle they’re trapped in currently, they’ll soon be able to leave the island. They’re so close to home that Odysseus can almost taste it. 

And then lightning crashes in the skies above. After months of hardly anything but, the sound no longer puts him on edge - but this time, no Zeus accompanies it. 

Seconds pass, and still no god is standing above them demanding that they choose between Odysseus or the crew - or as is more typical now, groaning about how they refuse to choose either. It’s a change. Odysseus isn’t sure he likes it. 

When he looks up, he sees something falling from the heavens. Something small and dark. 

“Men, on guard,” he calls, and every man in the near vicinity reaches for a weapon. 

It’s slow, carried by the eddies in wind and by air pressure, and when Odysseus squints he realizes it looks like a fragment of papyrus. When it drifts low enough, he plucks it out of the air. 

King of Ithaca, it reads in short, spiky writing, which is enough to know it comes from Zeus. Today I find myself needing to attend to the condition of my temples elsewhere. I have sent another in my stead. 

Odysseus stills, mind whirling. Another god. Every god he’s ever met has been so unlike what he’s expected- who could it be? Someone like Zeus, easily duped? He can’t assume they’ll be that lucky twice. 

Eurylochus approaches warily, eying the note. “There’s something on the back, captain.” 

With trembling fingers, Odysseus flips it over. 

No introductions are necessary. In fact, I believe you’ve already met.

Odysseus goes cold. The crew’s muttering fades amid the roaring in his ears. 

There is no divine being he has encountered that he trusts to treat them well. He runs through them in his mind frantically: Hermes (terrifyingly blithe), Circe (volatile at best), Aeolus (more hindrance than help), Poseidon (obviously a no)-

The hair on the back of his neck prickles. 

“Quiet,” Odysseus commands. An instant hush spreads over the camp, and he turns slowly. “We’re not alone.” 

The crew turns pale. Odysseus’s heart hammers in his chest as he closes his eyes. 

“Show yourself,” he calls. “I know you’re watching us. Show yourself.” 

Chapter Text

When Odysseus’s eyes open, a goddess stands before him. 

“Lady Athena,” he greets, bowing. He was never one for that sort of thing before - bowing, scraping, ubiquitous courtesy, none of it had ever appealed - but times have changed, and so has he. And though he sees that they’ve fallen into the empty space of Quick-Thought, he is all too aware of the men he must protect at his back. 

The goddess studies him, eyes narrowed behind her helmet. He swallows. 

He is thinner, now, though the efforts of Eurylochus and the crew have succeeded in putting some meat back on his bones. His ribs still ache from the months-old wound he suffered during the mutiny, an injury she’d be able to sense in an instant. He holds himself differently - with humility rather than pride, courage rather than empty bluster. 

Athena had once told him not to disappoint her. He thinks of the loss of his men, and the failure that was their trip to the Underworld, and everything that followed Scylla, and is certain that he has done nothing but. 

She has raged at him before. After the Cyclops, most memorably. I’m not looking for a friend, she’d screamed, teeth bared and spittle flying, after spending decades at his side. And that was after he’d only let six men die, and failed to kill one monster. Now his losses number in the hundreds, and he has fallen from being her warrior of the mind to a traumatized murderer still recovering mentally and physically from a mutiny. The goddess of wisdom is proficient at knowing how to hurt with words alone, and so he expects nothing less now. 

But then another beat of silence passes, and then another, Athena doing nothing but staring, and Odysseus has been unafraid in front of Zeus for too long to let his deference last. 

He straightens slowly. “You were never one for hellos, were you?” 

He sees his words jolt Athena out of her contemplative study, and she blinks. “Odysseus. Why aren’t you at home?” 

He’s so taken aback that he almost forgets to be angry. “What?” 

“You-” She frowns. He frowns too. He’s never seen the goddess of wisdom at a loss for words. “You left Troy. You were done with war, and it didn’t take any intelligence to sail home.” 

He opens his mouth, closes it, and chokes back his bitterness. Of course Athena won’t yell. She so rarely does, instead pulling him aside at the edge of Ithaca’s forests or in his tent in a camp of war or in a field surrounded by lotus and telling him, straightforwardly, what he did wrong. How he’s disappointed her. 

There’s no flinching away from facts. It takes no intelligence to sail six hundred miles of open sea, and even less to know not to fight gods and kill men as you do so. 

He bows his head, helpless. “Yes, lady.” 

Something flashes in her eyes, something he has no chance at reading before she turns away. “Yes, well. My father commanded me to threaten a mortal captain and his crew in his place, and so I came. I had no idea it was you.” 

A way of telling him that she hadn’t thought of him once in years. If I had known, I never would have come. He understands, however much it hurts. “Yes, lady.” 

She hesitates uncharacteristically, and pulls out a sheet of papyrus. “Well, I’m meant to ask-” She blinks. He stares at her tiredly. “You, or your crew? What does that mean?” 

She is no fool. Why does she want him to say it? “You know what it means, lady.” 

“He wants to kill you?” she asks, so audibly shocked that his gaze meets her instinctively. Her eyes are so wide they almost look human. “Why? What have you done?” 

“You know.” 

“Why would I know, Odysseus?”

Odysseus frowns. “You’re the goddess of wisdom. Of course you know.” 

“You know I’ve never been omniscient. If I was, wouldn’t I have been able to stop you from leaving?” 

Odysseus… stops. 

“What?” 

Athena shrinks back. Shrinks back. And Athena. Something is deeply wrong. “Nothing.” 

“I didn’t leave,” Odysseus says, suddenly feeling wrong-footed. “I- You left me, Athena. Why would I- How would I-” 

“There’s no need to lie. Not to me,” she says, sighing. “I’ll just tell Zeus that I’m not- not killing one of you, and I’ll get out of your head-” 

“You can’t do that,” Odysseus says, confused. 

Athena smiles sadly at him. He hates it. “I managed quite well the first time.” 

“No, not that. It’s- We killed one of Helios’s cows. There’s a prophecy, Lord Zeus told us-” 

“What? No, there isn’t.” 

Odysseus’s heart beats faster. He’d- He’d wondered, with how Zeus spoke, with how easy it had been to subvert, but- “What do you mean?” 

“I suppose there could be,” Athena says dismissively. “But not one Helios put forth. Apollo deals with that sort of thing now.” 

Oh. He tempers his hope, studying her. He takes a chance. “What did you mean, stop me from leaving?” 

Athena flinches, though she hides it well. “It’s fine, Odysseus. We don’t need to talk about it.” 

“I think we do.” 

“You didn’t need me. I didn’t-” She swallows. “I didn’t need you. We decided it.” 

“I needed you,” he blurts. “Athena, I always needed you.” 

Athena blinks rapidly. “You- No. You just said you didn’t. I don’t see why you’d lie now.” 

“What? I’m not-” 

Athena’s voice comes back to him, quietly certain. You were done with war, and it didn’t take any intelligence to sail home. A criticism, he’d thought, and now he recognizes it as self-recrimination. You didn’t need me.  

And suddenly, Odysseus sees the insecurity in her eyes, a reflection of his own, and knows no simple words from a mortal will fix it. 

Lucky he’s with a goddess, then. 

“Then I’ll prove it.” Odysseus extends a hand. “I open my mind and memories to you, Lady Athena,” he says formally, the same words he once said when he was young and they’d first met. It’s one of the greatest offerings he can give her, and she knows it. “Come, see where I’ve been.” 

She meets his eyes, chin raising slightly, and takes his hand. 

The vision races through the worst few years of his life, which is a blessing since even the blur of motion and sound that he perceives to be Aeolus, Poseidon, Circe, and Tiresias unearth some of Odysseus’s buried grief. He risks a glance to the side when his memories show him killing the sirens and swallows uneasily at Athena’s unreadable expression. He’s… starting to regret showing her this. 

He can’t look when Scylla appears, monstrous and cruel, or when Eurylochus screams at him and unsheathes his sword, or when thunder splits the sky and the king of gods appears in all his terrible glory. He cringes at his unhinged decision to kill even more of Helios’s cattle, and at his unhealthy pallor, and at the complete dissolution of trust between him and his crew, the one thing a captain should always have. When the memories come to an end, Athena puts a hand on his shoulder, and Odysseus realizes a beat too late that it’s because his hand is shaking in hers. 

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, because he is, because Scylla is in the past and he honestly believed she’d always stay there, because Eurylochus trusts him now, because Zeus isn’t a threat- he knows this. He knows this. He’s fine. Why does his shaking body seem so eager to prove him wrong? 

He can’t raise his head to meet Athena’s gaze. Why had he shown that to her? She’d told him, when she left, that he needed her to survive. Was proving her right worth her certain disappointment? Her fury? 

Gods, she must be so angry. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling his hand away. He’s breathing too quickly. ”I’m sorry, Athena, I- I shouldn’t have- I know-” 

“Breathe, Odysseus,” she murmurs, so out of character it only makes it harder to catch his breath. 

“No,” he gasps, spiraling, “you- you know, now. You know everything I’ve done. You saw Scylla, and the mutiny, and how I tricked Zeus- how I kept tricking Zeus-”

“My father is an idiot,” Athena says bluntly. Odysseus snaps his mouth shut, shocked. 

“I- What?” 

“As are you,” Athena says, and Odysseus glances up enough to see a soft smile on her face, “for thinking seeing this would do anything but impress me.” 

“Impress you?” Odysseus repeats, bewildered. “Why?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Athena says, throwing her hands in the air. “How about easily winning back your crew’s trust days after a mutiny? How about using your wit to stall the king of gods himself for weeks?” 

“But before that-” 

“Before that, you followed your beliefs as best you could,” Athena says. “You were never a monster. You were never irredeemable. You were just a man forced into making impossible choice after impossible choice, trying to survive as best you could. You still are that man, and you are worthy of being helped. All your men are.” 

Odysseus should, at this point, accept that she’s correct. There’s no benefit in digging himself deeper into a hole just to convince his former patron that he’s not the man she knew before. 

Then again, Odysseus has never been good at shutting up. 

“That may be,” he says quietly. “But you already know I’m weak, Athena. When you left me, you said I was not a general-” She opens her mouth to protest. “-and you were correct. Look at me.” He gestures to his thin frame, his shaking hands, his scarred body. “I- I am no fighter, and no general, not anymore. I have never deserved your patronage, and especially not now.” 

Athena’s gaze sweeps over him, and she sighs. Before Odysseus can even blink, she has stooped to her knee and wrapped her arms around him. 

“General or not,” she whispers, “you will always be a warrior of the mind, my friend.” 

My friend. 

Her words are a balm on the most lonely parts of himself, years-old wounds finally beginning to heal, and he sobs, throwing his arms around her in a fierce hug. “Athena.”

“I’m here,” she whispers fiercely. “I’m never leaving you again.” 

“Captain!” a voice screams, and he jerks back to see all of his men with their swords pointed straight at him, Quick-Thought having dissolved with Athena’s loss of concentration. 

“Stay back!” Eurylochus shouts at him, murder in his eyes, and it’s at this moment that Odysseus realizes how far he’s come since the mutiny. 

Because had this happened a month and a half ago, he would have recoiled into terrified and guilty silence. Had this happened two months ago, he’d have drawn his own weapon and brought hell down on his own men. But now he has his head on straight and knows without a shadow of a doubt that his men love and respect him, and so he steps forward, unafraid. 

“What are you playing at, Eurylochus?” 

Perimedes lunges forward, sword in hand, and Odysseus doesn’t flinch-

In a blink, his crewman has yanked Odysseus forward by his chiton and bodily thrown him two yards back. 

“Injuries?” Eurylochus barks, not looking back, and Odysseus can’t even open his mouth to protest before five men swarm him, patting down his head, torso, and limbs in a maneuver he vaguely recognizes from the war at Troy. 

“A few bruises, sir!” Pavlos shouts back, and Odysseus elbows him in the face. 

“That’s because Perimedes just threw me into the ground! What’s gotten into all of-” 

His vision finally clears, and he sees Athena standing unimpressed in the center of a sea of bladed weapons. All at once, he understands. 

“Men!” he yells, and everyone freezes. “Stand down!” 

The air is full of the sound of weapons being sheathed on instinct, and Odysseus relaxes. 

“But she hurt you!” Eurylochus shouts. 

“I’m fine!” 

“You’re crying!” Perimedes counters, and Odysseus presses his lips together. 

“Yes, Perimedes, that is what a man does when a friend he hasn’t seen in years comes to help him!” 

“Help?” Eurylochus echoes incredulously. “But the note- I thought-” 

“Men,” he says, letting his joy leak into his voice, “meet my patron goddess, the Lady Athena.” 

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, really. Maybe some gasps of surprise. Maybe some dropping to knees, some flattery. Maybe embarrassment, fear. Normal stuff. 

What happens is… not that. 

“Okay,” Lykos says, hands on his hips. “And what’s she doing here?” 

Odysseus gapes. Athena clears her throat, visibly trying not to smile. “I am here on my father’s behalf.” 

“Ooh, and do you do anything your daddy tells y- mmph!”  

“Pay him no mind, my lady,” Odysseus says hastily, hand clamped over Perimedes’s mouth. He ignores how Perimedes starts licking his hand. “He’s just, uh-” 

“He has Fainting All The Time Syndrome! One of the side-effects is disrespect to the gods,” chirps a crewman with no intelligence or sense of self-preservation. Odysseus tries not to cringe as Athena stares at them. 

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” she says slowly. “Did Zeus seriously fall for that?” 

There’s a beat of silence as every single crewman simultaneously realizes that the goddess of wisdom might not be as easy to fool as her father. “Uhh-” 

“Well!” Odysseus says cheerily, trying not to scream at how Perimedes has given up licking his hand and has started biting. If he actually spills blood, Odysseus is going to lose it. “Athena and I are going to put together a plan for when Zeus shows up tomorrow.” 

“We are?” Athena asks, alarmed. 

Odysseus shoves Perimedes’s disgusting face away from him as he gives her a thumbs-up. “Yup!” 

“Odysseus, your hand is bleeding.” 

“Perimedes, what the hell-”

- - -

“Alright, I’m back! I- Oh. Hello, daughter.” 

Odysseus grins as Athena nods solemnly. “Greetings, Lord Zeus.” 

Like they’d planned, her appearance has put Zeus at least slightly off-balance. “What are you, uh, doing here?” 

Athena shrugs. “I arrived yesterday on your behalf. I simply haven’t left yet.” 

“Ah, right,” Zeus says, clearly not understanding. “Did you kill a cow?” 

Athena smiles. “Ah. No.” 

Zeus waits. No follow-up is forthcoming. “…Why not?” 

“I’ll let their leader tell you,” Athena says ominously, and gestures to Odysseus, flanked by his crew a few paces back. 

Odysseus waves. “Hi!” 

“Hello,” Zeus says suspiciously. “Well? Which cow will it be?” 

“I’d rather not choose a cow today, actually. I’ll stick to your two options,” Odysseus says, and Zeus visibly brightens. 

“Really?” He glances at Athena. “What did you do?”

Athena shrugs again. Zeus’s grin is wider than any sane grin should be. 

“Wonderful. Well then, who do you-” 

“One moment, Lord Zeus,” Odysseus interrupts, pasting a politely confused look to his face. 

“Before I tell you, I’d want to go over the rules we’ve established here: The one I choose, the one that you kill… they need to be alive. But they don’t need to be human. There are no other rules. Is that correct?” 

“Obviously,” Zeus says dismissively. “I killed all those cows, didn’t I?” 

“True enough,” Odysseus says, glancing at Athena. She nods, almost imperceptibly. “And this is because of a prophecy, isn’t it? It’s fated that someone must die today.” 

“Yes, yes! We’ve been over this!” 

“Alright, then,” Odysseus says. He wipes the sweat off his palms. “I’m ready.” 

“And you’ll choose one of the two options? The two options I give you, you’ll choose one?” 

“Of course.” 

Zeus laughs, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Then you have got the final say, King of Ithaca. What’ll it be?” Thunder rumbles in the distance. “You? Or your crew?” 

Odysseus smiles. 

“You.”