Summary: The third installment of the "Troy Deleted Scenes" series. This one fills in the gap of Achilles' return home after the first battle in Thessaly. Once again, NO slash is intended. Please enjoy, and feel free to review!

Disclaimer: As with all my other fics, I own nothing and nobody. And as with all these other Deleted Scenes, I owe huge Thank You to Tori for helping develop the idea!

Author's Note: Ok, so I honestly have no idea what inspired this random oneshot. I guess you could say it came to me one morning while I was lying in bed, lol. Again, please remember that all I'm trying to convey here is brotherly love. And I see where it could be taken otherwise, but that interpretation is up to you. Besides, you should all know my sentiments in that regard by now, lol. Enjoy!

Troy Deleted Scenes Part 3:

Without You

The sun was just beginning to break over the eastern horizon when Achilles finally came within sight of his humble home, and the view made him sigh contentedly. It was good to be back, especially when the events of the preceding days had left such a bitter taste in his mouth.

Moments later, he entered the familiar structure and found the deathly silence only a little unnerving. Were his mother here, she would surely have been up and about to greet him at this early hour, but she was absent. Her visits had grown progressively fewer and farther between over the years, yet it made their times spent together all the more invaluable. As it was, there would be only one other person in the house awaiting him. But one was enough.

Achilles stepped into his bedroom and pushed aside the curtain covering his window so that the sunrise illuminated the room. And when he saw his bed in the new light, he was admittedly amused, but he forced himself to frown and appear displeased.

"You have your own bed, you know," he remarked, trying to sound aggravated. "And it's been yours for the past seven years."

The tall figure sprawled out on his bed did not respond to his comments right away, but one blue eye cracked open, squinting a little in the harsh morning light.

"Your bed's more comfortable," replied a deep male voice, groggy with sleep. "Why're you here?"

"I live here," Achilles retorted, finding his impatience was no longer so difficult to feign. He reached over and gave his intrusive younger cousin a playful cuff on his blonde head which barely protruded out from under the covers. "Get up!"

But Patroclus only groaned and pulled the blankets up entirely over his head. "It's too early."

The great warrior standing above him sighed, exasperated yet still amused. "Teenagers," he muttered. "Why is it so impossible for you to rise with the sun?"

He could barely detect a hint of movement that must have been a shrug enacted beneath the covers. "I learned from the best."

Achilles opened his mouth to utter a retort but stopped himself short. What argument could he truly make against that? They both knew full well that Patroclus had tried in vain to wake him countless times when he was younger and full of typical childlike energy in the wee hours of the morning. The elder warrior always had favored sleeping late, and the only reason he was here now at the crack of dawn was because he'd had no choice.

"Very well, you win," he relented and closed the curtain again, plunging the room back into darkness. He then went about unpacking the belongings he had brought with him on the night's long journey, and when all was in order, he gave his young charge another nudge in the shoulder. "Move over."

"But I thought you were 'rising with the sun' today, Cousin."

Achilles could just imagine the self-satisfied smirk on the boy's face, even though he couldn't see it beneath the covers.

"Old habits are hard to break," he admitted grudgingly, but Patroclus was right. It was far too early, especially for him. "Now come on – move over."

Patroclus complied without further protest and scooted over to make room for him, also leaving behind a nice warm spot on the bed. Achilles would consider that payment for the boy's jesting remarks earlier.

"Did you miss me, at least?" he posed to back of his cousin's head after they had lain in silence for a few moments.

"Mmm hmm," came the sleepy response, followed by a yawn. "But you are back early."

"I know."

"So what happened? Were the Thessalonians even easier than you'd thought they would be?"

Achilles hesitated a bit before replying. "Yes and no, I suppose."

Patroclus frowned at that, perplexed, and rolled over to face the man he had long considered his guardian, his teacher, and his best friend. "What do you mean?"

The Greek hero sighed, for he could see in Patroclus' suddenly alert countenance that the boy was expecting some kind of great war story. Unfortunately, he had none to tell.

He began grimly, "Apparently, our wise and venerable king, Agamemnon, wished to end this particular conquest quickly and efficiently, so he proposed that the entire battle be decided in single combat – their greatest warrior against ours."

"Against you, you mean," the seventeen-year-old broke in matter-of-factly. "But, Cousin, I thought you'd always said Agamemnon wasn't your king?"

"And I thought you'd learned something of my biting sarcasm over the years," Achilles shot back, though he still smiled despite himself. "But you are right – he's not my king. And he's not yours, either. Remember that, Cousin."

Patroclus nodded in compliance with his guardian's admonitions, hearing a sudden earnestness, something almost entreating, in the older man's voice.

"Good," Achilles said, sounding relieved, and he reached out to smooth back a few exceptionally wild strands of his cousin's unruly blonde hair. "I won't have you subject to that fool for anything in the world. I'll die before I let that happen."

The boy lying across from him frowned deeply, not a little disconcerted by the gravity of his cousin's words.

"Does this have anything to do with what happened in Thessaly?" he asked.

Achilles sighed and admitted, "Yes. I killed the Thessalonian champion easily, of course, for the brute had absolutely no finesse. The other Thessalonians feared me, and the Greek soldiers cheered my name. But the glory was Agamemnon's, and the victory will be remembered as his."

"But you've told me it is always like this, Cousin," Patroclus intervened quietly. "It is the way of war, the way of the world."

"So I have," the golden warrior conceded. "And if the king were truly worthy of such glory, I would not deny him of it. But Agamemnon has no honor, Cousin. He won't fight his own battles, yet he would still claim the victories as his own. It must be years since he's actually wielded a sword in combat."

"That's why you came home early?"

"Yes, it is." Achilles met his cousin's anxious gaze, then, locking the boy's sea-blue eyes in his own intense stare.

"Never fight for another man, Patroclus. If you can find a noble cause worthy of war, then hold to it, but never devote yourself to one man alone. No one is worthy of that. Not even me."

"But I do fight for you, Cousin," the confused youth beside him insisted. "As do Eudorus and all your men."

"Patroclus, have you heard nothing I've said? Do you not understand what I'm trying to tell you?"

The boy's only response was to close his eyes and groan, hiding his tired face in his hands.

"No, I don't. It's too early, Achilles," he protested anew. "Too early for this kind of talk."

"You're the one who wanted to talk, Cousin," Achilles teased him mercilessly.

"And now I would like to sleep."

"As would I."

"So we can finish this later, then?"

The son of Peleus nodded. He would let the issue slide. For now. "Later."

"Can we spar in the morning, too?" the youth asked, his voice hopeful.

Achilles grinned and impulsively reached over to tweak his cousin's nose.

"It is morning, Cousin."

Patroclus batted away his hand and suppressed a long-suffering sigh.

"When we wake up, then?"

His long-time caretaker nodded his consent, and Patroclus smiled in turn, rolling back over onto his side and pulling the blankets up over his shoulders. Achilles situated himself, as well, and was on the verge of sleep when he was disturbed by a soft chuckle beside him.

"What?" he questioned his cousin, bemused, and the boy answered without bothering to turn around and face him.

"It's ridiculous how much Agamemnon depends on you, Cousin. I was just wondering what he would ever do without you."

His elder gave no answer, and clearly Patroclus had not expected one, for the youth's chest soon rose and fell in the tranquil rhythm of sleep. But Achilles remained awake, his mind in sudden turmoil. He may not have offered Patroclus any verbal response to that scenario, but his heart had answered more loudly than any trumpet call prior to battle.

What would Agamemnon do without him?

The same thing I would do without you, Cousin – waste away until no part of me remained.

The thought had come unbidden, yet it was so strong, so vehement, that it genuinely frightened him. Why had his mind jumped to such a horrid conclusion? It was true he was very protective of his cousin, but the boy was in no danger. So why would he suddenly be so fearful? Why such uncanny premonition, now of all times?

Patroclus was a skilled fighter, yes – Achilles himself had well made sure of that. But he was still so very young, still so very much a child whose eyes brightened at the prospect of a daring tale of danger and who interrupted the storyteller with obscure yet insightful questions, just as he had always done. Some things never changed, and some things Achilles desperately hoped never would.

He stared at the back of that blonde head for a long time before finally drifting off to sleep. No dreams of a vanquished Thessalonian champion in Hades troubled him as he slept that morning, but still his rest was far from peaceful.