...... can i make an official request for "Odysseus comes back and his family rejects him bc they don't recognize the monster he's become" lol 👉🏼👈🏼
Perhaps when I’m less braindead I might turn this into a whole thing lol, but for now have some hastily-written ol’ father-son angst cause I was too excited about this prompt
-Can't Help But Wonder...-
That voice. His son’s voice. Now that his ears were not filled with the screams of his enemies and the rapid thrum of his heart, Odysseus could clearly hear his son’s voice.
Odysseus had tried to return to Ithaca without many expectations. Though keeping a hold over the hope that raged in his heart had been a difficulty almost as insurmountable as his entire journey home, he did not want to get too ahead of himself. But he had still hoped. He had still dreamed and imagined. He could not stop himself from wondering what it would be like to reunite with his family, to finally learn what Telemachus sounded like.
There was no need to wonder any longer when the boy who Odysseus had once cradled in his arms was standing on the opposite side of the blood-stained hall, now a fully grown man. When Telemachus had called to his long-estranged father, he did so with a rising intonation indicative of confusion. Odysseus had expected as much. But against his better judgement, he had also expected to hear happiness in his Telemachus’ voice. Odysseus had hoped to hear excitement. Instead, he heard an emotion he knew all too well, a certain tonal waver that had followed him for the past twenty years with increasing frequency.
Telemachus sounded afraid.
Odysseus’ worst fears were confirmed when he closed the distance and tentatively reached toward his son. To Telemachus’ credit, he had done well to hide the way he flinched and managed to maintained his perplexed yet composed expression. To Telamchus’ credit, he must have had quite a fair bit of practice in concealing his stress if his deliberate, measured breathing was anything to go by. However, like an owl hunting in the depths of the night, Odysseus’ eyes had been trained to recognize even the most subtle signs of weakness. Even if Odysseus had not seen the way his son’s shoulders tensed and his pupils constricted, however, he still would have known Telemachus’ smile was forced. After all—they always said that monsters could smell your fear.
Selfishly, Odysseus still wrapped his arms around Telemachus and pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing embrace. Selfishly, Odysseus ignored the way his son’s breath hitched in his throat as he stood as stiff as a mast. Selfishly, even as Telemachus hesitated to place his hands upon his father’s back, Odysseus nuzzled into his son’s hair, the perfect mixture of Penelope’s deep raven locks and his own textured waves. Selfishly, Odysseus told himself that the ends still justified the means and that maybe, maybe Telemachus was still just shell-shocked.
It would pass, Odysseus told himself. It had to pass. Even if he had to endure Telemachus’ wary glances, even if he had to beg Penelope to fall in love with him all over again, It. Would. All. Pass.
Odysseus had said he would become the Monster. He had convinced himself that it would all be worth it if he got to make it back to his son and wife. But as he pulled away from Telemachus and saw the grin that didn’t quite reach his son’s eyes, he could not help but wonder if he had made a grave, grave mistake.
