Forgotten; Worshipped (Imported from Ao3)

38

Alexander grumbled quietly in the phial as the Judge listened to a god (he really didn't care who it was) complain about something or other. Alexander had given up really listening to whatever was going on outside of his prison. He was sure he would prefer the madness that came with loneliness to the Judge's cold company. He wished he could be anywhere else. He wished he could be back with Aaron and hold him and let him know that everything was okay. But he wasn't there with Aaron and he couldn't hold him and he couldn't tell him that everything was okay. And he couldn't be told in turn that everything was okay, as he knew Aaron would reassure him were he here. He sighed and let his mind wander, the only past time he had in this dreary place of misery and agony. And his mind wandered into the past, a thing he had very mixed feelings about. His mind wandered back to a day. A day where he had gotten his most curious insulting nickname.

Shortly, after a successful prank, he basked in the chaotic aftermath, the insults and the curses of loathing and hate and frustrations. He had bitterly grown to love these sounds of displeasure at his pranks. Before his death, other gods had taken delight in his pranks, even if they were directed at them and not at another god while they got to watch. But the moment he had died, and hadn't disappeared, everything had changed. Alexander was enjoying the scene, the aftermath of his latest prank, on the god of the stars, with malicious joy. Suddenly, the god of the stars shot a shooting star at him and screamed at him.

"YOU WEED! YOU DIRTY LITTLE VERMIN OF A WEED!" the god of the stars yelled, taking Alexander by surprise.

He remembered it so distinctly, he felt like he was out of the phial for a moment, though the feeling was like the softest kiss upon his skin, fleeting the next moment. He wanted to get out of this phial so desperately. But this nickname, weed, had stuck with him, had stuck in his memory, and it had been the god of the stars' go-to insult from that point onwards. Weed. A weed. Alexander chuckled bitterly. It fit rather nicely, he had to admit, to himself. Like a weed, he couldn't be gotten rid of, at least not completely. Like a weed, he always came back. All much to the annoyance of the gods. He couldn't help the chuckle that slenderly rattled out of his mouth to echo within the confines of the phial. He couldn't help the tears that escaped his eyes as he felt a pain surge through his body yet again, one that -he recognized too well for his own comfort. He felt for his hands, but they were gone and the realisation of what this meant came to him in a sudden surge, yet gentle, almost, at how familiar this feeling was to him. He thought back and reflected, to some degree, but most of his thoughts wandered to Aaron. And he must be going crazy, for, in the bleak darkness of the phial, he made out Aaron's face smiling at him comfortingly, and he knew, with an accepting sigh, this wasn't him, but he let himself believe the opposite, if only for the false and fleeting moment and wave of comfort that washed over him at the sight of his best friend.

"I wonder how you are..." he whispered. The Judge heard him, but his words confused him. The Judge didn't know what was going on in the phial. "Are my friends taking care of you in my absence? How much time has passed, I wonder."

And the thought occurred to him that Aaron might have died. The Judge, as far as Alexander was aware, had not made much fuss about finding Aaron lately. Perhaps Aaron had already died. The notion, while it made Alexander horribly uncomfortable, gave him some hope for his best friend. The god of Death would surely make sure he isn't bothered too much in the realm of the dead. Aaron would finally be safe, safer than he had ever been when he was alive. Of course, Alexander would never see him again if this were the case, but he knew too well that he would gladly take this if it meant Aaron would be safe. He wanted him to be safe, and he knew the god of Death could, if he cared enough or just not at all, provide this safety for him. Aaron could not be harmed, dead in the underworld. While Alexander didn't want Aaron to die while there was still so much he needed to see and feel and experience, he realised that death wouldn't be the worst fate to befall him. He merely hoped, meekly, that the Judge wouldn't be the one to take his life from him, for he knew that the Judge would kill him in such a way that his soul would die as well, burn out like a fire on wet wood, never to be ignited on that same spot again, break it into a thousand pieces and scatter it upon the mortals' realm, never for the shards of his soul to be brought together into a whole again.