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Dionysus knew the memory would linger, and that it would haunt him eternally.
Zeus stripped him of his immortality in...well, seconds. It truly did show the power his father had. Perhaps that was why he was terrified of losing the power in question. Not only that, he'd taken everything else Dionysus had as well. His house, car, pet kitten...God, Dionysus still remembers holding the poor baby's limp, bloodied body, digging a dirt grave with his own hands in Olympus' gardens.
Then he was banished from Olympus permanently. He didn't voluntarily leave like the rest of his siblings. He was kicked out like a homeless dog who had shown up for scraps and shelter. Zeus didn't even give him space to process the revelation-just took him off with a snap of his fingers. Dionysus had found himself in the rain-damp stone streets, the thunderstorm a result of his father's anger. He didn't know what to...
First he lost it.
He cried. Screamed. Cursed his dad out. Sobbed. Threw up.
Then he pulled himself together.
Zeus' words were clear-Don't bother asking anyone for help. You're no longer a god, but you're still my son, even if I no longer consider you to be so. I don't want you going around like a stray puppy asking for help. Is. That. Understood?
Dionysus didn't even try testing it. He'd faced enough of his father's wrath. For the first time-he'd truly felt it. Witnessed it. Been a victim of it. He refused to do what his father warned him about. Wouldn't do it if someone forced him to. Besides, would his siblings even listen? They'd warned him about Zeus, after all. And if Zeus had revoked his immortality, he could've easily given death as a punishment for...
The young god, having now spent weeks on the street, realized with a startling, sickening clarity that he-as a former god-needed worship.
Looking back, Dionysus did not understand the logic, yet his mind chose to defend it. The rest of his family had always thrived on worship like how humans thrived on oxygen. Zeus had caused countless natural disasters in order to gain mortals' worship. But how could Dionysus do that? He didn't have powers to cause natural disasters. He couldn't break mountains or split the sky with thunder. He couldn't go up to mortals and ask for worship. They'd laugh. Mock him. Hell-he wasn't even-
...
He wasn't even a god anymore. Even if he somehow got people to worship him, he didn't deserve it.
But...still.
Maybe if people began to worship him, his father would see. See he was useful. See he was worthy.
How...stupidly pathetic.
He was desperate for his dad's validation, even after-
Dionysus didn't let that last thought stay for long.
First night on the streets, as the rain's cold dripped down him and seeped into his bones. This must've been how mortals felt.
He thought.
He thought that perhaps, if he wanted worship, he should take extreme measures. What shame was in it? He had no one left who cared about him even enough to judge him. Besides, as mentioned, his dad had done the same, hadn't he? His father had also mentioned that Dionysus was still his son, even if-quote- I no longer consider you to be so. If Dionysus went far enough, he'd show he was this devoted to worship, to his (now former) position as a god. He didn't want to harm mortals, but...to hell with it. Genuinely. To hell with it. Desperate times called for desperate measures, didn't they?
His first victim was a young man named Pentheus.
Dionysus had been roaming the streets for a while now, surviving on rainwater and whatever food he found. Hunger was a horrible sensation. His stomach cramped and twisted, desperate to be filled with anything. He'd ran from city to city, finding new foes everywhere. Men who'd chosen to enslave him. Drunk fights. Damn near being torn apart by eagles...he'd learned how to fight quite a bit. He'd finally made it to Thebes.
Dionysus had come to the conclusion that perhaps if he wanted worship-he should go to someone in power. If they refused, well, it was nice knowing them.
After a night of shoving cheap unpaid for alcohol down his throat the night before, Dionysus found the president of the city at the town square. Still somewhat drunk but functional, he introduced himself. Casually. Dionysus. God of pleasure and wild frenzy.
...And earned a laugh.
"Alright, kid. I'll give it to you, you're cute. But I've got work to do. So do get out of my face-"
"Oh-! Oh, no. I could show you. It'll only take a moment."
Pentheus had froze for a moment, terrified at the idea that he truly had mocked a literal god. So he followed, annoyed while also anxious.
They'd walked for a while as Dionysus led him to the same alley he'd slept in the night before. Pentheus eyed the boy skeptically the whole walk, not understanding how someone so young and in such...terrible condition could be a god.
"Lord Zeus is your father?"
"He is."
"Do you not reside on Olympus?"
"Not always, geez! We can't be cooped up on that mountain all the time, can we?"
"Well...what do you want from me...Lord?"
"You're worship. Make me the patron god of your city."
"Sure. Kid, I don't know what game your-"
Alright then.
"Manners."
Pentheus had scoffed. "Manners?"
"Yes. Did I stutter? Mind. Your. Manners. And I'll spare you."
"Sure, look, boy-"
The arrogance was funny at first, but the bastard clearly wasn't going to be convinced anytime soon.
What followed after was glorious.
Blood on his hands. Limbs and joins being torn apart in his half-drunken state. Skin on his teeth. Scars on his arms from the mortal's pathetic attempt in defense. The pure, wild frenzy of it all. The pleasure. The damn madness. Pentheus was not shaped like a human after Dionysus was done.
And then he'd cried.
Cried and thrown up upon realizing what he did.
Pentheus was a mortal. A mortal like those who Dionysus had been friends with. Pentheus had a family, a body, possibly a wife and kids, he-
...Desperate times. Called for desperate measures.
Didn't they?
Besides, Zeus didn't care for the mortals he'd killed. Dionysus caring enough to worry made him better than Zeus.
But he couldn't be better if he wanted Zeus' validation.
Fuck his life, he had to be worse.
Dionysus continued like this for what had to be a...year. Time flies by.
He'd asked mortals with no true success in gaining worship, and later realized he hoped mortals refused worship. Because, god, he loved the frenzy and pure ecstasy of tearing others limb by limb in a drunken stupor. It brought him joy like none other. Perhaps he finally understood. his father and Ares and-
...He'd be a god again soon. He'd done enough, hadn't he? Surely his father was...right? Maybe-just maybe-the thunderstorms, the rain, the lightning-maybe it was his father's way of keeping watch on him. Maybe, despite everything, his father still cared. And maybe his father was proud of what he was doing.
(---)
On Poseidon's part, he was...
Words were a funny thing. They were used to speak. To communicate. And yet no word-no existing word-could be used to describe how he'd felt when Zeus had banished Dionysus from Olympus.
Zeus had made his intention quite…clear. He was going to be in charge of everything now. He didn’t need his family’s help. He’d taken Crete. He’d taken the underworld. Usually, Poseidon didn’t enjoy Zeus nagging him to handle Crete. But to think his brother actually took it from him…well, he was the one who gave it to him.
Poseidon had seen the way Zeus held the knife to Dionysus’ throat, ready to puncture the boy’s neck. The knife’s tip had sunk into that pet kitten instead. The furry little creature Dionysus adored. Dionysus was devastated, understandably. And then…well, Lord Zeusy decided to drop the bomb that Dionysus was therefore banished from Olympus for attempting to bring someone back from the dead, and that he’d be stripped from his immortality and status as a god.
Poseidon had been…horrified (who was he kidding? That wasn’t even close enough of a word to describe what he’d felt at the moment). A strangled gasp had emitted from his throat, not helping with his previous humiliation. The meander water Zeus had spilled on the floor by his feet bubbled slightly with his newfound anger, blood boiling beneath his skin, red hot and sizzling. If gods could bleed, his blood might’ve burst at the seams right there.
Out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen Hera, too, had been stunned. Obviously, the goddess hated Dionysus. He was a sign of Zeus’ infidelity, after all. Poseidon, however, loved her. Yet she’d humilated him. God, she didn’t give a fuck about him, did she?
Gone from Olympus he was. Poseidon found himself back on his yacht, the sun’s heat stinging his eyes. Graciously, the sun had been veiled by gray clouds that were a result of Zeus’ tantrum.
The rain began to pour, drumming against the wooden floors of the yacht. Poseidon made his way to a more shaded deck, rubbing his eyes, which ached from the day’s events.
Poseidon wondered what the genuine fuck was wrong with him back then. Perhaps his brain was still processing everything. At some point, he’d broken down, sobbing and yelling, fingers pulling his black curls. His nails then went into his neck, skin tearing into strips of flesh. He wanted to kill his brother with his bare hands. But perhaps he shouldn’t have taken the risk. He was almost thankful that Zeus didn’t strip his immortality. But at what cost?
He wondered where his nephew was. He didn’t know where Zeus had teleported him off to, where Zeus had put him, in what condition Zeus had put him. How was Dionysus going to survive as a mortal? The boy was born a demigod, sure, but for most of his life, he thrived as a god. If Zeus threw him out onto the streets…
Poseidon had drunken himself into a stupor that night, before managing to pull himself together in a few days.
Then he began searching.
He’d asked people. At bars, at clubs, at cafes. He’d called. Called until the phone heated to its limit, then he’d slammed it back, cracking the material slightly and having to give a passerby an apologetic look.
At one point, Poseidon just began looking around the city by himself on foot. Have you seen a kid with blonde locks? Well, not blonde-uh, no, his hair’s brown, dark brown with blonde frosted-uh, dark olive skinned, loose clothing…no? No one?! ANYONE?! PLEASE!
Poseidon would call a damn search party if he could. Perhaps ask for Ariadne’s help, now that she was the president of Crete. But she, after all, was now under Zeus’ authority since he’d taken over Crete. The sea god couldn’t have technically teleported himself to Dionysus, or vice versa. He’d almost given up. Eight months of searching. Four months of believing that, when you were an Olympian God, hope was a filthy lie. A lifeline in such a reality.
(---)
Moonlight smeared over the stone pavements like liquid. Crete was quiet, surprisingly. Winter was colder than it had ever been. Wind slapping against ones face like a brick as it stung your bones.
Poseidon had long succumbed to the situation. He was alone. Hera was alone. Dionysus was alone. And Zeus was-well, gladly alone.
One guess he’d made was that Dionysus had commited suicide. The mere concept had led to sleepless nights. The thought of his nephew-his radiant, loud, unfiltered nephew-commiting suicide made him sick to his stomach. Zeus had really fucked all of them up. He sometimes wondered how Zeus was, despite not really giving a shit. He had other priorities, even if he had long abandoned them.
The thoughts overwhelmed him, causing his head to physically hurt, the sharpness spreading through his forehead until-
…Wait.
Was that sobbing?
Poseidon turned sharply, realizing the cries were coming from an alleyway. He hesitated. What good would comforting a crying mortal do for him?
But the sobbing was familiar.
Too damn familiar.
Poseidon understood he was spiralling. He’d been doing so for the past year. That couldn’t have been Dionysus. Dionysus was dead. Either through suicide or through the streets. It couldn’t have been him. He needed to leave. Needed to turn around. Needed to-
“...Hey. Are you okay in there?”
Poseidon’s voice…surprised him. He’d never sounded so tender, or caring, or-
A strangled, gurgling cry answered him, followed by a small…rather embarrassed gasp.
“...No.”
Poseidon’s stomach felt like it wanted to escape his body.
He hurried into the alleyway, squinting, trying to make out the figure in the darkness.
If Poseidon didn’t have any self-control left, he would’ve puked his guts out all over the cement ground.
In front of him was a young boy. A beautiful young boy, dark brown hair frosted blonde, face buried as he sobbed into his scarred and inflammed arms. The boy wore a filthy white shirt that pooled over his too-thin frame. He had the same sea green coat and pants from when he was banished. His hands were blotched and bruised, almond brown eyes shamefully blurred with tears as he looked up.
Dionysus.
His nephew. His darling, beautiful, broken Dionysus.
The name-the figure in front of him-the concept of Dionysus being alive after-
“...Dionysus?”
Poseidon choked out the single word. The syllable bloomed out of his throat before he could truly understand the sight his eyes were struggling to take in.
“DIONYSUS, WHAT HAPPENED?!”
(---)
Dionysus hadn’t meant for whoever was out there to hear him. It wasn’t the first time strangers had found him crying in the alleyway, and, well…they never ended well.
But the person-no, the god-the god in front of him wasn’t a stranger.
The sob was raw, high pitched, utterly undignified, and sounded like someone had reached into Poseidon’s soul and clawed it straight out of him.
Poseidon.
The name bloomed through his mind, blissfully relieving and achingly familiar to think about. His ribs felt like they were being lashed with a whip as his heart slammed against them in strange feelings that welled up in his chest, threatening to come out as bile. He didn’t think-no, he couldn’t even form the thought that he’d ever see his uncle again. He was sickened with joy. Joy that felt like it would tear itself out of his body. How could this happen? How did this happen? Was it real? Did his uncle really find him? Was his uncle really here, in front of him, crying out? Was there truly something pure, beautiful, something good to live for in these surrounding horrors? He couldn’t seem to convince himself that this was truly happening.
Poseidon’s anguish was palpable, chest heaving as he covered his mouth with his hand, eventually biting into his sleeve to muffle his choked sobs.
Dionysus felt arms wrap around him, damn near squeezing the breath out of him as his uncle almost crushed his ribs. He froze at first, still convinced this was a drunken hallucination. Then his fear melted into pained relief, guttural cries emitting from his throat as he desperately clutched Poseidon’s black curls, his weak hands trying to grasp at Poseidon’s Olive-brown skin.
Poseidon pulled back as Dionysus gasped, attempting to gulp down oxygen as his body seemed like it forgot to breathe. The sea god cupped the younger boy’s face, fingers padding with their usual rough touch, panic melting into them as he inspected Dionysus’ face-his bruises, scars, blotches.
It’s you. It’s really you.
“It’s me.” Poseidon let loose a carefree, utterly relieved laugh, as if reading Dionysus’ thoughts. “Kid, it’s really fucking me.” The laugh melted into another sob as his head dropped onto Dionysus’ shoulder, still holding him, gripping his shoulders.
“And, it’s…me.” Dionysus joked. Perhaps he still had some of himself-his true self-within him. Poseidon couldn’t help but do the same again.
The two stayed silent for a moment before Poseidon muffled another cry, rubbing Dionysus’ neck in a comforting gesture, as if to just assure the poor boy that he really was here. That he was real, and the gentle yet desperate touch proved it.
“Where have you been, hm?” Poseidon had asked him, clamping his lips together, biting his tongue. Dionysus laughed almost bitterly.
“I-I don’t…everywhere.”
Poseidon inhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against Dionysus’, closing his eyes and allowing them both a moment of rest. Dionysus whimpered as he felt his uncle’s warmth against him, finally convinced that he was finally safe. Finally safe after a year of suffering, after a year of believing no one was there for him.
…Right?
That was…what his uncle was here for, no? He was here to help. He really was going to help. He wasn’t just here to-…to what? To pity him and leave? No. No, Poseidon wouldn’t leave him again. Not again. Not after everything he’d visibly been through.
“Dionysus?”
The god in question snapped up. “Y-Yes?”
Poseidon gently cupped his face. “Kid, c’mon. I’m taking you with me. You-well, obviously, you can’t stay here.”
Dionysus tried not to cry again, relieved and blessed by the fact that-yes-he now truly was safe.
(---)
The yacht was familiar. Beautifully familiar. Dionysus could spend hours naming every memory-every joyful, perfect memory they’d made here, as sappy as it was. The moonlight was faintly covered by thick gray clouds, though the yellow light on one of the decks illuminated enough.
“Kid?” Poseidon called.
Dionysus’ breath stuttered. “Hey! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you…” the sea god immediately apologized.
“...It’s alright.”
Poseidon rattled open a drawer, pulling out a medical kit and placing it onto the counter that Dionysus was propped on. “Didn’t know you had one of those…”
Poseidon looked away hesitantly. “Scary times.” He murmured. His thumb traced over a small scar on Dionysus’ face. The god-well, now mortal-figured his uncle had a lot to say. More than what could be put into words. He wanted to tell him to just let loose, spill it all out, but he couldn’t bring himself to.
“Who caused these?”
Dionysus gently removed his uncle’s thumb. “Multiple incidents. Bar fights, street fights, stray animals, mortal assholes…”
Poseidon leaned in, resting his chin on Dionysus’ head for a moment, feeling the boy’s shaky breath against him. He pulled back then before continuing to inspect Dionysus’ injuries. The younger figure watched his uncle’s eyes trace over every scar, bruise, and welt. Dionysus could easily name where each wound came from.
After he’d calmed down, a single thought ran through Dionysus’ mind.
How long had his uncle been looking for him?
The single question formed more.
Was his uncle even looking for him? Or had he just found him by coincidence? How much time until Poseidon, too, got rid of him until Dionysus was proved useless? Poseidon was…well, a hedonist. He took pleasure in other’s pain. Eventually, he’d probably start mocking him for his weakness.
Yet…
Poseidon’s hands held Dionysus’ head for a few moments. “Dionysus, do you want me to heal your wounds first? Or, uh, you wanna clean up before that?”
Dionysus hesitated. “I…I don’t know…”
Stupid.
His uncle frowned. “I’ll clean them up first. Then you can go take a bath. That okay with you?”
A nod.
Poseidon did as promised, cleaning Dionysus’ wounds with surprising tenderness. Poseidon didn’t hate Dionysus. He never hurt him. Dionysus preferred his uncle over the company of most of his family members, actually. His uncle was carefree and fun to be around, and was far more relaxed compared to everyone else around him.
The thought was proved worthless seconds later as a wet towel dug deeper than necessary into a particularly deep scar, the crimson clashing with cold water. He winced, regretting it as he did so.
“Shit, sorry-sorry-!” Poseidon fumbled. For what had to be the first time, he looked genuinely worried. “Are you okay?”
Another nod.
“Yeah…I, I’m good.”
“Kid, I’m sorry. It…that one had dirt in it.” Poseidon apologized.
“...Oh. I-It’s fine, just get it over with…”
Poseidon continued to do so in silence. Dionysus was surprised he even knew how to use medical equipment so well. The process continued with small winces and whimpers tearing from Dionysus’ lips whenever his wounds stung.
“There, uh…okay, done with your arms, face and neck, I’m gonna need you to…” Poseidon trailed off.
Dionysus looked away. “Can I clean the other ones myself?”
Poseidon kissed his forehead gently. “If that’s what you want. I’ll be out there-” he gestured vaguely towards the lower deck. “-call if you need me, okay?”
(---)
Warm water brushed and pooled against Dionysus’ skin as he let himself relax for a single blissful minute before his brain blessed him with another desperate thought-a question that he needed to be answered before he truly lost it.
His uncle couldn’t know.
Couldn’t know of the madness. Of Dionysus’ madness. His frenzy, his wild ecstasy, his…murders.
Unless…perhaps Poseidon would be proud? As mentioned, the sea god took pleasure in other’s pain. Maybe Poseidon would be almost impressed. Maybe he would be impressed. Maybe the news could reach Olympus.
Maybe he could be a god again.
Dionysus dried himself, shivering slightly despite the fluffy towel kissing his skin. He pulled on the clean clothes that Poseidon had gotten him, and with startling clarity, realized they were his clothes. How come Poseidon had his? A small part of his brain thought that perhaps it was a coping mechanism. Maybe Poseidon kept his clothes because-
“Dionysus? Kid, you’re back, good-are you okay?”
Dionysus nodded, sitting down onto the beach chair which was next to his uncle’s. Poseidon’s hand reached for Dionysus’ arm, fingers lightly brushing the against the sleeve of his hoodie. He eyed his nephew for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say. What could one even say in a situation like this.
”Kid, I’ll, get something for you eat.” Poseidon prompted.
Dionysus blinked before processing. “Uh-…um, okay. Thanks.”
(---)
Well. Poseidon was an idiot.
Poseidon was a pescatarian. So he didn’t have much variety of food on his boat. Plus, he was the only one living there on his boat until he took Dionysus in. Perhaps seafood had been too…heavy, after such a limited diet.
Gagging suddenly, Dionysus heaved and failed to swallow back the acidic bile rising in his throat. Poseidon was at his side immediately, rubbing Dionysus’ back as the boy disgraced himself over the polished deck. The soup came out same way it went in, chunks of seafood still in the liquid and stomach acid.
“...Dionysus?”
The boy in question heaved, wiping his mouth. “Mmgh…I’m okay…” He rubbed his stomach with his fingers. “I’m really sorry.”
Poseidon gently stroked Dionysus’ back. “Hey, kid, it’s fine.” He then rubbed his eyes, realizing how much time had passed, and how tired he was. Then he remembered how tired his poor nephew must’ve been. “I’ll clean this up in the morning.”
Dionysus frowned. “Are you sure?”
Poseidon hummed in response. “I’m sure.”
Dionysus looked away awkwardly. “Can we, uh…lie down…?”
Poseidon blinked, looking at his nephew. “What-? Hey, of course we can. C’mere.” He helped Dionysus get up, leading him deeper into one of the decks and eventually into his bedroom. He assisted Dionysus in lying down, making sure Dionysus’ weight was fully settled onto the comforter before he lay down next to him. Dionysus hesitated for a moment-but then tugged the blanket over him. Poseidon did so more securely over the boy’s shoulder, seeing how he hesitated. Then he lay down himself, bed sinking slightly under his weight. “Are you alright with this?”
Dionysus blinked tiredly, exhaustion veiling over him. “Yes, yeah, I’m fine…”
Poseidon’s eyed Dionysus again. His scars were cleaned but still visible. The boy’s frame was concerningly slim, the mosaic of injuries tracing his skin in clashes of purple and red. Dionysus’ arm involuntarily stretched lightly, fingers barely shaking.
What had those damned humans done to him?
What had Zeus done to him?!
Poseidon extended his own arm slightly. “Dionysus?” his heart slammed against his ribs, as he propped up one elbow, worried, anxious, almost scared at the idea of rejection. Why wouldn’t he be? He’d fucking given up on looking for this poor boy. Dionysus, despite not knowing, had every right to be mad.
The doubt passed as rapidly as it had arrived. Dionysus clung to Poseidon’s chest, just as desperately as he had in the alleyway. His scarred fingers curled in the fabric of his uncle’s shirt, face buried in the crook of his neck, breath warm against the older god’s collarbone. Poseidon’s fingers rubbed and caressed his nephew’s blonde frosted locks, pressing his hand to the back of his head, the other on his shoulder blades. That’s it. That was all that mattered. Chasing away all the pain and anguish his nephew had been through in the past year.
“I’m-” Dionysus choked out.
“Here. With me. You’re here with me, darling.” Poseidon assured him, offering gentle, soft kisses to Dionysus’ forehead, face, and hands. “And nothing’s going to happen to you. Never again.”