Chapter Text
'Glorified and sanctified be the Father and the Mother and their awesome works.
Blessed be the Father and his exacting hand
and the Mother for her Womb
to which we, today and many times over, relinquish her son.
Bring forth the body, which cradles the soul, which is the body, which is the soul.
A brother has fallen today, Mother, and many times over.
May he decay beneath the soil of the First Tree so that his brothers may tend the Last.
His sins be cleansed today and his body made holy by Her final procession.
Bring forth all his kin and creed to witness him laid to rest in the Mother’s final kingdom, Her infinite roots of heaven.
Return our brother to the womb of the world.
Amen.'
“I need you to kill me.”
The term ‘doomsday cult’ had been thrown around to describe Eden for years after its conception, but really, Simon didn’t think that was entirely accurate. It was only a doomsday cult when the apocalypse wasn’t guaranteed, right? With spots eating the sun, it was only a matter of time until someone made a religion out of it, and that religion happened to crop up in Eden. And if everyone were being a little more honest, they’d recognize that Eden was no less brutal than the socially acceptable, mainstream forms of denial-by-worship. The fear of death was a potent motivator, and it had always been the human condition to run from the unknown on the horizon.
Eden rebuked the fear of death and embraced the unknown in a way that was intensely attractive to Simon when it was first introduced. The nihilistic idea that no one person was more important than another, that all things had intrinsic value in the eyes of the creator and that decay was simply an extant form of life— it helped when he was in the worst point in his recovery. He thought of the friends who had been lost on the front lines and found comfort in the fact that they were returning to their creator in a way that would give their deaths meaning. Death, as it was explained by his therapist, was as natural as birth, as understood to the body as a blink or a swallow. Even if there was fear, even if there was pain, his body knew how to die. And once it did, the womb of the world knew how to welcome it.
This sanctification of death meant that the young, hot-burning brothers tended to seek martyrdom. There was no special rank for those who died in combat, but many still held worldly beliefs around honor and sacrifice. Of course, suicide and murder were outright forbidden— to needlessly take a life before the Mother was ready to accept it, before the Father could purify the would, was frowned upon at best and heretical at worst. But, just as there are in every religion, there were loopholes. Simon probably saw more death in the years after he transplanted than in all his time in the service, and it probably affected him less. His hands had become bloodier in the years he spent in Eden, too. His soul was hardened to it.
That said, nobody had begged him to kill them before.
“Wha— no!” Simon exclaimed, bewildered. Was this guy for real? “I’m not gonna kill you.”
“You need to kill me, please.” The guy was desperate, eyes wide and wild. His voice was rough, hoarse with disuse. There was blood on his teeth. “I can’t do it myself, I just—“
He cut himself off, keeling forward and coughing harshly into his lap. His spittle was pink with blood, spraying out onto the white bedsheets through chapped, peeling lips. Simon scrambled through the door, grabbing the bag of water he’d been sipping before and rounding the side of the bed. Without thinking, he put a hand on the man’s back, only to pull it away as the man jerked to the side. Probably not the best idea. He put his hands up in innocence as the man glared at him suspiciously.
“Just me,” Simon said, though he didn’t know if that would be reassuring. “I’ve got some water for you.”
Still coughing, the man shook his head, wiping his mouth with a shaky fist. The blood smeared over the tight, pale skin of his hand. He seemed to forcibly suppress the fit, chest still spasming through deep, desperate pants. Eyes rimmed with tears watched him like a wild animal that had been freshly caged, assessing how easy it would be to escape. Simon didn’t hold it against him.
“C’mon, man. At least wash the blood out of your mouth— that’s gotta be disgusting.”
The man went even paler, if possible, and suddenly snatched the bag from Simon, taking as much as he could into his mouth. Simon had barely gotten the bedpan into his hand before the man was spitting the rosy water into the plastic, taking another pull from the straw.
“Gone?” the man panted, wiping his mouth again with the back of his hand.
“Yeah, it’s gone. How about you drink some? You’ve been unconscious for a couple of days.”
There was a moment of hesitation, but it seemed that washing his mouth out had convinced him that the water was safe. He slowly brought the straw back to his lips and sipped it, eyes fluttering shut as he did. When they blinked back open, there was a split second where Simon saw pure, unmarred wonder in his surprise before his expression closed back off and he regarded Simon with a fresh round of accusatory suspicion.
“How’d you get water this clean?” he croaked. Simon raised an eyebrow.
“The ship’s got a closed filtration system. It’s about the only thing we’ve got an infinite supply of, as long as you piss in the right place.”
The remark seemed to throw the man off, but he said nothing more, looking back down at the water in thought. Simon stood, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at the man in bed.
“So! Care to explain why you were just begging me to kill you after I went through hell to save you?”
A chastised, almost sheepish expression flashed across the man’s face and he held the water bag a little closer to his chest. “I’d rather die than go back down there. I know the last expedition failures were my fault, but if I’d known what was down there— if I’d known what would have to be done to extract the sample—“
“What are you—“
“I tried to release the black box before the Hail Mary flooded, I swear! I can’t go back down there; please don’t make me go back down there—“
“Okay!” Simon clapped his hands. He felt sort of bad when the guy flinched, but it had the intended effect of interrupting the rambling. “You’re saying a whole lot of words that have zero meaning to me, so I think we’re gonna fast forward to the part where we have an actual fucking conversation instead of assuming that we all know what’s going on, alright? I’ll go first. My name is Simon Fisher. Now, your turn.”
The guy blinked up at him like he was insane, but he was at least panicking less. His hands absentmindedly fidgeted with the water bag, fingers running along the smooth plastic as he slowly shifted into a more comfortable position. Simon watched the muscles in his thigh flexing as his brain sent signals down a dead end.
“Grace,” he said, voice low and unsure. “My name’s Ryland Grace. Dr. Ryland Grace.”
“Great! That’s progress!” Simon offered the man a smile he hoped looked genuine, but by the bewildered expression on his face, it wasn’t working. “Now, the sub. It would be great if you could tell me what the fuck is going on with that, because that is a mechanical nightmare that should not have sustained you in deep space.”
“Deep space? No, I was moon-side,” Ryland replied, shaking his head. “The HM-13 doesn’t meet COI standards for space travel of any kind.”
“I’m just telling you where I found you, man.”
“Okay, I just—“ he cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Likely against a headache— Simon wouldn’t be surprised if his entire body ached. He’d yanked the IVs out before Simon even arrived, so he’d been without painkillers for a while now. “The craft was, uh— it’s a submersible designed specifically for high-pressure depth navigation of the sanguineous pseudo-lunar body, AT-5.”
“I caught, like, half of that.”
“I’m just saying that you couldn’t have found me in space. There’s no way I would’ve survived. I would’ve frozen and suffocated near instantly.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
Ryland worried his chapped lip between his teeth, putting the water bag to the side. Then, he shuddered and rubbed his hands up his face, grabbing at his hair. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
“That makes two of us.” Simon sighed. “Listen, you’re still in a bad way, so I think figuring this stuff out can wait till later. You need rest and food, if you can stomach it. Are you in much pain?”
“Why does it matter?” Ryland’s hands fell into his lap, suddenly looking impossibly weary. “I don’t know what you were giving me earlier, but I don’t have any way to pay you.”
Simon snorted derisively, moving over to untangle the tubes that had been discarded when the man assumedly yanked them out. “Don’t worry. I’ll just bill it to your insurance.”
That earned him a bemused glance, but no reply. He offered what he thought was a reassuring look and continued, “it’s a joke. Seriously, don’t worry about it. How’s the pain?”
Ryland’s disbelief was palpable; Simon watched as the man processed and weighed everything. As he searched Simon’s face for something— any sign of deceit, some ineffable spark of truth. Simon tried to act natural, changing out the needles and checking how much was left in the round of painkillers that the med-bot was administering before. He’d never been a good actor. After a moment, the fatigue and pain that was warring with his resistance seemed to win out.
“My leg hurts.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “My entire body hurts. I feel like I’m burning up.”
“Alright, then. Tylenol, broad-spectrum antibiotics, oxycodone, and a nerve block. The goods.” Simon pulled the bot’s controls up, scrolling through the recommended course of treatment. “Since you’re awake and can swallow it, we’ll start another round of iodine for the radiation. You’ll probably need some gabapentin for the nerve pain going forward, but it interacts with the block, so we’ll wait on that for now. You’re gonna get IVs in both arms, but speaking from experience, the bot is pretty gentle.”
Ryland faltered. Simon raised an eyebrow, glancing over. “What?”
“It’s just…” he eyed the med-bot warily. “You trust a robot to administer medical care?”
“That’s pretty much all it can do, so… yeah, I do. It kept me well enough alive for the ride out here, and you for the last two days.” Simon shrugged. “You get used to it.“
Though still hesitant, the man offered up his arm as the med-bot whirred forward brandishing the needle. He winced as it pricked his skin and retracted, Simon watching with crossed arms. Ryan seemed to shrink under his gaze, so Simon looked away as if to monitor the medication being administered. The thought that this man might be afraid of him sat heavily in his gut— he’d never liked that feeling.
“We’re gonna wait on the oxy until we get some food in you.” Simon moved to the end of the bed, using the bottom bolts of the med-bot’s appendage as a step-up to get into its ceiling compartment. “Since you’re malnourished and haven’t eaten for a few days, the options are gonna be limited. Your choices are coma gravy or… more coma gravy.”
He hopped down with two of the packets of ‘coma gravy’ in his hand — the first portion that would have been offered to the other two crewmates, had they lived — and holding them up. Ryland blinked, looking between them and then back at Simon.
“It’s better than it looks. It’s actually really good. Promise,” said Simon, offering a half-sheepish smile before holding the packet out for Ryland to take. “Uh— here. The portions are measured to prevent refeeding syndrome, so it’s not much at first, but it’ll get something into your stomach.”
Ryland took it and opened it slowly, with shaking fingers. Simon watched him hesitate for a moment, looking down at the brown slime for a few moments before tentatively bringing it to his lips. His eyes went wide as soon as it touched his tongue, pulling away. He blinked at it, seeming to process the new stimulus, then brought it back to his mouth. He closed his eyes as he pushed the gravy up through the packet, holding a small mouthful on his tongue for a few seconds before swallowing thickly. He took another swallow, and Simon was alarmed to once again see tears welling in his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. Simon watched helplessly as the heavy curl of his shoulders began to shake, pulling the last of the coma gravy out of the packet. Ryland sniffed, sobbed around the mouthful, swallowed. Put a hand to his mouth, the other to his chest, grabbing the fabric of his medical gown in his fist, pulling.
“Are you okay, man?” Simon already knew the answer, but he felt the need to ask anyway.
“I don’t know,” Ryland choked out. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know where I am, or— or why I’m here— I was supposed to— to die in that sub—“
“You don’t need to know that right now, alright? That can wait until you’re doing better,” Simon tried to reassure. “Take a breath. Just heal, then we can figure it out. Okay?”
Though he was still hiccuping and attempting to suppress sobs that spasmed his chest, Ryland nodded and tried to wipe the tears away with the back of his hand. It didn’t work very well. Simon pursed his lips. He wasn’t gonna be able to do much to get through to the guy now, when everything was so unstable. The kindest thing would be to set him up with his medication and let him sleep. He pulled around the screen, resuming the medication schedule.
“Alright. The med-bot is giving you the good stuff now, so you should start feeling better in a few minutes.” Ryland nodded again, shoulders still shaking with silent sobs. Simon opened his mouth to reassure him again. Closed it. Sighed. “I’ll just… let you be, then—“
“No!”
The suddenness of Ryland’s shout made Simon jump. Ryland was staring at him now, eyes blown wide, tears still leaking from the corners. His hand was out as if having aborted a grab for Simon, even though they were across the room from one another. Ryland immediately shrunk back.
“Sorry,” he said, voice wavering. “I’m sorry. I just—“
“What is it?”
Ryland seemed to fight some internal battle before his expression crumpled. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
Simon took a few seconds to process his words, their meaning. In minutes, this guy had oscillated between begging him to die, suspiciously watching his every move, sobbing, and now asking him to stay while he slept. He was getting whiplash— he couldn’t keep up with this. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He supposed that this kind of trauma didn't exactly lend itself to rational behavior. Not that he knew what this kind of trauma even was.
“Yeah, okay. Let me get my laptop.” At the fear in Ryland’s expression, Simon held up a placating hand. “I’m coming back. I’ll be gone for two minutes, tops.”
He all but ran to grab his laptop and a few quilts, whistling a quick hello to Adrian in the lab, who had definitely heard everything and would absolutely be making their thoughts on the matter known when things were more stable. Ryland’s face was colored in surprise and relief when Simon returned, which Simon found strange; he made no comment, though. He dimmed the light above them before he sat down in one of the other beds, pulling his favorite quilt over himself.
“I’m gonna set up camp. Just relax. You’re getting the nice, medical-grade shit, so you should be out like a light soon enough, but if you need anything, I’ll be right here doing some research.”
Ryland leaned back onto his pillow, something like cautious curiosity on his face. “Research?”
“Uh— well, there’s this microorganism called astrophage.”
“‘Course. Star-eaters.” Ryland yawned, eyelids drooping. At the very least, he seemed to have calmed over the past few minutes. Considering how little was in his stomach along with his diminished body mass, it wasn’t surprising that the oxy would hit hard.
“Yeah. We know how it works, and we can kill them individually, but these little black dots just won’t quit.”
“Mm. What’re you reading?”
“‘Understanding the Breeding Patterns of Astrophage under Simulated and Natural Conditions by Dr. Elsie Lovelock’.”
“Lovelock? I’ve not heard of her. Which station is she from?”
“Uh… not sure.”
“Oh, well. Maybe she just got her doctorate.” Ryland sighed, closing his eyes. “I theorized years ago that they caused the Rapture, y’know. Nobody believed me. Got laughed off the station. After those Eden wack-jobs blew up Filament with the stuff, I… guess it just felt nice to be taken seriously. I should’a just stayed in my lane. Shouldn’t’a gone with Eva or looked into that blood moon…”
Ryland trailed off, tension slowly draining from his body. Simon said nothing, frozen where he sat, the quilt falling off his shoulder. There was… a lot to unpack there, and yet absolutely nothing Simon felt he could work with. Even if there was, Ryland was already half asleep and wouldn’t be much help in this state, so Simon was left alone with his thoughts. Fantastic. How lovely of this random stranger to drop a literal fucking atomic bomb on him, then pass out completely as if Simon wouldn’t have questions.
“…You’re here now. Just go to sleep,” Simon said, his voice wavering some. Ryland, thankfully, didn’t notice, merely humming and shifting further down onto his pillow. Moments later, he was out, and Simon was suddenly drowning in silence.
What the fuck?