Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Simon feels warm. And wet.

He doesn't remember getting out of bed, or leaving the room for that matter. Yet somehow, he still finds himself standing in the dark living room of this house. Armando is offline in the corner, there's a blanket draped over the back of the couch that him and Ryland often cuddle up under during their movie nights. Grace's laptop, one of many, is sitting on the coffee table, surrounded by some messy papers, probably the lesson plan he had been so caught up with the day before, the reason he lost track of time and postponed their swimming lesson to later in the day.

Simon flexes his hands, unable to hear anything over the heartbeat in his ears as his eyes scan the room. Something is wrong. He knows it is. None of this is real, he just has to find evidence. Physical evidence, that is. Something to take to Ryland so he can demand answers.

He chokes a sob, a wave of grief making him stumble. How could he be so blind to this? How had he let himself be pulled into a false sense of security like this?! He should've known better. People like him don't get peace. They don't get their happily ever after. They don't get the sight of a kind face staring down at them, promising safety and security. Not without a price, anyway. Never without a price.

What a cruel fucking joke.

It's not fair. None of this is fair! Eden, Filament Station, AT-5, the SM-13, and then inexplicable rescue?! Why is this happening to him?! Was he really that horrible a person to deserve this?! Simon covers his mouth with his hands and chokes down some vomit. Acid burns the back of his throat and he swears it tastes like copper. It's too warm, its too cramped, he feels like he's still standing in the jaws of that abomination. Maybe it's not just Grace, maybe it's the house too.

Of course it's the house. Why wouldn't it be? It's perfect, a scene of domesticity that he could've never found in his wildest dreams. It's everything needed to lull him into a false sense of security, the home he always wanted, even if it's decorated in ways unimaginable back on Eden. He can't be here. He has to get out before the jaws close and he's trapped in here with all these fake symbols of serenity and the man who's supposed to be his savior, his companion, his friend.

Simon's gaze lands on the front door with a sudden desperate need. He practically stumbles over himself trying to get there, but when his fist grasps the doorknob, he freezes.

It's not going to open, it's too late.

A quiet, shuddery sob escapes him. The voice is familiar. It's Grace. But it's also the eel, and the voice that whispered underneath it, the duel voices of the SM-8 that he's tried so hard to forget, but that he never truly would be able to. It coos in the back of his mind, as if trying to coax him back to bed. He can feel eyes burning into his back. It's from something massive, he knows. He knows it's here, and it knows he's here. It's just waiting for him to make a move. To turn the doorknob, only for it to stop too soon. So it can snap it's jaws shut around him for the final time.

"You're wrong…" He grinds out a whisper, staring wide eyed at his hand, the only one he has left, gripping the warm metal so tight it's starting to hurt.

It will open. It has to. Grace never locks it anymore, at least when Rocky isn't looking, since Rocky insists he does. It's not like Ryland has much reason to keep the door locked, anyway. The biodome is secure, there's no predators, aside from the Eridians, who can get in, and only ones with clearance have any real chance of doing even that. There's no reason for Grace to lock his door. And, Simon recalls with striking fondness that makes him sick to his stomach now, Grace often brought up not so subtly that he often 'forgets' to lock it right before bed. They've talked more than once about the cramped space that was the SM-13, and the even more cramped crawlspace beneath it's floor. About how he had been welded in with no way out. That even being locked into the house's bathroom often made his skin crawl in ways he loathes. It's not like he can't just undo the lock and step out, but he just keeps looking to the door and he hears that whisper. The one that tells him it'll get stuck. Or he'll open it up and, all because he had the hubris to close it at all, he will be met with a wall he can't get past. Xenonite is extraordinarily difficult to cut through, after all, especially the reinforced kind that makes up the house's walls. The bathroom has none of the special tools needed to get through it. He'd be left to die once again in a tiny room and able to do nothing about it but beg for his freedom.

So, Ryland had even more of a reason to stop locking the front door. It's an easy out, in case Simon needs one. Even if he doesn't, its a gentle reminder that he's not trapped anywhere, something to soothe his wounded heart.

It means the door will open. Even knowing what he does now, that none of this is real, surely there must be come semblance of reason to this horrible nightmare he's been forced into.

Simon doesn't think about it. He can't, because if he does, he'll stop himself halfway through and then it really will be real. With a guttural groan of effort, he twists the knob and throws the door open, stumbling over the entryway.

A wave of heat hits his skin and he collapses to his knees, hitting the course sand.

He forgot. How could he forget? Outside is no better than inside, he's fucked either way. He stares out at the ocean far below him, the waves crashing against the sand and glittering from the light of the night sky. A sky full of stars and a moon that doesn't belong in this star system.

He had been so awed at the sight of it the first time. He cried for days. It was hard not to, when met with a sight almost holy. It went against everything he knew. He'd seen the Quiet Rapture with his own two eyes. He saw Mars disappear, he watched the stars blink out one by one afterwards. It didn't happen all at once, he remembers. He'd argued with The Father about it, that maybe Mars was gone, and maybe some stars too, but there were still some visible through the window behind the Tree. 'Ghost light', The Father had called it. And one by one, even those faded, until it was surely and truly nothing but utter darkness.

It was no surprise that Grace hadn't said anything about the starry screen for a while, since Simon had been so enamored with it. But one day Simon had caught a guilty look on Ryland's face, and had forced him to come clean. It wasn't really the correct view. The atmosphere around Erid is too dense, the planet is clouded in darkness that block out any real sight of the stars from down here. And even if it wasn't, it was supposed to look like what you'd see from Earth's atmosphere, so it had to be manufactured. Grace had admitted, more sheepish and guilty than before, that it hadn't looked right anyway. There was something wrong with the night sky. The worst part was he didn't know what about it was wrong. They had tried so hard to get it correct, yet every time Ryland went stargazing, it never was quite right, and it frustrated him to no end that he didn't have an answer. He had felt bad about ruining the illusion for Simon, but it hadn't entirely taken him out of it. It was easy to pretend. Besides, it's not like it ever felt entirely correct to him either. Every time he looked up at the sky, he felt like it should be empty. He was struck by a sickening sense of wrongness every time, even if only for the briefest of moments.

It's fake. It's all fake. The ocean, the beach, the stars, the moon. The fog that coats the edges of the biodome, so the seam between where the ocean stops and the wall starts isn't visible. It's not real. It was never real. Grace had said it from the beginning, that this entire place is a replica, a fabrication made by the Eridians. Made to mimic an Earth environment that Grace favored. It had been waved in front of his face the whole time he's been here. They hadn't even tried to hide that fact, and yet it still hadn't clicked? He's an idiot. A fucking idiot.

With a grieving moan, Simon pulls himself to his feet and tries not to cry. The distant crashing of waves beats against his head like a drum. He looks out to the ocean down below, and for a moment he's back on the surface of the blood ocean. It's pooling around his waist, red and viscous, as thunder rumbles above him. He looks up and he sees it, blinding and bright. The eye. The one staring through a pinhole that must have caused all this. It stares down at him and it knows.

I S E E Y O U

The reply escapes him without meaning to, like it was placed in his head, like a mantra he was to repeat should he ever hear that phrase from now until the end of time. Like a verse in scripture he was meant to recite with his Brothers and Sisters during prayer. Like the instinct to bite when cornered, like the animal he is.

"I see you."

He blinks. And suddenly he's back. He tastes copper in his throat and on his tongue. His gaze is affixed to the bright white glow in the sky. The moon.

A G R E E D

It sounds like a wave slamming against the shore below, more violent than should be possible. It's as if he's right in the middle of it as it punches down and knocks the air out of him. Simon gasps in startling terror and turns away to run.

He realizes there's nowhere to go. The moon— the eye— it stares down at him from where it's hung in the sky, one thought away from making him disappear too, just as it had the stars. It will see him no matter where he goes. The light that was surely a part of it, or once was, had illuminated the inside of his sub as if it was made of glass. There is nowhere he can hide where It will not see him.

It's tempting to rush into the darkness of the house. The door is open, he can see inside. His vision wavers, or maybe that's not his vision? The air shudders, like it's hot. If he steps inside he will boil alive. He can feel the heat now. Even just outside of it, it's covered him entirely. It's so warm and he feels the urge to strip his shirt off just to escape from it, but he knows that even if he does, it won't be enough. Even stripping off his skin wouldn't be enough.

There's nowhere to go. He's stuck. He's going to die here. He can't escape the eye, and the place he had called home is boiling and ready to devour him whole the moment he steps inside.

Simon's lip trembles, his eyes fill with tears, and he chokes a desperate curse into the air. He was so close! He just had to go and ruin things by noticing. Letting out a strangled, frustrated yell, he turns his head away from the house, unable to stare at the heated interior any longer, and he spots it.

The leafless tree beside the house stands steady on the cliffside, unmoved and unbothered. For a moment, Simon feels an immense relief.

That's it! His salvation! It was always the tree, just like back on Eden. He didn't like to consider himself religious anymore, not after everything he had been through on Eden that had made his life a living hell. He'd always been skeptical of their dogma, but he had always taken comfort in The Last Tree. For many reasons, he'd been devastated when it inevitably withered and died. So Simon couldn't call himself a religious man, but it's hard to escape the impulse to run to something so ingrained in him to be considered safe and holy when he's threatened on all sides.

So run he does.

Away from the blistering heat from the house's interior. Away from the scathing glare of It. Away from the ocean he knows will be awash with red should he ever dare to look at it again. He stumbles his way to the tree and ducks behind it, gasping for air as he falls to his knees and scrambles to press his back against the trunk. The shadow cast from the light of what should be the moon covers him entirely, and it's the safest he's felt since he woke up.

Simon shudders and huffs, limbs shaky and coiled in tension. It's still warm, but the tree's shade has enveloped him in even a slight bit of something cooler, and he can no longer feel the stare. It had saved him. The tree, it had worked. Somehow, it really was his salvation. He bitterly loathes and mourns that some part of The Father's teachings had been correct. But how can he truly be surprised? A god had looked down at him back on AT-5, if he can even say he's left it, and it had looked down on him just moments earlier. It's hard to deny what's right there in front of him, that maybe Eden's religion had some merit.

It takes what feels like forever before Simon feels safe enough to even twitch his fingers. He shifts, pulling his legs to his chest and wrapping his arm around them, holding himself to scrape for even an ounce of comfort.

Curled up on himself, shaking and wondering how long the Tree will truly keep him safe, he feels utterly alone. It's not enough to just hold himself like this, he wants to be held by another. He misses the much more gentle and comforting warmth of another person holding him in his arms. He misses Ryland.

It hits him like a punch to the gut, and he immediately wants to pull his hair out. Fuck, he really made himself an easy target if he's still yearning for the now-obvious lure. He's such a fucking idiot! It was so easy to fall into Ryland's influence. He made it so easy. He was just so… so nice. So kind. Simon didn't think he deserved such things for a while, but Grace had lulled him into thinking maybe he had. He had just been so patient with him. Even after he remembers waking up for the first time, a broken coffee mug in his hand, when he had tried to stab Ryland with it and failed miserably because his limbs felt so weak and the tubing and wires attached to him had caused enough of a hitch in his ability to move that he just collapsed to the floor. Even then, having been threatened by a mangled mess of a man, Ryland still treated him with kindness and patience. In fact, he had seemed almost excited, jittery. It's not that Ryland hadn't been scared by the attempt to hurt him, but it seemed whatever had motivated him to care for Simon had made that fear easier to overcome. Grace had claimed later that he was so excited to tend to Simon because it had been almost a decade since he'd seen another human being, and he was desperate to make sure Simon survived to even have a chance to feel the warmth of someone's skin against his own.

In retrospect, it makes sense. Simon has felt alone for a long time now. Ever since his mother died. Until Ryland, he couldn't remember the last time he had felt the touch of another person that wasn't under the guise of violence. It must have known, so It created someone as longing for a human's gentle touch as he was. And he fell for it. He was worn down by the warmth of Grace's humanity, it was inevitable he'd fall into his arms.

Simon buries his face in his knees, digging his nails into his palm to try and ground himself with the pain. It doesn't really work, because he keeps thinking of Grace and all the time they spent getting to know each other, and he finds himself mourning a man who never was. Their struggles were so similar, that should've been one of his first clues. It's probably easier to work in the realm of something Simon knows, after all. Two people dealing with dying or dead stars, making choices that would have or did doom others, sent on a suicide mission by people with strikingly similar names for something 'bigger than them'.

God, he hates that stupid phrase. He had sworn to never use it once upon a time, but it seems useless now. It's not like it will save him. It had been one of the last coherent thing he remembers saying before he felt that violent urge to destroy that which had halted his efforts to depressurize the sub and get the black box to the surface. He wonders if it ever did. He wonders, if the next time the veil is lifted when he looks out from beyond the Tree, if he will see it floating in the blood. Or will he just see an empty life vest because he was too delirious with pain and too unsteady with only one arm to have attached it correctly. Or will he see anything at all.

"Simon!"

He startles, violent and sudden. He doesn't realizes he's let out a strangled choking sound until it's too late. Please, no. Not him.

"Ch-Cheese and crackers…!" The voice, soft and startled, comes right after the sound of the rough scratching on the ground, a struggle to catch oneself. Simon's heart flutters in alarm at the realization Grace had nearly fallen and gotten hurt, and he hates himself for being the one who would have caused it. He hates himself even more when the thought crosses his mind, and he remembers Ryland isn't real and can't really he harmed. Yet somehow, he had been conditioned enough to still care for the figment that was created to be his downfall.

"Fucking god—!" Simon spits through gritted teeth, anger boiling behind his ribcage. He was safe. He was safe and he fucked it up! If he was just able to keep his stupid mouth shut, able to keep quiet enough, then Grace would never find him. And maybe, if he waited long enough, It would lose sight of him as well. And then he'd be free. Whatever that means now.

"Simon?"

Closer and closer. Each footstep makes his heart nearly beat out of his chest, louder and louder until—

He can feel it. The footsteps have stopped only a few feet away, and he can feel the heat. He knows what he'll see if he raises his head, if he dares look. He doesn't want to face it. Because if he does, he doesn't know how he'll react. He wants Ryland so badly. For him to sit next to Simon, pull him into his arms, and rock him back to sleep. To make him forget he had seen anything at all. To let him drape a thicker veil over his eyes to keep himself from ever having to think about the truth ever again.

Yet it calls to him. Like always when Grace is around, he's urged to look. He likes watching how Grace moves, how he acts, the little quirks he's grown so fond of. But he also likes to look because he knows Grace is accident prone, and Simon's had to save him several times from his own lack of, well, grace. It was horribly ironic in a way that used to be funny. Now he can't help but wonder if maybe it's because Grace struggles to move as a false imitation of a person. It's passable, but it's hard to get it exactly right when you've never walked on two legs yourself. The thought has Simon unintentionally wondering if Grace had hurt himself at all when he heard him trip not but a minute ago.

He can't help himself. Raising his head, he looks towards the figure standing to his left. His breath catches in his throat. Grace was always so pretty in the moonlight, and now isn't an exception. But he knows better. Because the moon isn't a moon. It never has been. It's no imitation on a screen either, it's that fucking eye! It's gaze is bright enough to cast Ryland in a beautiful glow because it's looking at him. It's waiting for Simon to be lured out from behind the Tree so it can gaze upon him too. He's hid so well, but It knows he's here still, It just can't see him from behind the Tree. It will be upset. And who knows what It will do once he's finally in It's sight.

"Si—"

"Go away…!" His voice warbles as it comes out, as much as he tries to keep it steady. He can't help it. He hates the way Ryland says his name. It had been such a relief to finally be called something other than 'convict' by someone who actually cared about him, some fucking joke that turned out to be. He remembers being so hesitant to even tell Ryland his name to begin with, the question having knocked the air out of his lungs, and it took him until the next day to even utter it. But Grace had known the whole time, hadn't he?

Grace starts to speak, but fumbles over himself in the way he tends to do when he gets nervous, and stops. Simon knows what's going on in his head, he's reconsidering what he was going to say because he wants to be careful with Simon. He hates that he knows this.

Grace starts to move and Simon freezes. He waits for the other to get closer, to reach for Simon, to pull him out of the protective shade of the tree so the light and the heat can burn him alive as punishment for daring to try and escape it. But instead, Ryland takes a seat right where he had been standing. He's confused, only for a moment, before he realizes that Ryland can't approach him. Not while he's shaded from the warmth and the view of the eye. It doesn't know what's behind the tree, so it can't tell the lure to go there. It can't imagine where Grace will step.

"Did…" Grace starts again, and Simon forces himself to quiet his panicked mind to listen. He tries to find any fault in how he sounds. "Did something happen…?"

It knocks the wind out of Simon's sails. He sounds entirely earnest. He's so worried. It sounds entirely too real, too sincere. He knows it's fake, he had expected to be able to pick out the wrongness, but he isn't. It just sounds… like Ryland. Like he's always known Ryland to sound when he gets concerned over one thing or another. How is he supposed to prove to Grace that he knows if he can't even find something wrong with the performance?!

"Are you okay? I-I mean of course you're not, but— You can talk to me, Simon. If- If you're mad, if I did something— I'm here for you, if you want to talk."

Simon watches Grace fidget, linking his fingers together over and over until he stops to readjust his glasses. It's infuriating. His gaze shifts to the glasses now resting under the other man's jaw. It's far too charming of a place to hang them, far too Ryland. Quickly, he flicks his gaze up, and then down, getting a good look at the other man. Without thinking, he looks behind Grace, and panics when he realizes what he's doing and what he's expecting to see. But, for better or worse, he doesn't see it. He doesn't see the maw encompassing him, or the teeth jutting around him like prison bars. He doesn't see the eyes hovering above the jagged teeth either.

But that doesn't mean it's not there. He presses himself further against the Tree, as if he'll sink into it if he pushes hard enough, and cant stop the anger from shaking his voice, "Quit fucking with me!"

It hides itself so well, and he's so tired of it! He knows it'll be safer to just pretend, but he feels so strained and so tired and so angry! He's been lied to for however long he's really been here, and now he knows and he just wants it to stop! "I know, okay?! I know!"

Ryland has the gall to look confused, "Know… what?"

There's a rush of violent anger and suddenly Simon wants to hurt something. He wants to hurt Grace. Or the fucking Eel, or It. Anything to get this goddamn charade to end so he can stop having to look at Ryland and those tired blue eyes and just how fucking worried he looks.

But he can't hurt Grace, because just the thought of causing any harm to the blond makes him want to vomit. Grace, who had treated him so kindly, who had helped him through readjusting to life without an arm, who helped acclimate him to the only alien species he'd ever met who hadn't tried to kill him. Who had given him the companionship he so desperately craved, and now won't know what to do without.

So instead, he digs his nails into his palms again, and the sting gives him just enough clarity to get him started, "That this whole place isn't— That you're lying! That you're—!"

He feels something wet against the tips of his fingers, and realizes he's cut into his palms, and at the same moment he realizes what he's saying. The cold, creeping dread that buries the flames of his anger do nothing to push away the lingering, horrible warmth that makes his skin crawl. What's going to happen if he says it? This will end, surely. And he wants it to end, right? He's wants nothing more than to stop being lied to. So why can't he say it? Staring at Ryland, he's sure he looks pathetic. He's sure the thing puppeting him is nothing but amused by his suffering. Judging by the look on Ryland's face, it looks like he knows what Simon wants to say, so why can't he?

"That— That you're—!" He tries. He really tries, but all he can manage is a sob and he knows maybe he's just doomed himself to never escaping his nightmare at all. It'll end if he says it out loud, so why doesn't he? "Don't make me say it…"

Grace looks heartbroken, and Simon panics. He doesn't think as he snaps his head back down to bury his face in his knees, unable to stop himself from sobbing. He's shaking, desperation clawing up his throat. He can't stand that look. He did that. He made Grace look so devastated. He wants it to go away, he knows how to make it do so. But he's such a fucking coward. Grace is upset because he's trying to admit what they both already know! He can't stand that he's making Grace feel this way, it feels wrong on every conceivable level, to be the one who broke Ryland's heart in ways he knows he won't be able to repair if he dares utter the truth.

"I know you're just a— You're just here to—"

He can't. He can't do it. God, he's an idiot. Ryland isn't even real. He shouldn't be so concerned over the feelings of a man who will only pull him further down into the depths of Hell the longer he's here. Yet still, his presence curls around Simon's heart and slots nicely into a hole that Grace himself had devoured to make space. It's too late for him. He can't push Grace away, not when Grace so desperately clings to him like this. "S-Stop… fucking with me…!"

The dam breaks, and any composure he did have evacuates, replaced by horrible, childish weeping. He can't do it. He's fucked. He had worked so hard, so hard, to fight to survive on that goddamn submarine. He'd been tossed around, concussed, lost in a maze he had to problem solve his way out of. Shown a sliver of hope, only for that to get violently eaten with Ava's own submarine. The blood had gotten in and he felt himself change into something horrible and monstrous, and then there was nothing. And then, and then, it had the gall to make him hope again when he woke up and he was whole. He was down an arm and he was scarred all over the right side of his face and his body would mutate in ways that left him with small spines down his back and sharper teeth and an eye that was now much redder than the other, but he was alive. He wishes he wasn't. He had wanted nothing more than to live back in the SM-13. Maybe it was that want that made It's eye gaze down on him and decide he would make a nice plaything. He can only hope It makes it quick when It finally decides It's done with him.

He barely registers the sound of Grace's voice, muffled in his ears as he slowly comes back to himself, "—robably, but for the record I'm pretty sure I'm real. And that that you're real. And that this whole place is, well, real."

Simon dares to look at Grace. He raises his head, and knows he looks something horrible. He can't help himself from giving Grace a pleading, pitiful glare. To get him to just stop. The game is over. He's just rubbing it in. Why is he even still trying? Is this fun for him? To see Simon so broken down like this? Does he just want to see the depths of his despair?

"I mean, Adrian and their team put in a lot of effort into making this place as nice as possible, so I sure hope it's real. Or else they have a lot of explaining to do!" Ryland laughs softly, and he wonders if this will be the last time he hears such a sound. He lets it linger in his head just in case, trying to memorize every tone.

He takes a moment too long doing so, and Ryland opens his mouth to speak. Simon speaks over him before he can stop himself.

"You're just sayin' that…" Simon trails off, unsure how to continue. He still can't say it out loud, to risk that look of heartbreak again, but he has to try something. Anything to get this horrible illusion to finally break and give him some peace. "To- To lower my guard. You don't mean it."

Grace shakes his head, leaning a bit closer. Simon's gaze flicks down to the edge of the shadow that blankets him, his last remnant of safety. Grace is just outside the edge of it, and he stops just before he goes past it. Simon's heart stutters in his chest.

He sounds so sincere when he speaks again, so sure of himself, "No, Si. I promise. Where else would you even be if not here? With me?"

A scream bubbles up in Simon's throat, one he manages to stop just enough so it only comes out as a gurgle. He knows the answer. He's being toyed with, he knows. Ryland knows he can't say it, and yet he's asking anyway, waiting so patiently for a response with this look of worry that makes his brows furrow and his lips curl into a sad frown. It's agonizing. How can someone he knows isn't real manage to make such a heart-wrenching expression? He wants it to stop. He wants to pull Ryland into his space behind the tree and hold him and weep that he's so sorry he's ever made Ryland worry about him.

He's slipping, he knows. The more Grace is here, the more he won't be able to stop himself. Grace made him weak, dependent. He'd been played like a fiddle just for moments like these, he's sure, because he can't say no to Grace. Because ultimately he won't be able to stop himself from giving in and going back to playing along.

"Why are you still… talking to me…?!" Simon struggles, his plea coming out like a sob. He wants to scream at Ryland to go away, to leave him alone, to disappear and never talk to him again. But he's not strong enough for that. "I told you, I know…! You don't have to- to keep pretending…!"

Grace's expression shifts, and for a moment he thinks he did it. That maybe that was enough. He glares at Ryland, and he feels an ache in the scar tissue on his face. The tears in his eyes suddenly sting, and it feels like there's something in his eye, the one that's redder than the other. He can't stop himself from trying to blink it away. He can't tell if it's how hard he's trying to do so, or how exhausted he feels from just everything, but his head swims between his rapid blinks and, just once, he swears he sees it. Behind Ryland, in front of Ryland, encompassing his very being. The teeth. The maw. The haunting glow of eyes that look through him—

A wave crashes against the shore, louder than the rest, more violent. He blinks once more, and it's gone. It's just Ryland, sitting there with that heartbroken look yet again. And still, Simon can't take it. His gaze meets the edge of the shadow that separates the two of them. There's no breaking this spell, is there? Not when Simon can't say it out loud. He can get so close. He can inch right up to the line, he can dance around it, but he can't go past it. He's going to die in this… hallucination? Delusion? This game of pretend? He would die without it, probably, but at least then he'd know when he was about to die, and by what. He could look it in the eye and watch as it's jaws snapped shut. He wouldn't be left in waiting, to be taken off guard without any moment to prepare. He'd die with dignity, not submitting to some thing while it takes advantage of him. And for what? Just to see if it could?

"…I think you had a nightmare."

Simon flinches, eyes snapping up to look at Grace without thinking. He looks so considerate, so caring. It's the Grace he knows. This is not a comfort to him.

"I don't know what you saw, but I think I can guess." Ryland offers a smile, it makes Simon sick to his stomach. He wants to launch into the other's arms and weep. This isn't fair. This is torture. Grace can't say it either. Of course he can't. Saying it would ruin it for both of them. It doesn't matter which one of them does it. Is this all it's going to be then? Both of them inching around the truth until the day it's over?

"I'm sorry it scared you. I know how nightmares can be, how they linger. I- I should've been there for you sooner. I should've noticed you got up and been there to calm you down." He looks regretful, and genuine. It looks like he's about to cry. Grace looks away from Simon. It might be the first time he's done that this entire conversation, Simon can't remember. Ryland pulls the glasses off his face and just holds them in his hands, staring into them like they'd give him some kind of answer. To what? Simon isn't sure.

"You've… been through a lot. And I- I have too. And I know how it feels to be so—" Ryland struggles, then puts his glasses back on, properly this time. He's got this pained look that makes Simon's heart twist. "—So lost. And alone. And I don't want you to ever feel like that. I wanna be someone… someone you can depend on. Someone you can come to when things get scary."

Ryland finally looks at Simon again, and he smiles something sad and defeated, "But if— if you need a moment… I can leave you to—"

"No!"

He didn't mean to do it. Horror washes over Simon as he realizes what he's said. What he's done. Ryland was offering to leave and Simon had— Simon had—

Simon is leaning forward, his back no longer against the trunk of the Tree. He feels it. Something burning. An unbearable heat. He doesn't dare look down. His arm had moved without his permission in his panic, and it's now the main thing keeping him upright. His palm rests against the ground, and he feels it on the tips of his bloodstained fingers. The heat, the warmth. Unbearable and familiar.

A laugh forces itself up his throat. Its strained, and hollow. He's fucked.

He's crossed a few lines, he realizes. His fingers cross one, just barely peeking out from beneath the shadow of the Tree that had been doing so well to protect him from the thing gazing at him through a pinhole. But his mind crossed another. If he had just kept his fucking mouth shut, Grace would have gotten up and left. And if he was lucky, maybe that would be the last time he would've ever seen Grace. The loss would destroy him, he knows. He'd sit here until the end of time, until It got bored of him or forgot he was there. He'd suffer the entire time in his loneliness, having driven away the only companion he had, even if that companion had been nothing but a mimicry of what could've been real. But at least he wouldn't be toyed with anymore. He'd be free, if that even means anything anymore.

"Can— Can you—" Simon chokes. He already regrets this, but there's nothing he can do to stop it. "Can you sit with me? Just for a bit?"

Relief floods Ryland's face, and in a way it settles a strange sense of calm over Simon's racing heart. This is it, then. There's no getting out of this now. Was there ever?

First, Ryland's hand presses against his own where it stays on the ground. It makes Simon's heart flutter and he wants to cry. Then, Ryland leans towards him, past the edge of the shade cast by the Tree, and presses a kiss to Simon's scarred cheek. It feels like death. Like finality. But not in the way he wants. Sickeningly, it also feels like home.

Slowly, Simon sits back until he's against the trunk of the tree again, and Ryland joins him at his side, still holding his hand. He sobs, half despair, half relief. What has he done? What Hell has he willingly subjected himself to? And all for what? The fleeting sensation of domesticity? Of companionship? He should be disgusted. He should be scared. He kind of is. But more than anything, he just yearns to be with Ryland.

It can't be too bad, he hopes. Even being toyed with, being lied to. He won't be alone, at least. Maybe being alone would be the worst thing of all. It must be, he convinces himself, because why else would he ever subject himself to this otherwise?

"It's nice, isn't it?"

The question nearly makes Simon jump out of his skin. It's familiarity brings him no comfort, and he already knows what Ryland is going to say before he says it.

"I never was a sunrise type of guy, but… Seeing it like this, with you, maybe I am."

Simon's gaze drifts to the edge of the shade. It's moved. Raising his head, he looks to the biodome's false sky that can be seen from this side of the Tree. The starry sky is fading, and fast. On this side, its entirely gone, replaced by the ever encroaching sunrise. It's shining on the two of them, and without the shadow cast by the moon's light, its suddenly becoming all too warm again.

Resignation passes over him. His safety was never going to last. The comforting release from the too warm temperature caused by the shade was always going to shift with the time. Eventually, it would be on the other side of the Tree, and he would've been forced to face the ocean and the last place he had seen the pinhole, and that would've spelled him doom too. He was never safe, was he?

Pressing his back into the Tree, Simon whimpers pitifully in a way he hasn't done since he was a child. It's not real either. How could he have forgotten? It's not a real tree. He woke up every morning and often stood underneath it, admiring what it stood for, what it could be. He always understood it wasn't real. It's made of Xenonite. It was one of the first bits of extra scenery the Eridians had made to try and liven up the place after all the initial plans of the beach and the house were finished. But he had sat behind it and couldn't feel It's gaze anymore, and it had still spared him from some of the heat, and Ryland hadn't been able to cross into the shadow until he had crossed it himself and invited him in, so—

Had it ever been real? Had It just been messing with him? Giving him yet another false sense of security so It could see his reaction when he finally realized the truth?

"You- ah- It's a good look on you. The sunrise, I mean." Ryland laughs.

Simon finally turns his head to look at him, drained and defeated. Grace's face has an embarrassed flush to it, and he's smiling down at Simon as if he's the only thing that matters right now.

Feeling weak, Simon pitches forward until he's curled against Ryland's side, pressing his face into his shoulder. His hand moves out of his grip to instead clutch onto Grace's fox faced cardigan. The texture is nice under his still bleeding palm. "I dunno what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you, Simon." Grace wraps an arm around Simon's shoulder just enough so he can run his finger's through his dark waves. He hates the way he melts into it instinctively. He wishes nothing more than for Grace to never stop.

They sit there for a while in silence, neither having anything to say. It would be comforting in any other circumstance. It doesn't stop Simon's mind from wandering. If anything, it encourages it.

He wonders how long this will last. How long until the game has run it's course? Is there an end at all? Does It just wish to… observe? Will It ever step in? He wonders, if he ever walked into the ocean and didn't stop until it consumed him, would It pull him out to keep the game going? Or would that be it's natural conclusion?

How much will he be able to take of this before he can't anymore? How long can he stand this lie until it consumes his very soul? And what will happen when it does? Will it transform him? A shudder wracks his body and he can't help but lean further into the scathing warmth that Ryland gives off. The man pulls him closer in turn, sliding those deft fingers through his hair with a quiet shushing sound. It soothes in a way he wishes it didn't. Grace doesn't deserve this. He deserves to be real, not stuck keeping Simon in check. Not when Simon fears what's to come when he does finally lose his mind. When this state of unreality takes it's toll and he loses what's left of his humanity. Who knows what will happen then. With nothing left to keep him human, what's to say he even keeps this shape? It'll feel just like how it did before, on the SM-13. He'll feel the agony of something shifting under his skin, like the blood is trying to escape his body. His skin will tear, bones will break, he'll be shred to pieces and put back together all in the same moment. And he will be consumed by ravenous hunger and overwhelming rage and he will destroy and devour.

And he will hurt Ryland Grace. He won't mean to. He'd never mean to. The idea of being unable to stop himself from murdering someone he can't ever imagine being without makes him want to curl into a ball and wither away. But either in his anger or out of some misguided instinct to keep him close so they never have to be apart ever again, he's going to devour Ryland, and then he will be alone. And it will be his fault. Because it's in his nature to hurt people. They were all right about him, he really is 'The Butcher'.

He wonders if that's why It's doing this. If it wants him to change. Had the crew of the SM-8 been through something similar before they became… part of that thing? Did anyone else who was sent down here to die? You think you die, and then you don't, and then you realize you never made it out at all? Is Ava going through something like this too?

He doesn't know. He doesn't want to know. He never wants to know. He just wants to sink into Grace's arms and pretend like he doesn't know anything at all, just like it had been before he went and ruined everything.

"You doing okay?" Ryland asks quietly. Simon nods, despite feeling the farthest he's ever felt from 'okay'. He's not sure he'll ever feel 'okay' again.

"I'm glad." Even without looking, Simon knows Grace is smiling down at him. Probably something soft, someone relieved. It'll melt his heart enough that Grace can bury his way deeper inside. "How about I call off class for today, and the two of us can hang out? I can reach out to Rocky and Adrian, too. Maybe have them over tonight? So someone can watch us sleep. Keep us safe, you know?"

Simon slowly nods. He doesn't mind the idea, really. It's nice. Spending the whole day with Grace, ending it with a visit from two of his closest friends?

Grace starts to move, and it forces Simon to follow. He's pulled to his feet, and Grace holds his hand yet again, firm and reassuring. Simon's gaze flickers down to where he had been holding the cardigan. There's a streaky bloodstain right over the fox's face. He must be making some sort of uneasy expression, because a hand reaches down to cup his cheek, tilting his head away from the bloody fabric to instead look directly at Ryland. And oh, Ryland looks so happy. He looks worn down and exhausted, but just so happy so look upon Simon. Like he means the world to him. There's a dull buzzing in Simon's chest, a pleasant warmth. It numbs him enough to make this bearable.

In silence, Grace leads them out from behind the tree, and the heat is blistering. Simon doesn't complain. There's no use now. It won't change anything. Looking out to the ocean, it looks like it always has. No red tinge, no streaking bloodstains on the shore, No clot-like vines that reach towards the house. He doesn't know if that will change if he stares for too long, so he instead looks back to Grace, still holding his hand, as he leads them inside, through a wave of shimmering heat, and shuts the door behind them. He doesn't check to see if it locks.

Simon spends the day curled into Ryland's side, basking in every ounce of comfort he's allowed, soaking it in while he still can. Grace only complains a little bit when his legs start to cramp or he gets hungry, and Simon lets him do what he has to before pulling him right back down to dull his senses once again by burying himself in Ryland's chest.

Rocky and Adrian visit that night, and they're so excited to have their 'sleepover', as Ryland had called it. He sleeps strangely well, Rocky and Adrian on the bed next to them giving off absurd amounts of heat, Ryland big spooning him, face buried in the back of Simon's neck.

The one thing Simon can't figure out is the Eridians. He can get how he ended up with Ryland, with a house on a beach in a contained area to explore. But he doesn't know why the Eridians are here. Why conjure them up? They're sentient rock spiders with the brain of a super computer and an entirely different number system to what he's used to, as well as an entire language made of music of all things. He doesn't get how they fit into this. His Hell, or maybe it's more akin to purgatory, is made up of concepts he can find a reasonable through-line between, but the Eridians just don't make any sense.

He turns the thought around in his head for a long time. Days, weeks, months. Through the numbing acceptance of his immanent demise and life in a delusion, he always comes back to the question of the Eridians, and he never comes up with anything that seems right. He doesn't know what that means. He's not sure he wants to. But maybe it doesn't matter too much, not when Rocky and Adrian or their kids visit, and he finds a spark of joy from having them around.

Simon can do nothing but exist. If he's more subdued than he was before, it's not brought up. Much, at least. Occasionally someone will ask if he's okay, that he seems upset, but there's no point in saying he isn't because he'll never be able to truly explain why. So he just smiles and says he's fine.

On the worst days, he'll look at Ryland and he'll see it. The teeth. The maw. The eyes. He'll watch them shift in the space all around Grace, the darkness at his back reminding him of what awaits him once the game is over. The throat that waits to devour him whole. And just like that, it'll be gone. And Grace will meet his gaze with this look of such intense worry, because he's sure he looks like he's just seen death itself, and he kind of has. He'll ask what's wrong, and Simon wont be able to say anything at all, bitterly resigned and slightly angry, because Ryland knows he can't talk about it. But Simon gets over it. At least, he tells himself that he does. He doesn't have any other option.

The heat of the 'summer season' sticks around, and he doesn't think to complain about it anymore. Ryland is still trying to acclimate him to the ocean. Despite his effort, progress is still slow. Knowing you're living a lie is one thing, but every time he steps into the water, it doesn't feel right anymore. It feels thicker, and it leaves red stains on his body that are always gone by the time he's back in their home.

But one day it will happen. One day, Ryland will lead him out into the ocean, deeper and deeper, until they're finally able to get up to their shoulders in the sticky warmth of it all. Ryland will look at him, so excited and proud of just how far Simon has come. Finally, they'll be able to truly swim together. He'll place a kiss on Simon's forehead and tell him there's just one thing left to try.

And Simon is terrified. The most terrified he's ever been. Despite his attempts at apathy at the truth, despite his certainty that there's nothing he can do, he's still so very scared. And Grace will notice. He will open his arms, and Simon will accept the invitation without hesitation, falling into the other man's chest as those wonderful, familiar arms cradle him close. He's never felt safer than when he's here, pressed against Grace with the sound of his gentle heartbeat against his skin. One hand will go up to rake his fingers through Simon's hair, who will press his face carefully into the other's neck and close his eyes because he can't bear to watch. The other hand will rest on Simon's tanned back, keeping them close as physically possible, rubbing up and down his spine with loving consideration. Simon will shake like a newborn fawn holding onto Grace so tight with his one arm, praying he won't disappear.

Another kiss, this time to just behind his ear. He hears Grace whisper, reassuring and entirely certain, right before he submerges the both of them beneath the waves,

"I've got you, Simon."