Work Text:
Desmond is covered in blood. They’re all covered in blood.
There's so much blood.
"Stop- It’s not him! We need to- Listen!"
An awful smell had filled the air around them. A mixture of mold, metal and something else. He didn't even know how to describe it. He didn't have the time to describe it.
He wanted to get out of the ship. Anyone in his position would have gotten up and ran towards fresh air. But he has a job to do, and he physically couldn't carry his work outside
"They’re already- There’s nothing you can- There's nothing we can do!"
There was a smaller body, held still by Desmond. Well, still enough as to not be interrupting the others.
Everything happened so fast.
Desmond had been on the computer. He thought the sudden influx of noise was normal. Some part of the usual banter around the ship.
He didn't bat an eye to the scraping and clanging, thinking the rest of the crew was playing with whatever salvaged scrap they had laying around. Lucas asked him if they should do something about the vent, and he agreed. He could trust the coworker to take care of whatever issue there was.
He didn't bat an eye, hearing gurgling and liquid spillage, thinking the other two were wasting food again.
What finally got his attention, snapping him out of his bubble, was the screaming that followed.
Now, Jess and Lucas were cleaning up the guts, and skin, and bones, and hair.
All over the floor. All over their suits. Even Desmond, who had been on the other side of the ship, was covered in blood now.
He tightened his grip around his coworker, and closed his eyes.
Don't look at it. Don't think about it. Power through the smell. God it smelled bad.
Sigurd was entirely incomprehensible. Kicking, biting, screaming. He was wailing on and on about 'not throwing him away'. Had yelled out something about the pile of human mush just talking to him days ago. His tears were mixing into the blood caked on Desmonds suit. The thrashing was going to give him bruises. Desmond tried, in many different ways, to make him stop and calm down. Scolding, reasoning, begging, comforting - none of it changed anything. He didn't understand what the problem was. Why Sigurd was acting this way.
Desmond couldn't let go. He had to hold on. This ship would go down. It would sink without him. He had to take the bruises. He had to bear the hatred and swearing aimed at him. Sigurd could have dissolved, fallen apart, into the next pile of rot and guts on cold metal floor.
Desmond was the only one who could stop it, he'd decided.
If he only dared to let go of him. Don't let go of him.
He will keep them together. He will keep them all from ending up like this.
Sigurd, and Jess, and Lucas, and himself.
The ship reeked of death, but they were still alive. They were all still fighting to live. He couldn't have had any doubts about it. This wasn't going to be how they'd end up.
He had the proof of it in his hands.