Chapter Text
Drifting on his back in the ocean of blood, Simon clutched the box tighter to his chest as his eyes drifted up to the wide expense of space, to rebehold the stars.
The sound of crashing waves of blood and his pounding heart was all Simon could hear. He couldn’t hear anything below him or above, he couldn’t hear the creature or Ava’s ship. He was alone.
But, he was… alive.
He was alive.
Tears burned in his eyes, sliding down his blood covered face.
The box was a comforting weight on his chest, the metal slick with blood, but cold and solid. Simon tightened his grip, unwilling to let go. What was on it, all that data from SM-8… it was more than Eden. More than him.
As Simon stargazed among an ocean of blood, he wished he could see the tree one last time. See his brothers, his mother… maybe, wherever he’s going, he will. Maybe, in his inevitable death on this moon, Simon will also find true freedom.
The thought comforted the convict, allowing his heavy eyes to drift shut.
The release of death…
… or, maybe not.
The world came back to Simon slowly, his hearing returning first.
Beep… Beep… Beep…
A continuous sound pierced his ears, slow but rhythmic. Then the sharp smell of antisepcitcs peirced his nose, a stark difference to the iron stench of the blood. Finally, touch returned, and Simon could feel the cool sheets of a bed under him.
He was warm and… alive?
Simon tried to open his eyes, but it was like they were glued shut. His body refused to obey, like he was moving through molasses.
Time lost its meaning, his mind drifting between wakeness and sleep for a long time (at least he thought it was a long time). Eventually, Simon managed to peel one of his eyes open, his left one felt covered by something), and nearly shut his eye again when he was assaulted by pure white.
For a solid second, Simon thought he was dead, and he was in the afterlife. But, the beeping persisted and he was pretty sure the afterlife didn’t smell so sterile. Simon managed to completley open his eyes, his vision slowly adjusting to the brightness. He was looking at… a ceiling. A real ceiling, made of tiles not of rusted metal.
A… hospital?
Simon was sure it was a hospital, what else is bright white with annoying beeping?
The blurriness went away quickly enough, after he blinked several times. The ceiling wasn’t exactly white, it was more a light gray color with some weathering around the edges.
Simon took a deep breath, the air was sharp with antiseptics, but cold and fresh (well, fresher than the air in the Iron Lung). His chest expanded with the intake, and deflated with the exhalation. He slowly turned his head to the side, wincing at the stiffness, and saw a heart monitor beside his bed(?). The little green line rose and fell with each beat of his heart.
His gaze drifted down.
Oh.
His left arm was… a stump. Covered in bandages. Simon stared numbly at his shoulder, his mind drifting to the memory of his skin tearing and muscles ripping. The memory of him ripping his fucking arm off.
He should probably be more horrified, but, Simon was too exhausted (and probably drugged) for it. Maybe later.
He could feel bandages on different parts of his body, under the thin but surprisingly soft gown he was wearing.
Simon breathed, gaze returning to the ceiling, just… breathing. Taking it in. He was… alive. He lived.
“Hey,” a voice, dry and quiet, sounding as tired as Simon felt.
Turning his head the other way, Simon saw he wasn’t alone. There was a guy in the bed next to him, wearing the same hospital clothes he was. He had short, graying brown hair despite being the same age Simon was, thick stubble, and tired blue eyes. He was an alarmingly pale color, but that could just be the glare of the fluorescent lights.
He didn’t seem hurt, but there were a couple IV bags hooked up to him. Not only that, but he was also… kinda familiar to Simon, though he’d only saw his face once.
Simon blinked blearily. “… Jack?” He guessed.
The guy, Jack, nodded. “Yeah,” He croaked out, sinking into the pillows. “You’ve been out for a while. Though, to be fair… so have I.”
The convict (former convict?) fell silent, sighing as he also sunk back into his pillows, letting his head fall back. So, he wasn’t the only survivor… even though he’d heard Ava…
The two laid in silence for several long moments, but it didn’t feel awkward, just… still, and peaceful.
“… sorry I blasted you with radiation.”
“… not your fault Ava didn’t disclose… that particular information.”
“Ugh.”
“Though, to be fair… we were pretty big assholes for putting you down there, so… guess were even…?”
“… guess so.” A long pause, heavy in the air. “The box… Ava said… did they get it?”
“Yeah… yeah they got it. Dunno what’s on it, but… Ava said it was important.”
They laid there, silent, the beep of the heart monitors their only company. Simon usually hated the silence, he usually tried to fill it by humming a tune. But, at the moment, swaddled in bandages, his body sore and lighter of a limb (and probably his eye) but alive, warm and (semi-)whole and alive and free… Simon just wanted to take this in as much as he could.
Hot tears burned in his eye, pooling before spilling down the side of his face, soaking into his hair. He cried like a child, silent, heaving breaths as salty water fell down his face. Dozens of emotions poured over him, relief, exhaustion, anger, grief… everything was just hitting him all at once.
He raised his remaining hand to rub his eye. The charm was still wrapped around his wrist. The seed… the seed was still there, preserved. Unharmed.
Alive. The seed was alive. He… He was alive. He was free.
Free from the Iron Lung, free from the blood ocean, free from the COI, free from Eden… Simon didn’t know if it would last, or what he would do after, but at the moment he didn’t care.
“I thought I was gonna die down there…” Simon hiccuped, grasping the charm desperately. “Thought… thought I was gonna–hic–gonna die in an ocean of blood… eaten by some alien thing… all for a fucking box that may or may not have the answers to the universe or whatever the fuck…”
Jack didn’t say anything, and Simon was grateful for that, he just let him cry and get his emotions out. Simon would have been embarrassed, but he didn’t have enough energy to care. He ranted probably for several minutes, about the sub, the hallucinations, the voice, the Light, Eden, filament station, his voice eventually trailing off into incoherent mumbles.
Still, Jack didn’t say anything, but his silence wasn’t judgmental, it was sympathetic. The mechanic just listened, absorbing Simon’s grief. He didn’t see the Butcher that everyone called him, he just saw a broken man, a human being who had just wanted to live.
Jack sat with that thought, staring at the ceiling as he kept listening to Simon’s cries.
“… I’m sorry,” Jack suddenly said, unsure why the words left his mouth. Apologies were meaningless, they couldn’t undo the trauma or the horror, but… they were there.
Simon sniffled, a pathetic sound that made him seem small. “Me too,” he replied.
Now, maybe it was the radiation poisoning, or the sleepless nights that lowered his inhibitions, but Jack reached over and hesitantly took Simon’s. The beds were close enough. Simon flinched at the touch, jerking and freezing as if anticipating a hit. It had been… a long time since he was touched gently by someone else.
After a moment, Simon relaxed, allowing Jack to hold his hand, and after another long moment, he curled his fingers and held back.
And so, two men, broken and tired, laid there in the quiet of the infirmary, holding hands like two children who didn’t want to be left alone. Simon allowed his eyes to fall shut, exhaustion making his body heavy, but he refused to let go of Jack’s hand. Jack felt like shit, he would probably need more medicine soon, but he just focused on holding Simon’s hand in his cold one.
The two men, very different but two men who survived something horrible all the same, took comfort in each others presence, and the fact that they were alive.
Simon let himself fall asleep to the memory of his mom’s warm smile as she sang a lullaby, about green fields and sunshine.