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It takes less than a second for Simon to wake up.
He wasn't always a light sleeper— Simon remembers a time when sleep felt safe, when he could curl into the warmth of restfulness with a hand brushing through his hair. Simon remembers a gentle, kind voice who murmured to him and held him close, who tried to shield him from the inevitable.
Simon isn't a heavy sleeper and he hasn't been one in a long, long time. It's been just as long— if not longer— since sleep didn't feel like a trap, since Simon had the luxury of waking up and not being inundated with dread or panic.
He's grown soft. Stupid. Complacent.
This time, drifting into wakefulness isn't the slow, secure laze he had grown used to. Even in drowsiness Simon feels the urge to snap and bite against the realization of complacency— and he would, if he didn't instinctively know that there was something more important.
"No, no, no, no, please, no, I can't-"
Simon drags his eyes open, disoriented and more than a little sluggish as his body reacts before his mind is able to catch up. "Hm?"
Grace fights against the loose hold that Simon has on him, squirming against the embrace they fell asleep in. Simon blinks a couple of times, ridding the blurriness in his eyes and attempting to understand why Grace isn't just curling into Simon like he usually does.
Grace's face is pinched, brows drawn as his head jolts to the side. His legs twitch against Simon's, unconscious little movements beneath the sheets.
"Please." Grace's voice is sluggish but saturated with desperation, fingers clenching in the material of Simon's shirt. He's clearly asleep but Grace's clutch is tight, nails digging into a fabric soft enough that it made Simon itch.
"Grace?" Simon releases his hold, shuffling back and frowning as he gently nudges Grace's shoulder.
Grace doesn't react— not to Simon, at least.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to die, I don't want to die, please I don't want to die—"
Simon is wide awake. He's sitting up before he can even think about it, heart thumping as he scans the room and there's-
There's… nothing there. It's just Grace's room, dark and quiet and illuminated only by the pale light coming in through the window. It's just the two of them, nothing for Simon to place himself in front of.
That's worse.
Something knocks against Simon's side. Simon looks back down as Grace makes this low, terrified noise, scrambling for a hold on something, anything. Grace claws at the sheets, movements growing more and more frantic as he fights an opponent that Simon can't see.
Simon grabs Grace's shoulder. "Grace, hey-"
"I thought- I thought we were friends-"
What the fuck?
"-you're killing me you're going to kill me please, please, I can't do it, I don't want to die-"
What the fuck.
Simon shoves a hand under Grace's chest, grunting as he pushes the other man onto his back. Simon has no fucking clue what he's supposed to be doing but he- he needs to do something.
He's seen this before. Not often, and Simon certainly wasn't helping the guys in the jail cells across from him, but this was Grace.
Grace, who smiled like it was easy. Grace, who wasn't stupid, who knew there was something wrong with Simon but still spoke gently. Grace, with a patience that made Simon think he'd never had to fight for another day alive.
Grace, whose chest stuttered, who was breathing only in gasping sobs, who was getting dangerously close to cracking his head on the barrier that separated the wall and the mattress.
Simon shoves the blankets off himself. "Grace, hey, you gotta calm down-"
"I'm not brave enough, I can't do it, I can't do it you're sending me to die-" The words are weak and terrified. Grace breathes heavily, stilling for a moment before the twitches turn into thrashes.
Simon growls, frustration mounting as he swings a leg over Grace's waist to try and keep him from hurting himself. Grace just wasn't waking up, completely unreceptive to each of Simon's efforts.
"-please don't let me die please I'm so scared—"
Scratch that, Simon wasn't frustrated. He was scared and he was pissed.
Grace jolts hard, nearly hard enough to dislodge Simon. Simon swears as he tries to regain his balance, hand landing on Grace's chest. Grace wheezes and Simon presses down harder. He had no idea if this was actually helping but it was the only damn thing that had gotten a reaction so far.
Grace thrashes, and thrashes, and then he gasps. His eyes fly open, wild and darting and panicked. Simon stares down at him, hand still firmly splayed over Grace's chest and focusing on the way Grace's heart beat in short, rapid bursts.
He isn't struggling anymore, though, just trembling and desperately trying to catch his breath. His hair is mussed and his cheeks are flushed with exertion, eyes glazed and unfocused but unwilling to move from the ceiling above them.
"Grace?"
Grace's chest is still moving far too quickly by the time he finally looks at Simon. He blinks, pupils dilated in the dark room. His voice is fragile once he manages the ability to speak.
"Simon?"
Simon nods. He has a million things he could ask right now but he's tired and stupid and more than a little scared. "What the fuck was that?"
Grace blinks. He blinks again, clearly trying to pull himself together. Simon can't deny the impatience he feels although it's lessened as he feels Grace's heart begin to slow.
"Uh. Nightmare." Grace clears his throat. "I… get them. Sometimes."
Simon stares down at him. A nightmare? That's what kids got, crying about monsters under the bed before they learned what a real monster looked like.
This wasn't a nightmare. It was- it was-
"Why were you saying you didn't want to die?" Simon urges.
He needs to know, he needs to know and he hates that he doesn't know what's going on or how to help.
Grace rolls his head to the side, looking away. Simon bites back a growl. "Grace."
Nothing.
Simon feels an itching beneath his skin. It's an angry, desperate thing and it's the worst part of himself but he needs to know why Grace was saying—
"Grace, why?"
Nothing.
Simon feels his lips draw back in a snarl, head pounding as he snaps, "Fucking- tell me!"
"Please don't make me say it."
Simon's expression drops. The anger recedes.
There's a pitiful fragility in the words, like Grace knows it's inevitable but he's trying anyways, like he's begging for a life he's sure is about to end.
Simon doesn't know what to do. He hasn't known what to do since he woke up in this bed and thought he was hallucinating.
Simon clears his throat. "Are you… okay?"
Grace still isn't looking at Simon when he bites out, "No."
Simon's chest hurts. He nods slowly. "Can I- what can I do?"
"I don't know." Grace's voice is flat, like the little spark of sunshine he always carried had fallen underfoot a pair of heavy, unforgiving boots. Grace opens his mouth, trying for words before giving up and echoing, "I don't know."
Simon needs to do something. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to help Grace, a man that Simon sometimes still believed was the result of another fucking hallucination—
Simon moves off of Grace.
Simon drops to lay on his side, facing Grace as exhausted blue eyes unfocus and refocus on the ceiling above. Grace is perfectly limp and compliant as Simon moves him. Simon wishes he would resist, that Grace would light back up and laugh and run his hands through Simon's hair.
He feels sick as he pulls Grace against himself, urging him to turn into Simon. Grace had done this with Simon before and it didn't fix everything, but… it fixed a lot.
Grace falls against him, burying his face against Simon's neck and inhaling. Simon exhales in relief once Grace begins to move albeit sluggishly, dropping an arm over Simon's waist and tangling their legs.
Their chests are pressed together. Simon can feel the beating of Grace's heart, still a little too fast but much, much slower. It's not enough.
"I'm sorry." Simon barely registers that he's spoken until Grace picks his head back up.
"What for?"
So much. There were a million things Simon wanted to apologize for, that he needed to drop to his knees and bow his head and weep for but instead he says, "I don't know."
Grace breaths against Simon's neck. "Thanks."
Simon brings Grace a little closer, as close as he can manage without crawling beneath Grace's skin. Simon curls over Grace, his back to the bedroom door, head still swimming with the need to fix, fix, he needs to fix and he needs to make this better—
Simon lifts his hand and drops it in the mess of Grace's hair. It's soft, just as soft as Simon imagined. He cards his fingers through Grace's hair, desperately trying to replicate the motions Grace made when Simon was being the weakest version of himself.
Grace exhales, relaxing a bit more. Simon exhales in return. He pauses only to grab the covers, pulling them over Grace and making sure the other man was warm and concealed before Simon's hand is back in Grace's hair.
Simon wants to know. Simon needs to know. He settles for, "Back to sleep, alright?"
Grace hums, tightening his hold on Simon's waist. Simon continues to run a hand through his hair, head empty save for tracking the motion of Grace's chest against his.
It takes hours until the panic in Simon's chest has subsided enough for him to fall asleep.