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This is heaven.
Simon isn’t stupid; he remembers the things he’s been taught. Heaven is a place that you go to when you die if you deserve it. He hopes that getting the black box to Ava means that he’s earned an afterlife of peace, because if this turns out to be some sick trick hell is pulling, he’s not sure he’ll survive it.
But he's pretty sure it’s heaven.
First of all, he wakes up in a clean, white space. He still feels a little sore, and there’s some blood lingering on his skin and soaked into his clothes, but this place looks clean in a way he’s never seen before. Or, at least, not in a really long time. It’s the type of place you might dream about, where there’s no dirt or grime, no fighting for limited resources, no killing each other to survive. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, but if this really is heaven, that’s what it’d be like. They promised.
The more obvious one, he supposes, is that he has both arms.
Unfortunately, he remembers the feeling of the blood consuming him, the voice of the eel begging him to join them, and what he had to do to tear himself free from its clutches. But as he moves his once-stolen limb, it feels like nothing ever happened at all. Honestly, besides a few scrapes and burns and the pile of blood he’s sitting in, he doesn’t hurt that much at all. He doesn’t even really feel hungry.
Simon isn’t really sure what room he’s in, for it’s rather bland and empty, but then there’s a figure in the doorway. He tenses up, ready for a fight, but the figure doesn’t cross the threshold, so he just eyes it distrustfully for a moment. He honestly feels a little embarrassed that it takes him so long to realize what it is.
The clothes are the first giveaway. The fabric is clean and white, like the rest of the room, and it isn't patched-together remains of various materials. But then it speaks. Its voice is a rich hum, soft and soothing, like it knows he might be scared and unsure but wants to help. No human is that kind.
"I’m not sure how exactly you got here, but I’d like to help you.” The angel—Simon is sure of it—reassures. He relaxes a little. If this is heaven, then no one is going to hurt him.
“Are you an angel?” Simon blurts before immediately regretting it. It must think he’s stupid, asking something so obvious.
The angel pauses, caught off guard, before managing a sputtering response. “What? No. Of course not.” It insists, looking a little flustered.
Simon stares at it for a moment before he realizes. “Oh. Sorry.” He says. He’s not supposed to know that, it seems. That’s fine. He can keep a secret. The angel looks embarrassed at being caught in its lie, and while he appreciates it appearing more human just to make him comfortable, he kinda wants to see its wings. “What should I call you, then?”
“My name is Grace," it says. Simon doesn’t know how it thinks it’s being subtle, but he’s willing to look past that. He doesn’t want to mess something up by pointing that out and making it leave. “What’s your name?”
"Simon," he answers. He thinks that an angel should already know that, but given how he reacted last time something knew his name without him expressly telling it first, it's probably better for the angel to go through human formalities.
“Nice to meet you, Simon," it says, and the genuine lilt to its voice is like a soothing balm to his soul. It’s nice to have some confirmation that he hadn’t fucked up so badly in his life that he didn’t deserve a happy end. He had just wanted to live, but maybe this place was better, even if it was playing at a simulation of what life is like.
“Perhaps you should escort our newest member to the infirmary.” A melodic, feminine voice suggests it, and Grace turns to glance up at the ceiling.
“Thank you, Mary,” Grace says, before looking back over to Simon. “Do you need help getting up?”
He’s noticed that the angel hasn’t crossed the threshold into the room, and he wonders if the remaining earthly matter might harm it. Either way, the thought of staining the angel’s clean form with the bright red splatterings of his last dreadful moments is enough to make him sick.
“No,” he's quick to reassure. “It’s probably best you don’t touch the blood. It’s…” He trails off. It seemed alive down there in the ocean, but now it just drips inert and benign. He doubts something as evil as the eel that claimed to be a god in that ocean could come to a place like this.
A musical noise echoes from behind the angel, and he turns to address it the same way he did with the entity he called Mary earlier.
“Yeah, buddy," Grace says. “Humans aren’t supposed to lose that much blood.” It turns back and eyes him again. “I don’t think that much blood could come from a human, actually.”
The angel doesn’t push, and Simon doesn’t want to explain. It’s just more things he’d like to leave behind. It’s heaven. It's supposed to be paradise. He doesn’t need to detail the things he’s done or the experiences he’s had. He’s just hoping that someday, he might be able to forget about it.
“Let’s get you looked over." The angel prompts. “And cleaned up.”
Now, that he can get behind. Simon pushes himself to his feet and then stumbles, but manages to catch himself. The angel rushes forward, as if to help, but Simon just holds up a hand, and it stops. The angel must really not be good at feigning humanity, then, if it just respects his wishes so readily. That’s alright. It’s endearing. Simon likes it already.
“You can just follow me.” The angel offers, and it feels like making a new beginning as he finally steps out of the small room. “Rocky,” the angel says, talking to that musical voice again. “Give him some space. He’s probably overwhelmed.”
Simon peeks curiously around the angel and almost wishes he hadn’t upon spotting the rock-like alien creature. He flinches back, and the angel notices, shifting to put his body more between the two of them. This is probably why the angel thought it best to appear human, he realizes. Maybe he would’ve freaked out upon seeing its true form.
“Sorry,” Grace apologizes sheepishly. “Are you okay? It’s probably pretty scary if you’ve never seen an alien before.”
Oh, but Simon has seen an alien before. That’s probably half the reason he’s so terrified. But this is heaven, he rationalizes. Nothing is going to hurt you. “It’s fine.” He lies and immediately regrets it. It’s probably a sin to lie to an angel. “Just caught me off guard.” He amends.
“That’s okay,” Grace says calmly and patiently, once more reacting to his mistake in a way that no human ever had. “I should’ve warned you.” He continues, as if it were his fault, and Simon feels horrible for making the angel think that it’s done something wrong. “Rocky is just a little overprotective,” Grace explains, which sets off the musical notes again.
Oh, so the rock alien is like a bodyguard for the angel. That makes sense, he supposes. He’s not sure why they wouldn’t have just manifested as another human, but maybe it’s more intimidating this way. The way the angel presents itself isn’t very threatening, what with fluffy hair, loose clothing, and bright eyes.
“I’m not going to hurt him.” He tries to reassure the guardian creature. He wonders if they know his history, and that’s why the angel is not alone. But he never wanted to hurt anyone, never wanted to kill, and the thought of turning his long history of violence against the angel makes his skin crawl. Or, maybe that’s just the drying blood.
“Great!” Grace exclaims. “See? We’re all friends here.”
Simon resists the urge to laugh. Once again, the angel does a poor job of hiding its true nature. No sane human trusts someone or something they don’t know that quickly.
“Now, to the infirmary.” Grace continues, and Simon follows him through the corridors.
He’s a little put out that his heaven manifested as a spaceship—albeit one he’s never seen before—but he supposes it makes sense if they're trying to make him comfortable. They’re probably pulling things from his memory to replicate a familiar environment. They get a few things wrong, though, and Simon couldn’t be happier.
"There are stars.” He says, halting in his tracks to stare out the window at the vast expanse of space. Any doubts he had about this being heaven are gone now, because he doesn’t know how you’d be able to fake that.
The angel stops next to him, seeming amused. “There sure are. You can look at them all you want later, but we really should get you looked over.” He presses more insistently. “You’re leaving a trail across the ship.”
“Oh, sorry," Simon says, hesitantly pulling his gaze away. They’ve been gone for so long; he half expects to blink and it to just be a dark void again. He continues to follow Grace, and he spots a few plants tucked away under a dedicated light, but forces himself to keep moving, not wanting the angel to get upset with him. “I can clean up the blood once I'm, you know, clean.” He offers, but the angel waves its hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it while you’re being looked over.”
It takes Simon a second to recover from the shock of not having to earn his way, but he figures the angel can probably do it in a snap of its fingers, but just doesn’t want him to see. He kind of wishes the angel would do that for him, to heal and clean him, but he plays along with the farce as it brings him to a little robot.
“Armando is going to check you over, and then you can wash yourself off over there." It gestures, "And we’ll get you some new clothes. I’ll see if I can find something that’ll fit. After that, you can go back to look at the stars or at the plants we have.” Grace grins slightly at Simon’s surprised look. “Yeah, I noticed the longing glance you gave them. Maybe you’ll have better luck getting them to grow than me. Other than that… just let me know if you need anything. I won’t be far.”
It grins at Simon one last time and then leaves. Simon sits down heavily on the little bed, and the arm robot whirs to life around him, investigating his injuries as he tries to process everything. Maybe, if this is the outcome, then everything was worth it.