Chapter Text
Simon floats. Or sinks.
Either way, his body is weightless. Aching, but painless. He can feel thickness covering his eyelids, forcing them closed. He didn’t want to open them anyway.
Metal is in his throat. It coats his teeth, his lungs, his stomach. The Eel is gone. Ava is gone. Eden is gone. SM-13 is gone. Simon is gone.
He breathes in. It smells like a fresh breeze, and something sweet. He feels hands cradle his face. They mix into the blood seeping through his pores.
Simon doesn’t need to open his eyes. He just melts into the roots of the tree.
There’s music playing, somewhere.
Like flutes and whistles. He opens his eyes, the substances cracking and gooping, blocking his vision. He is weightless.
A voice calls to him. It could be his mother, with such a gentle tone. Gentle and concerned.
His opens his mouth to call for her, but he can’t force the air out. He can see a roof moving above him, but he could swear he was in heaven with how white it all was. His eyes drop again, too weak to remain open.
When they do manage to pry themselves open, the world is blurring around him. Moving too fast, dropping around him. But through the blur, he sees flashes of such a brilliant colour. A bright, healthy green.
It passes quickly. He closes his eyes again, waiting to feel the roots of old oak curl around him.
….We will become the soil…
────── ༚༅༚˳.༊.˳༚༅༚ ──────
There’s something in his throat.
It’s pulled out with force, making him gag. He splutters, but this time it’s saliva, not blood. His body feels like it’s been ripped apart and re-assembled. Does heaven hurt this bad? Everywhere is white, and it’s all blurry. There’s no red blocking his vision.
”Cognition assessment. What is; two plus two?”
…What?
It’s a voice, but lacks the cadence of a human. Simon tries to roll his eyes around. He’s strapped down. There’s tubes connecting his arms to multiple different applications.
“Condition: Stable. Movement detected. What is; two plus two?”
He grunts, squeezing his eyes closed and snapping them open. There’s something in his face. It has four weird prongs with what looks like a black circular eye in the middle. It twitches, turning left and right, cloaking and opening the prongs.
He grunts again, more like a bark of surprise.
”Incorrect. What is; two plus two?”
Simon looks around frantically. He writhes, yelling loudly, thrashing himself out of his (rather weak) confines. He topples to the ground, grunting as he lands face first.
”It is unadvised to move from the medical bed. Please remain still.”
He feels prongs latch around his ankles. He screams, kicking it away. His right arm shakes as he presses his palm to the ground, scrambling away.
Where is he? Who is he? What happened? What the fuck is that?
The armed machine that just grabbed him seems to be a robot. It’s unsettling. Simon sits back now, staring at the room in a panic. He tires to crawl back on his left side, but stumbles, nothing to catch him.
When he looks down, he realises he’s missing a limb. It all floods back to him in that instant.
The tree. Sixty two lives, an explosion. The flash and the banging of a button. Constant flashing, ticking, oxygen levels running low. Pleading, begging, to live. So much blood. Too much. A giant, gaping mouth, engulfing him.
The sensation of his arm’s tendons being ripped apart hits him like ten million bricks. He swears he feels the pain in the hand that isn’t there.
He scrambles to his feet, but trips, landing on his side. He yelps, trying to dodge the robot that slowly glides towards him, asking him simple math.
”Fuck! Get away!” He yells, kicking his feet at the robot arm. It just recoils momentarily, but slowly glides back.
He can hear rushed footsteps and rapid thumping. The C.O.I? No, the room wouldn’t be as clean as this. He’d be thrown in a cell if it were the C.O.I. He would probably be missing more limbs than what he lost in that fucked tin can.
The door he didn’t notice was there slides open smoothly, and in comes tumbling a ball. It’s clear, like glass, but inside is what Simon can only compare it to that of a boulder with legs. It squeaks at him, the ball frantically moving.
Simon can only scream, reaching for something to throw at it with his left hand. He misses, obviously, so he turns to jump to his feet and run to the corner of the room, reaching for a lone chair. He hurls it across the room, and the ball seems to shriek, the weird boulder inside scrambling to move away.
”What the fuck?! What—“ He yells at the top of his lungs, looking for anything to throw or break. The robot continues to ask him what two plus two is. The ball continues to whistle and scream at him, stomping its weird rock legs.
He runs back to where he was sitting before, trying to claw at a window that seems to glow white.
He screams at the window, his throat burning. The footsteps grow louder, and he swivels to turn to the door.
He stops.
He meets eyes with pure, cloudy blue. They’re full of warmth, concern, and exhaustion. They’re framed by wonky, thinly framed glasses that sit on a crooked nose. Simon has never seen such beautiful, clean blonde hair. It’s soft looking and cut short, messy, like hands have been through it. The person is wearing a large cardigan, so clean and comfortable looking, with weird animals printed on the side. They’re so clean. So perfect.
Simon’s brain immediately connects two and two; he’s in heaven. There’s a literal angel standing in the door, watching him like he’s important and cared for.
”Hey.” They say, holding their hands up in surrender. Simon stays frozen. “It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you.” They say, their voice careful, breaking a little. Simon clenches his jaw.
Just as they open their mouth again to speak, the robot jumps into his face. It tries to lay its claws on his shoulder, and he jumps, trying to hit it away. The person yelps in surprise, causing Simon to yell again, causing the weird boulder thing to yell, which makes Simon yell and scramble past them both. He needs to get out.
He crashes his right shoulder into the person, sending them both to the ground. The angel groans, trying to pick himself up. Simon lies on the ground, trying to wriggle away from everyone.
They reach their hand out to Simon, much too close to his face. He kicks blindly, and can hear a loud thump and a groan.
When he looks back, the man is keeled over, gripping his face, his glasses on the ground beside him. They’re broken in one lense, and the man is searching for them blindly. “God! Jeepers! Man, you really…” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his nose in pain. “You have…such a strong kick…wow…”
Simon quickly turns, scrambling to his feet yet again and booking it out of the room. He’s just kicked someone in the face. He’s bound to be punished now.
He sprints, running into walls. Lights turn on as he makes his way through corridors, stumbling into a large open room. Everything is so white. And grey. And orange. He can hear music notes and a worried voice calling to him from where he came, along with running footsteps and rumbling against the floor and walls.
He continues to run, trying to find an escape. There must be a door. Somewhere. Anywhere. There has to be a way out.
As he runs, part of him thinks. Maybe he should let them catch him and kill him. He feels like it’s the least he deserves, anyway.
His legs tremble as he runs, and he crashes into walls, stumbling to his knees, his missing hand failing to catch him. While he picks himself up, he can hear the human(?) and the weird rock catching up. He claws himself off the ground and keeps going.
While running through a hallway, he trips on a seam in the floor between two rooms. He immediately goes down, finally catching himself on his right hand.
He catches his breath, the adrenaline pumping through him like electricity. He feels like he can still taste metal in his mouth.
He winces at the memory of a monster jumping at him. He shakes.
“Fuck.” He repeats, and finally lifts his head.
Stars.
He’s landed by a large, round window. Outside is not dirt and gravel, not red. In a mass of inky black lies thousands of stars. He’s never seen them before, but he knows they’re stars. He feels it.
They should be gone. All of them.
Simon can feel his chest shuddering. This can’t be real. Is he in heaven or hell? Or is he in some kind of purgatory, where nothing is real but everything feels real, and everything is perfect and clean except him? The stars just glimmer in response to his question.
He can hear footsteps slowing behind him. He can’t breathe.
The feeling of seeing something that doesn’t exist overwhelms him completely. With one last shudder and a wrecked whine, he flops forward from where he was on his knees and hand, hitting the floor.
────── ༚༅༚˳.༊.˳༚༅༚ ──────
Grace slows to a stop, panting and leaning on his knees. Rocky buzzes and jumps around, slightly nudging Grace.
”Holy moly…how is he so fast right out of a coma?” Grace huffs, his knees aching. He scratches his head, fixing the broken glasses on his nose.
“Rocky Grace Friend okay question? Run run run through Hail Mary, run and die!!”
“He’s not dead,” Grace grunts, throwing off his fox cardigan, sweating. “He’s in shock. Or he’s had an adrenaline rush. But he’s alive.”
Grace looks around. He looks at the giant mass of muscle lying limp on the floor, sprawled out in exhaustion. He has no idea what to do.
”Grace Rocky friend need rest in bed statement. Grace lift.”
Grace guffaws, throwing his hands in the man’s direction. “I can’t lift him! The only way to move him is by using Zero-G like we did before. Can you please go do that?”
Rocky chirps, rolling away quickly. Grace leans down, checking the man’s pulse. Stable. They definitely gave him a fright. He sighs, taking off his glasses and putting them aside. He’ll get Rocky to make him a new pair.
Grace waits to feel himself slowly lift off the floor, and watches as the mysterious man start to float. With Rocky’s help, they push him through the air towards a cot in a bedroom. They settle him in, making sure he’s comfortable. This time, they don’t keep him secure to the bed, only holding him while they turn off the Zero-G. Rocky rolls off to check on the ship and make sure it’s still on course, and checking the med bay isn’t too damaged.
This guy already left a huge mess when he arrived. Grace and Rocky had departed from Erid to continue searching for new planets in the area in need of Taumoeba, and stumbled upon a moon that had the temperature and unsettling appearance of human blood in a system almost devoid of majority of its stars. They would’ve left if it weren’t for the distress signals and the screaming over the radio.
Grace settles himself on the edge of a bed near the man’s. He watches, making sure he sleeps. If anything, it was Rocky who made sure they saved him. The atmosphere on the ‘Blood Moon’ (as they’re deeming it for now) was strangely safe, and they basically hauled a bobbing metal ship from the surface of the muck into the HailMary. When they opened the hatch of the ship, a whole river of literal blood spilled into the docking bay. This man also came out with it, with a missing arm and in critical condition.
He’s been in a medically induced coma for the past week, cleaned, stitched up and cared for by Armando while they chart their journey right back to Erid. Unfortunately, the detour to the Blood Moon means they’ll be home months later than they could’ve been if they’d immediately turned around when they heard the distress signals.
Grace has no idea why this man was covered in blood and was missing a limb, or why the left side of his mouth has been morphed open with large teeth sprouting from the flesh there, or why he has literal gills on his abdomen. All his DNA says he’s 99.5% human. That other .5 percent is alluding him.
But, besides the gills and the mess he left, Grace is wondering how the hell he got here.
It’s not scientifically or logically possible in any capacity for a human to be out here. His mind crossed other possibilities; Earth sent a backup after they shot Grace into space in the same direction. But Grace was never meant to find Erid, meaning he was never even remotely meant to be in this area of the universe. And that’s not even touching on the fact that, even if all of Earth’s governments banded together again to use an incredible amount of resources to shoot someone else into space, these two could never possible meet with the time dilation and literally every other factor ever.
Grace has spent the last week trying to figure all of it out. He’s losing his mind in the process. Rocky has offered some helpful scenarios to consider, but no matter how hard they think, nothing ever adds up.
“Grace Rocky friend okay question?” Rocky warbles from the door. Grace has been so lost in thought he’d barely noticed him roll up.
”I think so. His condition is stable and healthy, for a lack of a better word. He just needs to sleep.”
”Throw chair at Rocky. Rocky not like new friend, statement. New friend hurt Grace.”
Grace rubs the bridge of his nose absentmindedly, the ache there still throbbing. “It’s okay, Rocky. He was scared. I don’t blame him.”
Rocky buzzes, rolling to press his ball against Grace’s leg hanging off the side of the bed he sits on. Grace pats the top of it in appreciation.
Rocky sits there, making new glasses for Grace while Grace sits and stares off, thinking.
It’s literally not possible. This guy shouldn’t be possible.
Grace looks down at the sleeping figure, his face still tense even in slumber. His clothing was very different to what Grace has ever seen before. It reminded him of those future post-apocalyptic films; different earthy-toned scraps sewn together to make clothing. Of course, most of it was stained in blood, but after a thorough wash he could see browns and blacks and a deep green. The material was worn but not extremely coarse. The pants seemed to be more for wamth and protection than actual tactile comfort.
He had trimmed the man’s facial hair while he slept to make sure he was comfortable when he woke up. Maybe he should’ve waited to ask if that’s what he’d want, but the ends were so thick with coagulated blood he felt like he had to since the rest of the body was as clean as Armando could get it. It was also a little difficult to cut around the teeth.
Grace had just assumed his body could handle the same kinds of food that a regular human would, so he used the coma sludge to keep him alive and fed. With his condition, God knows how long he went without food.
Rocky rolls out of the room and comes back not too long later in his new and improved form-fitting Xenonite suit, holding a new pair of glasses he must’ve transported from their little sharing box where they exchange things with each other.
Grace settles them onto his face, giving Rocky a thumbs down. Rocky bounces up and down.
”Grace like new glasses question?”
”Yeah bud! They fit better than the last ones.” He adds, giving Rocky a fist bump.
”Good. Happy happy happy.” Rocky then fiddles, kind of awkward. “Grace Rocky friend okay question?”
”Yeah, he’s fine.” Grace smiles, laying a hand on the top of Rocky’s carapace.
Rocky nods as much as he can, before shuffling closer. He taps his little fingers against each other anxiously. “Grace okay question?”
Grace pauses, blinking. He smiles slightly, but it’s a little weak. “Yeah. Of course. Why?”
Rocky hesitates again, choosing his words. He seems solemn.
”…Grace not see human long time. Human back home, bad bad bad. Grace sad. New human come onto ship, mad and scary. Grace sad, question?”
Grace doesn’t really know what to say. Rocky can read him like a book, unfortunately. He has mixed feelings about this guy. On one hand, it’s amazing to see another human being. As much as he loves the Eridians’ company, seeing another human in the flesh is a sight for sore eyes. Even hearing a horribly distressed, terrified screaming voice over a shitty radio made Grace’s heart start racing.
On another hand, it’s terrifying. Grace hasn’t interacted with a human being for over 6 years, which is technically over decade on earth. The last interaction he had with his kind—with people who he thought were on his side, who he thought were his friends—wasn’t exactly swell.
If Grace doesn’t end up friends with this guy, then he’s screwed. It’s a hit or miss—either way, it’s most likely that they’ll have to spend the rest of their lives together if they don’t kill each other first.
”…Not sad. Just…” Grace chews on the inside of his cheek, picking at his jaw. “…just anxious. Confused.”
Rocky stays silent, trilling softly as he thinks. His little fingers ripple against the floor, shifting on his limbs. “Rocky understand.” Then, he moves forwards, pressing the side of his carapace against Grace’s dangling shin. “Rocky here for Grace. Rocky make sure Grace not confused. Rocky Grace figure out.” Rocky makes a point of tilting himself up to ‘look’ at Grace, as Grace looks down at him, “together.”
Grace smiles, trying not to get teary eyed. He slips off the bed, patting Rocky. “Thanks, Rock. I love you.”
”Rocky love Grace! Statement!” He chirps happily and a little loudly, dancing slightly on his feet. Grace hushes Rocky quietly, even though, to the man, it would only sound like a high pitched discordant orchestra.
”Rocky love Grace, statement.” Rocky whistles quieter, hunching a little. Grace laughs.
”Let’s watch a movie while we wait for him to wake up. It’ll make me feel better.”
Rocky bounces, following Grace out of the room. “Big puppet show. Excited.”
Grace casts one last glance over his shoulder, watching the man’s chest rise and fall. Everything about him is a mystery. But, once again, they can only wait for now.
Grace gently shuts the door, but keeps it ajar, letting some light in from the hallway as the room’s lights flick off. He’ll talk to him soon.