Archive of Our Own

~~

Simon huddles beneath the control-station at the sudden rocking of the Iron Lung, only able to cover one ear with his remaining hand, and leans against the blood-soaked wall to close the other, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

He knew that the torture he’d been through wasn’t enough, that waking up from the light would only lead to the slow succumbing and atonement on the other side. But it seemed, however, that the creature wasn’t ready to let him slip away without the aid of its jagged maw.

The submarine is pulled up with the clinking of chains and the concerning groans of its shifting metal, and Simon grits his teeth at every movement, the blood within sloshing and further coating his mangled body.

The movement comes to a halt, and he holds his breath, both hoping and fearing that the creature has finally stopped playing with him and would sink its teeth through the hull and rip him out and down, down, down, into the murky depths of the blood ocean.

There’s silence for a short while, and Simon tentatively pulls his hand away from his ear, still tightly huddled under the desk. Then the shrill noise of metal-on-metal pierces him, and he covers his ear once more, the ache in his head intensifying.

The submarine is pried open like a tin can, leaving him only able to watch in horror as the metal gives, and he knows with startling clarity that this isn’t anything the Blood Ocean could’ve cooked up. In fact it could be far worse.

He doubts the C.O.I would expend themselves rescuing him, and if they were to they may just throw him back at seeing him. He has no choice but to sit, eyes tightly closed like a child hiding to avoid punishment. Though, he never was good at that on Eden.

Light pours into his metal coffin, and he stays deadly still, hoping to blend in amid the slurry of blood.

There’s chirping, almost musical in nature, and the metal creaks slightly under the weight of something, or several somethings, stepping aboard.

He dares open his eyes, and the rock-like pentapeds are already ‘staring’ back.

He’s weak, but on first assumptions so are they, so he springs from his hiding-spot, baring his teeth and growling in the basest, most feral way possible, his experiences having broken down his mind to pure survival.

They startle, backing away slowly, tentatively and vocalising to each other. Seeing the weakness, he barrels through them, stepping from the Iron Lung and onto their presumed spacecraft with frantic feet.

Several of them surround him, trying to stop him with their three-clawed grasp, making him jerk to avoid their surely unforgiving and sharp touch on his injured and sodden skin. And when he finally tries to kick one away they begin to chitter and thrum, only angered further.

He pushes past and runs, breath coming in short, the adrenaline beginning to wear off to a mere thrum against the more visceral pain of the blood-loss and his wounds.

He barely notices feeling faint before he’s sent to his knees, then pitches forward with a sharp thunk, his unresponsive body leaving him to spread blood on the pristine floor.

 

Grace was simply preparing his breakfast, waiting for his coffee to brew with a whole slice of buttered toast in his mouth, when frantic pounding sounds from his front door. He yanks the toast out of his mouth, faced with Rocky seemingly trying to ram it down.

“Grace! Found human, Eridian found human, exclamation!” Rocky sings urgently, his feet tapping in place as if he simply needs to keep moving.

Grace grits through swallowing the chunk of toast to reply, “What?! What do you mean they found a- are you sure?”

Rocky looks as exasperated as an Eridian can. “Grace stupid human, bad hearing! Eridians found metal box on strange moon, human inside, very sick, now Eridians bring human back to Erid, statement.”

 

Simon comes round with his head still pounding, but not as intensely as before, and he knows with certainty that it was the rock things doing. He’s been placed in confinement by the look of his surroundings, and the claustrophobia crawls up his neck. Regardless of the light pouring in from the glass walls, it still feels like just another cage.

His suspicion grows at the fact that his remaining arm has a needle embedded connected to a plastic tube leading to a bag of liquid on the wall. He hastily rips them out without much mind of the pain, not wanting sedatives or poison addling his reactions to the clear threats these aliens are turning out to be.

He has no idea why the C.O.I would do any of this, expend resources on him of all infernally damned souls, but he won’t be going along with their plans lightly, not this time.

 

Grace goes to the Hail Mary within his Biodome, rushing to the control panels to get in contact with the Eridian ship, desperate to hear things for himself.

Rocky rolls along behind him, griping about ‘friend Grace going too fast, forgetting Rocky, exclamation!’

Grace ignores him, forging into the ship and walking down the familiar sleek but well-trodden halls, tapping away in practiced motions that he’s glad his frazzled brain doesn’t have to work too hard for.

“Blip-7, come in, this is Ryland Grace, can you hear me?”

“Yes, this is Blip-7, I knew we’d hear from you soon, Grace,” They say, sounding rather relieved to hear from him, a frazzled undercurrent in their voice. It only serves to concern Grace further after Rocky told him the other human is badly injured.

“Oh gosh, what’s happened? Rocky told me you’ve found a human, but how is that even possible? I mean, there’s no way Earth should’ve sent anyone else up here, unless the beetles got there too late. And what’s this about them being injured? I just-“

“Grace, we will be arriving shortly, so I’m sure we can give a thorough debriefing then, we’re keeping the human as stable as we can, though it is injured,” sighs who Grace has now recognised as Sam.

They both pause as a loud din of banging sounds out through Grace's speaker, followed by the noise of wordless yelling.

“Is-is that them in the background? How are they injured and still making all that noise?” Grace furrows his brows. The other human's determination is quite unfathomable.

“The human is quite violent, we had to put it in containment, but that angered it further. We haven’t been able to fully treat its wounds, and it ripped out the human IV we inserted,” Sam explains, not hiding their frustration.

Grace knows they didn’t have many medical supplies fit for a human when the ship set off, as finding one in the expanse of space this far from Earth was thought impossible. And without the Eridian-replicated version of Armando now installed for research and medical assistance they wouldn’t have even been able to give the human an IV.

“Geez, hopefully they tire themself out before you get here so we can give them medical attention,” Grace laughs lightly, still reeling at the idea of another actual, living, breathing human setting foot on Erid.

~~~~

The other human certainly hadn’t calmed by the time the Eridian spacecraft touched the planet's surface again, in fact only growing more haggard the longer they’d been kept in containment.

Grace gasps as he sets eyes on the man, even patched up still looking like his body has been pushed to the limits of human suffering.

The man stands to his full height again, and he now understands how the Eridians had such a hard time getting him contained and treated. He’s a hair shorter than Grace himself, but his bulk in muscle-mass more than makes up for it.

He holds a sharp stare on Grace, no doubt assessing him based on perceived threat. “Hi, my name is Ryland Grace, former captain of the Hail Mary, and my friends the Eridians have brought you to their world where I also live. I know that you’ve been through a lot but we will do everything we can to help you,” he greets warmly, all of his practice somehow coming out right even though he’s been nervous as all get-out anticipating the man’s arrival.

Grace doesn’t get anything out of the man in response to his words, not even a twitch to his features.

“Uhm, I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable out of that room, so uh…” Grace tries, that first speech’s reception falling a bit flat without a response.

He types the door code into the panel controls, hands lightly shaking as nerves wash over him in waves, and with a beep and a gentle swoosh noise the door retracts back within its wall pocket.

The man runs straight past him, knocking his shoulder and bowling him over almost instantly without even a pause. “Oh s- crud,” he grumbles.

He wasn’t exactly expecting a hug, or even a handshake, but being pushed off his feet as the man runs away does sting more than just the twinge in his sitbones.

Rocky rolls over to him, as well as the other Eridians, with only a few attempting to catch the man as he flees the ship and into the Dome. “Grace hurt, Grace hurt, exclamation!” Rocky frets, tapping his feet nervously as Grace stretches . “Friend Grace okay, question?”

“Agh, I’m good, buddy, just forgot how to deal with scared humans,” he groans, thinking his trust slightly naive in hindsight, and he picks himself up as quickly as he can despite his possibly bruised tailbone.

 

Simon had no choice but to take the opening when this ‘Doctor Grace’ unknowingly offered it. His brain proposes the thought that his actions may make a valuable ally lost if he claims to be ‘friends’ with the aliens. But he knows good enough by now to never rely on anyone but himself.

He sets off at a run, outpacing the aliens at the dock despite his body feeling close to complete burnout, his raw nerve-endings zinging like stripped livewire with every shift of his weight.

He can’t squander the opportunity to get away, not with the prospect of a doctor experimenting on his ruined body, picking him apart just because he can.

He runs and runs, then comes upon a ship, set down ripe for the picking. The doors have been left open somehow, and he barrels aboard, searching for a control-room and readying himself for operating a ship once more so closely after the last.

He taps the controls, his breath stuttering frantically in his chest. It’s dead. He makes a desperate whine of frustration as he tries more insistently, then bangs his fist down onto the panel until his heartbeat thrums through it, a barely contained scream ripping through his throat.

He’s never leaving this planet alive. Why couldn’t they have just let him die on that moon? What was so fascinating about his suffering that everyone was clamouring to inflict it?

He hears shifting from behind him, swivelling around to meet eyes with Ryland Grace once more. He stands sharply, his head spinning, and the flame of his frustration is the only thing keeping him upright. He notices the trail of blood he’d streaked leading all the way to his feet, and he curses himself for being so obvious.

“Smart to try the Mary, I’ll give you that,” the doctor laughs shortly, no doubt burning with anger despite the mask of indifference. “I’m sure you’ve noticed it isn’t operational. It got pretty damaged during my voyage, and we didn’t really have any need to get it going again.”

Simon hums shortly, cagey, his hand still balled into a fist. He struggles to keep his face neutral against the pain he’s experiencing, and he presses his nails into his palm to help him focus.

The doctors face shifts, clearly noticing his worsening condition. “I bet you’re hurting pretty bad, we’ve actually got some pretty good doctors-“

Simon shakes his head vehemently, his eyes widening, and his long hair no doubt splattering blood further from the sharp movement.

“Oh-kay, that’s fine, what kind of care would you be comfortable with? I can’t leave you like this so you have to pick something,” Ryland Grace offers, clearly trying to put on an affect of compassion.

Simon knows better than he does himself that these ‘options’ are going to be loaded, an illusion of choice at best.

Soft-touch never lasts the course, even when promised, and now that he’s on-planet there will be no end of procedures he will have to endure.

He flashes back to being drugged and welded into the Iron Lung, the desperation that crawled up his chest just as it is now, urgently clamouring to make them get him out, to beg on his knees if need be, and look where that got him.

His breath comes in shallow, his legs becoming unstable, stumbling back against the control panel as the flashbacks of his last moments wash over him as intensely as the blood poured into and over him.

Doctor Grace makes a step towards him, clearly recognising his moment of weakness, and it whips him back to reality with a reflexive growl, hoping that intimidation if nothing else will keep the man away.

 

Grace pauses in his knee-jerk attempt at the honest-to-gosh noise that rips from the man, fear in his eyes as he snarls like an animal, clearly having been somewhere else mentally.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I only wanna help. Would you be more comfortable with the Eridians, the ones who got you here?” The man shakes his head, needing no pause when debating his answer. “Or I can-? No, no, that’s fine, it’s just that there’s no other options, and I can’t leave you to do all of it yourself. Let’s see… would you be okay with me getting the tools to treat your wounds, so there’s no unexpected surprises, and any you can’t do yourself I will?”

The wounded man takes a long beat to think, so long that Grace almost thinks he won’t agree at all, before he gives a tentative nod, watching him astutely.

“Great! I’ll sterilise the med-bay, then you can come in and we’ll get started, I’ll be back in a bit!”

As Armando simply wasn’t technology that the Eridians could replicate just yet they had been moved to Grace's lab on-planet. Grace just wasn’t used to working without them, so it just made more sense to take them out of the ship.

In situations like this it would’ve been best to have them, but he’ll have to make do with his limited medical knowledge.

So Grace picks out any and all tools he knows he’ll need just from looking at the man, and some he’s unsure about but grabs as a ‘just in case’ measure.

He goes to get the man, and finds him slouched unsurely on the edge of the chair, looking around with his head on a swivel, almost as if he’s expecting something dangerous and unexpected to befall him at any moment. It makes his heart clench at how vulnerable and broken the man appears, yet is still wary of any help offered.

Grace makes his footsteps a bit louder on his approach, giving a more obvious warning to hopefully avoid startling him. “You can come through now,” he smiles, though the man is more tense at the prospect by the second.

The task of removing the blood from the other fully is one that only a long and warm shower can achieve, but with extra large tissues and a whole pack of medical wipes he can somewhat begin to aid the man in treating his wounds.

Grace stands within the others eye-line at all times, verbalising offers to get him things when needed. The only sharp items being surgical needles for wound stitching, and the blunt-ended scissors they’d needed to cut his shirt the rest of the way off. Grace had grimaced as it had been handed to him to dispose of the sodden article.

The man has kept reasonably quiet as he tends to his own wounds, somewhat practiced, if Grace had to guess, especially with all the old scars he can just see through the smear of red. But he’d always keep checking back at any noise Grace made shifting in place.

He works around his missing arm quite adeptly, but his reach is greatly hindered without it. He goes to stitch a wound on the right side of his chest, but the angle is all off, and he has no mirror, so Grace shifts his weight to get the man’s attention before speaking.

“Would you like some help with that?”

 

Simon pauses with the needle, having thought that his struggle would have gone ignored, quite hoping for it in fact. He would count himself as fairly self-sufficient, especially in treating his own injuries, that it felt alien to be offered help simply because he is showing signs of difficulty.

On one hand the doctor had held his word in keeping things transparent, almost annoyingly so when he’d announce every item he’d pick up and hand off. But on the other there are no end of reasons why asking this person for help would be dangerous.

Simon decides to use this as a gauge of trust, and depending on how Ryland Grace acts he can then judge accordingly.

He nods only once, and the Doctor lights up slightly. Possibly at the prospect of causing him pain, some hindbrain thought murmurs.

Doctor Grace walks carefully towards him, and picks up a new needle with gloved hands. He threads it carefully before standing in front of Simon. “I’ll start from here, and if you could hold your hair back for me, that’d be great,” he explains, motioning to the more ragged side of the cut.

Simon bunches his hair in his hand, barely letting himself breathe now that he’s actively letting someone put an implement to his skin.

“You’re doing good, just a couple more,” the doctor breathes, his tongue poking out slightly as he works, his hair messily falling in front of his glasses-covered eyes.

It softens him somehow, his touch careful and his words encouraging, and Simon almost lets himself relax slightly.

Simon surprises himself by allowing the doctor to remove the hastily-tied tourniquet the Eridian aliens must’ve given him around the remaining stump of his arm and helps to flush the wound and use some kind of powder in a bandage to dress it.

“The Eridians engineered medical equipment for worst-case situations, such worriers now a ‘soft’ human is living here, y’know? And that powder stimulates healing better than any Earth science we could’ve come up with. You’re lucky it was a fairly clean one, otherwise you’d have had to be operated on, but you’ll be kept closely monitored,” he murmurs, keeping his touch to a minimum as he wraps a bandage around his chest to keep it all in place.

Earth? This man knows of Earth? How could that possibly be? He couldn’t have been born long before Mars died and its colonies had begun to move to Eden. There’s no way this man is old enough to remember even the sight of Earth, let alone their medical expertise.

His confusion must show on his face, as the doctor assures, “don’t worry, operations are fairly uninvasive here, should worse come to it somehow, and you can choose who cleans your wounds, and when, during the day.”

Simon doesn’t correct him. He doesn’t have much of an impulse for talking in general somehow, and yet it’s still got him this far.

 

Grace walks the man to his house, keeping a distance to not feel like a prison guard of the flighty man, pointing out places in the dome along the way, unbothered whether he’s actually listened to or not, just happy to talk to another person again.

He may be imagining the way the man seems shocked at the vegetation they’ve managed to cultivate, every sight fixed with his rapt attention, despite how early in development the environment still is. The other nearly trips at the mention of a greenhouse, a flicker of a smile on his features.

Grace finishes the tour after showing the man around his house. “I hope this’ll be alright until the Eridians can make you a house of your own. It’s not much for two I know, but I’ll get one of the cot beds from Mary to put in here for you if you’d be more comfortable?”

The man blinks absently, then quickly nods when he seems to come back to himself, standing awkwardly as if the space was repellant of his presence.

“Feel free to use anything you want, and if there’s anything you want to use that you can’t figure out or are unsure about and want to know, then come find me. All I ask is to be careful with anything that looks kinda fragile, like in my lab or the greenhouse, cause there’s important stuff in both, and I don’t want any accidents.” The other is nodding tightly, and he feels slightly guilty for imposing any rules on him at all.

~~~~

Simon has noticed that the Doctor is scared of him to some degree, so he exploits that fact to his gain. Since he was never given the room to make choices in his time, he’s now grasped the raw portions of himself that were frayed open in the SM-13 for preservation.

He’s never particularly liked being seen as a violent being, but it was the necessity of life on Eden. Even though this man is nothing like the Elders or the C.O.I he keeps himself safe through distance.

He sits on the shore of the simulated ocean, the grit of sand grounding him from the flashback sensation of blood and gore, of giant eyes and larger teeth.

He hasn’t spoken yet, and they haven’t got close enough to urge him to, not Ryland Grace nor the aliens he cohabits the planet with, and he’s planning on keeping it that way.

He wants to be grateful, but it’s hard to be thankful for a life he’s never had a hand in in the first place.

He finds himself drifting away often, throat growing heavy as he thinks of the soft touches his mother used to give him so easily before the Elders deemed him useful and childish things were put away for the sake of letting blood for the Last Tree.

He supposes that may have been the last kindness that anyone had shown to him, and he hadn’t reached a denarian age when she held him for the last time.

He wonders what it would be like, for someone to want to hold him, or even to be unafraid of his presence, and what his body may feel like as his heartbeat syncs with another in an embrace. He swipes the tears as his lip trembles, tilting his head downward and allowing his hair to cover his features as he weeps.

 

Grace has been wary of Simon, finding himself quite unprepared being around a more traumatised individual than himself, when his attempts to help seem to come off too strongly. He hates that leaving the man to it could be all he can offer until they can slowly build trust by small interactions. It eats at him everyday.

Grace notices his vulnerability and tears, though for his own heart he almost wishes he doesn’t. Simon sits in the simulated nature of the Dome, often on the beach, and cries as if his emotions are overflowing, a numb expression on his face all the while.

He’s a disconcertingly quiet crier, which Grace knows from when he thinks he isn’t noticed; often at night with stifled breaths echoing through his quiet home, and he rouses to Simon's secretive suffering from his cot in the living room.

He’s unsure what to do about it, about helping Simon in general really, and he thinks it shows, since not retraumatising the nonverbal man is a goal he tentatively orients himself around everyday.

He gets an idea one day, and secrets off to the Hail Mary with a specific item in mind.

The ship had everything needed for years of note-taking, and a cupboard with notebooks and paper for the particular crewmates who disliked cataloguing on a screen.

He feels kind of silly for gifting someone something as silly as a notebook, and for someone with clear trauma from resource scarcity he hopes Simon will actually use it.

~~~~

Simon dusts his clothes and hand off, swiping his feet on the welcome mat before quietly opening the door and stepping inside, too used to making his presence subtle to stop now.

He kicks off his shoes when Grace emerges from his room with his hands clasped behind his back. The sight of him trying to hide something makes the hairs at the nape of Simon's neck stand, needing to know any possible threat.

He does trust Grace to an extent, the man has certainly tried hard enough with him to earn at least something, but the unknown and unpredictable still set his mind alight in need of self-preservation.

“Hey buddy, I hope you had a good day!” Simon nods slowly, no doubt showing his suspicion. “I’m sure you’ve noticed somethings up, it’s nothing bad, I promise! I uh- I wanted to give you something, a gift, and you don’t have to use it at all, it’s just- agh, I’ll just give it to you now,” Grace trails off lamely, seemingly as nervous as Simon himself.

Grace brings his arms out in front of himself and gestures for Simon to take the item in his hands. It’s a ring-bound, and very new looking, book. Simon leafs through it carefully to find it filled with actual lined and unused paper, with a pen clipped to the rings.

“I thought it might be, y’know, a place to get your thoughts out, and if there’s anything you wanna tell me you can just rip out a page and leave it somewhere, no judgement,” Grace offers, shrugging his shoulders as if the gift wouldn’t be enough to indenture Simon to him on Eden.

Simon feels terrible for accepting such a gift, when he’s only taken like a rabid beast, draining resources and attention, only exemplified by the dried food he’d stuffed under the couch. Like the monster he is, he expresses none of this, and simply gives an insufficiently reedy smile in return, nodding as if this expression is payment enough, though it’s all he has to give.

He honestly has no idea what he’s to do in return, as Grace hadn’t explicitly said. But he had implied that Simon communicating would be an option, and he just hopes that would be enough until he can figure out what would be more suitable for clearing this debt. On top of every other resource and kindness that Grace is wasting on him every day.

 

Grace didn’t expect to receive any notes, at least for quite some time, but after a couple days he notices the pad seems to have been a little bit more worn from where the man left it on his cot.

And a couple days after that, he blearily scrubs his eyes while brewing a pot of coffee before class, and there’s a note on the counter. ‘Cleaned up a bit, hope that’s okay - Simon’

Grace picks up the note with a grin splitting his face, glad to finally have a name for his new companion, and knowing he will have to thank him for the help later. He recognises the test for what it is, since Simon has been so unsure of interacting with anything he thinks ‘belongs’ to Grace. Which is pretty much everything.

When Simon returns from the beach with grit on his hands and dusting his clothes like stubborn glitter Grace pops out to greet him, fresh from the shower himself. “Hey Simon, thanks for cleaning up, I really appreciate the help around here, though please don’t feel like you have to or anything,” Grace stresses softly, wringing his hands and feeling like a lousy host, but not wanting to put Simon off organising the place to his liking during his stay.

 

Simon shakes his head, wanting to argue the contrary. On Eden, in prison and especially on the Iron Lung cleanliness had been an impossible dream, when even their drinking water was recycled and tainted. It covered him, and the few items, places and people who he’d ever truly cared about, and no amount of effort would’ve brought any progress in remedying that.

Dirtiness reminded him of the submarine, of the blood and grime that engulfed him, and he now has the ability to clean things and notice his impact with the change it can make to a room.

~~~~

Simon has a good idea of what would happen to him if he was caught in here, but the idea of fledgling seeds growing and being tended so close by piqued his interest the moment Grace mentioned it.

The vegetation outside is wonderful, but waxy and established. It just doesn’t feel that they need tending to the same way, whereas the seeds need consistency, care and a gentleness that he hasn’t been granted the opportunity for yet. He just wants to look, to run his fingers over the sprouting life and know that maybe there is still something to be hopeful for.

He checks around before entering the heated greenhouse, hoping to just look and enjoy, trying to only touch the lower leaves with soft fingertips, to not disturb the viable buds at the crown. They may be browning at the tips but he still gets to feel the fuzzy or silken leaves of a growing plant, and that will have to be enough.

“Simon?”

Simon jerks away, catching the edge of a pot and almost dropping it if he hadn’t quickly scooped it out of the air. He clutches it to his chest thankfully as he turns, looking at Grace and knowing that this is surely where his tenure will end.

Tears well up in his waterline, desperately trying to hand the plant over, not wanting to look as though he’s stealing. Grace looks bewildered as he takes it and Simon lightly hits his open palm to his chest, his way of apologising, he hopes Grace has realised over their time together.

He backs up, fearful, desperately terrified, arm raised defensively to block a blow Grace will surely deliver him. He growls in his chest, trying to keep him away, like some kind of vermin who’s been caught breaking into his supplies. As if Grace is the intruder and not him.

Tears are flowing down his face, and he lets out a sound like a wounded thing as Grace steps forward towards him, but the other just places the plantlet back where it came from.

He can’t remember being this fearful of a hit since early childhood, when he still had some trust of people around him. But this hurts worse, because he knows exactly why it will occur, and by the hand of a man who’s been so kind to him. It’s all his fault, why did he—

Grace reaches forward, and Simon grabs him desperately by the wrist. But he no longer has two hands and Grace touches his shoulder with his free one, making Simon whine at the myriad of pain that he could cause when the gentle touch turns. “Hey, Simon, I’m not gonna hit you, and I know that’s hard to believe right now, but I would never do that to you, or anybody,” Grace promises.

Simon is still breathing shortly, unable to be anything other than fearful, especially of Grace's advantage over him with his free hand. “Would you feel more comfortable to hold my hands? Cause you need to calm down to breathe for me, sweetheart,” Grace gently suggests, looking at him with far more compassion than he deserves when he’d tainted such a revered place.

Simon lets go of Grace's wrist, slackening his grip with bated breath, flicking his eyes up to the olders face from behind where his hair falls messily across his face. But Grace only holds them out for him, palms up offeringly, leaving Simon to loop his fingers over and interlock them with the older’s. Grace only gives a smile, a weight lifting off of his chest at the attempt to gain his trust.

“Good job, now try breathing in—and slowly out—hey it’s okay if you need a couple tries, just go slow and focus on me,” Grace softly leads, reassuring him as his breath hitches and Simon's face curls at the thought of disappointing him.

 

Grace was afraid of this happening, and from Simon's initial reaction to the presence of a greenhouse he’s almost surprised it took so long before he found him here.

“I should’ve known you wanted to help out in here, I do notice how much you like the plants around the Dome,” Grace admits, though he’s sure Simon has no idea how very important watching and appreciating his presence has become to Grace. It would only intimidate him if he did. “If you wanna work in here I’ll let the Eridians know and they’ll show you the process. Only if you’d want th-“

Simon nods eagerly, his dark eyes glittering in the way they only rarely do, and hair shifting like dark curtains, giving his fingers a squeeze seemingly absentmindedly.

It softens Grace's heart, and he knows he’s not going to regret the offer.

~~~~

Rocky had just finished helping Grace with the Pebbles, when he decided to take a diversion and visit Simon in the greenhouse. The human spends hours in there, it’s a wonder to Rocky what he must be doing.

The door swings open when Rocky rolls into it, and he finds Simon adding a stake to a modified tomato plant. “Hello, Friend Simon,” Rocky greets, keeping rather more quiet than he’s used to after a particularly stern talk by Grace within the first couple weeks of the man moving here.

Grace had said that Simon scares very easily, and Rocky knows that scared humans often lead to leaky humans, and in his humble opinion Rocky finds it in his best interest to avoid making a leaky human.

Simon hums, thankfully more used to Rocky's presence by now, trimming off any dead shoots now that the plant is secure.

Rocky watches him for a long moment, humming as Simon tends to the plant with such care. “Simon very good with plants, must have many on home planet, exclamation!” Rocky chirps, scanning his surroundings to find the plant life flourishing now his fellow Eridians have Simon's help.

Simon pauses, and Rocky fears that he’s going to cry, but he thankfully just takes a deep breath and shakes his head. He then holds up only one finger, then tucks it into a fist.

“Only one plant, but plant died. Is correct, question?”

Simon nods his head, suddenly looking even more sad, as if remembering how horrible it was. Rocky can’t imagine not having plants, especially the modified human ones in the dome. They’ve become a symbol of how wonderful it is to have humans like Grace, and now Simon, on the planet. Caring for their planet and people is the pride of Erid.

“Very sad, statement,” Rocky trills morosely, quietly coming to sit closer to Simon. “Rocky very sorry, Friend Simon.”

Simon screws his face up slightly, and the slow tears only make Rocky feel compassion, especially when Simon places his hand on the Xenonite ball, effectively giving Rocky a side-hug. Rocky trills a short tune, vocalising his happiness in a way the translator cannot put to words. “Rocky very glad to have Simon here, where there are friends and many plants, statement.”

“Thank you,” Simon whispers, Rocky's hearing able to process the quiet words. He whistles happily at hearing Simon's voice for the very first time, patting his feet against his ball.

~~~~

Simon was in the greenhouse when Grace decided to do some cleaning. Now that he had another person in his space he felt the need to keep it reasonably orderly, and Simon had helped out so much around the place that a couple hours would be plenty now.

He feels slightly invasive cleaning up what is effectively Simon's bedroom, but there’s no way around it. He shakes out the couch cushions and bats at them to plump up the stuffing, then runs a mop over the floors. He pauses when pushing it under the couch at the feel of a crinkling object, or multiple objects, stopping him from pushing it all the way under.

He puts the mop down, and pushes at the couch to save from scrabbling about on his knees, and as it comes away from the wall he peers down the back to spot multiple packets of rehydration shake powder and ration bars, no doubt stashed by Simon.

He sighs and just looks at it all for a beat, feeling deeply upset and guilty.

Did he not do enough to make sure Simon felt safe with him? Where did he go wrong in his approach? He’s never tried to restrict food or control portions, but maybe he hasn’t assured him that he’s able to have seconds at mealtimes or snacks during the day?

He realises distantly that it has nothing to do with any of that, and is instead what the man would do anyway when he’s dealt with severe food insecurity all of his life and now has a steady access to it.

He’s reminded of squirrels, storing their food away safe in surplus for a time when it could be scarce. As if Simon has a knowledge ingrained that one day it will come to pass that Grace would simply overlook feeding him.

He picks up all the food and places it in a box, adding in some earth-like candy and desert mixes, and places it on the couch. He doesn’t know much about how Simon will react, but he does know that the food packets are not going back into the pantry.

Grace continues cleaning, his chest feeling heavy and the box waiting on the couch.

He’s grading papers at the table when Simon walks in, the sun dimming in the sky. Grace pushes his glasses off his nose, placing the pen down with a soft click, and makes his way into the living room.

It seems Simon has already noticed something is amiss by the box on the couch, his body stiffened, no doubt at the implication his brain is putting together. “Simon, could I talk to you about something?” He brings up softly, trying to keep his posture open despite growing nerves.

 

Simon has messed up a lot during his time on Erid with Grace, but stealing the man's food has got to be the worst of his indiscretions.

He has no choice but to nod, as putting off or arguing a deserved punishment would only make things worse, and he is more than deserving of whatever retribution Grace sees fit for this.

It is by far the most selfish action he has taken so far; removing food from a man who he deems as very dear to him by now.

It feels as grave as taking food from his own mother.

He’s flushed with shame, not meeting Grace's eyes now that he knows Simon has been disvaluing his own hunger, practically taking food out of his mouth while living with the man at his behest.

He quickly wipes away his tears before they fall, as if not allowing them to streak down his cheeks will grant him favor.

“Simon, sweetheart, look at me,” Grace urges softly.

Simon quickly and dutifully looks up into Grace's own eyes, trembling slightly at even the words his actions could elicit from the man’s mouth. He flinches as Grace's hand cups his cheek, brushing his hair behind his scrappy ear, even that feature scarred up from the radiation.

“I’m so sorry for whatever happened to you that made you go so hungry for so long,” Grace tells him, beading tears in his own eyes. Simon's breath hitches in his chest, and he fights to not let it out as a whimper. “I completely understand why you thought you needed to ‘steal’ food, and you can keep the food you stashed close-by and still eat from the kitchen whenever you need, if it will make you feel more comfortable.”

Simon's shoulders are quietly shaking, his tears falling freely now, holding himself with his arm, clutching at his shirt until his claws dig into the soft, balled-up fabric. “You’re not going to be punished, like- ever, especially not for the things you do because you’re scared, and I’ll reassure you of that every time you need me to.”

He doesn’t know what he did to be placed here, albeit scarred and broken, with Ryland Grace, and he aches to hug the man and never let go, to be wrapped up and be held like he’s precious, like he’s worth the effort of being loved the way he cries for inside.

They stand there with Grace softly stroking his face and hair until Simon's tears dry up and the sky is dark.

~~~~

Grace has been reading books on psychology, pouring over files of studies and personal accounts downloaded from Mary to his tablet in the evenings and breaks between classes to find ways to help Simon.

Obviously no human has ever gone through a blueprint version of what he has endured, and Grace doesn’t even know most of it, but he’s tried to be as astute as possible to all of his triggers.

He’s managed to deduce that Simon had a rough childhood, with scarcity towards food, water, safety and love, and was made to grow up far too soon, with a plethora of scarring being across his back, old and raised alluding to abuse.

Despite his desperate need to scour for resources because of his previous lack, he is far too quick to give them up once he believes he will be reprimanded.

He also dulls himself wherever he goes, as if his mere presence is a burden, and is in constant need of reassurance.

The flashbacks also wrap all of this up into a case of PTSD, which is very familiar to Grace, of course. But the rocking, the involuntary whimpering and whining when he’s crying particularly hard, the holding himself and especially the nibbling and almost sucking on his thumb when zoning out aren’t symptoms he recognises as clear tells.

They almost make him think of his students on earth, when things were going on at home and they’d almost revert, stalling milestones and struggling in class leading to quiet crying in their seats and bursts of frustration on a pendulum sway just the same as Simon experiences.

“What Grace doing? question,” Rocky abruptly pipes up, making Grace startle out of his single-minded focus, fumbling to not break his tablet on the floor. “Apology! Apology, Friend Grace.”

“It’s alright, Rocky. I'm just trying to figure out how to help Simon.” Grace rubs at his forehead, feeling the solution on the tip of his tongue, tapping in his brain, but it’s still not linking up, all of the different disorders and conditions muddying. There’s a reason he’s a scientist and not a psychologist after all.

“Grace already help Friend Simon. Rocky confused, statement,” Rocky trills, tilting his head up at Grace.

“Human psychology, or the way our minds work, isn’t as simple as just being there for someone, buddy,” Grace explains, lightly patting Rocky's ball, getting a twitter in response. “Simon needs more help than that, because he could start feeling worse the longer he’s struggling with something and can’t tell us about it. ‘You have any ideas? I’m kinda at a loss here.”

Rocky hums. “Friend Simon likes small things, maybe Simon spend time with Pebbles, Pebbles small and very happy, and Friend Simon feel small and happy too,” Rocky suggests chirpily, tip-tapping his feet.

Grace nods with a smile at the suggestion, then gasps as he remembers something. “Rocky, I think you actually just got it!”

“Why Grace sound surprised, question? Rocky is very intelligent, very easy problem,” Rocky chitters, and Grace rolls his eyes as he glances back to one of the psychologist textbooks' convoluted indexes.

“I’m not surprised you figured it out, I’m just surprised that you happened to connect it to an actual psychological condition, which isn’t even known about much on earth,” he explains absentmindedly, skimming back and forth over the textbook. “Here! It’s only a basic write-up with no personal accounts, but it’s enough until I can find more specific sources.

Age Regression: a coping mechanism, often displayed in adolescent or adult individuals who have experienced trauma, particularly in childhood. Characterised by a younger state of mind or behaviour; an individual may display child-like behaviour in an attempt to protect themself and their mental-state from further harm. May be voluntarily participated in for therapeutic purposes, or involuntarily entered due to overwhelm or being triggered, which can lead the individual to feel a lack of control and further upset.”

Rocky hums thoughtfully. “Lots of complicated words, but Rocky understand. Friend Simon is adult human, but mind feels like Pebble age sometimes, and can make Friend feel sad,” Rocky surmises, nodding at the end all self-satisfied.

“Yes! Exactly! thanks so much, Rocky, you’ve really been such a help, if it wasn’t for you I’d still be puzzling this out,” Grace smiles widely, running a hand over smooth Xenonite, then offers a fist which Rocky eagerly bumps.

~~~~

“I wanted to introduce you to the kids, not right now, don’t worry! Cause they can be… a lot, for someone who’s not used to lots of high-energy children,” Grace poses to him one day with a light laugh, no doubt thinking of the rambunctious Pebbles tearing around the classroom.

“I thought that you could draw and describe the things you like so they could understand you better, so it won’t feel like you’re a stranger. You can take as long as you want, or not do this at all, that’s totally an option if you’re not ready for it! But when you’re ready just put them somewhere for me and I’ll bring them to class, then you can pick a day you wanna come see them. Does that sound…okay?”

Simon takes a while to think about it, not having thought that Grace or anybody else would trust him to be around the children. That they may find him scary, or that they can somehow see the blood on his hands despite not knowing his history and deem him a threat to things as special as the Pebbles.

He finds that naïve excitement bubbling up in his chest though, and he nods, hoping he can make good on why Grace has decided to trust him so very much.

“I thought these might help, too.” Grace passes off a pack of brand new pencils, all with colorful lead. Simon hasn’t used ‘coloured pencils’ before, never even seen them, as such a resource was deemed ‘unimportant’ on Eden.

Simon smiles to himself, his brain thankfully not poking at him about the debt he now owes to Grace, at least as his foremost thought, instead he’s needled with excitement of being able to colour in his favourite pages of his notebook.

~~~~

Grace almost forgets the ‘assignment’ he gave to Simon as a couple weeks tick by, fogged over with classes and increasingly complex subjects, as the Eridian's learning capacity even in childhood surpasses many human adults. Joys of a long life, Grace supposes.

One day he returns home from class to find a stack of well-leafed pages on his desk, and he knows without anything more than a cursory glance that Simon has fulfilled his unofficial assignment.

He forgoes changing out of his more formal clothing, too eager to go through what Simon had so painstakingly completed. He slips into his chair and takes them in careful hands.

The pages are filled by subject, and very neatly composed, Grace notices as he carefully spreads them out on his desk.

One is dedicated to plants, of course, with studies of the young seeds in the greenhouse, to trees he's put to paper after the endless hours of nature footage he must’ve consumed on his visits to the don’t-go-crazy room, and the tablet. There’s also a round pendant(?) with what looks to be a partially grown seed, visually similar to a maple trees from earth. It has a note ‘Last Tree of Eden,’ which is written the same on the drawing of a hulking tree in the centre of the page.

He mentally files that particular fact away for later, curious about this ‘last tree.’

There’s one filled with illustrations of Earth's animals he particularly likes from documentaries and pictures he’d seen. Another with stars and planets, and one more of Grace, Rocky, Adrian and a few other Eridians that frequent the dome.

The last page is of Simon himself, a drawing not dissimilar from a stick figure in its simplicity, however with stark focus on his injuries caused by his time in the Iron Lung. In comparison to the glowing renderings of Grace himself and the Eridians it’s almost as if he couldn’t bear to spend much time on this one, and the note on the corner makes his heart hurt that much sharper.

‘If too scary please discard - Simon’

He knows with certainty that he’s done it to allow the children a chance to acclimate to how ‘scary’ Simon believes he is before they see him in person. And possibly giving Grace one last chance to say no, as if he would suddenly deem Simon unfit of meeting the Pebbles. When all he’s wanted since Simon came here is for him to feel loved and know that Grace is unashamed of him.

~~~~

“Welcome to class everyone! Now as you probably know, there has been another human living with me in the Dome for some time. His name is Simon, and as he’s a little shy I thought I’d ask him to introduce himself through drawings of his favorite things, and I can describe them to all of you!”

There is a chorus of curious titters and whistles from the excited Pebbles, all eager to hear about the newcomer they’d surely heard whispers about from the adults.

Grace explains all of the drawings, sparing not a single detail in his descriptions of Simon's work, answering questions on tree species, animals, the expanses of space, and being able to speak without interruption for the page of himself and the other Eridians.

“Lastly we have a drawing of Simon himself. He has olive skin, dark hair and eyes, is just a bit shorter than me, and is very strong. He had been through a lot before he came here, so he has one arm and a few scars, and he’s non-verbal, which means that he cannot or doesn't feel comfortable speaking at all. He’s been nervous about coming to see you, but I hope that hearing about him and the things he likes will give you a bunch to talk to him about when you meet!”

“Amaze amaze amaze, Simon likes many good things, exclamation!”

“Yes yes, want to meet Simon, when meet, question?”

“Soon, I’ll let him choose when he’s ready, but he seemed excited to meet you guys when he’s feeling up to it,” Grace gently tells them, not wanting to get their hopes up for a scheduled introduction.

“Can I write things I like too, question?” Asks Ryley, one of his more introverted students, tapping their forelegs. “I don’t want Simon nervous meeting me.”

Arthur churrs with interest. “I want to do that too, want Simon to like me, exclamation!”

“Simon probably knows lots of other good Earth things, I can share favorite Eridian things,” warbles Anna, clearly eager to communicate with him, endlessly curious just like her peers.

“Actually Simon isn’t from Earth, and we’re still trying to figure out where he came from exactly, but I don’t believe he’s ever even seen Earth,” Grace tells them, not wanting to give more away than he has the right to.

The Eridian children titter in their version of shock and surprise. “Amaze, Simon very rare not-Earth human, very special, statement.”

Grace grins, and happily derails the rest of the class to help the Pebbles describe themselves and their interests, noting it all down as they go through the class one student after the next.

 

Grace has a little stack of papers from his students upon returning home, a blurb of interests and appearances from every one of his students for Simon.

“I brought your drawings to class today,” Grace starts over dinner, and he eyes the way Simon seems to stiffen minutely, before pasting over it with a casual interest and a hum for Grace to continue. “Very good by the way, and the students were super interested in the things you like. They’re excited to meet you when you’re ready to, and they even made- these!”

Grace takes the lists from a pocket folder he’d set on the table, and slides them across to Simon. “They thought since you’ve been nervous to meet people, that they’d introduce themselves a bit first to help a bit,” Grace explains proudly.

Simon scans through one page after the next, and between Grace looking down to take a bite then across to him again Simon has silent tears crossing his cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry if it’s too much, I thought-“

Simon shakes his head insistently, and a little smile settles softly across his face. “Good tears?” Simon nods his head, and he sighs in relief.

~~~~

Simon had made the decision to meet the Pebbles in the late evening before a school day, laying awake and resolving to be brave come morning.

He wakes even before Grace and sets a note at the coffee machine ‘can I come to class today? Come find me in greenhouse if yes - Simon’ and goes out to do his morning checks on the plants, a simple excuse so he doesn’t psych himself out.

He tries not to get too dirty, even with his apron on he can often forget himself and get soil on his clothes. He’s transferring a modified cucumber plant as it’s begun to outgrow its nursery pot, when the door swings open.

He’s thankfully more used to the comings and goings of Eridians by now, that he doesn’t startle like the day he was first caught in here.

He stands and faces Grace, standing glowing in the doorway. “‘You ready to come along?” Grace asks with an easy smile, and Simon nods, taking his apron off and hanging it back up on the wall hook. He then washes his hands at the sink, both implemented after he began working there.

They set off in companionable silence, though Simon is thrumming with nerves. Despite them being children he greatly wants to leave a good impression of himself upon the Pebbles

Simon takes some deep breaths as they get closer to the classroom, his hands shaking slightly, overcome with nerves he’d been fighting so hard to quell. “You’ll be great,” Grace whispers, and Simon feels him slip his hand into his own, the contact drowning out the crashing of nerves.

Rocky whistles as he comes into class after them, vocalising happily. “Yay yay, Friend Simon here for class,” Rocky chirps, rolling around him enthusiastically.

 

The kids are on him as soon as they notice him, but the clamouring seems to stall as they remember their manners, particularly helped by Rocky whistling in warning. They approach him much more mindfully then, and helped by Grace's presence over his shoulder it doesn’t feel so overwhelming.

He gives a little wave as they say hello, clearly barely containing their excitement over his presence, and it makes his mind mushy in ways that are only triggered when he’s at his worst, which is a welcome change.

“Simon really appreciated you guys’ thoughtfulness in writing introductions, and he wanted me to thank you on his behalf,” Grace speaks to the Pebbles, making Simon nod emphatically, and Grace looks at him with radiant pride, which warms his chest.

Simon decides to take a seat with the rest of the class, wanting to witness Grace in his element, and he preens at the glances the other gives him throughout, his mind blissfully quiet.

Simon lays in bed at the end of the day, his cheeks hurting from smiling for such a time his muscles are unused to and warmth in his chest at the reflections of the day.

~~~~

In the days since the class and meeting the Pebbles things have been almost miraculous in its positivity, with him and Grace growing closer now that his guard has dropped almost completely. He’d have thought it stupidly reckless before, but everything with Grace is just so easy.

Until it isn’t.

Simon has a nightmare of the Blood Ocean, and it starts as they always do, practically pulling his hair out in desperation, his breaths coming in short from the dank and oxygen-deprived coffin he’s somehow directing.

He’s at once frozen in horror to see the creature's eye, then teeth, through the porthole, dread piercing through his chest and sending him out of his seat, stumbling backwards to the floor.

Then the blood trickles in through every gap and weld in the ship. His body is leaden, unable to sit up nor move his hands and feet, encased in the blood unyieldingly. Then the porthole splinters, cracks and finally gives way, blood surging in anew, and he’s failed, he’s gurgling on blood, stuck laying on the metal, and please, please, help me, I don’t wanna die! Don’t let me die like this—!

“-MON! Simon, i-it’s Grace, it’s Ryland, please!”

Simon's vision fades into a new horror, Grace’s face covered in scratches and blood, and he’s on top of him, straddling his stomach with his hand on the man’s forehead, pinning him none too gently, claws curling around the sides of his face and scalp.

He’s hyperventilating before he even rips himself away from his Angel, his saviour looking at him with fear, struggling to get back up from how harshly Simon must’ve thrown him to the floor.

“I-‘m so sorry, sorry, nonono,” he heaves. They’re the first words he’s spoken in front of Grace and he’s apologising for being the monster he never should’ve saved.

“It’s okay, I’m- Simon, don’t—!” Simon rushes from the house, not allowing Grace to reach for him, to offer him kindness when he never had the right to behold it, to greedily gulp from the man’s endless font of care, which has surely dried up all by his own doing.

 

Grace had heard Simon talking, perhaps in the midst of a waking flashback, and he padded carefully into the living room, knowing that Simon does best with support to get through them, because he can work himself into a tailspin otherwise.

He was still bleary, and didn’t try to turn the lights on as it could only startle him further.

“I don’t- I wanna live- help me-“ Simon gritted out, his voice ragged from desperation and disuse. Even his worst flashbacks hadn’t caused him to talk, but Grace put that aside.

“Simon, sweetheart,” he tried gently, but Simon was still muttering, then clawing at himself, and Grace placed a gentle palm over his scarred knuckles.

The contact seemed to flip a switch in Simon, as he grabbed hold of Grace's upper arm and yanked, pulling the man towards him with an unforgiving grip and more power than Grace could fathom.

“Ow, can- that hurts, I’m not them Simon, you’re okay,” Grace gritted out, Simon's claws digging into the flesh of his bicep with every twitch of his hand.

All the while Simon was muttering desperately about “I can’t die down here- please- I’ll do anything-“ and it hurt Grace's heart how very small it was, how scared and vulnerable.

Grace tried to pull his arm from Simon's grip, but his claws started to bite into his skin, so he tried to get the man to rouse by touching his face, his hair, anything he could reach from where he was tightly sandwiched against Simon's torso and chest.

He didn’t want to shock him out of it, realising far too late that Simon was having a nightmare, which could be far more violent than even his worst conscious flashbacks, having noticed scratches to his face and neck in the mornings occasionally.

“No! ‘Y can’t do this!” Simon suddenly bursted, and in a surge of energy he pushed up and unbalanced Grace to the point of falling backwards to the carpeted floor.

Simon was messily straddling him across his midsection, barely giving him room to move, and Grace could honestly admit he was scared, with Simon's hand gripping the middle of his chest, the man’s fist balled into his shirt, the weight of it like a stone.

“Agh, Simon! You’re not there, you’re here with me, please listen to me!” Grace grimaced in pain, trying to wriggle out, to knock Simon's leg out, anything, but the man was rooted like a tree.

Simon growled, his hand snaking under his jaw, nails digging like knives into Grace's cheeks. Simon was also putting slight pressure on his throat, and he knocked his hand into the man’s side, patting increasingly insistently, trying to move his head to shift his grip, but it felt impossible.

He hated that he was practically hitting Simon then when he swore he never would, but tears of fear were blurring his vision and his breath was coming in short as it crawled up his throat.

It’s when Simon's hand moved up his face, glancing his mouth and nose for a beat he was petrified of and settling to be a band over his forehead that he had to try by any means to get the man off.

He punched Simon in his side, wriggling as hard as he could muster, and shouted “SIMON! Simon, I-it’s Grace, it’s Ryland, please!”

Simon's eyes fluttered open, his hand falling away, and Grace barely had a moment to feel relief as Simon bolted out of the door.

 

Simon can barely see for the tears in his eyes, running as far as he can, finding himself fleeing in the direction of the classroom, possibly for the safe feeling it gave him the last time he was there. But that was with Grace, and this time if Grace joins him it will be very different, catastrophically so.

He hides under Grace's desk, sobbing loudly, curled up on his side, arm over his head and chest. He just hopes that Grace would think better than to do anything here, that this space is too pure to taint it with Simon's wretched blood.

He’s fearful of the thought of Grace not coming at all, of having to roam the Dome alone like a stray, keeping his distance from the man he traumatised, and his mind flashes back to the emerging bruises and split skin.

He thinks of the 62 on Filament Station, and rues with startling clarity being spared.

He lays there until his voice locks up but his tears still flow, staring at the wall and thumb in his mouth, just wanting the chance to have Angel love him again. And knowing in a way that hollows him that he never will again, he doesn’t deserve it.

 

Grace searches for Simon until panic threatens to choke him, all of his favourite places entirely void of his presence, until the sun peers through the sky and Rocky comes to find him too.

“Why Grace Simon not in home, question?” Rocky questions, rolling in front of Grace and warbling concernedly at his face. “Grace hurt! Why Grace hurt, what happened, question?”

“Oh, Rock, Simon had a nightmare and hurt me in his sleep, freaked out and now I just- I can’t find him, not even in his favourite places,” Grace finishes quietly, allowing himself to cry.

He almost worries that Rocky will launch into self- righteous indignation on his behalf as he did when Simon hurt him at the start, but he pauses for a moment then seems to decide something.

“Rocky go find Simon, then bring Grace. Friend Grace stay here, statement,” Rocky tells him, almost ordering Grace to stay-put.

 

Rocky sets off, the frantic patting of his feet keeping him in constant acute awareness of his surroundings, listening closely for a heartbeat even in the very corners of the dome.

Grace had checked all of Simon's haunts, and he’s about to swing back and re-check them in case the frantic human had moved to avoid Grace, when he catches a slow heartbeat near the classroom.

He scuttles over into the doorway, and it gets louder, making Rocky sure that he’s finally managed to find the scared human, coming upon him almost catatonic under Grace's desk.

Rocky whistles gently, cooing when Simon makes no move, curled up protectively of his vital organs and head, thumb in his mouth as he blinks spacily at nothing.

“Pebble Simon, question?” Rocky inquires, only making Simon cry anew, his face scrunching up. “Why Pebble hiding?”

“Hur’ Ang’l, not gonna love me now,” he explains despondently, not even crying harder, just saying it as if it’s an easy truth.

“Angel is Friend Grace, question?”

Simon nods. “‘M too bad, monster.”

“Rocky does not think Friend Simon is monster, statement,” Rocky chirrs, bristling at the very notion. “Everyone love Simon very much.”

Simon just curls up tighter and weeps, even when Rocky sings his very best song Simon just shakes with upset, his heart beating harder.

“Rocky be back, get help for Pebble Simon,” Rocky promises, struggling to tear himself away from keeping watch over the vulnerable human.

Rocky runs as fast as he can, flying over the textured environment with a single-minded focus, already whistling as Grace comes into view.

“Rocky found Pebble Simon, in classroom, under Grace's desk, Rocky bring Grace for help,” Rocky quickly warbles, and if he could pull Grace he surely would.

 

Grace steps into the classroom carefully, despite feeling frantic at this point, his chest heavy and breathless from more than the run to get here.

Rocky chirps gently as he rolls towards Grace's desk, keeping his distance and greeting Simon again. “Rocky back, brought Angel for Pebble,” he trills, stepping carefully and placing himself in watchful distance of Simon.

Grace can hear quiet sniffles and quick breaths as he gets closer, Simon trying so hard to be quiet, unobtrusive and unnoticeable.

“Sweetheart? Oh,” Grace trails off, crouching and looking under the desk, going to his knees at the sight of Simon curled so pitifully around himself, desperately trying to self-soothe on his thumb despite the hitching tears wracking his body. “Simon…”

Simon pulls his thumb from his mouth, snapping his head to look at Grace then sits up startlingly quickly, whimpering and scrambling to back himself into the very corner of the desk away from Grace, absolutely terrified. “‘M sorry, ‘m so sorry, please don,’ please, ‘m bad, ‘m sorry!”

It makes Grace's heart shrivel. He’s seen Simon break down before, but none have caused him to be as deeply regressed as this, which is going to make it especially difficult to calm him from his upset.

“Oh kid, you’re not bad, I…” Grace trails off, tears closing up his throat and choking off his ability for speaking the reassurance Simon desperately needs.

“‘M monster, ‘m Butcher, no Angel, no love,” Simon mutters, almost as if assuring himself of a known truth, his hand digging into his hair and harshly gripping.

“Sweetheart, it hurts to hear you say that. You’re not a monster, the people who told you that were wrong,” Grace urges gently, wanting desperately to reach out and peel Simon from the wall, but not wanting to scare him impossibly more.

“No’ wrong, a’ways been bad, you jus’ only one not punished me,” Simon points out warily, looking at Grace as if today and now will be the time that happens.

“Everyone should’ve treated you kindly, nobody should’ve punished you, abused you and made you think you deserved it.”

“Th’ Father says ‘good soldiers don’ need praise, you’ll find kindness with the Last Tree when your work is complete,’” Simon tells him quietly, his eyes glazing over slightly as if he’s right back there, looking through Grace unnervingly.

Grace is at a loss for words, the implication making his mind whirr, and he gulps to force the stone in his throat down. “You’re not a soldier Simon, you never should’ve needed to… die, to get love.”

“Bu’ I did, in th’ocean, ‘n ’m here, ‘n I still hurt… hurt Angel. Don’ know how to be good, only bad.” Simon hugs himself, shaking and upset like his world is ending.

“But you already are, you’re good to the plants, to the Pebbles, to Rocky and me. You’re kind and thoughtful every day, you try so hard with everything you do, and I’m grateful to have you here. The only one you’re not kind to is yourself, Simon,” He says sadly, and watches as Simon's face crumples again, fat tears rolling down scarred cheeks.

Simon's shoulders shake with wracking sobs as he curls into himself, a crushing whine coming from his throat. “I hate what they did to you, I hate how scared and broken they’ve made you feel, and I don’t know how to help you like you deserve,” Grace grits out, frustrated tears beading down his face and neck, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

 

Simon looks at his Angel crying over him, and he aches something fierce to fall into his arms. But he also remembers the last time he was that close he was clawing at his face like an animal.

“Y’have! You’ been the best to me since… since my mom. But- ya don’ deserve to be hurt try’na help me,” Simon tells him, almost resigned at the impasse they’re faced with; that Grace is good for him, but too good to put up with Simon attacking him while asleep, too good to deal with the very situation they’re in right now.

“Do you know why helping you has been so important to me?” Simon shakes his head childishly, and the Angel looks up at him with the warmest countenance he can muster, his lashes clumped with tears but a beautiful smile on his lips. “Because I love you, and you’re worth all of the time I have left to give.”

Simon can only see his Angel in blurry silhouettes for a moment before he scrubs at his eyes desperately. “Y’ love me too? Even-”

“I really, really do, with all your mistakes and fear and doubt, even though you’re scared to let me,” Grace tells him soundly, leaving no question as to his sincerity.

Simon tentatively uncurls himself, sliding partway out of the desk, wanting a sign to assure him that he won’t be rejected from the hug he desperately wants to receive, and the Angel before him opens his arms beckoningly. Simon falls into his arms as easily as a planet orbiting another.

Simon looks upon his Angel's divine face marred with scratches and bruises blooming along his jaw in the shapes of his own fingers until tears blur his vision and fall. His face screws up with wretched sobs and he buries his face in the man’s shirt, clutching at it with desperate fingers. “‘M so so sorry, Ang’l, ‘m sorry.”

“Shh, you don’t need to apologise, sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean to,” is softly assured, his Angel holding the back of his head and the small of his back protectively, all-encompassing like he’s a precious thing.

There are still titters in his mind of weakness, of unworthiness, but he tries to focus on the feeling that he’s wanted here, exactly where he is.

Rocky sings softly. It’s a very sweet tune Eridians only share between themselves and their young, and Simon’s tears run dry slowly, feeling deeply adored.

 

“Let’s head home, huh? I know it’s a walk but my bones aren’t made for stone, and you deserve to get comfy,” Grace coos to him sometime later, his legs having gone numb in indeterminate time before.

“Pebble Simon deserve soft nest, Rocky Grace make good nest for Pebble,” Rocky hums, almost dazed with determination.

Grace knows with certainty that Rocky is just as enamoured with Simon being little as he is, the Eridians purring and nest references alluding to ancient instincts being triggered, regardless of Simon being human.

“Wha’s up with Rock?”

“I think Rocky's feeling a bit paternal, buddy,” Grace hums, watching as Rocky stalks ahead like he’s forging a secure path, just for them.

“Wha’ that mean?” Simon asks him confusedly.

“It means he’s feeling like you’re his Pebble, and he wants to look after you, just like I do.” Grace watches the way Simon's cheeks pinken slightly, his head dipping.

“Rocky gonna tell Adrian too.” Simons sharpened canines flash as he glances at Grace with a secret smile.

Grace laughs wryly. “Oh man, they’re gonna be impossible.” He has visions of the Eridians swarming Simon like helicopter parents, cooing and protective, because Adrian is nothing if not indulgent of their mate, and a regressed Simon would be enamouring for the best of creatures.

~~~~

Simon was deeply unsure of his regression after ‘the incident.’ Of being a burden by wanting to choose to fall into it again, instead of it being unconsciously pressed upon him.

Grace did all he could to assure him, without pressure, —though he so deeply wanted to care for Simon, selfishly enjoying the man soft and innocent, and being trusted so deeply— that he’d be there for him when he chose to sink, to be the one to help him down into it and catch him when he dropped.

Their communication had improved in the meantime, and not simply because Simon was speaking more, but in little glances and affectionate touches, a soft trust known between them both.

It was felt especially in moments like Simon crawling into his bed sometimes after a nightmare or unable to sleep, all without the excuse of being small; gifting him a houseplant for the kitchen windowsill, so tentatively handing over a life Simon has tended with the understanding Grace would treat it just as preciously; of simply eating seconds without asking first, or taking a snack from the kitchen in front of Grace, without the same hang-ups about ‘stealing’ it.

Everyday Grace did look forward to the day Simon took the plunge to regression with him, but the wash of joy from Simon's continued progress was all the fulfillment he could’ve ever asked for.

Then comes the day Grace had been hoping they’d reach again.

He wakes up early, still somewhat sluggish as he blinks over his coffee cup, watching the flourishing growth of his houseplant with softness.

And in the next moment Simon's feet patter into the kitchen doorway, looking markedly nervous about whatever he wants to say.

He’s doing much better about moving with casualty, rather than with fearful intention, and taking up space that Grace so desperately carved for him to stretch out in.

“Can I, ah- I’d like to come to class today,” Simon pushes out, his fingers subtly playing with one another. It’s a nervous tell that he likely thinks is almost imperceptible, but is in actuality very obvious to Grace.

“Sure! You know you’re always welcome,” Grace says casually, expecting that to be the end of it and for Simon to putter away, but he stands with something else clearly wanting to be asked. “Was there anything else?”

“Is it okay if I- can I do the thing too? The, uh- y’know-“ Simon tries to conjure the words with a vague hand movement, but he’s clearly running out of steam.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Grace confusedly tells him, taking a sip of his coffee.

Simon makes a small frustrated noise. “Th- the Pebble thing,” Simon finally spits, finding the approximate word he’d been fishing for.

Grace struggles to suppress a grin. “Absolutely! Was there anything in particular you wanted to do?”

“Well…”

 

Simon spends the class getting lost in Grace's enthusiastic teaching, only tuning back in when he catches something he knows and raising his hand carefully.

Not that he isn’t deeply interested in what Grace is saying, of course! He’s simply jetsam drifting in his own head now that he’s allowing himself to regress once again, Grace's voice rolling over him like waves.

“Now, can anyone tell me why despite lacking nuclear fusion and being effectively dead, a White Dwarf star would be supported against gravity?” Grace poses, glancing around the class.

Simon raises his hand, trying to let go of his shyness and focus on how well-versed he is in the subject matter. Grace always tells him to put himself out there if he thinks he can do it.

His love of stars and planets have been a rather understandable side-effect of his universe, and White Dwarf stars in his opinion are one of his favourite phenomena.

The ability to straddle the line between death and sustaining signs of life was something he would’ve never thought possible on Eden, when a star went from living to dying in one approximate day.

Grace gives him a smile which he preens under, and with the rest of the students stumped his is the only hand in the air. “Go for it Simon.”

“Electron degeneracy pressure! When matter gets squashed it forces electrons into higher energy levels, which creates a powerful outward pressure and prevents gravitational collapse,” he enthusiastically recounts, and takes a big breath to calm the quickened patter of his heart at the attention of the rest of the class.

The Pebbles whistle and trill in amazement, and he shuffles in his seat at the praise. “Exactly! Great job Simon, very well remembered! And that phenomenon is very important because…”

 

After class the Pebbles excitedly take off for the beach with Rocky rushing off with them, Grace having proposed an early end to their class in favor of play. He posed it as his idea, even though Simon knew the origin was his own.

Simon hangs back for a bit, wanting to soak up some confidence at Grace's side before joining the others.

“You did a good job in class, sweetheart,” Grace praises, loosely curling his arm around Simon protectively as they make their way to catch up with the others, keeping him close.

Simon looks down at his feet with a secret grin, then glances up at his Angel. “Yeah?”

“You’re very smart, Si. Who knows, maybe you’ll knock me off my pedestal and teach even better,” Grace teases, playing with Simon's hair in its half-up half-down style he’d helped put it into that morning. Simon twinges his head back at the ticklishness that arises, and Grace settles for slipping his hand into Simon's own.

“Nahh, you’s the best teacher,” Simon rebuts stubbornly, his head becoming even more filled with cotton the longer they walk. “Nobody’s better in th’ whole universe.”

“Thank you, buddy.” Simon can hear the soft smile warmly tinging the words.

 

Simon sits with his Angel and Adrian the furthest from the shore, as he’s still rather wary of bodies of liquid even now, and watches the Pebbles play.

“You wanna go play, Si?”

Simon bites his cheek, making Grace squeeze his hand to get him to gently refocus away. “‘M nervous. I wanna, but…”

“I know, and that’s okay, but I know you’ll regret it if you don’t give it a try, so give it a couple minutes and see how you feel, does that sound alright?” Grace gently bargains.

Simon nods, watching the others roll around and chime their version of giggles.

Simon takes some big breaths as he tries to calm his nerves, then goes to pick himself up off the sand resolutely. In a moment of unsurety he turns to Grace before he breaks away. “Just enjoy yourself, sweetheart, we’ll be here.”

Simon smiles back, getting reassuring squeezies to his hand before breaking away, puttering down the beach.

He sticks by Rocky for a moment where the Eridian is watching the Pebbles, and the other warbles at him in greeting, looking rather tired himself if Simon had to guess. “C’n I play?”

“Pebble Simon is welcome, if he can catch them, Pebbles very fast,” Rocky trills, already run off his feet by the little ones.

Simon's competitive spirit stokes at that, and he watches for a beat then starts off after the group, picking up speed and hair flying in the simulated sea air.

Danny is at the front of the group and when Simon sees an opening he takes a turn slightly sharper than the others and throws himself down on the sand in front of them, making Danny skid to a halt and cushioned by Simon's chest.

“Caught you!” Simon giggles, lightly patting the Eridian on their Xenonite ball.

“What Simon mean, question?”

It’s just then that he notices that the others have continued on running around without them.

“Oh, I thought you were playing Catch. Rocky said… ‘m sorry,” Simon mutters, carefully standing from the sand and feeling rather ashamed. He should’ve known to not make such an assumption.

The Eridian titters in interest, however. “What Catch, question?”

“Uh, well, on Eden, where I grew up, we had a game called Catch, where someone is the target ‘n you have to run and catch them, ‘n you take turns being the target. ’s super fun!”

“Want to play, exclaimation!” Danny enthuses, lightly bouncing up and down.

“Really?”

“Yesyesyes, very interested in Simon culture, exclamation!” Danny squeals, wiggling their body and tip-tapping their legs.

“Okay, how ‘bout you try to catch me first?” Simon offers, the Eridian agreeing easily. He dusts himself off and crouches for the sprint. “Ready? Go!”

Simon runs as fast as his legs can carry him, even daring to run through where the waves are wetting the sand, making it slightly easier to pick up the pace, but it seems it’s given his catcher the advantage too. Simon can hear the skittering of legs as he pounds through the sand, giggling as he narrowly outruns Danny with a sharp turn back up the beach.

He makes the mistake of glancing back for just a moment to find the Pebble hot on his tail despite sand covering the Xenonite ball, and when he glances back he finds himself barrelling towards the rest of the Eridians playing in a group.

To stop and save from crashing into them he dives into the sand, letting out an ‘oof’ as his good shoulder thankfully takes the hit. “Is Simon hurt, question?” Danny asks, looking him over concernedly.

“Nah, ‘m good, jus’ wasn’t lookin,’” Simon tells them, closing his eyes and shaking out his hair.

“Relieved, glad Simon okay,” Danny says, whistling out a relieved breath.

“Y’caught me, too!” Simon smiles, rolling out his shoulder and dusting the sand from where it's almost completely covering his clothes.

“What is Danny Simon doing, question?” A Pebble from the group enquires, their play having commanded an audience.

“Simon taught me how to play Catch, very good planet Eden game,” Danny warbles, and the rest of them trill, thoroughly enthralled as Danny explains the premise.

Simon doesn’t correct them that Eden was a space-station, frankly enjoying not thinking about all of that for a while.

He somehow likes that they’re interested in his experiences, as he’s used to others feeling bad for his circumstances. However they enjoy the smallest of memories he has to offer, when usually everything just seems so overwhelming to recount.

Rocky has trundled over by then, and he looks rather concerned, rolling around Simon where he still sits on the sand, clearly appraising for any scrapes or broken bones.

“Simon hurt? Pebble injured?” Rocky frets.

“‘M okay, didn’ wanna run into the Pebbles,” Simon mutters, slightly shy at Rocky being so worried about him in front of the others.

“Pebble Simon be more careful playing, no injuries, statement,” Rocky instructs strictly, and the others titter in agreement.

 

Grace had noticed Simon go down on the sand, and his immediate want was to go straight over and check that he’s okay, but Simon stubbornly brushed himself off and recovered.

He lets out a little smile at the tenacity of his boy, and since when is Simon his? Oh well, it was only a matter of time before he got so attached to little Simon the same as he is to big Simon.

He watches as Rocky admonishes Simon, and he allows himself to stick to the chasing side rather than the target for the rest of the game, with no less fun being had as he gets back into the spirit of it.

Simon plays Catch with the others until lags behind, and still keeps at it regardless, his calves no doubt burning but pearls of laughter unashamedly falling from his mouth.

The sun is going down in the sky by the time everyone makes a move to head home, all significantly more sluggish than earlier, with Simon trudging up the beach being the worst of the bunch.

“Y’alright bud?” Grace stands to greet him, drawn involuntarily into Simon's orbit.

“Well… my legs hurt a little,” Simon tells him begrudgingly, which usually means that they’re hurting a whole lot.

“Yeah, I know buddy, I’ll put some muscle salve on them at the house. Did you have fun though?” Grace lightly prods, a secret smile given to the younger.

Simon grins. “So much fun.”

“See, I knew you could do it,” Grace beams, hugging him close, then drawing back and holding his face, his eyes going caramel in the sun in a way they so rarely, so preciously do. “I’m really proud of you, sweetheart. You’re doing better everyday and I can see how hard you’re trying. I love you, Si.”

 

It might be tiredness from the exertion, or a simple swelling of emotion, or both all at once bubbling into an overwhelming concoction, but Simon bursts into tears, hugging him with crushing intensity. “Oh, buddy, you’re okay,” Grace shushes, hugging him back just as strongly.

“Love you,” Simon speaks into his neck, knowing with certainty down to the very fabric and frays of his soul that this is what he wants, and deeper still, he recognises that this is what he deserves.

Not to be a Brother on Eden, or the Butcher for the Last Tree, nor the Convict in a cell or at the bottom of a blood ocean, just this, held by an Angel. Just Simon, just as he is.

~~