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All humans have reported a similar phenomenon. Seeing a human man in their dreams, impossibly clean and kind, telling them facts about the stars and planets what have been long lost. When Simon heard about it originally, he thought it was form of mass hysteria. But listening closer, his faith and curiosity pulled through. Everyone described the same man, sometimes in different clothes and different places. Some saw impossibly white walls, others a classroom with miniature hanging plants and a whiteboard, some saw a laboratory filled with technology and clean floors.
Simon's first dream had been the classroom, and it startled him. He rarely dreamed, mostly nightmares or nothing, but this was so different. He felt warm all over and seeing the man, who everyone had named the Angel, made his heart swell. The angel spoke of earth, its proximity to the sun, cracked jokes. As his presentation ended, he turned fully to face the rows of seats, and seemed to only then notice only Simon sitting, tears in his eyes. Simon hated the look on the angel's face, the confusion then worry, before the angel leant over his desk, adjusted his glasses and spoke to Simon directly.
“Any questions?”
Before Simon could muster a word he awoke, not in sweat and fear as he usually did, he felt remorse. He felt as though he was grieving.
When Simon spoke of his dream no one believed him. How could the Butcher be visited by an Angel? They believed him less when he stated the Angel had spoken to him, something everyone else had not experienced. Other humans described the way the angel spoke as though he was a priest at the head of church. He spoke to the room, not a single person, sometimes it was like he was speaking to himself.
The next dream, unfortunately a few weeks from the first, had been mostly the same. Same classroom, same man. This time the angel wasn’t speaking of the stars and planets, but about earth itself more specifically. Something about the weather, what Simon couldn’t begin to fathom, listening with grief of the planet he never got to see. The angel had spoken of the clouds, chuckling lightly as he stated there would be some rain in the upcoming weeks. Simon found confidence and asked.
“How do you know? That there will be rain?”
Startled, the angel made eye contact with him again and it was beautiful. It was a blessing, a prayer answered. Pushing his blonde hair out of the way of his glasses, he smiled wide.
“Good question.”
Hip cocked to the side and resting at the front of his desk now, he explained it to Simon, and surprisingly Simon understood him. Clouds, temperature, the smell of rain, time of year. It was as though he was reciting holy scripture for Simon and Simon alone. The dream had ended abruptly once more, the lingering gaze of the angel burned into his mide as it went dark again, and he regrettably awoke.
This time Simon didn’t share his dream, no one would believe him anyway, but it hung heavily with him. In his waking hours he grew even more distant, every action making him itch for sleep once more. The feeling of comfort, sanctuary again and again. Others had reported the dreams less now. Once their revolutions were yelled in the middle of the community, now grew distant. Simon smiled at the thought of it, these dreams now being for him, and him alone. A privilege he didn’t feel he deserved, but was going to welcome with open arms. They continued, but the classroom faded, the two now in impossibly white rooms with three beds. He’d asked once, if this was heaven, if this is what heaven looked like. The angel only laughed, shaking his head and holding his arms close to himself. He wasn’t wearing suits and ties anymore, now he wore bright shirts with bold stickers and patterns.The angel looked relaxed in what he wore, but his shoulders were tenser here, his back was fixed straight, not as casual as he was in the classroom.
“No, certainly not, this isn't Heaven. Not even close.”
Simon hated how sad he sounded, remorseful, how he could see the workings of tears in his eyes and the angel held himself, eyes distant as he stared at the pale walls.But it only left Simon more confused. This place was clean and quiet, and had an angel resting on white sheets and clean beds, how is this not Heaven? What would be better than this?
He remembers the first time the angel walked out of the pale room, arm waving for Simon to follow. There was a build up of dread and Simon now recognised the interior of a station or ship, different to any he had been aboard, but always recognisable. He thought it had been ruined and it was all his fault. He tainted this place, this memory, this Heaven by simply being there. Frustration at himself bubbled in his chest, what all melted once he turned the corner. His angel was nothing but a silhouette, backed by what made Simon openly weep. Stars. They were bright against the darkness of space, their presence shining a spectrum of colours behind the angel, who with his back turned looked to the stars for himself. He couldn’t see Simon crying, somehow he couldn’t hear it, but Simon saw his shoulder relax, and could hear that beautiful smile on his lips as he spoke.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He was breathy, in wonder at the sight. Simon couldn’t speak, he just nodded and nodded, blinking away tears, not wanting to tear his eyes from the sight.
“Beautiful balls of gas, light years away from earth, and I have to save them.”
The angel now sounded in disbelief, laughing at himself sadly in a hushed tone, as though what he was sharing was a secret. Save the stars? They can be saved? Simon watched as the silhouette raised a hand to wipe away tears, a nervous hand running through that blonde hair again, as he turned his head. From this angle Simon could see the redness around his angels eyes, the tears drying on his face and the forceful smile he tried to comfort Simon with. He was trying to be brave, to be brave for Simon. He was going to run at him, hug him, something, before it faded as it always does. This time when he awoke he was crying. His eyes only just opened and he missed it already.
These continued, Simon aboard the angel’s ship, the two star gazing through the large circular window, or sometimes just talking. The angel would be sharing information, and as a messenger of God it made sense, sharing about the stars, how far they were, which one was closets. On the odd occasion the angel would be sad, something what broke Simons cold heart. He would be sniffling, or just generally upset, reminiscing about earth. The angel would tell Simon what he missed most. At first it was the beach, then it was music, then the fog on a warm day, then the children. Simon could feel his cold heart melt, as the angel cried, confessing to the Butcher of all people.
“My kids, I miss them. I never got to see them again, what they started to become. They’re all so brilliant, so intelligent, I miss them so much.”
It was as the angel cried, sitting on the floor in a colourful quilt, when Simon felt brave once more. His arms wrapped around the angel's shoulders and pulled him close. God he was warm, it felt otherworldly when the angel hugged back, hands of the back of Simon's shirt, clutching it as he cried. Both of them were settling, breathing in tandem as they both calmed down. Simon doesn’t like touching people, but this wasn’t a person. This was his saviour, his angel, the one who will fix all of this and if not, at least take Simon to Heaven when the time comes. Slowly, the angel sighed deeply, nose in the crook of Simon's neck, hair grazing Simon's cheek. It was impossibly close but Simon wanted to be closer, raising a hand into the mess of blonde hair and tucking the angel beneath his chin. The other hand held his back, feeling his back slowly rise and fall as they sat in silence. The dream didn’t end abruptly, if anything, it was like Simon had fell asleep again, eyes slowly fluttering closed, arms and heart full.
Simon had spent so much time and energy in his dreams, it would have been considered maddening. When he awoke, it was though he could always see his angels face, like he could sculpt him from memory, or draw his eyes perfectly. He was smiling more, not at anyone, but to himself, everything he did came with the funny afterthought of “I wonder what Angel would say about this?” He heard the other peoples whispers, that the Butcher was loosing it, even more so than he already had. But Simon didn’t care, how could he care about the fleeting opinions of people when his angel would never judge him so. He began writing down each dream he would have, not in a way someone would journal to comprehend emotions, but to reminisce them all over again. Re-reading the dreams was a close as he could get to reliving them, so close but so awake.
The angel, being as intelligent as it was, must have felt Simon’s growing curiosity, as it led him to another room. It was big, a singular walk way in the middle, but it is here where his angel would show him earth. Birds, people, beaches, blue skies, trees. It was overwhelming at first, seeing what you could have had. Yet again it was like grief, grieving something you never actually had. His angel would put a warm hand on his shoulder, rub his back in comfort as he would show him the wonders of earth, and it was like he was in the classroom again. The angels eyes would light up, showing things, explaining things, detailing facts as his hands wandered and he stepped backwards and forth. This information Simon was sure to write down, he would write down what the Angel would say, but he would get distracted. His pages turned from facts about the no longer existing planet to the angel himself. What he was wearing, how his hair looked, his glasses, his hands, the tone in his voice, his short stubble like beard, his eyes. Simon new he looked insane in these moments, but he was right where he wanted to be. He didn’t care how maddening it looked to others, everyone else won't understand. It was for him and his angel alone.
Simon asked once, after a trying and exhausting day, about what will happen.
“Will you bring the stars back?”
When he was here, the words would just roll off his tongue, he could speak openly, without judgement. The angel was in the more laboratory-like area of the ship, sitting in a pale stool, fingers drumming on the table. He laughed lightly, cocking his head to the side, as in one hand he fiddled with a pen. He was writing stuff down, but Simon never bothered to look at what, that would be rude.
“I hope so, I’m, uh, doing all I can here.”
The pen tapped the table as the angel scratched his beard and chin, eyebrows raised.
“Would’ve probably got it done quicker if the others were here, but, uh. They didn’t make it.”
That sadness returned, the angel was grieving too. He blinked away tears and hardened his expression, clearly determined not to cry. “I’m sorry.” Simon comforted from his own stool, sitting to the side of the angel. Was that what all this sadness was? Was this another consequence of the Rapture? The last angel. That must be so devastating. Simon reached his hand to the angels forearm, who then abruptly stopped tapping his pen. He rubbed his thumb over the skin there, feeling the bit of hair the angel had, feeling the warmth beneath his skin.
“You’ve got this, I know you do.”
Simon's heart burst out of his chest when the angel smiled wide, a flustered grin as he averted his gaze, face reddening and he bit the inside of his cheek. Simon would kill another hundred men to make the angel smile like that again, smile at him. The angel's other hand came over and lay atop Simons and squeezed, as his eyes filled with tears again. If anyone else had cried this much Simon would call them a coward, a baby, a wimp. But he knew his angel didn’t cry out of fear, he was just so alive with emotion. His joy and empathy are too great, stronger than any human left.
“Thank you.”
He muttered, not breaking eye contact with Simon as he thanked him. It was the most genuine anyone ever could have been. With another squeeze they stared at each other, smiling as though remembering a joke. God it felt like Simon has known this man since the moment he was born, as though they were inevitable and impossibly intertwined.
Simon had done something drastic. He stole a ship, only a small one, Cracking the skulls of whoever he found aboard and soaring away. His angel had told him where his ship was, close to where the now missing star Tauceti once was. From stealing maps and forcing out information from those higher than him, he has nailed it down. He knew the general coordinates, he just had to go there. Leaving his ‘journal’ behind he blasted away, he didn’t need it. He was going to meet the angel, then he wouldn’t have to dream anymore. His heart thudded loudly in his chest as a large grin stuck to his face like glue. His angel would bring back the stars, would help him and everyone else. He had to be there. Not in dreams, he needed to see it all in the flesh. He didn’t care if anyone followed him, he’d kill whoever tried to stop him. This is bigger than them, bigger than just humans scrambling to stay alive in the dead of space. If he could do it, meet the angel in person, that would be everything for him. That would be heaven.