Chapter Text
Simon woke up slowly.
After a month in Ryland and the Eridians' care, a month after being rescued, he was starting to get used to waking up slowly. To not pushing himself out of the bed with disregard for whatever he was feeling. To actually take his time and decide what to do in the morning, if he was going to take a shower or sleep more or eat something.
On his bad days, it feels wrong. On the good days, it feels like he died and went to Paradise.
Someone like him shouldn't be in Paradise.
Not the Butcher
That was the first thought he had when he finally accepted that this was real, and not a dream or a hallucination. That he was alive and free and loved. And that made his chest full with anxiety.
Certainly there must have been other people more worthy of this than The Butcher.
And thinking about love... Oh, Ryland. His Ryland.
Ryland, who dragged him out of the submarine. Ryland, who spoke to him gently and calmly, instead of screaming more when Simon was scared. Ryland, who dressed his bandages every night, and who held him throught nightmares and terrors. His sweet, sweet Ryland.
Simon surely did not deserve someone so kind and gentle as Ryland.
That's why he was fully convinced that the man would eventually realize that Simon was just a burden to everyone, and leave him in the nearest planet. Or worse: that Ryland was so kind and gentle that he couldn't bear to tell the truth to Simon's face, and would keep putting up with him just out of the goodness of his heart, but secretly hope that Simon would leave first so that he could stop pretending.
And for the love of the Last Tree, Simon was weak and he couldn't make himself to leave.
Every time he thought about that, a pit would always form on his stomach. And also, leaving meant more work for the Eridians, to either find/build him a ship, and find somewhere he could live, or build another dome, and feed him, and everything... it was more than he could repay in his entire life. His current living was more than he could ever hope to repay. Simon didn't even know how to start.
In Eden, you worked or you starved. Nothing was free, and if you were incapable of pulling your own weight, you were no better than a sack of cement and would serve the people best as soil for the Last Tree. In the COI, he was a prisoner with no choice, a death sentence hanging upon his head as soon as he put a foot into the Bloody Ocean.
But in Erid, Simon never had assigned work. No one screaming at him for not doing things fast enough, no one but himself to tell how useless he was. How he was just a burden wasting resources that could be applied anywhere else.
Grace was smart, he helped Eridians to improve their technology and in return, used the Eridian knowledge to improve the Hail Mary. He was a teacher, he taught Earth to both Simon and the pebbles, although Simon often didn't understand the more scientific terminology that the pebbles seem to grasp on as soon as heard.
He was useful. He was someone worthy of the resources and the oxygen that he breathed. And even if he wasn't a scientist and a teacher, his kindness alone was enough so that he didn't have to do anything else. He was truly an Angel, and Simon was just a parasite, poisoning this kind and pure man, wasting his resources and making him worry.
And despite all of that, Simon still wanted to live.
So, when he was able to stay up walking for more than an hour without passing out, he decided to start pulling his weight, so that the guilt would stop eating his entire being.
Simon's abilities were formed around being a soldier and a servant of Eden. He could fix stuff, sure, but the Eridians always took care of everything before he even could get a hold of it. So, he decided to clean.
In the afternoon, when Ryland left for his classes, Simon would pick up a broom and sweep the entire house, then he would pick up everything Ryland had left out of its place, and put it back. He would wash the bathroom and the kitchen, making sure it was spot on shining, and then he would make dinner for his angel, who was arriving for the night. It would be difficult with just one hand, but he was hell bent on making it work. That was the plan.
Simon actually liked cooking, he found out. He liked cooking, and he liked cooking for Ryland. He had already cooked a few meals here and there, watching Ryland doing it and trying to copy what he made on his good days.
The cleaning, though, it always left his heart racing. Something about throwing water on the ground, and how he had to kneel in the water to scrub the floor, reminded him too much of the moments when the Iron Lung was filling with blood, it was leaking leaking leaking and it would consume all his oxygen and he would drown in this metal taste. The prospect of having to clean filled his throat with anxiety. But he had to pull his weight, he couldn't be lazy and a coward. So, every two days he washed the floors (even if he had to sit down and get his breathing under control and dry his tears in time to do the rest of the stuff after), and on the days he didn't, he sweeped.
Ryland noticed right at the first day, of course he did. He passed through the door and a smile immediately formed on his face, followed by a puzzled expression. "Oh Si, thank you for cleaning, but you should still be focused on healing."
Simon turned his face to hide the obvious redness on his cheeks. He couldn't meet Ryland's eyes. " It's...nothing. Dinner is ready if you are hungry" it was quietly said.
It went on like this for three weeks. The first few days, Simon had to stop frequently to sit down so he wouldn't pass out. Sometimes if he moved too fast, his vision would fill with black spots and more than one time he blinked and was closer to the ground than previously. But he had to keep going, he couldn't be lazy and just consume resources without giving anything back.
On the first week, he had really liked cooking. It was his first time creating something good, instead of destroying. He did it well. Chopping the vegetables that grew in the little garden Ryland had set up when he first arrived in Erid, a few years prior. Seasoning the meat (he didn't ask where it came from) and preparing the easiest dishes to ensure he wouldn't fuck it up for Ryland and it would actually taste good.
On the third week, he started to try and move on from the easy foods to something a little bit more elaborate, as his anxiety started growing again. His hand was always trembling a little and he had to hold the utensils tight to not drop them. It was becoming more stressful, but he wanted to make good things for Ryland, it was the least he could do. Although he mourned the first joyful experience of cooking that he exchanged in order to try and get better as fast as it was possible, he had to give, give, give, to compensate the burden that he was. He had to make it easier for Ryland, he had to be useful in some way.
On the fourth week, Ryland came home early and found him sitting on the floor in front of the stove, trying to control his breathing. He didn't hear his angel arriving through the ringing on his ears, and flinched hard when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He turned sharply and saw a blurry Grace, his face looking concerned. His angel shouldn't be concerned with him, he had other important things to focus on. The Convict could pull his own weight without adding to Grace's.
This thought only made him hyperventilate more.
Grace was now in front of him, lips moving but he couldn't hear a thing. His hand was on the Convict's chest, when had it moved?
Another had picked his from the ground. His had was touching something, it was cold. Although Grace was like the sun, he always ran colder than the Convict and right now the Convict was burning like Filament Station, he just wanted to help for once in his life, for once he was doing something out of gratitude and he wanted to be good.
But it had never been out of gratitude, had it? Wasn't he just afraid of Ryland leaving him alone just like everybody else? Wasn't he trying to make Grace like him so that he would think twice before hurting and leaving him? He was just as coward as he has always been, always living to appease others.
His hand, moving on something solid. Rise. Falling. Rise. Falling. He tried to copy the pattern, he really did. It took him a while, but eventually Simon was aware that he was not going to immediately get punished. He could hear his saving Grace talking, still holding his hand on his chest, still moving the other in patterns on his shoulder "You're on Erid. You're okay. You're safe. I'm here with you. It's okay"
He leaned on Ryland, and felt useless once more.
Saying that Grace was worried would be an understatement.
It had been a few weeks since he noticed the change on Simon and the house. How could he not? Suddenly all his stuff was meticulously organized when he was sure he didnt leave it like this at all. The floors were clean, the bathroom tiles were shining, and Simon....oh, Simon.
At first he thought it was sweet that Simon thought of cleaning. Grace had been so busy and he honestly felt a little ashamed about the state he was leaving the house. He never asked Simon to clean, and he was worried that the strain of the activities would weight on his recovery since arriving on Erid without an arm and covered in blood, but thought that surely the man wouldn't do this if he wasn't already feeling well.
Oh boy how wrong he was.
He knew that Simon had been trying to cook, and he felt so proud of the man! Sure, he was still getting adjusted to seasoning and sometimes his meals would be either a bit bland or too seasoned, but he never complained, and made sure to always complimented Simon's meals, which always made the man blush (and Grace thought it was adorable!).
But after a while he started to realize how the other man was looking worse for wear. Simon pretended that everything was fine, but he had dark circles under his eyes, and his hand was always trembling when Grace was sure that it hadn't been like this at first.
Grace tried cornering the man multiple times and ask what was wrong but Simon always deflected, changing the subject, and with how busy Grace had been after taking more classes of Eridians, he kinda...left it alone.
Which was a mistake.
And now, crouching in front of the panicking man, he realized how much he had been absent. He was there all the time, but not really paying attention in how Simon was doing mentally. A pang of guilt threatened to make him cry as well, but he filled it for later. Right now Simon needed him. His (love) needed him
They would need to have a serious conversation later, but not at this moment. Simon needed him to be his anchor.
Simon, Simon, Simon.