Chapter Text
All Simon can remember in his last moments is the feeling of pressure building around his legs and chest as the red sea swallows him whole.
And then it's simply black. Not a sweet envelopment of death, or the sound of his mother's voice. It's nothing but black emptiness and the dull aching of fear and anger.
—
Grace paces back and forth on the beach as a team of Eridian scientists moves in and out of his house. The pitter-patter of xenonite on sand approaches Grace from behind.
“Why Grace walk back and forth, question?” Rocky sings out in musical notes.
“I'm just-I'm just nervous, Rocky.” Grace responded, still pacing the sands.
“Rocky thought grace be happy, happy, happy with new human, statement”
“I mean I am, but I just don't know what could happen when he wakes up. I mean, he could be fine, or he could try to kill me!” Grace kicks the sand in front of him.
“If new human hurt Grace, Rocky hurt new human.” The pitch of the chords conveys that Rocky is not joking.
“I appreciate it, Rock, but I hope that won't be necessary," Grace sighs, sitting down onto the sand, staring out at the waves slowly lapping at the shore. “I haven't seen anyone in 5 years, and this is the first person I'm going to see. I just want to make sure we get along.”
“Grace human, Grace good. New human be good too, Question?” Rocky asks, settling into the sand.
“Not all humans are nice, Rocky, but we won't know if he is until he wakes up.”
—
It's all foggy, yet all Simon can see is black. There's a whirring around him, and he's suddenly hyperaware of the aching pain across his entire body. Is this hell? Is that why he's in pain? Suddenly, the sound of musical notes fills his head and then more from the other side. One sound cuts through them all, “Holy mother of god.” An angel's voice, surely.
Soon, the musical chimes fade with a rush of tapping and the angel's voice is gone. This must be heaven. He's died and gone to heaven. Groggily, he forces his eyes open to a piercing amount of light. “Eye movement detected.” This voice sounds more robotic, nothing like the angel he heard before. “What's two plus two?” He opens his eyes a bit more, adjusting to the light.
Above him, he could see what looked like a robotic arm? Much cleaner than anything he had seen on Eden or at the other space stations. “What's two plus two?” The same voice asks. “Ghhuu,” he responds, trying his hardest to make his mouth work properly. “Incorrect. What's two plus two?” The disembodied voice asks again. “Qua… Quattuor”, it takes all of Simon's effort for the word to leave his mouth. “Correct.” The voice says as the robotic arm retracts out of his field of vision.
—
Grace hears Armando from the other room, “Eye movement detected.” It sends a shiver down his spine. He's waking up. The strange man they found covered in blood is actually waking up. In his house. Right now. Ohhh my lanta…
Grace grabs the sweater off the back of his office chair, closing his laptop with shaky hands. It's fine, this is going to go fine. He makes his way over to the room with Armando, peering in from the doorway looking at the man lying on the bed. Holy moly, that's what he looks like?
Not only did it look like it was a medical miracle that he was alive, but he was also nothing like what Grace could have imagined. He was kind of… beautiful? He had bandages pasted across his chest and legs, and a much larger wrap of bandages around the stump of his left arm.
Grace stood in the doorway for a bit before realizing the man was damn near naked in his underwear. Freak, I need to get him clothes! He ran out of the room and to his bedroom where his dresser sat, grabbing the largest clothes he had and a blanket.
Walking back into the doorway, it seems Armando has stopped his questioning and retreated back towards the wall. He feels shaky, this moment is one Grace never thought would come. He picks up his pacing again, back and forth in front of the door before he decides to speak.
—
Simon hears the angel from before, “Uhm, hi my name is Grace… Ryland Grace.” What the hell did the angel just say? Simon didn't understand a word of what was said to him. “Hello? Can you hear me?” The angel spoke again, still incomprehensible to Simon.
Slowly, Simon sits up, pushing himself up with his arm. Yet as he goes to put pressure on his left arm, it's not there? What the fuck? Simon looks down only to find his arm is gone from above the elbow and onward. “Quid futuis?” What the fuck, Simon says, panicked, looking around the room, then back at his missing arm.
“Come again?” The angel says, still incoherent.
“Brachium meum abiit, quo abiit?” My arm went off, where is it? Simon says at his arm before looking around the room for the voice. His eyes land on a humanoid figure with blonde hair and a sweater, holding what appears to be a pile of fabric. Is this his angel he heard?
The angel waves his hand. “My name is Grace, you're on the planet Erid.” Holy shit, the angel was speaking English?
Simon remembers his time on Eden after the quiet rapture. When the living languages slowly faded out of use, only the dead languages remained. He was forced into learning and being fluent by the time he was nine. It was rare to hear a word in English, or Spanish, or any other language for that reason. To hear fluent English for the first time in twenty-four years, he must be in heaven.
—
Standing there, Grace can't even begin to process that the man has woken up and is speaking. Yet, he's speaking a language he doesn't understand. “Estne hic caelum?”, Is this heaven?, The man speaks, and Grace stares. “Wait, is that…” Holy cow, this guy is speaking fluent Latin!? Grace takes a step back, dropping the clothes and blanket on the floor and running out of the room.
“Quo vadis?” Where are you going? The man calls out as Grace rushes to his laptop, opening it to a translator and setting it to translate from Latin to English and vice versa. He rushes back into the room, “Hold on, hold one second.” He holds up his hand as if to say “wait” before setting down the laptop on the floor.
“Hello, my name is Grace.” He speaks, and the computer spits out the phrase in Latin a couple of seconds later. “Salve, nomen meum Gratia.” He watches as the other man freezes in place. He understands! Oh my goodness, he actually understands!!
“Esne angelus?” The man responds. The computer takes a moment and then repeats, “Are you an angel?”
—
Simon looks down at the computer and back at the man named Grace. A name fit for an angel. He seems to hesitate before wringing his hands together. “What? No, no, no, I'm a scientist. You're on a planet called Erid,” the computer spits out “Non, Im physicus. In planeta erid vocatus es.”
Simon could understand the words coming out of the computer. Erid? That must be another name for Heaven, it could just be Eden in another language. The father was right, Heaven is real, and the tree will live on. Simon looks around once more at the room, touching the bed he's on and looking down. Did he need to worry about decency in Heaven?
Another incoherent jumble of English from Angel Grace before the computer spits out in Latin “Im paenitet, habeo tibi vestes.” I'm sorry, I have clothes for you. He holds out a pile of fabric. Simon can't believe it, he made it to Heaven. He had not died in vain.
Simon begins to make his way slowly but surely off the table. He manages his legs off the table, but at the slightest bit of pressure, they give way. He falls to his knees with a loud thud, bracing himself with his hand. The angel walks over, panicked, setting the clothes down and laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.
His angel is real. He can't help but feel a silent sob wrack through his body. All of it was real at this moment. Every lecture and step taken or endured was worth it. He had met his angel. “Verus es, verus es, verus…” You're real, Simon mutters under his breath, clutching at the solid floor beneath him.
He looks up, meeting Grace's stare. It feels so surreal to finally have hope again in this moment. “What's your name?” The angel says, and a few seconds later, it is repeated in Latin. “Simon, nomen meum est Simon.” Simon, my name is Simon. The angel smiles, pushing the clothes towards him. “Hello, Simon, you can uhh… get changed and I'll be right back.”
—
Grace rushes out of the room and into the kitchen as every breath he takes gets shallower and shallower. What in tarnation was that guy talking about? Angels? Latin? He braces himself against the counter, trying to control his breathing as best he can.
After a few moments of breathing, he finally gathers his thoughts. Pacing back and forth across the kitchen, he decides to make tea. Tea is easy on the stomach, and everyone likes tea, right? It's a simple and repetitive task that helps ground him further.
He grabs the two steaming mugs of tea once finished and takes a deep breath before walking back to the room with Simon. At first glance, it looks the same, Simon is still sitting on the floor, but fully clothed this time. “Oh, thank god”, Grace mumbles under his breath. “I brought tea,” Grace says with the translator still running. “I hope you like tea”, Grace chuckles a bit, sitting down on the floor a couple of feet away, setting the tea further out.
Simon mumbles out a phrase and the translator spits out, “Thank you.” Grace taps his mug anxiously, debating on what to say to the other man before Simon speaks out, “Quomodo feci in caelum? Cur gratia data sum” How did I get into Heaven? Why was I given Grace? Grace sighs, running his hands under his glasses. “You're uh, you're not in Heaven. You're on a planet called Erid. Scientists found you on a different planet, they brought you here to be taken care of.”
The translator takes much longer this time, and Grace watches as Simon's face changes from a far away look to one of confusion and fear. “Non Non, in machina illa mortuus sum. Vivere volui, conatus sum sed defeci.” No No, I died in that machine. I wanted to live, I tried but I failed. Grace shook his head, unbelieving of his story. “Arcam nigram obtinuisse debuerunt, hoc est quomodo hic sum. Deus mihi ignovit.” They should have gotten the black box, that's how I'm here. God forgave me.
“What box? What are you talking about?” Grace said, sighing and peering through his hands. Simon was staring intently at Grace, as if he were completely enamoured. “Angelus meus es.” You’re my angel. Then it clicks. He genuinely believes I’m an angel, that he’s dead. The same panic from before washes over him. It settles deep in his chest as his stomach twists, and he can feel his heart race.
Fuck.
Grace opens his mouth, but not a single word comes out, the realization affecting him more than he realizes. How the heck do you tell a man he’s not dead and that you’re definitely not an angel? He debates for a moment; he has no time for research, and asking Armando for help would not do him any good. “Simon, you’re not dead.” Grace says softly to the other man, setting down his mug and looking him directly in the eyes. He can only watch as Simon drinks in the words, watching his face twist into a look of fear, possibly sadness? Or maybe it was anger? He watches as Simon falls forward, his back heaving in and out with growing intensity.
—
No, no, no, no, no, he’s lying. He did die. He’s not in Heaven. He’s in Hell. It’s all a trick, that's why the man was lying. It’s all one cruel trick. It’s that fucking eel, isn’t it? Torturing his soul for his crimes. He could never do anything good. Tears streamed down Simon's face, and sobs overwhelmed him. This is why he lost his arm, his penance for his crimes. For having hope for once in his life. “Mendax.” Liar. He looks up towards Grace, “Alia hallucinatio iustus es.” You’re just another hallucination.
Simon braces himself against the bed, pushing himself up on his only arm left. Tears stream down his face as he watches the man's face change from one of concern to one of panic. Simon could feel the anger welling up inside him. That fucking demon has come back to torture what’s left of his soul after he fought so, so incredibly hard. The words come out as a shout at the other man, “Non, me habere non potes!” No, you can’t have me! A slew of curses flies from his mouth, and Simon doesn’t notice that the robotic voice from the computer has stopped speaking English. More curses and screams escape him as he backs away.
He suddenly hits a wall, pausing and staring at the blonde man across the room. He looks absolutely terrified, his chest rising and falling at an exponential rate. This is who he was, The Butcher. He wouldn’t be forgiven for his sins; his body was gnarled and disfigured by God. An unmerciful god, one who lurks in a sea of blood. Not his God of Eden, but a cruel god who took pleasure in destroying his hope. He won’t ever escape this god's wrath.
Simon can only watch as the other man slowly backs up out of the room. The mugs of tea were still sitting on the floor, steam slowly rising off of them. Slowly, Simon slides down the wall. His anger subsiding and fear taking its place once more. He curls his knees up close to his body, staring down at his missing arm. Why must there be such a cruel god?