Chapter Text
Ryland Grace wasn't known for being very stoic. He was known for being quite the opposite actually. The man wasn't "Leaky Space Blob" without reason.
However, just like Eridians, he was very protective over the things he deemed worth protecting.
In this case, a man covered in blood who they attached the sub-like ship of to the Hail Mary, two years into the trip to Erid, and who promptly shoved Ryland directly into a wall. It didn't take much running for the poor guy to collapse, curling up in on himself. He left a stain where he originally fell.
Rocky and Grace had found a submarine type vessel in space. It had certainly made the man spiral at first, but then Rocky told him a heartbeat was detected aboard, and he decided to use fantasy logic until a safe checkpoint.
They managed to get the sub attached to one of the airlocks with some xenonite connectors, and had spent a while figuring out how to open it. Rocky unwillingly fell asleep during these attempts, and gave permission while falling asleep for Grace to continue, as long as he stayed close enough to Rocky to check on him once and a while. Unfortunately, he got it open while Rocky was still asleep, leading to the current situation.
Ryland, much do his own displeasure, had to restrain him so he could make sure the bloody man didn't die, and he didn't get shoved into another wall. The man didn't seem too impressed either with his screams and eventual sobs as Ryland tried to clean the blood off him and drag him to a medical bed. Thank God Rocky couldn't wake up from sleep.
The journey didn't exactly treat Grace well. With the fact that the coma slurry was almost impossible to choke down, and the taumoeba only gave him around half of the nutrients needed, he wasn't doing too hot. He spent a lot of time with Armando, making sure he wasn't going to topple over and die in his current state. Apparently he wasn't, he was getting enough nutrition that he would survive all the way to Erid and then some (which at that point they would probably have found another food solution). This did not mean healthy. This meant surviving.
But the reality was that Ryland Grace was gaunt. He had lost close to thirty pounds, and most days he was wearing at least two sweaters over a shirt, two pairs of pants, and as many socks as he could feasibly wear without cutting off more circulation. He shivered randomly, and he had to stand up slowly or his vision would go black for a few seconds. There had been discussions between Grace and Rocky on getting Armando to put in an NG tube so he would actually get enough Coma Slurry.
Generally, not the person you wanted to restrain a 6'4, 175 lb man. This guy was huge.
First step. Get the bloody man off of the laboratory floor. Dragging someone around 60 pounds heavier than himself wasn't something he enjoyed doing, but he had retained enough muscle that it wasn't a gargantuan hurdle, just a medium to large hurdle.
He now had the man curled up in the corner of the sponge bath area under the table. Success.
Next step. Clean the bloody man.
Ryland opted for the option of stripping off the extra layers just to his t-shirt and singular pair of sweatpants (his teeth chattered slightly), and carefully using the handheld shower head that had been made by Rocky to test how small he could make holes with his newer handheld xenonite printer. The guy kicked and sobbed whenever the water touched him, struggling desperately against his wrist tied to his thigh.
"I know, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." After a few minutes of slowly rinsing his intruder, Blood guy (temporary name) had either calmed down or ran out of energy. He was now slumped against the wall, shaking. For a moment Grace was worried the guy might be having a seizure. The fabric around his wrist wasn't even tight enough to properly hold him, he could probably slip the hand out easily if he calmed down enough to notice.
Ryland positioned the water flow over Blood guy's head, wincing when he shook harder. "No more water after this, we'll get you to Armando and you'll be alright. I promise." More sad noises and an attempt to swipe his legs out was the response.
Even fading in and out of consciousness, the man fought. Ryland wondered what horrible things he'd been through to do that. He then realised that he had done the exact same thing, and quickly shut up his brain.
Step two was done. The man was sopping wet, yes, but it was with water now, not blood. Some congealed chunks remained, but Armando could deal with a few chunks.
Onto step three, getting him onto one of the medical beds.
His first idea was coaxing him out and tricking him into laying down. Quickly dismissed, one because the man didn't even trust water, let alone Ryland. Secondly because he would feel bad about tricking the man.
Second idea to get him into a medical cot, grab him by the arm and make a mad sprint to get him there while he's still stunned. Somehow that felt less deceptive. Still cruel though. Also the man was still 60 pounds heavier than him, it was a stretch to say he would even get Blood Guy off the floor.
Also he looked like he bites.
Grace settled on trying to get him onto a medical bed in the same human communication way, and if that failed, he grabs and makes a mad dash for it.
He refused to try and sedate the man. That was too close for comfort.
Ryland crouched down under the table on the other side, ignoring the water pooling beneath them both. Blood Guy shoved himself farther into the corner, glaring.
"That's... That's fair, actually. Don't blame you." He sighed. "Can I at least get a nod to make sure you understand what I'm saying?"
"Fuck you," he rasped, before coughing up more blood. Ryland raised both eyebrows.
"Oh! Oh um, yeah, fair. Still fair. But, so you know, the 'restraint' is actually just a pair of pants I knotted the foot holes of together. You can probably just slip out of it. More of a mind trick that anything so you didn't shove me into another wall." He looked up to see the guy staring again. Grace shut up, suddenly very interested in the underside of the table.
He could see the man carefully slipping his hand out from the corner of his eye, rubbing his wrist against his shirt in mild surprise that there weren't any marks.
Ryland handed him a sealed bag of water, straw included. The man stared back.
"Water. It's from the same place I get my water. You can watch me get my own bag if you want, I don't blame you for not trusting the guy who tied you up badly and then hosed you down." Ryland chuckled a bit.
If he didn't laugh he would still be pacing the lab in fear and trying to figure out how in the name of science a man covered in blood could spawn in the middle of space, let alone survive
Ryland offered the bag a bit closer, trying to find a non threatening facial expression. He opted for no teeth in the smile, and the least wide eyes he could muster, hunched over a bit more than usual as well.
He decided to ignore the fact it was the same one he used on his students. Children and very panicked adults tended to need similar things, okay? Not his fault that children and panicked adults both relied on a lot of instinct.
The man took the bag in his hand, inspecting it carefully. He looked back up at Ryland, glaring again. Waiting.
"... Oh! Right, yes, I'll get my own. Don't worry." He stood up and looked to the ceiling, "Water, please?" Another bag of water was handed to him, and he sat back down, this time next to the table instead of under it.
The man still looked hesitant.
Grace thought for a second, before getting back up. He grabbed two drinking cups from a storage bag, and put them down on the (now much drier) floor.
"Can I have yours for a second?" He reached out halfway for the water bag the man had. The man put it down on the floor, and moved it over with his foot.
Better than nothing.
Grace poured half water from his bag, and half water from the man's bag, into both of the cups. One quick stir, and he took a slightly over exaggerated drink from his cup.
"We can wait a few minutes to make sure I'm not poisoned, but I'm not exactly build for survival anyway," Grace gestured to his malnourished body.
He took a once over of Grace's body, and his expression softened almost imperceptibly. The man took the cup of water and started drinking desperately. He was finished the cup in seconds. Grace looked very concerned.
The man made a small test noise, voice now less of a croak, more of a rumble. He didn't look up, "'M sorry... For... For the wall thing... I don't... I..." He buried his head in his hand, shaking again.
"No no no, it's alright. You woke up here... Somehow, even I don't know, and then some random skinny guy tried to touch you. I panicked too." Grace poured more water into the man's cup. "Just... Drink some more water. I'll even test it again. I'm happy someone else is here other than me."
This pattern continued for a few minutes. Grace would test to make sure the water still wasn't poison, the man would drink some more. Yes he was still glaring and he looked like he might punch whenever Ryland moved his hand too close while handing the cup back, but he had learned from past mistakes and backed off when that happened.
"What's your name?" Ryland asked, after the man seemingly wasn't interested in more water. The glare increased. "Uh, sorry. What should I call you then? Anything, doesn't have to be a name." He paused, "Actually, preferably something using human vocal chords. I assume you're human but then again I've been wrong before."
The man stared at the ground. "Don't you know already...?"
He blinked. Dumbly. "No. No I don't. That's why I'm asking. It feels a bit dehumanizing to call you just 'guy' or 'the man.'"
Silence.
"You... You don't know me?" The man's voice was louder this time, so Ryland cough hear how rough it was even after water.
"No. I don't. Pretty sure I'm as confused as you on what's going on."
They both stared at eachother, assessing. The man seemed to be assessing points on the body where weapons were usually held. Both hips, hand, waist, pockets. Grace was checking for wounds or broken bones, maybe any identifying features that could tell him what was going on.
"Am I dead?" Grace snapped out of his thoughts.
"What!? No! No no no, not dead. Very not dead. Both of us are alive."
"Why is this place so clean then?" He demanded. "You're clothes aren't even patched, so what's actually going on!?" The man flinched at his own voice, hand gripping his the front of his shirt tighter.
Grace searched for words. "Well... Okay. Okay, um. Sorry, words, heh." He rubbed his face. "Right! Right. It's clean because I try to keep it clean. Um, if it's about the walls and how bright they are, that's because this is... This is a science..." Grace paused again.
With the fact the man basically woke up to a door into the Hail Mary, and the fact he was currently functioning under "Don't question it" rules so he could actually get the man help before figuring out how the fuck he got here. So first question was, did the man know he was in space?
He decided to go with the safe option of "No."
"The walls are white because it's a science... Science vessel. We need to be able to see if there are any stains, that's also why the surfaces are really washable, so it's really easy to keep it clean."
The man looked into the room before, seeing his bloody trail, and above it, all of the science tools. He nodded, "Didn't know there were still scientists..." He murmured.
"Yep. I'm still here."
"Are there... More scientists...?"
"Well, yes. But also no, not on this vessel. Just me on here. And... Uh... Not actually sure if you would believe me with the other guy..."
The man cracked an unintentional smile, "Try me, I've seen enough fucking bullshit for a lifetime..."
Grace squirmed a bit at a language. He had forgotten how unaccustomed to other humans he was. "Right, well, it's just me and an alien. I found an alien. His name is Rocky."
He regretted this, because the man promptly put his guard back up, searching for something to use as a weapon.
"Wait, no no no no no! He's nice, I promise. Oh God, sorry, sorry, I didn't... Not bad. He's nice. Rocky saved me from dying." He quickly reassured, watching the man stop searching.
"... You're sure?"
"Yes."
"He didn't... Didn't use anything in you? No tricks?"
"Unless using the phrases I teach him against me counts."
He stopped searching for a weapon. Ryland let out an audible sigh of relief. "Thank you." The man looked confused, but nodded anyway.
"Where am I?"
Ryland got up and came to a screen from the wall, "You're on the Hail Mary. It's a research vessel. I uh, I got the original mission done so now I'm helping Rocky get home." He paused, "Sorry, I can't actually remove the screen from the wall. There is a little map of the ship."
There was a buffer of around twenty seconds. Thinking. Calculating the risks if it was a trick.
The man slid out from under the table, still soaked in water. "Move." Ryland stepped away from the screen and into the other corner. He seemed to thank Grace quietly as he moved to the screen. Grace would take it.
He stared at the map of the ship, pressing his shirt against his bleeding arm stump.
"... What kind of... Vessel, is this...?"
"Uh... Space."
He stared for a second, before nodding. "I'm not on the moon anymore...?" Was the rumbled response.
Grace shuffled through a million new questions from that, but also relief the man wasn't panicking from learning he's in space. "What moon?" Was the question he asked.
"AT-5, rogue moon, used to be on a planet but not anymore."
Ryland hesitantly stepped closer, "No, you're not on the moon anymore. I don't... I don't think I even know where AT-5 is in comparison to where we are."
The man's face cycled through several emotions. Confusion, relief, something that was almost anger, before he slumped down with his forehead against the wall. "Fuck..."
"Oh no. Did... Do you need to go back to-"
"NO." He yelled, cutting Grace off. Grace put his hands up, the man slowly cupped his remaining hand over his mouth, sinking fully to his knees. "Shit... Sorry... I'm sorry, 'm so sorry... Don't take me back, please... Fuck please... I'm sorry. I'm- I..." He shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut.
Ryland watched for a minute. The sentences dissolved into small noises and words that could almost be apologies. He crouched down next to the man, leaving space between the two of them.
"It's okay. I don't think I have enough fuel to go to a moon along the way anyway, it's alright." He reached his hand out before quickly remembering that was a horrible horrible idea, and pulling it back. "I just need you to let me help you, okay? We have a... A mechanical arm, on the ship. It helps with injuries, and sickness, and stuff like that. Can you let it take a look at you?"
He didn't respond, still shaking on the ground. Ryland waited.
🩸🩸🩸
Simon had sprinted out of the lung from the first gaps of light that where made from someone cutting a new door into it.
This event did lead him to slam what he originally assumed was a 60 year old man directly into a metal wall, ignoring the blood still pouring out of the lung, and then get "restrained" and hosed down, but not the worst thing that could happen in comparison to the blood ocean.
Now that he actually knew what was kind of going on, he felt a bit bad for slamming what he now knew was closer to a thirty four year old man into the metal wall, especially with how malnourished the guy looked. A bit less so since he also hosed Simon down, but he had actually told the truth about everything so far, and hadn't been upset by his yelling or fight response, so he was given the bare minimum of respect. That and he gave Simon water, which was basically gold in that moment.
He could hear what was going on outside of his head, but his curled up position said otherwise. Simon was actually just ignoring the man. Petty, yes, but he thought he deserved a bit of a breakdown after what happened in the blood ocean.
When he first got out of the lung he thought the man had been an Angel, which made the shove even more panic inducing. He looked like the paintings he was shown every week, the paintings that were photocopied and mimicked everywhere in Eden.
Blond hair, unstained clothes made of light fabric, blue eyes. He had to have been an angel. Maybe.
Simon had grew to hate those paintings after he was jailed. He hated the COI, he hated Eden. He hated people, he just wanted to live, and he was tired of others deciding how he would spend his time doing it. But especially those paintings.
People born with the angelic features were considered such, angelic. The blonde ever so wavy hair, the blue eyes, the light skin, the small figure. They were made into the priests and nuns and workers who fed the tree. Everyone else was basically scraps.
He was scraps.
Simon's mother had told him otherwise, over and over. He was just as beautiful as the angels, he would be treated right by them. Age ten or eleven and he was sent to filament station, he gave up on Angels around then. Angels wouldn't let him shake in a cell for almost two decades, and get forced into an ocean of blood afterwards.
He could never truly get rid of the ideals though. The tattoo on his neck reminded him, the way he still prayed to a God that sees through a pinhole in the universe when he was terrified. Under his breath and barely noticeable. Shitty if you want to contact someone who stares through a pinhole.
So he had shoved the "angel" into a wall and ran. The "angel" restrained him badly and cleaned him off. When he looked up, it was definitely not an angel.
Another thing he remembered from the priests and preachers and everyone else, angels were perfect. Always. No imperfections. No dark hair, or dark eyes, or scars.
The man in front of him had all of those. There were patches of darker hair underneath the blond tips. His eyes had bags and he was scarily skinny. The man's entire arm was scarred, lumpy and uneven, using stiff movements whenever he tried to do something. The scar over his nose, his red stained palms from touching Simon, the slight limp he walked with, the fact his beard was uneven in places.
Simon couldn't tell if him being human scared him more or less than him being an angel. It certainly made him even more confused on the why of why he saved Simon.
So now he was curled up on the floor, God knows how far away from that horrible moon, and never going back. He couldn't tell if the man meant it, but he would make sure of it either way.
Simon raised his head from his hands, still staring at the floor. He could see the man's knees on the floor next to him, rambling about nothing and everything again.
He sat back up slowly, rubbing at his face. Even sitting down he seemed to be taller than his kidnapper(?).
"Hey. Sorry about the... The moon comment, I should have assumed you didn't want to go back because of the... Many context clues." He looked sympathetic. Why did he look sympathetic? Was it actually pity?
"'S fine."
He got back up, "Can you try to get checked by the medical arm? Please? You're still bleeding."
Simon scanned. He didn't seem deceitful in any way. Still, something felt wrong.
"How do I know this isn't some sort of fucking hallucination again?"
The man's brows furrowed, and he opened and closed his mouth. Did he know he did that a lot?
"Well... I don't know, I don't think I've hallucinated before. How do you usually tell?" It was a nice relief that this man had at least some common sense, but it was also mildly terrifying. Those who know what to say are usually in charge, and often abusing that power.
"I don't... Mh." This was a bit of an unhinged way, but it had worked before. "Usually if I can hurt from it it's real..."
"Oh."
"Yeah, 'Oh.'" He realised too late the sarcasm hadn't reached his face.
The man already seemed deep in thought again, murmuring under his breathe. Simon decided it best to not interrupt whatever scientific process this was. That or whatever insanity was gripping the man. Both sounded like bad things to interrupt.
"I got it." He grinned, before it dropped again, "I mean, kind of, I don't want to hurt you, but if it's really going to help confirm for you I have a way that wouldn't actually damage you too much," he explained.
Simon just nodded, dragging his feet on wobbly legs as he followed the scientist back to the lab area. He avoided stepping in the blood, keeping his eyes up.
He had a small needle on the table in front of him, empty, still in its packaging, and not attached to any syringe. Simon sat down cautiously, hoping him being soaked in water wouldn't be too bad for the chair.
"This is one of the unused IV needles. There are hundreds more so we don't have to worry if we use this one, and it should hurt a bit but not cause any damage farther than a pinch." He smiled, proud of his idea. Slightly insane in Simon's opinion, but it seemed to be from a good place he hoped.
"Mhm... So you're going to poke me with a stick...?"
"I- It's a medical grade stick," he argued, putting on gloves. "You really want me to stab you with it?"
Simon closed his eyes. "I... I need to know. I can't just... If it's another hallucination... I..."
"It's alright." He interrupted. "I get it. I needed confirmation I was real when I first woke up in here. Uh, different circumstances, but I needed it anyway."
Simon nodded. "You do know the only reason I trust you at all is because this might be a hallucination, or a dream, or some other shit where you can't hurt me?"
The man smiled softly, "I'm prepared for that scenario."
"Meaning of you stab me and it hurts I'm basically losing all trust gained?"
"Yes, I'm prepared for you loosing all trust in me and everything on this ship. Except hopefully water."
Simon stared, "You're fucking weird..."
The man stared back, "You collapsed into my ship covered in blood and covered in unexplainable wounds."
They both went back to their own thing.
"Can I touch you?" Simon's head snapped back towards him. The needle was still in its package. The man looked a bit surprised, holding a cotton ball and a bottle of isopropyl alcohol.
"... No. No I... No."
The man nodded, "Mind disinfecting where you want me to poke you?" He slid both the box of cotton balls, and the bottle over.
Simon quickly realised he couldn't do it with only one arm.
"... Fucking- Fine! Fine, just- Disinfect quick." He pressed his face into the upper part of his arm, keeping the lower part on the table in front of the scientist.
"Do you... Do you want a countdown?"
"... Please..."
There wasn't any argument, just the noise for things being shuffled around. "Not the needle yet, just the cotton ball. Anywhere you'd prefer to be stabbed?" He asked. Simon could smell the isopropyl alcohol. It brought back bad memories.
"Not my hand or wrist..." His voice was shakier than he wanted it, a little muffled too.
"Still not the needle, just the cotton," the man reassured, wiping a small area in the middle of his arm clean.
Simon shivered, bracing for pain. The count down from three felt far away and echoey, like he wasn't quite there. Then-
Prick.
He let out a much more pathetic noise than he meant to, entire body now shaking. The man took the needle out and disposed of everything, keeping the alcohol soaked cotton ball on the spot he stabbed.
"All done. See? Not hallucinating. I'm really here, and we're really not anywhere near moon AT-5. I might be able to find it on our map somewhere to show you how far away."
Simon tried to keep the cotton ball in place, attempting to calm down. It hadn't even been in the spots they had usually added the sedation, why was he crying?
"Shoot... It's alright. I'm not upset if you don't trust me. I didn't trust anything on this ship for weeks, the only reason I used it anyway was because if I didn't I would have died." The man explained while checking the disposal, making sure the needle was actually in the needle bin, and everything else was in the biowaste one.
"Usually people done like distrust," he gritted through his teeth. Trauma was a bitch.
He laughed, "I'm not trusting, I'm just kinda dumb. I get it. Really." He sat back down, a seat or two farther away this time. Simon glared again.
The man being real meant more possibilities he was going to hurt Simon. Everything else being real was also pretty bad for the chances of him trusting it.
He didn't seem to care about the glaring, surprisingly.
"Think you can still trust me enough to let the medical arm stop you bleeding out?"
"Depends."
He brought out a tablet from the other side of the table, sliding it halfway over. On it were medical records from the arm, all under "Grace, Ryland."
Simon looked through the medical records. The weight drop, the malnourishment, way back he saw the coma. His chances of dying now that he wasn't inside of a blood ocean that seemingly kept reviving him were much slimmer now, especially bleeding out.
"Your name is Grace?" Simon asked, staring at the man's eyes specifically.
"Well, last name. Ryland Grace. I guess Rocky, the alien, calls me that but that's just because it was easier to translate than my first name-" he stopped, clearing his throat. "Yes, my name is Ryland Grace, use either. I don't really care."
Simon nodded. "Not 'Captain?'"
"Oh God no. No uh... The captain of the ship... The captain isn't alive anymore. Didn't make it to the mission. Didn't feel right to take his title, so... Still just Dr Ryland Grace."
Simon almost laughed. The man he thought might have been an angel had the word "Grace" in his name.
"Anything I can call you?"
"You're not going to... Assign me anything? No numbers or roles?"
"Nope. Anything goes." Simon took a deep breath, wondering momentarily whether he would regret this.
"Call me Simon... Just Simon..."
Ryland beamed, "Nice to meet you Simon. C'mon, let's get your arm fixed."