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Simon wanted to believe in angels. He truly, deeply did, even as his logic battled with what he was told on Eden. It was cruel, idiotic, to so much as question those above him. The Father would've had his head. Angels existed because the Tree willed it to be. Angels existed because the Father said they did. Angels existed because... because...
Okay, so, Simon was never fully convinced. He was not taught to question but it was more ingrained, beat into his head until it was permanently branded into the side. He wasn't sure why angels were the bottom line of no fucking way.
Simon wanted to believe, couldn't, and died for it.
So, forgive him when he woke up – his lungs burning with first breath as his vision unblurred – seeing the prettiest blue eyes and concluding he was in Heaven.
Blue eyes that stared at him with surprise, then unabashed joy. The angel was masculine, wearing the disguise of a man with blond hair and a beautiful smile. A beautiful, heavenly smile. There were no wings, only a halo of light behind his head as he suddenly leaned back with a laugh. Simon wished he could've heard it, the whimsical glee of an angel happy he was here.
But Simon didn't get the chance to move before the angel returned. Their noses were near touching as the angel pulled out a little light from his – their? Would an angel be genderless unless specified? – light jacket, shining it directly in Simon's eyes. His right eye blinked, flinching away when it hurt. His left saw light but vaguely, nothing to squirm away from. The angel nodded a bit, tilting his head back to shout.
Simon couldn't hear the words, the ringing in his ears too loud, but the angel exposing his neck stirred something in Simon's chest. He didn't register he was moving until he blinked once, twice, and he had managed to tackle the angel to the floor. The teeth on his cheek began to click and clack together, chittering in excitement.
Do angels bleed? Would it be red blood or golden ichor?
"Oohhhh goodness gracious–" There was fear in the angel's pretty blue eyes, which surprised Simon, but then he saw red. Blush. Bright scarlet blush spreading from the angel's cheeks to the tips of his ears, coating his neck. Simon furrowed his brows, following the angel's gaze as he looked down.
...ah.
While being naked wasn't the most intimidating, the scales, the gills, red skin replacing much of his side and torso, would've scared any rational entity. It was ugly, inhuman, Simon knew he was a monster.
"Is this how you were able to breathe...?" The angel muttered, adjusting his glasses with one hand as his other grazed over the gills. They flexed and Simon growled, low and deep and straight from his chest. It didn't hurt, he didn't even feel threatened by the gesture, but he wished either was true so the guilt didn't eat him seeing the angel withdrawn. "Okay, okay, hi, big guy, it's okay, I'm not here to– uhm– hurt you..."
Simon wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe angels were good and kind and they loved all who deserve it. Simon didn't deserve it. Not even from a creature that, supposedly, was made to be kind.
"ROCKY SAVE GRACE!!"
"Wh–" Simon caught a glimpse of the odd silhouette that rammed itself into his side. He wheezed as he hit the wall, the wind knocked out of him. It was then Simon's instincts tool over, he let them, and grabbed the nearest object to strike with.
Simon only paused when he noticed his target was... a rock. A strange, four legged rock surrounded in a strange, glass prison with white outlines. It scittered around the angel, saying protect, protect, protect, and Simon safely concluded it was the angel's pet. And a pet he was not in the condition to fight. Even if he won, there was the angel to consider. One who'd be very pissed off.
"Easy, Rocky, easy, he's just scared..." The angel hugged the prison, keeping the weird rock from sprinting at Simon again.
"Attack Grace!! Rocky destroy!! Statement!!"
"Stop, stop, stop, pause, time out," The angel laughed awkwardly, a strangled noise as he quickly got up. He put himself between Simon and this Rocky. "Okay, we chill? We good? Stay– no, Rocky, stay– this has gotten wildly out of hand."
Understatement of the century.
"Okay, let's start over," The angel turned around, took a deep breath, then turned back to Simon. "Hi, I'm Grace, this is my best friend, Rocky. I'm a human, he's Eridian, and it's a pleasure to meet you....uh..."
Simon stared.
The angel, Grace, a perfect name for an angel, stared back. Only for a second, however, before waving his hand. "And what's, yknow, your name? Where are you from?"
Simon opened his mouth to speak before he quickly shut it and glared instead. It was blasphemous to disobey an angel but Simon was suspicious.
Instead of answering, Simon glanced down at what he grabbed. It was a robot arm, waving at Simon when it noticed his staring. Simon let out a terrifying hiss and chucked the arm as hard as he could. He only became more horrified when the arm simply swooped around, as if the momentum was weak.
Simon was not weak.
"Easy, Armando wouldn't hurt a fly!"
"Grace lie. Grace lie bad."
"Rocky..." Grace huffed, then awkwardly smiled at Simon. "It's okay if you don't wanna speak, I'd be pretty freaked out too. Uuhmmm... oh! Oh, let's–"
Grace hurried to the bed, moving aside an IV drip to get into the bedside table. He pulled out a notebook and a couple pens, pursing his lips when trying to choose a color, and deciding on red before returning to his spot. He handed everything to the robotic arm and that brought it all to Simon. Simon glared, slowly accepting the items, and huffed. Having only one hand to his name, Simon bit the pen cap and ripped it off, then looked back at Grace.
"...do you need a table?"
Simon was unamused.
"Right, right, dumb question, my bad," Grace tripped over his own two feet to grab a rolling table edge.
Simon tilted his head. Maybe Grace wasn't the right title for this angel. Maybe the Tree should've named this one "baby dear on ice" or "clumsy oaf".
...and this is why Simon was damned.
"Here you go," Grace kept space between them, which Simon appreciated. "So, what's your name? Do...you have a name–? Wait, do you even speak English–?"
English. Martian. Rootspeak. He even knew some Korean and German, not enough to be fluent but he could ask where a bathroom was... not that he'd ever get the opportunity to try and be fluent.
He held up the notebook.
"Simon..." Grace read outloud. His expression turned from curious to another heavenly smile. "Nice to meet you, Simon. That's a very cool name."
"Grace sound like talking to pebbles."
"Wh– Rocky, no–"
"Classroom voice. Pebbles tone. Grace baby new leakbag."
"Rocky!" Grace blushed bright red with embarassment. "Ignore him, uhm, we...probably need to get you clothes. I forgot about that part. I'm so sorry, uhm uhm uhm..."
Simon watched as Grace raced out of the room, then stared down at the sassy rock. He assumed Rocky was staring at him, since neither moved. Simon wondered if all angels' pets were a spider rock like this one.
Is naming one of them Rocky the human equivalent of naming your dog Puppy?
"H-here you go!" Grace returned quickly, thankfully, with a bundle of clothes in his arms. "It's just stuff I had laying around, not literally, but it should fit you!"
Simon's nose twitched at the clothes, staring at them – a large, yellow sweater, some undergarment, shorts – then glanced back up. The angel had turned away, back to Simon. Privacy, Simon guessed, but also a great show of power. You wouldn't take your eyes off a threat unless you were 100% sure you could take them.
So, not risking any further injury being a stranger in a strangeland, Simon dressed himself. He struggled, even with the robot arm's assistance, but he felt... comfortable. The sweater was tight in his chest area but it was fine. He and the angel couldn't be the same size, could they? The angel seemed lankier, taller, were these someone else's clothes? They had to be. Why did angels even wear clothes–
"Are they...okay?" Grace asked softly. "Wait, you don't wanna speak...Okay, just, tap me on the shoulder or have Armando tap me on the shoulder!"
"Grace dumb–"
"Let him go his own pace, Rocky, I'd also be terrified if I was pulled out of a submarine filled with blood!"
Simon furrowed his brows. His mind wandered back to the Iron Lung. The memories were fuzzy but fresh, his throat burning as it recalled his own screaming, and Simon tried to breathe. It hurt to, the air constricting his lungs as they attempted to infect the space, his mouth drying as Simon collapses to his knees. Oh, how they'd bruise, the aching bones creating a terrifying sound as they smashed against the flooring.
He should be dead, claimed his mind, why wasn't he dead?!
It – his mind, the voices inside – sounded like a Father scolding his obedient children, sounded like the echoing remnants of slaughtered soldiers, sounded like an eel speaking through an ocean of blood.
Why isn't he dead. He deserved it. He saved– he stalled humanity's end, didn't he?
So why was he here?
Did he cheat death–? No, impossible, no one could.
This was heaven. It had to be heaven. Hell was torture and pain and agony you'd deserve, writhing under the pain of demons who'd forget you. Heaven was...this
A clean room, bandages hugging his form, an angel.
He shouldn't be here. He didn't deserve to be here. Heaven was for lovers, for saints, children, and Simon was none of it.
And if he wasn't dead...
He needed to be. He had to be.
Before humanity lost. Before he fully mutated. Before untainted hands corrupted because they touched him too much.
Before the angel found out he was the Butc–
"–ey, hey, easy... easy, big guy..." Gentle hands perched on Simon's shoulders as sweet, concerned eyes stared down at him. Between dead curls of black and ebony brown, dark eyes stared up into blue. The real color of the ocean, what the sea is suppose to be. "There we are, hi, hey, come back to the surface, I got you, Simon, everything is okay–"
What business was an angel's to speak go the ugly man with effervescent softness...? Simon would never receive an answer, he wasn't sure he wanted one. But as his terrifyingly sweet angel cupped his face in both hands, inspecting him while whispering calm words, Simon found he didn't want one. Whatever answer he'd be given, he wouldn't be satisfied with.
Simon slumped against Grace, his forehead resting on the angel's shoulder. He could hear the quickened heartbeat, it sounded perfect. The divine march of an approaching seraphim army. Maybe he could die here, in the arms of heaven. Maybe he'd welcome it.
"Okay, okay, okay," Grace awkwardly patted Simon's head. "Seeeems like you need this, we can work out the rest later."
Simon didn't answer. He feared that, if he did, then the illusion of safety would be effortlessly broken.
"...whatever you, uhm, went through..." Grace paused, chewing on his cheek trying to think. "We– will figure it out together, right? And if we don't, and I'm not saying we have to, then we can figure where to go from here. You're in good hands–"
"Grace lie."
"Shut your rock hole, Rocky," Grace huffed, but instantly relaxed when Simon tensed. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay, we'll figure it out... yep, figure it out... I promise."
He attacked the angel, threatened it, be so callous to its pets, and the angel still held him securely, offered him promise.
Simon believed in angels. He truly, deeply did. But he only worshipped his angel, the one who, despite knowing the devil deep in Simon's soul, still decided to save him.