Chapter Text
"What did you do?"
The roar echoes in Simon's head, resonating with the pain streaking across his body after being thrown to the back of the sub.
"You changed everything!"
He writhers on the ground, off balance from the fresh lack of an arm, scrambling to get his feet under him. The black box floats... somewhere in the blood, lifejacket already secure. His last chance to have a say in how he is known. He had already prayed to the last thing he believed in, but her favorite prayer, the one he can only hear in his mother's voice, sings in his mind.
Hail Mary, full of grace
"Your ship is alive. Can't you see this is a mercy?"
Simon pulls himself upright, still tipped against the side of the SM-13. If it's alive, I can kill it.
"Fine! You want the Butcher?" He rips the fire hydrant from the wall. "Come on!"
the Tree grows in thee
He swings at the boney protrusions. They crack and splinter under his rage, even as he looses his footing and stands again.
"Fuck you! Die!"
More blood pours in from where the needle-like teeth have pierced the sub, from the broken teeth themselves.
Blessed art thou amongst sowers
Simon slips again.
"Pray that you stay dead."
The blood is too slick, too heavy. He's too off-balance to stand up again. It rushes in from the unshielded porthole.
And blessed are we, the fruit of thy Garden
"We are salvation."
He tumbles in the current of blood, gasping for air when he can feel it on his face.
Holy Mary
"We are hope."
The blood is unceasing.
Mother of Green
"We can save everyone within us."
The ceiling is within reach from where Simon floats, and he is upright once again, still gasping. His face doesn't move the way it should.
Prune us of our sins
"We are all. We are one."
The voice rumbles and growls in the confines of his skull, underpinning his mother finishing her prayer.
Now and at the hour of our rot
"We die. We live. We."
Amen
~~~
Simon is standing. The floor doesn't sway beneath his feet, but he still feels himself tipping to one side. He reaches for his left shoulder, trying to remind his balance of the missing limb.
His shoulder is dry. His clothes don't squelch as he presses down on them, they don't soddenly hang off his form. He looks down at himself, and he is dry of blood. The whole room is. A room he's never seen before, clean of blood and rust and wear. His hand slips from his shoulder, only to grab it again. The pulsing mass of blood and sinew and bone is gone. HIs skin wraps around what had just been an open wound.
"Fuck."
His face doesn't move the way it should, again. He grimaces, the motion still unnatural on the left side of his face. His head turns into the strange sensation, pulling his vision to the small window that was behind him. A spark on the glass grabs his attention.
Even dim lights can cause reflections, dumbass, but it wasn't the right angle. Stations don't bother having windows between rooms, and nothing outside a station could make a light that bright. Not anymore. Not unless it was The Light that had turned him inside out and put him back together and while he didn't know what was going on right now he sure as fuck didn't want to go through that again.
Simon's steps are stiff as he walks towards the window. He brings his arm up, making sure to block any light from sneaking in from behind him. Because a reflection is the only answer to what he's seeing. They couldn't be this bright. There couldn't be this many.
Stars