Salvation
Simon x Radio Operator!Reader
Synopsis: Falling in love with a voice of someone out of reach is dangerous, but being surrounded by an ocean of blood doesn’t do wonders for a man’s judgment. And when he hears you laugh it feels like maybe humanity has hope yet. So perhaps getting to know you isn’t the worst decision he’s made.
Word Count: 5.5K+
Warnings: MAJOR IRON LUNG SPOILERS!! THIS IS BASICALLY A RETELLING OF SEVERAL MOVIE SCENES SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! Descriptions of blood, going insane, dehumanization (?), cussing, basically everything that was in the movie, plus angst (that differs from the movie), reader is referred to as “beautiful” once
A/N: (at the end)
Simon couldn’t decide what was worse: the immense feeling of dread that hung over the submarine or the sweltering heat inside of it, but both he decided to ignore. If he does this, he earns his freedom, simple as that. So long as the C.O.I. keeps their word there should be no issues.
The vessel shakes, chains rattle from above, and a voice cuts through the static of the speaker.
“Beginning the descent.”
The tone is final, fact, as if actually saying there’s no turning back now. It doesn’t address him, not yet, it exists to inform, to follow a protocol he’s unaware of. He’s unaware of everything down here, no training, no way out, just the vast ocean of blood and him.
“Mission clock started.”
The submarine sinks further, moving slower as it fights against the pressure of the blood outside. And for the first time since being welded into this death trap he’s finally addressed directly.
“How are you feeling convict?” The voice hangs on that word, as though it feels out of place, “Ready to do some good?”
Does it matter? Whether this turns out to be helpful or not it gains him his freedom, that’s all that really counts. Yet he replies anyways, “Yeah.”
The voice turns back to procedural, he’d hardly recognized the shift. Speaking to him, it wasn’t the stern tone from before. It wasn’t drastic, whoever on the other end certainly wasn’t a friend, but it existed. It was nice, a sliver of empathy in this situation.
“Cruising depth in two minutes.”
Another jolt comes as the submarine continues downwards.
“There seems to be some voltage irregularities with the instruments so keep an eye out for sparks, flames, those kinds of things.” The shift in tone happens once more as the voice over the radio talks to him. But even that change can’t hide the fear the warning brings.
“Flames?” He speaks up, “Why would there be flames?”
A small sigh, then a response, “We don’t know, but I thought I should warn you.”
“You did test this thing, right?”
Another voice cuts through the line, it's irritated, and suddenly Simon realizes just how much warmth the other person possesses in comparison.
“This is the test. Now stop with the questions and focus on the mission.”
There’s a rustling on the other end as he assumes the microphone is being passed back. There’s a scoff, a muffled argument, and then the original speaker comes back.
“Sorry, that was our captain. She doesn’t really appreciate questions.”
“You aren’t the captain?”
A laugh, real, quiet, but real. And then, “No, I’m just the radio operator but don’t be fooled I’ve been here just as long as her and know just as much. I’ll be leading you through this.”
That’s helpful. At least he assumes it is.
“Okay, you’re approaching cruising depth. We’ve welded you in as tight as we can, and the ship is basically a tank, but be cautious about how deep you go. It can take some pressure but there’s a limit, the terrain is unpredictable but try not to wander too far into the red. Got it?”
“Yeah I understand.”
“Alright, there’s going to be several points where the radio cuts out. We don’t have a strong enough signal to reach everywhere you’ll be going, but I will do my best to stay with you as long as I can.”
He doesn’t know if he should be reassured or not. But judging from the fact that he has no clue what he’s doing, and whoever is speaking to him seems to, he chooses to be content with it.
“Closing porthole shielding.”
He watches as the glass in front of him is slowly covered, questions arising in his mind the longer he sits. “What is it exactly that I’m looking for? No one’s told me what it is.” He asks.
The captain’s voice comes back, harsher than before, “We don’t know. You’re the first one down, all we have are surface scans. Which is why you’re there.”
He turns to the control panel, it doesn’t look like rocket science, but some training sure would’ve been nice. The captain’s voice continues to disrupt his thoughts.
“You know we salvaged that glass from Filament Station? Not a scratch on it. Pretty lucky. Funny how some things survive and others don’t.”
It felt mocking, as if every word was chosen deliberately to bring him down. Luckily it isn’t long before the radio operator takes over.
“Approaching maximum depth. Find the coordinates on the map, document as instructed. You’re entering a dead zone so we won’t be able to reach you for a while. Good Luck.”
Some of the words get garbled because of what he assumes is a bad connection but there’s no time to focus on that. The sooner he starts this expedition the sooner he can be released.
The ship groans under the pressure of the sea, it echoes off the walls and makes everything feel hollow, empty. The sound reminds him that he’s alone, trapped at the bottom of an ocean, for god knows how long.
It’s the next day when the voice comes back.
“Convict? Are you there?”
There it is again, the evident distaste at how they refer to him, at what he is: a convict.
Simon hesitates at first, he knows what he’s doing, any distractions waste time he can spend on his mission. But whoever is on the radio is there to help, to inform, he has no reason not to respond.
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Good,” they say, a short sigh coming with it, followed by a yawn.
“You sound tired.” He points out, unsure as to what this conversation is supposed to build towards. But he figures he might as well engage with it, it’s not like he gets any other interaction down here.
A chuckle mixes with the static of the speaker, “Thanks for noticing, I didn’t sleep much last night. I was too worried.”
Simon checks the angle of the submarine before he speaks again. “Worried? Why? Is something going wrong?”
“No, no, I mean nothing drastic,” the voice reassures, “It’s just that we were supposed to be able to make contact with you again yesterday and our signals never came through. I was worried something may have happened to you.”
That’s…confusing. Why would they be worried about him? Isn’t that the whole point of sending down a convict? Because they’re disposable?
“Me? Why would you guys be worried about me?”
It couldn’t have been that they were concerned for him. The photographs maybe or whatever evidence he’d gotten from being down here, but not him surely.
“Well they weren’t, not as much as they should’ve been anyway. I don’t know. I guess, for me, the idea of sending anyone into an unexplored ocean of blood is nerve wracking. I’d want them to come back safe, convict or not, we’re all people.”
He takes in every word, thinks them over, as if trying to find some kind of dishonesty. No one in the C.O.I. cares about the convicts, it’s that simple. And yet whoever was on the other end of this did care. They cared immensely from the sound of it. It’s strange, it’s been a long time since Simon could say someone cared about him.
“So you stayed up all night worrying about me?” He wonders aloud.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
At least someone was looking out for him. But even so this conversation wasn’t furthering the mission in any way, which is what he assumed they were supposed to help with.
“Hey, so, when this oxygen meter hits the last light that means I still have like a quarter left right? That’s not zero is it?”
“Right.” The voice responds, “The ship has enough air to last one person a good while, but try to get the mission done soon. You don’t have a lifetime supply or anything.”
Good to know. He’d wished he’d known it sooner, but that was the case for basically everything.
“I’ve found some interesting stuff down here,” he continues, “I don’t know if you guys can see any of it but I think you should take a look.”
“The photos upload to us after a little while, how close are you to completing the mission?”
So they can see what he’s found, interesting.
“I have a few spots left to investigate but hopefully it’ll be over soon.”
“I’ll make sure to add that to my report. You’ve done some good work, I’ll check in again soon but keep it up.”
With that the line cuts out and he’s left alone again. He thought these conversations were supposed to be about information and nothing more, so why is it that without that voice the submarine feels darker than before?
Whatever, it doesn’t matter, the voice will be back again soon but the ocean that surrounds him isn’t going anywhere. He has to seek out his assignment or he’ll never be free. He needs to focus, and not on the sudden loneliness the silence brings.
By the time the voice comes back it’s the least of his worries. A skeleton unmarked on the map, the ship shaking, everything feels unstable. He’s ready to leave, freedom be damned. He just wants to live.
The voice fills the space, it's nervous, falling over their words as they rush to check in with him. “Hello? Are you okay? What happened? What’s your status?”
He groans, being flung around in a tight space doesn’t feel great, “I’m here.” He mumbles, pushing himself up.
“Okay…okay.” They breathe a sigh of relief, “Is the ship damaged at all? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” he replies.
A disagreement comes from the other line, what he makes out of it is someone concerned about the ship's hull integrity, and the other is concerned about him. Eventually one voice, which he assumes is the radio operator, gives up and the captain’s voice takes their place.
“Convict, is the ship damaged? Is the hull okay?”
“I don’t know! You never told me anything would be down here!”
“Is there a problem with the ship? We have to know before we send you back down.”
Back? What does that mean? No way in hell was he going back after experiencing that.
“No fucking way! I’m done! Bring me back up, throw me in prison, I don’t fucking care! I’m not doing this.”
He starts to get angry, talking over every point the captain tries to make, ignoring everything that comes over the radio. Ignoring everything until it turns back to the operator's voice. “Hey, hey!” They start, gaining his attention, “I need you to calm down and listen to me, okay?”
“I’m done.” He mumbles again.
“Alright, we can talk about that in a minute. I need you to investigate the ship for hull damage, because if you fell, and if there’s damage, that means leaks. And leaks mean you die. So, can you please calm down and look?”
He takes a breath, listening and looking around. No alarms go off, no blood floods in, everything seems stable, everything except himself. “Yeah,” he hesitates, “everything seems fine. I think.”
“Okay,” they say, a breath of relief is hidden as they pull away from the microphone. A mumbled conversation comes from the other side as the situation is relayed to everyone above, “We’re going to check on your progress well everything settles.”
“Settles?”
“Remember what I said about the terrain? How its unpredictable? That’s because it isn’t rock, it’s not solid, just congealed blood and some gas bubbles.” Behind their words is some kind of chaos, overlapping voices, speaking about who knows what. But the radio operator stays on the line with him. “Are you okay? A shift like that can damage the hull but also the people inside the sub, any injuries?”
“Maybe a few bruises.” He speaks up, looking himself over.
“Nothing's broken?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Good.”
Something about their tone, their voice, their words, is comforting. Maybe it has something to do with being down here alone for so long. Or maybe they’re genuinely growing on him, either way he couldn’t think of any one else he’d want on the other side of this right now.
Though just as soon as that realization comes the captain’s voice takes over the line once more. “Convict, did you find a skeleton?”
“Yeah.” He mumbles.
A conversation is still held on the other end, orders are given, questions are asked, but eventually the attention is directed back to him. “Convict, are you absolutely sure it was a skeleton?”
“I mean, yeah, I’ve seen a skeleton before. How stupid do you think I am?”
Silence for a moment. Not even a sound comes from the radio before her voice comes back.
“We’re pulling you up. Standby.”
The ship shakes, moves, and he’s tossed around a bit more as garbled words take over the other end of the radio.
The next interaction he has is face to face, the porthole shield lowers and in front of him is the captain. Questions are asked, answers are given, and she turns to discuss with her crew. But the decision is made to send him back down.
“You’re not listening to me!” He argues, “There’s something else!”
She turns back to him, analyzing his desperation.
“It’s not like I don’t want the deal, I want it. But it’s not worth it. Not for me, and not for you.” He reasons, “You’re not hearing me when I say there’s something else. Something alive.” Simon takes a minute, thinks over his words, what he knows, who he knows. “Where is the radio operator? I want to talk to them, they’ll understand.”
“No can do.” The captain responds, “This is my crew, and you report to me, this isn’t a call you get to make. You’re going back down. We’re putting an attachment on the front, all you have to do is point it in the right direction, it should grab on to something.”
“So what do I do? Just ram it?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
An argument ensues, this isn’t right. He’s done his part, he’s done more than his part. They need to uphold their end of the deal. And they just aren’t listening.
But the camera, the x-ray, wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. They couldn’t have expected him to.
“Drop him.”
And it was done, quickly, without any adjustments or hesitations. It jostled the sub and tossed him down. A voice came over the radio, a new one, unfamiliar. “Calmed down yet? You can’t be too upset, not after the stunt you pulled.”
Simon groans as he pushes himself up from the ground, “Who are you? Where’s the operator? I want to talk to them.”
“No can do. They’re helping to take Jack, you know that guy you irradiated? To the medical staff, so you’re stuck with me.”
Great, sent back down to hell with an unfamiliar navigator and a death wish of an objective. Whatever, get the sample, get out, and then he’s free, surely.
No matter what some fucked up message from another pilot says. He’s making it out of here alive.
A voice cuts through the static after his discovery of a missing skeleton. This time it’s familiar, welcoming, at least the operator is back, not everything has gone wrong.
“Hello?” They start.
“Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, yes I can hear you. What’s going on?” They ask.
“You mean why am I moving away from where the skeleton is supposed to be?”
“That among many other things, but we’ll start there.”
He takes in a deep breath, analyzing the map against the control panel. “This is going to sound made up.” He murmurs, “But the skeleton is gone.”
“Gone?”
“I’m at the coordinates but all it is is a big hill. Maybe it got buried, I don’t know.”
“Hold on.” The voice disappears for a few moments, and he waits. A few pictures are taken, to double check or just to pass the time, he isn’t sure which. “We’re picking up something a few meters ahead of you.” The voice chimes back in, “Just keep heading that way.”
“Roger that.” He says, and silence overtakes the sub once more. Condensation builds on the walls and drips down to the floor. “Can I just ask something?”
“Fire away.”
“Why is it so damn hot in here?”
There’s a laugh somewhere on the other side, “I’m not completely sure. I bet there isn’t any kind of air circulation or conditioning in the sub so that probably has something to do with it. But also an ocean of blood is warmer than one of water so it’s likely the heat from outside is affecting the inside as well.”
Simon groans in response, that means there’s no way to fix it. Not besides removing a few layers. The movement must catch the attention of the operator because now they take their turn to ask a question. “What are you doing?”
“What do you mean? I’m still heading towards the skeleton?”
“Yeah, but all I can hear is rustling on your end. Is everything okay?”
He laughs gently, “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just taking off a few layers. If there’s nothing I can do to fix the heat I could at least try that.”
“I guess that’s true.” They start, “But you’re not like completely stripping down, right?”
He laughs then, fully, for the first time in a long time. “No,” he reassures after a moment, “No, we haven’t reached that point quite yet.”
“Good. Because if we pulled you up after this and you were completely naked it would be quite the first impression.” They give, sharing in his soft laughter.
“First impression? Does that mean I’m actually going to get to meet you when they pull me back up?”
There’s a silence on the other end, a quiet internal debate. “Yeah.” They respond finally, “You’ll get to meet me. And I’ll get to meet you.”
Simon can’t help the smile that comes to his face, the thought is nice, something new to look forward to. Until it’s interrupted by the controls beeping, warning of an upcoming obstacle.
The skeleton. Right. The mission.
But the picture is wrong, this isn’t how it was before. And no amount of ground shifting could have caused it.
“What do you mean?” They ask.
“It just doesn’t look right.”
“Okay, well,” they hesitate, “can you still get a sample?”
He looks over the picture again, “Probably. But this doesn’t feel right.”
“I know, I know. But if you come back without a sample they’ll send you right back down. So just, gather what you can, they’ll have to deal with that.”
“Then I’m free?” He asks.
“Yeah, then you’re free.” They reassure.
And hearing it then, from them, a direct answer. Fills his chest with something lighter than hope. If this is really it. If this is all he has to do. To be free, to meet whoever’s been leading him through this, it’s well worth it. But there’s something else, one other worry that plagues him. “Even after what I did? With the radiation?” He worries aloud.
“That wasn’t your fault, besides you upheld your part of the deal. It’s time for us to do the same.” They reassure.
“I am sorry. I never meant for that to happen.” He continues.
“I know. I don’t blame you.” They start, their words catching, as if they want to say something more, dig a bit deeper, expose more of themself to him. But instead, “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”
He sits back down, staring at the controls, “So what? I just ram into this thing at full speed?”
“I guess so. I’m no engineer but the hull is expertly welded, it’ll hold, and it should take most of the impact. So just go for it.”
He sucks in a breath, nothing about this seems thought out, but it’s the quickest way to being a free man. So he pushes forward, the coordinates spike up, the lights blink faster. There’s an impact, and then? Nothing.
“I think I got it.” He speaks up, hesitant.
“Are you sure?”
“Let me check.” He backs up and takes a picture. Nothing much has changed aside from a hole in the jaw. “I think I got it, there’s a hole in the jaw.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, at least I’m pretty sure.”
“Okay, good.” A conversation is muffled on the other end before the voice comes back, “Hold onto something, we’re bringing you up. See you on the other side.”
The line cuts off into static and he sighs, he’s finally done. He glances back to the picture. Looking it over, but in the top corner, hidden behind the skeleton is a blur of something else.
He tries to speak up, to warn them, but it’s too late. They begin pulling him up.
“Hold on! Something else is down there!”
The voice cuts back in, “What do you mean “something else”? Something alive? Are you sure?”
“Yes! Yes! It was looking directly at me.”
He hears a gasp on the other end, but it’s the least of his worries as the sub begins to rock and resist ascending.
“Something’s got me!”
“Okay hold on!” The operator says, and he overhears an argument between them and the captain. They want to cut the line, release the sample, save him. But the captain argues the sample is too necessary to lose. The argument fades away as the sub rocks harder, flinging him against the walls once more, knocking him out cold.
By the time he wakes everything is dark, echoing with groans from the hull, it's eerily more lonesome than before.
He can’t keep track of how much time passes, not between mapping his area, discovering things he shouldn’t, and having experiences beyond belief. No, time is the least of his worries.
When he finally makes contact with someone again, it isn’t right, it isn’t true, it isn’t real. A light of hope given to him just to be extinguished in the end. Perhaps it was symbolic, a look into what lies ahead for him.
He’s abandoned, alone, besides the creatures that have clawed their way into his mind. The things he’s seen, heard, and lived are everything but true. Or perhaps they are real, and everything outside of what exists miles deep in an ocean of blood is what’s false.
His mind can’t keep up, his heart races, trying to come up with anything to keep him sane. And that’s when he hears it.
The voice that’s guided him for so long. Through the dreary darkness of this sea, and into the light of their words. The radio operator from before. The only one to care, to empathize, to make him laugh in such a dire time.
“Hello?”
But how could he believe it’s real, how could he buy into that after everything? What if it’s just his mind playing tricks? Attempting to give him exactly what he wants before it’s finally over.
“Is that really you?”
Maybe it’s better not to respond. To ignore it until it passes. Maybe that’s what he should’ve done before.
“Are you there?”
But it’s so much easier to allow yourself to snap under the weight of it all, “Stop fucking with me.” To let it out on whoever crosses your path, real or not. “I’m done, I’m done being fucked with. The radio is broken, you aren’t there, you aren’t you.”
The line goes quiet, contemplating, but the person on the other side continues. “I don’t understand how you survived. It’s been days, you should’ve run out of oxygen ages ago.” The voice chokes up from gentle sobs, he’s alive, somehow.
There’s a rage that builds within the submarine, a rage that builds within him. “What did I do in the hangar?”
“What?”
“What did I do? How many people were there?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Just tell me!” He pushes.
“Three! Okay? And you used the camera which blasted them with an immense amount of radiation.” The voice steadies, “How are you alive?”
“You’re lying,” he continues. This isn’t real, not after everything else, “It’s not possible.” The radio is unbroken, still completely intact. But how could that be true? “What’s my name?” He whispers, a broken kind of whisper. The kind that reveals damage, but only to those who care to look, and they were certainly that kind.
“I’m so sorry,” they hesitate, stumbling over their words, “I don’t think I ever asked for your name.”
“You sent me down here to die without even knowing my name.”
The sentence is painful, mostly because it holds the truth, “I never wanted you to die. I don’t think that they cared, and I should’ve spoken up for you, I should’ve tried harder, but I don’t want you to die. I never have.” That’s true too, at least he thinks it is. They’ve only ever shown compassion, only ever tried to help. But even so he’s still trapped. “Look, I don’t know how you’re alive. We all thought you died days ago, I mean you shouldn’t have enough oxygen for this. I’m glad you’re still here. But how are you still alive?”
“I really don’t know, I don’t know. But I think I’ve done enough. I just want to go home.” He begs.
“I know,” the voice cuts in, calm, caring, “just hold on. Let me talk to everyone and we’ll come up with a plan.”
He tries to compose himself as he listens in, hearing only a dispute on the other side but not being able to make any of it out. He assumes it’s between the operator and the captain, as usual, which means it can’t be anything good. It seems harsher than usual, more intense in the way it carries on. Whatever is happening, whoever is arguing, neither is backing down.
After a long while of muffled arguing someone finally speaks to him again. This time it’s the captain, “Convict?”
“Yeah. I’m here. So what’s the plan? How am I getting out of here?”
The line goes quiet and then, “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
It’s a punch to the gut. After everything, all that he’s gone through, all that he’s learned, he’s just another sacrifice they’ve chosen to make. “Not worth it”. Never enough, not until he has what they really want. Information. Information from SM8 that they couldn’t recover otherwise.
It’s foolish that this is what it takes. What it takes for them to care enough about him. But it works and the deal is made.
But it goes wrong, so wrong, even in comparison to everything he’s already gone through. More blood is claimed to the sea, whispers turn to screams, and he’s faced with a choice bigger than himself.
When he returns from the crawl space, drenched in blood with the black box in hand, the radio operator’s voice greets him. “Hello? Are you there? What’s going on?”
Even with the desperation that laces it, the concern in the tone, the nervousness behind each word, it still takes a weight off his shoulders. Let’s him breathe as if it’s his first and last time.
“Hey.” He greets simply, slipping to the floor to fasten the life vest around the black box.
“Oh my gosh, you’re alive.” The anxiety fades into relief, “I was so worried, what happened? Where did you go?”
“The crawl space, I needed to get something important.”
“Okay, well, are you alright? The thirty minutes is almost up, are you at the meeting point?”
“I don’t,” he hesitates, choking on his words as if he himself doesn’t want to believe it, “I don’t think there is a meeting point. I don’t think I’m getting out of here. I don’t think I was ever supposed to.”
“What? What do you mean?” The anxiety comes back in a wave of concern and questions. Questions he can’t answer.
“Can you, just talk to me? Please.” His voice is tight, close to tears. And it melts away everything else entirely.
“Yeah,” they respond carefully, “I can do that. What do you want to talk about?” It’s kind, gentle, so much of the little he’s felt in life. It’s all here, from a stranger. No, not a stranger, but someone who’s turned into something far more.
“Tell me about yourself. We never shared our names, I’m Simon.”
“Simon,” you test the name on your tongue, and it feels more natural than anything you’ve ever said. In turn you introduce yourself. You don’t know what’s happening, not in the safety of your spacecraft. But you care enough to stay, to console him. “What else do you want to know?”
“What do you look like?” His voice cuts in, “I don’t want to die without imagining it.”
That’s a hard one, how do you describe yourself to someone? What would he notice first? What would he care to know?
“Well, I’m wearing this shitty required uniform from the C.O.I. that looks exactly like everyone else’s. Because apparently individuality is a sin around here.” His laugh comes in, it’s soft, perfect. You’d only heard it once or twice but you’d never get over the way it made you feel. You think for a moment, and remember the files aboard the ship, “Simon, next to your chair is some binders. In the blue one is an overlook of everyone you may speak to on your mission. If you find my last initial you’ll see my page, and a picture of me. You won’t have to imagine anything.”
You hear movement, slow, deliberate. Then pages turning over until that too stops. The line is quiet, and you aren’t sure what to make of it.
You don’t see how he’s mesmerized by your smile, how his fingers trace the edge of the photo like it’s sacred. And maybe in this moment, maybe to him, it is.
“You’re beautiful.”
Your heart skips a beat. It’s genuine, full of an adoration you’ve never heard before. And you aren’t quite sure how to respond. Luckily he speaks up again.
“Have you ever seen me?”
You look at the files on your desk, and the first thing to meet you is his mugshot, then medical records, and several other reports of either photographs with him or words about him. Since the beginning of this expedition you were supposed to know him inside and out, not personally, not as a human, but as a criminal. But even still it didn’t take away how you felt, how he made you feel.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you.”
“What do you think? Someone you’d maybe let take you on a date?”
“A date?” You chuckle, “Where would we go? There aren't many places since the quiet rapture.”
“I’ve never liked the idea of something flashy anyway, I’d much rather just talk with you. Maybe make dinner together. Simple, sweet, easy. As long as it’s with you it wouldn’t matter.” He explains.
“That sounds nice.”
You smile, it really does. And if you close your eyes tight enough. If you shut out everything besides him. You can almost see it, the two of you, together. You don’t realize that he’s doing the exact same thing.
“You never answered my question, would you even go with me?”
“I would, you look like someone I’d be happy with, really happy. ”
You hear him sigh, grateful to hear your true feelings.
“If I’m going to die,” He speaks up again, “I think you deserve to know, that I think I’m in love with you.” He laughs at his own words, as if realizing how unbelievable it sounds.
You suck in a breath, “Simon.” You gasp out, voice tight.
“And I know that’s crazy to say considering we’ve never met face to face. But you’re the only person that’s ever made me feel like me. Not The Butcher, or The Convict, just Simon. So, I love you.”
You hear the ship groan on the other side, something is causing movement, something is coming. You hear as he moves around, preparing himself.
You don’t see how he tucks your picture close to himself, don’t see how he struggles against the blood ocean overtaking the sub. Or how he gives one last smile at your choked out, “I love you too.”
All you hear is the silence that comes after. There’s no static, no radio to pick up on, there’s no one on the other end. Just you, alone, and the memory of a man you’ve never even met.
Falling in love with a voice isn’t the best decision one could make. It’s a hopeless feat. But when that voice is the only thing to bring light to the darkness of yourself, you stop caring about how realistic the end goal is. Especially when surrounded by a vast ocean of blood and they exist as your only salvation.
A FIX IT AU FOR THIS FIC IS CURRENTLY IN THE WORKS LEARN MORE ABOUT THAT HERE!
I had this idea since I first watched the movie but honestly I don’t know how to feel about the final product. I’m most definitely going to revisit this if Iron Lung comes out on streaming or physically because I’m sure I can make this better if I could analyze the movie. This is actually based on the several times I’ve gone to see it, so it should be pretty accurate. In fact one time was solely dedicated to making sure this followed the plot well enough. So hopefully you guys enjoy this belated Valentine’s gift, I’m also working on requests right now but that’s a whole separate thing.
I also kind of want to post this on AO3, but I don’t even know where to start with that, or if I like this enough for it to be my first piece of work there. I do think that a lot of people look for fanfiction over there rather than here though. So who knows? Maybe I will commit to doing that.
