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Blood on his hands started smearing the controls. The distant voice of his mother called him. He was so tired, he wondered about going to sleep in her bed. Nestled by her side, he knew her knife, sharp as the darkness of the void, would keep the enemies away. He was about to respond to her, when...
"Butcher! What the fuck, give me that!" Simon yelled. Like a gravity pull, the boy felt his body violently yanked to the back while Simon took his place at the controls. In both senses - control of the submarine and their body.
"What's your fucking problem?" Butcher yelled, disoriented. "Oh my god I'm gonna throw up."
"You were dozing off." Simon explained, an exasperated expression in her face. She backed the submarine a few meters. "Look at the proximity triggers, we nearly hit a wall!"
"Oh, I... I didn't realize." Butcher apologized. "Sorry, boss. I was... I'm sorry. Th-thanks for fixing it."
"It's... it's okay." Simon breathed deep. "I'm sorry too. I... I overreacted." She said, earnest. "Shit, I might throw up too."
"At least it can't stink more than the blood." Butcher heaved.
Simon took several minutes to even their breaths.
"Where did Grove go?" She asked. "Last I fell away it was the one driving."
"It's just easier for me to front in a place like this." Butcher pointed out. "Tight space, blood smell, the unrelenting fear and doom. Doesn't it feel just like home?" He sneered.
"I just don't think a 14 year old should be operating heavy machinery." Simon crossed her arms.
"But you think a tree should?" Butcher raised an eyebrow.
"Trees don't get sleepy." - She stuttered. Butcher couldn't help but catch her overly protective emotions, and she felt it. His anger at that wasn't petty, when the kid was the most capable of them all. He didn't want to be spared of any suffering, so long as he could help their situation.
"The fact Grove hates fronting for sleep doesn't mean it doesn't get tired, it means it's gonna bail when it's tired." Butcher explained as if Simon was the child. "We need to sleep! Can't we take a moment to do that?"
Simon gestured at the wall, to the line of lights besides the breached porthole.
"By the time we wake up, both of those lights could be down."
Butcher stared at them, suddenly remembering their existence. His hands balled as his breathing became erratic again. He wasn't like Simon. He wouldn't mind dying, if it was for a good cause. But down there, abandoned in a metal box, a drop in the ocean? What cause could his death contribute to in there? What dirt could their body return to, in that sealed casket?
He started to cry. Hugging himself, trying to keep it together, to not show weakness, but he couldn't. Simon felt the tears in her own face, knowing then she was crying with him.
She got up from the busted chair and embraced the boy.
"I'm s-sorry." Butcher apologized, ashamed. "I'm sorry, sister."
"You can drive." Simon whispered. "I won't let you fall asleep."