Originally published on Archive of Our Own in 2018.
After a close call, Isaac takes a moment for himself in a janitor's closet.
I watched Dead Space LPs in 2008?
Pain blossomed in Isaac's chest with each haggared breath as he dragged himself down the corridor.
The orange quarentine lights had stopped, the screaming alarms shut off. The hallway was quiet except for the ship's far off groaning of metal as a gigantic creature slowly ripped the Ishimura apart. No pressure, Isaac.
Isaac slammed his fist down- sucking in a gasp as more pain rocketed through his chest- on a door lock, watching the doors slide only a few inches apart.
It'd been right on top of him. It'd sprung out from a vent, gargled, enraged scream right in his ear as the Ishimura's quarentine alarms rang.
He wiggled his hands into the space, beginning to pull the doors apart. How long had he been on this ship?
The room beyond was a small storage room; a few lockers, a sanitation sink and disposal, and no vents.
Isaac stepped inside and pressed the door lock again, shoulders only relaxing from his ears when the doors pressed shut and the lock turned red. It wouldn't open for anything but him.
Struggling off his thick gloves, Isaac worked on the buckles of his suit. It was designed with the automated helper in mind, but it was possible to take it off yourself.
The fabric was thick and heavy, insulated and protective. It was like taking off a second, third, layer of flesh. Finally shrugging off the sleeves, Isasc allowed himself a breath. Pain stabbed through him.
He was clean- definitely sweaty- under the suit. Blood and gore had been smeared across the suit's outside, and there was a few slices in the suit from increasingly close calls, but there was nothing underneath.
He felt the cold of the ship now, a shiver running down his spine as he pulled off his under shirt.
The skin across his chest was red and swelling. This was going to bruise. Badly.
When the creature, that mutated nightmare, had crashed into him, it'd done definite damage. Isaac focused on his ribs, gently pressing down.
He hissed, quickly taking his hands away. He'd taken a basic first aid, and his ribs were definitely at least cracked. With how he'd been thrown around the past few hours, there were plenty of sore spots.
Isaac cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. Carefully, he tested his joints, eventually freeing himself from the legs of his suit.
His joints cracked and popped, all his muscles wound tight; but nothing else seemed broken, not even sprained.
Rubbing his eyes, Isaac shoved his things into a corner before coming to the sink, bracing himself heavily against it.
Looking in the mirror made his stomach tight. It was still his face, his jaw in place and skin alive. Nothing was ripped and torn like the nightmares roaming the ship.
The sink's water ran clean and cold. Isaac splashed his face, grabbing a rag from underneath the sink. Cleaning away dry sweat and stress shouldn't be the first thing on his mind, but Isaac was scrubbing at himself anyway.
It was quiet as he cleaned up, nothing but the ambient noise he'd already adjusted to. No screams, no shuffling or scuttling.
Shutting the water off, Isaac grabbed another rag to dry off before putting his clothes back on.
His shoulders complained and his ribs hurt when he put on his shirt, but he'd had his quiet moment.
Isaac looked at his suit, jaw tightening. He looked at a space beside the lockers that made a tight corner of the room.
Sighing, Isaac sat down in that little corner, tucking his knees up under his chin. Forehead pressed against them, Isaac huddled beside the lockers.
He was asleep in a few breaths.