It began when they rescued a patrol ship. The galaxy had been quiet for a few weeks until one day, one of their patrol ships went missing. The image just vanished from their screens and despite all their attempts to find the ship, it seemed hopeless. In the dead of the night however, it reappeared as bizarrely as it had disappeared. They sent out two units to escort the ship into the hangar bay, medical personnel on stand-by. The fighter and his navigator were perfectly fine, with the slight exception of their memory. They didn't remember leaving at all, the 13 hour time period that they were gone never seemed to happen to them. They laughed about being escorted in, saying they believed they had been in trouble. When the repair crew examined their ship, they found nothing as well. They ran dozens of tests and double checked their results but there was nothing of suspect. So, after three long days, Cook and Bering deemed it cautiously safe to release the pair back to standard duty while warning the others to keep an eye out for anything strange.
Over the next two weeks, nothing had changed; the navigators spent most of their time cooped up together, working on trajectories and plans to modify the ships. Sometimes, it was too much for them and one of them would have to stumble for the day to gain some semblance of rest and sanity. Most of the navigators remained relatively strong though, Abel included. He worked more persistently than a majority of his fellow navigators, sometimes staying in the labs for days on end until Cain dragged him back to the room to make sure he was eating and sleeping.
Deimos was there when the first navigator went down. It was the one from the lost patrol he had helped escort. As he skulked around the base, he saw the blonde weaving drunkenly as he made his way to the lifts. His interest was piqued and he followed the navigator discreetly, taking note of how he mumbled to himself and fidgeted with his uniform. Deimos followed him past the lifts and to a more remote hallway, his suspicions creeping as they walked over the domain of the repair crew. The navigator veered suddenly and pitched forward over a railing, laughing loudly before he slammed into the ground with a sickening crack. He hurried to the railing, peering over to see the sickening sight. Bones broken at awkward angles yet still the navigator laughed and sang in a strange tone, the crew yelling for medical to be called as a few of them tried to talk to the pitiful creature that lay on the ground.
The medics arrived and even though his quite a few of his bones were most certainly broken, he never once cried out in pain. He smiled as they put a mask over his mouth, oblivious to the disturbed stares of the recruits around him. Deimos went to the medical area, pressing himself into a corner so as to not be seen. He watched as they put the insane navigator in a room, setting his bones properly so they may heal. They then put him under, so that he wouldn't harm himself any further than he already had. Deimos didn't have many gut feelings, but he fully believed the one he received now. Something terrible had snuck into the Sleipnir.
Cain was balancing two plates in the mess hall and trying to make his way back to where he had convinced Abel to sit after being trapped in the lab for over two days when someone brushed his back. He jerked his elbow back, almost smirking as he felt the impact but the lack of response made him turn around.
"Who the fuck? Deimos? What the hell are you doing here?" he growled out, giving him a hard glare. Getting his usual answer of silence, Cain clucked his tongue and motioned to his spot where Abel sat. "Come on then if you're not going to say anything."
Cain handed the smaller fighter his plate and sat next to Abel, pulling the navigator into his lap after safely delivering the food. Abel protested quietly but Cain just tightened his arm around Abel's waist with a grin.
"Hush princess, no one cares. Besides, we have to make room for Deimos here." He said easily, knowing that would shut him up. And he was right. Ever since Abel had finally met him, he didn't ask questions about where Cain had been or why he was gone some nights. Abel knew they had some form of understanding and respected Cain enough to not question him about it, not openly anyway. He busied himself with his food, taking time to cut it instead of eating huge chunks like his fighter tended to do. Whereas Cain was pushing some of his food at Deimos, muttering to him in Russian so Abel couldn't eavesdrop. Deimos gave them a strange look, his grey eyes hiding something. He ducked his head and tore off little pieces of bread before whispering to Cain.
"There is sickness on board."
"What? Like a cold or somethin'?" Cain replied, chewing on some of his meat.
"… No. like from the colonies. Shepoty." Deimos hissed softly, watching Cain as he turned to him with a disbelieving glare.
"You're lying." He said, his jaw tense as he nudged for Abel to get out of his lap. The navigator gave him a look as he did so, but Cain paid him no attention. He stood, dragging Deimos out of the mess hall behind him, stalking to the nearest empty corridor. He pinned the smaller fighter to the wall and leaned down to look him in the eye. They stared at each other for a long moment, Cain's dark eyes boring into Deimos.
"I don't lie, Cain." he whispered. He didn't want to believe it either, but after watching the infirmary for a few days, he knew what he saw. Cain growled and spat at the floor, shaking his head.
"Fuckin' hell." He muttered, grinding his teeth as he tried to plan out what to do. "Myshonok. Don't say anything. Don't tell anyone. If this shit starts spreading, you come tell me first. We'll tell Bering after that. Got it?" Cain said, his voice low to keep anyone passing by from overhearing. Deimos nodded and watched as Cain stormed off, leaning against the wall until after he left. He went to retire to his room for the night. He had some work to do, starting tomorrow.
By the end of the week, the navigator was dead. The causes were listed as unknown and his fighter stood solemnly by the transport chute where the body would be incinerated. The navigators, despite their weak reputation, never shed a tear. There were a few bowed heads and grief on some of their faces but they remained strong. A majority of the fighters weren't there and if they were, they were too focused on their own navigator. Deimos stood towards the back of the crowd, watching Cain's back as he wrapped an arm around Abel's shoulders, comforting him the only way he could. When the short ceremony was over, everyone dispersed and Deimos went back to sneaking around the ship, keeping his ears open for any signs of sickness among the navigators or fighters. It was exhausting but it gave him something to focus on in his downtime.
He was rewarded the next week when another navigator fell ill. He was scrawny and looked like he could barely take care of himself so it was no surprise he was one of the first ones. But the others tried to help him, keeping him warm through the nights and feeding him in the lab, believing it was merely a cold. Deimos would have spoken up, but he wasn't ordered to speak to the navigators so he remained in the shadows. His sharp eyes missed nothing as slowly, the mood around the navigators deteriorated and they moved just a bit more sluggishly. Some began to complain of bad dreams; others simply didn't want to wake up. When the "feverish" navigator began to thrash about in the middle of his lunch hour, screaming foul words at the group around him, Deimos knew he had to report to Cain.
He found him down below the fighters's deck, brawling again, even though Encke had specifically instructed them not to. But if they didn't fight, they would get too restless and begin disobeying orders; that was reason enough to allow the fighting to slide on occasion. He waited until Cain won before he moved forward, stepping into his line of sight. Cain nodded at him and wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand as he pushed through the crowd. He snagged his jacket before following Deimos to his room, plopping onto his bed and lighting a cigarette. Deimos sat next to him, refusing the cancer stick when it was offered to him.
"So? What are we doing here Myshonok?" he asked, kicking off his boots to stretch out on the bed.
"… One more has succumbed. It's catching." He said quietly, grey eyes latched onto Cain's face as he closed his eyes with a sigh.
"… Fuck." He grunted but didn't move from his position. "We'll tell Bering tomorrow then."
They didn't say anything more; Cain smoked two more cigarettes as Deimos sat beside him, idly playing with his knife until Cain got up and left the room.
The next day, when they stood in front of Bering, they received the same instructions that Cain had given Deimos earlier. Don't say anything unless it gets worse. The taller fighter grudgingly agreed but when they left his office, Deimos let him push him around and grumble as they went back to his room. Cain didn't do much, just pace around his room and smoke, swearing under his breath. After two cigarettes, he stomped back out to go find Abel.
Abel didn't believe him. Well, that was wrong; he did believe that there was a sickness that had a strange Russian name and made Cain's eyes flicker with some faint emotion but he didn't believe it could be here on the Sleipnir. He gave his fighter a skeptical look when he was ordered to stop spending so much time in lab and merely shook his head.
"Cain, I can't just stop working because you think there's some weird sickness going around." He sighed, typing away at his tablet.
"I think? Fuck Abel, why would I be telling you if I just thought it? This is real shit!" Cain growled at him, hands on his hips as he glared at the navigator. "You know what? Fine. Don't listen. When your little friends start fuckin' dropping, then you'll see." He huffed and flopped on his side of their makeshift bed, sulking like a petulant child. Abel shook his head and sighed again before focusing on is work once more.
Over the next three weeks, everything began going downhill. More and more navigators were getting sick and no one understood why. They would behave as though they were drunk at first before trying to throw themselves over bridges or hang themselves in plain sight. Eventually, the medical bay was full with over a dozen navigators coming in every week or so. Abel could feel himself weakening but he fought it all the harder, refusing to let Cain see him slipping. He went to medical sometimes to remind himself that he could beat it if he tried hard enough. Abel watched them try and bash their heads against the walls, try and rip each other's throats out, all while smiling until it seemed as though it may split their skin.
The higher-ups ceased most activities after the first ten navigators were admitted. The only ships allowed out were patrols, the navigators were told to stay in their rooms for as much as possible. Several "low-risk" pairs had been moved to stay below the fighters's deck, where they had a much smaller chance of infection. They were the navigators who didn't work primarily in the lab and they were taken care of by their fighters. And though no one said as much, many wondered why the fighters were immune to the mysterious disease that was infecting their navigators. Deimos had overheard the lead navigator asking his fighter in a hushed tone and he leaned in to see what Encke would say. The lead fighter frowned and muttered something under his breath before simply saying that it would sometimes run through the colonies and the fighters were immune to it by now. The statement would hold true.
After over two weeks of hiding, of pretending to eat and be normal, something clicked in Abel's brain. He walked out of his shared room while Cain was off getting them breakfast. None took notice of him as he padded through the corridors, the once-bustling hallways now quiet with silence. He went to the Reliant, clambering on top of it unsteadily. Deimos found him standing there, his arms spread wide. His eyes widened as he banged on the hull of the ship to get the navigator's' attention. Abel turned slowly to face him slowly with a wild look in his eyes and a tight smile on his lips.
"Oh Deimos. You little fucking slut. You can fucking have the bastard. You can have the scar. I don't want it anymore." He sang, tipping backwards to sail to the ground. Deimos's body moved for him, he was kneeling next to Abel only seconds after he hit the ground. He reached out to him, wary of touching his body. Abel's eyes were still open and they landed on Deimos with a horrified look. His hand twitched as he weakly tried to reach for the small fighter. Deimos noticed the characteristic tremors were running through Abel's body and he placed his hand on the navigator's lightly.
"Cain? Oh Cain, I'm so scared. I tried, I can't stop it. I tried so hard so you wouldn't call me a… a pussy like you always do." He started rambling, his pupils blown as he stared through Deimos to see his impending death. Deimos looked at him, felt the shudders that sent chills up his spine. There was no going back. Even when they had good doctors in the colonies, they could never cure shepoty. He slid his knife out his sleeve, flipping it open quietly as Abel rambled on about riding his bike and how his father would be so pissed if he knew Abel was sleeping with a colonist.
"Cain, I know you don't like me very much… but I do love you. I don't know why…" he murmured sweetly, taking a deep breath. "I love yo-"
His sentence was cut off by the knife slicing his throat. Blood gurgled and gushed from the wound, his last breaths choppy and shaky. He blinked one last time and smiled at Deimos, mouthing words that were meant for Cain.
Abel fell still.
Deimos hovered over him for few moments before closing his mouth and gently sliding his eyelids down. He whispered a common farewell, "Pustʹ svet derzhatʹ vas" before standing. He wiped the blood off with a napkin he had stashed on his pocket and left the hangar bay, pressing the alert button before slipping through the doors.
He found Cain searching the labs, grabbing his arm as he nearly walked by. He spun around, his frown tempered by obvious worry. He gave Deimos a long look, trying to ascertain something from his stoic face.
"Deimos, where's Abel?" he asked, gripping the smaller fighter's shoulders.
"… Gone." He whispered, meeting Cain's stare boldly.
"Gone? What the fuck do you mean gone? He wouldn't just leave like that, he ain't that stupid-"
"He's dead." Deimos interrupted his tirade with those two small words. Cain blinked a few times before releasing him slowly. He didn't say anything as he spun on his heel to go back to his room. Deimos followed him, struggling to keep up with his long strides but he didn't say anything more.
It wasn't long before they entered the small room and Cain stumbled to the bed, falling to his knees, sitting there and staring blankly at his hands. Deimos moved behind him, removing his shoes and jacket before pulling Cain's leather jacket off for him and setting it on the dresser. He sat in front of him, watching him for signs of… of anything really.
"What did he say?" Cain's rough voice broke the silence that had stretched on for several minutes.
"… He doesn't know why but he loves you." Deimos rasped softly. He glanced down to look at the blanket beneath him and he didn't see the punch that connected solidly with his cheek. He fell over and Cain sprang on top of him, gripping his shirt and pulling him up, readying for another punch. The smaller fighter was limp beneath him, preparing for whatever Cain would do to him. He had closed his eyes and was shocked to feel arms encircle him. He looked in time to watch Cain collapse on top of him, his face buried next to Deimos's head in the blanket. He shuddered deeply, crushing Deimos beneath him. He cursed in Russian under his breath, the words lost on Deimos.
After a long moment, he pulled away and Deimos inhaled deeply before glancing at Cain again. The bigger of the two was lying on his back, his face carefully blank and his muscles tense. Deimos scooted over to him, pressing against his side hesitantly. When he received no resistance, he pressed against him more, resting his head on Cain's shoulder. Cain didn't move an inch; he lay there, deep in thought. They both knew they wouldn't be able to stay cooped up in the room forever. But, for just a while longer would be nice. If it was just until they were ready to face the tragedy outside the door; the reality of death and loss that seemed ready to swallow them.