Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The human condition can be compared to an expansive list of things.

A lot of it is about perspective.

Eddie Munson likes to compare it to the snow on Earth.

There’s the violent storm that everyone hates.

Then the calm, when the last snowflakes finally drop.

It’s the winter that his dad left him.

The winter that Eddie decided he’d try to make something of himself despite his father.

And the winter that Wayne decided to weather the storm with him.

It’s hating how fucking cold it is, but missing how the city sounds when it’s muted by a blanket of snow. Then always wishing for the quiet once more when it all melts away again.

Space is a lot like this too, he imagines. Though, he didn’t get to see before he was put under.

But he imagines anyway: the quiet expanses between planets, growing distance between stars, and then tumultuous and sharp asteroid belts where all you can do is buckle down and hope that you can take a hit or two.

A lot of life is realizing that most of the time people don’t even know something’s wrong until it’s too late.

Eddie likes to believe he’s a resourceful guy though. He’s good with first aid, learned that young. He’s good at breaking shit apart and then fixing it. When Wayne was still alive he’d tell Eddie that he was good with his hands, that he should always try to keep them busy. Didn’t know at the time he was referring to not ending up in prison for grand theft auto like his Pa, but still, he thinks it was sage advice overall.

Fuck if he knows how to find the source of the problem or how to even prevent it from happening in the first place though.

That’s alright with him though, that’s just life and he’s made peace with that.

That’s what he’s trying to train for anyway, once he arrives on the planet Tovag.

Which, now that he’s thinking about it, isn’t he supposed to arrive there soon?

He’s not entirely sure how he got here really.

Well, not here here, he knows how he got into space, he’s just not sure why he’s awake.

The sound of the cryo pod’s lid lifting and the hissing air pressure is what startles him into opening his eyes. Not at all bright like the clinical room he was in when preparing for the anesthetic. Which is the very last thing he remembers.

Where the hell is he?

First he looks down, cataloging the ugly beige-gray of the shorts and tank top he’s been adorned in. He manages to haul himself into sitting up, blinking around the large room. There are several dozen other cryo pods organized into neat rows, they seem to go on forever. While he’s looking off to the side a loud voice screeches in his ears.

“Good morning, Theodore!”

A video screen appears mere inches from his face, making it unable to comfortably look anywhere else but directly in front of him.

He winces at the bright light and annoyingly chipper voice.

“Eddie. What the…”

“Don’t worry, Eddie! It’s completely normal to feel disoriented right now. You’ve just spent a hundred-and-twenty years in suspended animation.”

His eyes widen, a hundred-and-twenty years is…

“We’re nearing the end of your hundred-and-twenty year flight from Earth to your new home! Congratulations!”

Eddie rubs at his eyes, he can feel a headache coming on, but yeah that sounds about right. Almost home.

“For the next two months you’ll enjoy first-class space travel. Food, several fun recreational activities, and the chance to make new friends! Then you’ll start your new life, with a fresh start, and an opportunity to grow! Here’s some complimentary medication to help you recover from hyper-sleep.”

Pills rattle into a dish that’s attached to the pod and a small cup of some light pink looking liquid is dispensed too.

Eddie doesn’t have enough wherewithal to second guess it, just wants to not feel so shitty because this headache is starting to become killer.

The bottom half of the sleep-chamber that had been previously enclosing his legs pops open, allowing him to step out. He dips his toes down and yelps “Jesus Christ!”, the deck is freezing. You’d think they’d have figured out heated floors once humans were able to get past Earth’s solar system but apparently that wasn’t on the priority list of technological advancements.

The video stewardess laughs, fucking giggles at him, before flickering on the other side of the pod.

“If you’ll make your way over here you’ll find some complimentary slippers and a robe.”

“Slippers instead of heated floors. Shouldn’t you people have enough money to eliminate cold floors, like, entirely?”

“I assure you, the company prioritizes any and all safety features for our passengers.”

It’s highly robotic, the way she says it. Her voice is still grating on his nerves.

Eddie just raises an eyebrow at her and then looks down to slide on the slippers and robe. By the time he looks back up, she's vanished.

“What the fuck.” He swivels around for a second, takes a few steps in one direction, and can feel the weakness in his legs. Like some pathetic, new-born deer.

He casts a glance across the room again, it’s not pitch black but there’s very limited lighting radiating only from all cryo pods that are slightly crystallized on the outside.

“Over here!”

She blips about twenty feet away, her arm that she's using to wave him over is glitching, disappearing and then reappearing over and over again.

He wobbles his way over to her, desperately commanding his legs to not collapse, and stands in front of what appears to be a wall. No door whatsoever. Takes a glance around the room and realizes that it is likened to that of a box.

No windows or doors.

“Uh…”

Before he can finish that thought a loud whooshing sound echoes out and a bright light floods the deck.

From floor to ceiling a separation has been made in the wall, he can see panels receding before sliding into place seamlessly, making it look like this entryway has been here the whole time.

“Right this way, Eddie. Your room will be on deck seven.”

He follows along, can't tell if it's actually taken forever or not to get to his room but they finally make it. The meds might be starting to kick in, making him feel even more drowsy and his weary body looser.

He steps in, sees his bed, and sighs in relief.

“See you in the morning for orientation!”

The door slides shut and he barely manages to kick off his slippers before he collapses into bed and passes right the fuck out.

Eddie wakes to the sound of movement in his room, the overhead lights are already turned on, blasting bright white light straight into his retinas. He pulls the flimsy covers over his head and turns to face the wall, grumbling under his breath. He is emphatically not a morning person, a hundred-and-twenty years in sleep hibernation does not change that fact at all.

“Good morning, Eddie!”

“Ugh, you again. Go away!”

“According to the ship’s internal clock system it dictates that it is now past 0900 hours and time for orientation class.”

He peeks out from under the blankets to glare at the video stewardess who was with him last night.

“You’re awake, perfect!”

Eddie rolls his eyes but decides to sit up.

“If you look over here, you’ll find your belongings. Next to them is your personal identification bracelet. It is important that you do not lose this, as it gives you access to all essential rooms that you’ll be using, including your own bedroom and any meals you eat from here on out.”

Eddie hauls himself up and walks to pick up the bracelet, he puts it on and adjusts it until it sits comfortably on his wrist. It’s a mix of sleek white and silver, soft like silicone, and thin, not wider than a half-inch. It’s still big enough to see the time displayed like on a watch and he goes to touch the glass. A digital display projects from the bracelet, he can see multiple icons on it, showing things like a map, directory, personal class schedule, etc. It’s a lot for his brain to take in right now so he doesn’t click on any of the options and he’s guessing he’s already late for class; lovely, just like high school.

Eddie shuffles through the clothes he packed into his luggage. Weird, glancing at all the clothes he deemed essential, random pieces of fabric cut and sewn together that he thought he’d be unable to live without on a whole other planet into just measly three bags.

He grabs a few things and lays them out on his bed when the digital lady pipes up again; Eddie nearly forgot she was there.

“You’ll be in Learning Class 38, if you head down the elevator to deck one, you’ll find the rest of your classmates in Conference Room 20.”

“Deck one, room twenty, got it.” He nods his head at her.

She remains smiling, arms politely clasped in front of her.

He looks at his watch, or uh, personal identification bracelet for the time and sees it’s 0907 hours.

“Uh, do you mind?”

Her eyes widen, the expression on her face looks genuine, and it makes Eddie supremely uncomfortable.

“Oh yes! My apologies, passenger Eddie Munson. Have a lovely day aboard the Syncitium starship!” She blips out of existence.

Eddie just shakes his head and undresses quickly, not used to all of this fancy technology. It’s not really unpopular on Earth, but there’s really a big difference between hearing about it and actually living with it.

And anyway, he’s never even so much as touched the types of compounds and alloys that were used to make this ship, and the enormous population of robots in his old shop.

He finishes buttoning various things and walks to the mirror in his small attached bathroom. He combs his fingers through his hair, long and unruly, but not necessarily messy. It’s just how his curls lay on his head. He adorns his typical jewelry, rings and necklaces, earrings. Everything else he wears is a little outside of his go-to look. He flips the collar of his dark-gray button-up shirt down, smoothing out the wrinkles, before pushing his sleeves halfway up his forearms. He fits his hands in the pockets of his black slacks (no holes in these pants), turning side to side to check himself out. It seemed important to look a little formal at orientation at least. He shrugs, good enough.

As he makes his way down the hall to the elevator, he can immediately tell that it’s made of all glass, he didn’t really notice last night, probably because of waking up with a cryo-hangover. This area of the ship almost reminds him of what he assumes a cruise ship on Earth looked like. He can peer over the railing and see each of the seven decks below, all the way to the bottom floor which looks very open and fancy. He looks up and sees a couple more decks above. He notices there’s no people milling around which means he’s definitely late.

He picks up the pace until he makes it to the elevator, presses down, and the elevator shoots up fast from the lowest level of the ship. It really is all glass, he can’t see any cables, pulley systems, or counterweights. Probably some air pressure system propelling it up and down, he guesses, since he can’t see any sort of hover-craft attached to the elevator car.

He steps in and immediately looks down through the floor. He’s not too scared of heights but it’s a little unnerving that he doesn’t actually know or see what’s preventing the car from crashing straight down to the bottom. He shakes his head free from morbid thoughts, he’ll figure it out eventually, and presses for deck one.

He reaches the bottom in less than thirty seconds and starts looking for any signs of where the conference rooms are. When the glass doors open, he runs to the right, still looking for any indicators. He spots something ahead of him before he smacks right into a person.

“I’m so sor–oh.”

Or rather, not a person.

He looks down at the tiny cleaning robot he accidentally just kicked.

It keeps ramming into his foot like Eddie’s interrupting the only path it can go on.

“Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me.”

The voice is robotic, but also small sounding, it’s kind of adorable.

“Hey uh, do you know where the conference rooms are?”

He moves his foot away, feels a little bad even though it’s just a robot.

He receives no answer, just watches it continue toward its destination.

Dear god, this day has been weird.

Whatever, he keeps going towards the sign he saw and thankfully it is towards the conference rooms, no more issues on his way.

Before he scans his bracelet to enter the room, he takes a deep breath. Feels anxious to meet strangers, but also excited. He’s finally starting a new chapter in his life, a better one.

He scans his bracelet where there’s clearly an interface to the right of the door, sees a picture of his face and name pop up, and enters.

There’s rows of benches, all slightly angled towards front and center. The lighting is bright and blinding, just like every other inhabitable area is in this place.

That same video stewardess stands at the center of the room, “Welcome, welcome. Everyone take a seat, thank you.”

Eddie goes to find a place to sit and realizes there isn't a single other person in this room.

“Hey, uh–.”

“Please save your questions for the end of the class, thank you.”

What?

Isn’t he really late?

He looks behind him at the door, waiting to see if anyone will come through. Glances at the time, 0923. Maybe he got the time wrong and he’s actually early. She didn’t say the class started at 0900, right? He can’t remember.

The video stewardess continues talking but Eddie can’t understand a single thing, the words tumble around his crowded head, pressing and pressing until he feels like he’s going to explode.

He fumbles for his bracelet, fingers slipping before eventually connecting with the glass and turning the projection on. His eyes scan multiple icons, “c’mon, where is it?”, and finally catches an icon that has a little picture of a clock and pencil that’s labeled ‘Class Schedules’.

Orientation class is in big bolded letters and right there under it states that it’s on deck one, conference room 20, starting at 0900.

No, that can’t be right.

Where is everyone? Why is he the only one here? He checked the room number, right? But even if he was in the wrong class, it still doesn’t make sense why he would be alone. Classes are in session and mandatory at that. God this is probably the first time in his life he’s ever given a single fuck about a mandatory class.

What the hell is happening?

His heart rate has picked up speed and now that he’s trying to focus on his surroundings, he can hear how he’s panting and feel how tight his chest is. He clenches at his button up shirt where it rests on top of his sternum, as if that’ll fix his breathing, but it’s all he can think to do. His knuckles blanch from the pressure of his grip.

“Where the hell is everybody?!”

The lady finally pauses in her nauseating tirade and acknowledges Eddie and his question.

“Passenger Eddie, all passengers are currently aboard the Syncytium. Five thousand passengers and fifty-eight crew members.”

Five thousand people and there’s no one here.

He thinks back to the halls, the elevator. Empty, why were they empty?

“Well, do you see anybody else here? I have to be the only one that’s awake!”

“No, all passengers are scheduled to awaken at the same time, two months before reaching Tovag.”

He scowls at her, “Then clearly there’s something wrong with the other hibernation pods.”

“Hawkins Space Technology assures you that all hibernation pods are fail-safe.”

So supposedly, him being awake is fucking impossible.

Fuck.

He stands to leave, “Passenger Eddie, orientation class has not yet been comp–.”

He flips her off and storms out of the room.

Okay, okay, he has to talk to a real, living person.

He brings his bracelet up to him and gets the display on.

He presses on the map, automatically showing the layout for the deck that he’s on.

There’s a blinking dot that he assumes represents him with a rectangular box underneath that’s labeled conference hall. He scans the rest of the map and on the opposite side of the elevator he came from there’s a thing called Infomat. Well, it has the word info in it, he muses.

He heads there in a brisk jog, occasionally glancing at the moving, blinking dot on his map getting closer and closer to his destination.

He sees more of those tiny cleaning robots puttering around. Then a few others, taller ones, with thin limbs for reaching into high spaces. Kinda creeps him out a bit but it looks like they’re used for dusting and cleaning the ginormous gallery windows.

He tries to avoid getting too close to them and stays mindful of where he’s putting his feet, not wanting to kick another one of those tiny ones or worse, trip and give himself a concussion.

In the middle of the floor stands a polished, white, podium-like robot. Its display currently hovers a few feet above it, rotating 360 degrees with a smiley face and the words happy to help! floating above it to clearly make it easier to identify.

As he walks closer, he can see the little animation of the face smile brighter as it sees Eddie, and mirrors his movements while he walks around to the podium, slowly descending from the air and now hovering at about eye-level to Eddie.

“How can I help you?” The computerized voice says.

“I need to talk to a real person.”

“Okay, what kind of person? A personal trainer, therapist, massage therapist, party planner?”

The digital smiley face gets replaced with other cartoonish images representing each type of person it mentions. The last one is a clown holding a balloon with a birthday hat on.

“No, no. Um, someone who’s in charge?”

“On the command deck, you will find our Ship Steward, who is the head of handling all passenger affairs. Please swipe your bracelet.”

He swipes it and after, the map display from his bracelet that had been previously closed shoots open with a dotted route to the command deck.

He mutters a hurried, “Thanks,” as he beelines for the nearest elevator.

“Happy to help!”

When he reaches the final destination on his map, he opens the door with a quick pass of his bracelet, and finds it completely empty. There’s dust in a significant layer on every surface it can nestle into, on a desk, bookshelves, chairs.

No one has been in here in a long, long time.

Okay, it’s fine. That doesn’t mean anything yet.

He opens his map again, finding another Infomat on the same deck as him, thank god he doesn’t have to go all the way back down. It would be super impractical right now if they weren’t on every level because he’s starting to feel like he’s on a wild goose chase.

He gets to the next Infomat as fast as he can, “Who’s flying the ship right now?”

It seems to stutter a bit as it processes the question and the fact that it was fully interrupted by Eddie.

“Bridge crew consists of the captain, navigator, pilot, comm–.”

“I need to talk to the captain now.”

“The Ship Steward handles all pass–.”

“It’s an emergency, please! I need to talk to the captain.”

“You can find the captain on the bridge.”

He swipes his bracelet impatiently, once, twice, before it appears.

“Happy to help!”

Still on the command deck but on the complete opposite side. If only he had some sort of fucking rover because this ship is definitely not meant to be completely explored by foot. The halls are long and exhausting, he feels like he’s entered some weird parallel universe of The Shining but instead of a big hotel, it’s a fucking ginormous ship he’s losing his mind in.

He arrives at the door, labeled Bridge, and swipes his bracelet.

It opens to a small, in-between room, featuring another door about ten feet away. He swipes at it, when for the first time since he’s woken up today, large, angry, red words flash at him: Access Denied, Higher Clearance Requested.

And now that he’s noticing, this door doesn’t look like any of the other doors he’s gone through. This is more like a hatch, extremely thick, fire-proof metal, with a tiny window he can look through. It’s empty.

Except wait, if he angles himself just right, he can see the lower half of at least three cryo pods, feet just barely visible through the crystallization covering the glass.

All of the crew is in there.

Completely barricaded within by what looks like an indestructible door.

Awesome.

Great.

Eddie’s totally cool and calm and knows everything about breaking down a door that’s as thick as a fucking mountain, which he’s totally done before and succeeded every single that he’s done it. Which is so many times.

“Fuck!”

He rubs his hands across his face roughly, then gripping onto his hair, squeezing and pulling so hard it causes his head to throb, and then sighs. Completely expelling any air from his lungs, hopes to feel them shrivel up and shy away behind his ribcage and then at least maybe that part of himself won’t feel so fucking exposed like the rest of him.

“I need to send a message to Earth.”

He heads back to the Infomat after another long, handful of minutes, when his breathing is back to normal and he doesn't feel like screaming.

When he does make it, he asks, “What's the fastest way possible to send an emergency message to Earth?”

“Interstellar communications are sent by the flight laser transmitter.”

He huffs out a frustrated breath, “Okay, so where do I go to do that?”

“You must go to the Comm Center.”

Eddie swipes his bracelet for the millionth time.

“Please note that interstellar communications are a highly expensive service, as you are not a premium passenger.”

“Go fuck yourself!” He snaps back.

“Happy to help!”

Eddie storms away.

Making it to the Comm Center takes no time at all, not in comparison to everywhere else he’s been to so far.

He scans the room, sees rows of chairs, keyboards and mice. Thinks that’s where the actual staff is supposed to be sitting. Then he notices the booths; glass booths.

Booths with holo-computers inside them, which is exactly where he steers himself towards.

The door automatically slides open as he steps up to it and strides in and plops down into the provided seat. It’s comfortable at least.

He swipes his bracelet across the desk and everything lights up. The holo-screen flickers on, the letters appear quickly but one by one, like they’re being typed onto the screen. It reads, PLANET AND INTERCONNECTION? 

The question mark blinks at him.

“Uhh.”

He scoots forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Earth. And Hawkins Space Technology.”

THERE ARE OVER 25000 HAWKINS SPACE TECHNOLOGY EMPLOYEES.

WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTACT?

?

?

?

“I-I don’t know. It’s an emergency.”

DEPARTMENT OF EMIGRATION AFFAIRS.

I HAVE A CUSTOMER SERVICE LINE.

“No, no, no! It’s an emergency, I need an emergency person!”

I HAVE A CUSTOMER SERVICE LINE.

DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?

?

?

“Fuck, fine! Yes, yes, I wish to continue.”

MESSAGE WILL BEGIN RECORDING IN

3...

2...

1...

Eddie’s eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights. A red dot appears and Eddie’s scrambling to think of what to say.

“Shit. Um.”

He grips at his hair for a second before rolling his shoulders back and taking a few steadying breaths.

“My name’s Eddie Munson. I, uh,” he lets out an unbelieving chuckle, “I woke up early. My pod, it, it malfunctioned. I think I’m the only one awake right now. Nobody went to orientation besides me and the crew, they’re still in the cryo pods on the bridge.”

He wraps his arms around himself, looks away for a moment, and sees the overwhelming amount of empty chairs in the room.

“I couldn’t find anyone. I’m by myself. If I don’t figure something out, or, or get help, then I’m–.” He shakes his head, takes another deep breath. “I’m going to keep trying. Maybe I missed something. I don’t know. But I could seriously use some help if someone could tell me what to do.” He gives a half hearted smile.

He leans back and says, “Okay, I’m finished.”

The flashing red dot disappears.

MESSAGE SENT.

“Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

MESSAGE WILL ARRIVE IN NINETEEN YEARS.

His entire body goes rigid and he stares numbly at the screen.

“What?”

EARLIEST POSSIBLE REPLY IN...

FIFTY-FIVE YEARS.

Tears start to well up in his eyes, “No, no. That can’t be true.”

WE ARE NINETEEN LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH. ONCE YOUR MESSAGE ARRIVES, WE WILL HAVE TRAVELED SEVENTEEN MORE LIGHT YEARS AWAY FROM EARTH. WE SINCERLY APOLOGIZE FOR THE DELAY.

Hope feels like it's been drawn out from his veins, fully exsanguinated. And the tears well over, overcome with complete disbelief.

“Fifty-five years.” Devastation engulfs his body in the most commanding and violent way, like a physical blow has struck him with no hope of recovering his remains. What’s left of him is practically nonexistent but it’s weak and trembling and so, so afraid.

Oh god.

Fifty-five years.

He’ll have to figure it out himself and the idea is so daunting that it hits him like a truck.

THAT WILL BE SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS.

He flips the table, cracking the glass of one of the walls of the booth, and heads for his pathetic excuse for a room.

That night, if anyone can really tell either way what time it is, he tosses and turns in bed while trying to sleep.

The number fifty-five flashing and turning around in his head, incessantly, cruelly.

He throws the practically threadbare blankets off of him, they’re too scratchy against his skin. He slides on his slippers and robe and leaves the cabin.

Wanders, between halls, floors, and robots that definitely are cleaning somewhere that hasn’t been touched by a human being in years.

Unless…

“Hello!” His voice booms, echoing across the deck.

He hears a loud thumping and squeaking sound somewhere behind him and spins so fast he almost loses his balance.

“Oh.”

It’s just one of those weird-looking window washer robots, with the arms that can stretch up to high places.

The rag that the robot is dragging across the piece of glass it's cleaning is squeaking loudly along with the spritz of the cleaner it’s spraying.

Methodical and measured movements, paced, while it wipes and wipes the surface.

And then, Eddie sees between the spindly arms, words splayed across the glass.

OBSERVATORY ROOM

He heads to the door and swipes his bracelet.

He instantly notices it’s not like any other room aboard this ship.

Zero bright and blazing lights turn on to burn themselves into his retinas.

It remains low-lit, so he can still see where he’s walking.

It’s weird too, no tables or computers. Just a lot of seating, couches.

And most importantly huge windows, floor to ceiling, that provide stellar views to the outside space.

“What can I show you?”

A voice so deep it’s almost comical and equal parts horrifying booms out into the room.

“Jesus christ!” Eddie jumps and spins around, scanning the room for someone.

“What can I show you?” The voice asks, completely uncaring that it nearly gave Eddie a heart attack. The voice has to be coming from a speaker somewhere, he decides. Of course there’s no one here.

Eddie rolls his eyes, hates these dumb robots. It comes across as impatient, repeating itself like that, but between the monotone voice and the fact that it’s a robot, Eddie knows better. He still feels put on the spot though which always makes him feel a little irritated.

“Um, I’m not sure. Do you–Can you show me Tovag?”

The low-lighting that had been previously lighting up the room vanishes, the large windows black out in an instant so he can’t see outside anymore, leaving Eddie in complete darkness for all of five seconds, and then the entire room starts filling with color.

Swirls of light floating through the room, spinning around Eddie, twisting from floor to ceiling.

He realizes that in the center of the room, a large holograph of a planet spins slowly.

It’s shaped by all different shades of green and dark blues. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything so rich in color like that on Earth. Maybe a long time ago, in a picture, but nothing that had deep, rich blues and greens like Tovag.

Three moons are circulating it and Eddie walks towards the display like he can’t help but be pulled in by its gravity too.

“This is Tovag. It is the fourth planet away from the sun in its solar system.”

“It’s beautiful.”

He’s barely realizing that he’s not sure he’s ever actually even seen a picture of the planet he’s supposed to live on.

The holograph almost makes it seem like he can reach out and touch it, that’s how real it looks just floating there. It’s such beautiful and advanced technology, he notes.

The planet grows smaller when a dotted line starts forming, trailing back to what looks like the ship.

“This is the charted course to Tovag.” The voice provides unprompted.

The line is long, even for a smaller display of the distance between the two, and Eddie’s scared to ask, but he feels like he has to know.

“How soon are we landing on Tovag?”

“Approximately ninety Earth years.”

It goes completely silent; Eddie can’t even hear the low electrical hum of the ship anymore, and he can’t tell if it’s because it’s sound proof in here or if he’s suddenly lost the ability to hear. He swallows around a lump in his throat as pressure in his head starts to build.

“What?”

“We are landing on Tovag in ninety years, two weeks, and three days.” The voice reiterates.

The floor and the walls around him look like they’re getting further away and Eddie brings his hands up to his face and they look strange.

“Wait, wait, how long ago did we leave Earth?”

“Thirty years ago.”

“I woke up too early. Way too fucking early.”

Oh god. How did this happen?

“I do not understand.”

“Neither do I.”

So in the fifty-five years it could take to get a reply, he could be in his eighties, maybe go back to sleep. But if he doesn’t get a reply by the time he’s in his eighties, there would still be forty years before they even get close to Tovag.

Eddie leaves the observatory, decides it was best to just stay in his room after all, ignores the churning in his stomach and the weird vertigo he’s experiencing. He just needs to get to his room.

Chapter Text

It takes more than a few days for the fear to settle into his body, to nestle in and make itself at home, curling up right behind his ribcage so he can move around with it and still breathe at the same time somehow.

Because it is crushing, the fear.

He doesn’t know if he’s starting to process it or if his body is strategically shutting it down so he can function. He’ll take it either way.

Worse is the hope he can still feel, telling him there’s a chance he can be rescued, that he’ll figure it out and he supposes that’s human nature but he tries not to focus too deeply on it. Thinks at some point if he keeps it smothered then it’ll suffocate eventually and die off.

But he’ll keep a little, a little coal of hope just enough to fan the flames for bright ideas that he needs in order to try and get out of this fucking shit show.

So after wallowing in bed, sleeping for god knows how long, he gets up and heads to an Infomat. He grabs his backpack and holopad on the way out.

Surely the Infomat is not actually entirely useless.

The podium looks the same, bright and shiny.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need some help with finding any blueprints and materials for building a cryo pod.”

“The command deck may be able to supply you with blueprints.”

It all goes back to the command deck.

The Infomat blathers on about specifics and Eddie waits until he sees the little console light up for him to swipe his bracelet and then walks away before the Infomat can say anything else irritating.

The directions to the command deck are practically burned into his mind, so that part is easy, apart from the borderline debilitating anxiety it fills him with, but that’s besides the point.

He eventually finds where he’s supposed to be looking, he hopes.

Across the hall from him is some sort of a repair room; he can see that it has a bunch of equipment in it, which he marks on his digital map as a favorite location. He’ll go through that another time.

He’s looking at his holo-map, at the blinking light that he’s supposed to be following, but all that’s in front of him is a big wall.

Basically the same boring wall as every other wall in this place.

He crosses his arms and tilts his head.

What the hell is he missing?

He takes a couple of steps closer.

Then a couple more.

Until his face is mere inches from the surface of the wall.

A little to the left he sees a tiny dip in the wall.

He scoots over to inspect the dip.

He gets closer, scrutinizing the circular indent.

He touches it with the tip of an index finger.

Mechanical whirring starts to sound out from the wall and he immediately straightens himself, looking around the wall for any clues, and just as fast as he straightens something comes shooting out of the wall, and he has to dodge out of the way, just narrowly avoiding being punted across the room.

When he regains balance and composure, he sees that nothing shot out of the wall, not really. Good to know because he thought he accidentally started a full on assault, like a giant weapon had sprung out of nowhere to prevent him from accessing…the wall. He should look at security measures too now that he’s thinking about it. Doesn’t want to start a war with killer robots or get shot into space because he wanted to borrow a screwdriver or something. That would be just his luck, considering the ship is clearly falling apart (looking at you cryo pod).

Anyway, no projectiles or weapons, it’s more like a large bookshelf slid out of the wall.

On the bookshelf contains several different pamphlets, thick manuals, and handbooks on different topics.

He grabs everything he can find on cryo pods, suspended animation, any and all ship blueprints, as well as a handy informational pamphlet on the robots aboard the ship; their roles and functions (very good to know in case of those killer robots).

The stolen materials get thrown into his backpack and he pulls up a route to the cafeteria. He’s been there a handful of times, mainly to grab a couple of pieces of fruit or protein bars. He doesn’t think he’s had a full meal since he woke up, stomach too tied up in knots to eat anything more but the bare minimum to keep the stomach pains away.

Now though he has a reason to get his energy up.

When he does make it to the cafeteria, he chooses a table that’s nearby the different meal stations.

They’re large, circular in shape, and connect all the way up to the ceiling, with several screens so multiple people can access the terminals at the same time.

He goes up to it, taking in the design, wondering how it safely stores food inside to cook, or if it’s transported somehow from another area and delivered to the terminals. He catches sight of where he can swipe his bracelet and does so.

The screen in front of him lights up, dozens of different meal options laid out before him. To the left of the screen there’s different tabs he can touch that organize the menu. Drinks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, favorite items. To customization options for any dietary needs should he be so lucky to have a personal trainer and want to bulk up or dietary restrictions for cutting out sugars, meats, the like.

He finds himself a little frustrated because the UI is basically perfect, like every other piece of technology on this ship, and they’ve clearly thought of everything, except for any fucking contingency plans for a faulty cryo pod. The pure arrogance is enrageful.

But it’s fine, it’s fine, because he’s going to figure it out.

He presses for lunch options and decides a sandwich sounds good.

They have several different types, ranging from a simple BLT to eggplant parmesan.

He clicks on a grilled chicken pesto panini, isn’t terribly picky so he decides to leave on all the add-ins and presses to order.

ORDER DENIED.

He presses the order button again.

ORDER DENIED.

He swipes his bracelet, see if that works.

PREMIUM PASSENGERS ONLY.

He starts laughing.

Can’t fucking believe this is his life now.

He angrily punches in for a pulled pork sandwich, thinking they’d be insane to make something like a pulled pork sandwich a restricted menu item for basic passengers.

It goes through thank god.

He goes to coffee options and feel disturbed at the dozens upon dozens of fancy as fuck lattes and capuccinos that he’s definitely never going to be able to indulge in and settles for a regular black coffee, requesting sides of creamer and sugar.

Below the screen, the metal that had once been there slides away, to reveal a tray of food, that is then pushed out by a high quality conveyor belt.

His tray that holds the coffee, sandwich, and utensils is deposited right in front of him.

He takes it to the table that he left his backpack at and slides into a chair. He pulls out the book about hypersleep and cryo pods, scanning the table of contents, before flipping to page one. He grabs his sandwich and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. It’s pretty good.

He flips to the next page and settles in, adding his creamers and sugar to his coffee before taking a sip, knowing he’s not going to be leaving for a while. He decides to take the frustrations, the rage, the hopelessness, the fear, and put it into becoming a god damn expert at cryogenic hypersleep.

He’s going to figure it out.

He walks forever, still thinks he needs to find a scooter or something that he can use to ride around on.

He’s kinda confused how he got over here in the first place before he remembers that one turn he took awhile ago, definitely should’ve gone left instead of right.

It’s not so bad though because it looks like he got himself closer to the center of the ship, the halls are starting to widen, not as narrow as all of the service halls he’s wandered through today.

He can see all sorts of gift shops and restaurants. The further he goes the more he sees that this entire deck is for shopping. Like a modern version of…what’s that word? A mall? Is that right?

Wayne showed him pictures of a mall he’d been to as a kid, that had his favorite ice cream shop and movie theater.

They’re mostly nonexistent on Earth now.

But this must be what they were like. As he keeps walking he realizes that it’s not just stores you can go into, there’s places to play games and do other activities.

Huh.

He sees a restaurant ahead that looks interesting and decides to head towards it.

Before he reaches it though he sees a moving shadow at the corner of his eye and turns to look at it, expecting a cleaning robot.

Eddie stops in his tracks.

“Oh my god, are you real? Or am I hardcore hallucinating right now?”

The figure pauses and turns to look at Eddie.

Eddie walks towards it, entering what looks like a high-end, luxurious bar. There’s rows and rows of booths, red leather seats that sparkle under the chandelier light fixtures gracefully floating from the ceiling. There’s standing tables as well that Eddie maneuvers through.

“Why wouldn’t I be real?” The woman laughs. “What can I get for you?”

Eddie stops a few feet from the bar top. She’s fiddling with a towel and a glass, cleaning it, even though Eddie can’t see any smudges.

“I thought I was the only one awake.”

“Well it’s the middle of the afternoon so I doubt it.” The woman teases.

It’s an odd comment. Eddie reaches the counter, leans forward just enough to see a track that follows the shape of the bar top and shelves holding countless liquors. He catches a glimpse of the wheel that’s set in the track and the body that’s attached to the wheel.

“Oh. You’re a robot.” He ignores the staggering disappointment he feels at the realization.

“Android. Technically. I’m Robin.”

She gestures her hand out, he takes it and shakes. Weird. There’s actual warmth in her palm. He cringes a little, doesn’t like how realistic it feels.

“Eddie.”

She nods her head, “What’ll it be Eddie?”

“Do you normally give patrons alcohol in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Hey, you came into my bar, buddy. I’m just doing my job.”

Eddie hums, equal parts mesmerized and horrified by Robin. Should she be able to sound so defensive?

“Right. Okay. Do you have just like juice or something?”

“Apple. Orange. Lemonade. Limeade. Cranberry. Pom–.”

“Alright, alright, jeez slow down.”

“Perhaps a menu would be easier.”

Eddie agrees and Robin slides him a fancy, laminated menu.

“Why do you even have apple juice? I can’t think of a cocktail that needs that.”

“I have thirteen recipes in my database that require apple juice.”

“Huh. How many recipes do you know?”

“3,289, though it increases regularly. Humans really love experimenting with alcohol.”

Eddie hums, “Yeah, you’re not wrong. Anyway, so you just know how to make all of those?”

“Correct. Best bartender you’ll ever meet.”

Eddie laughs at that, “I’ve never met a droid that talks like you.”

“Best droid you’ll ever meet too. Hawkins Space Technology spent a lot of money designing me.”

“How much?”

Robin stills, face minutely twitching, which creeps the hell out of Eddie, even if it’s just for a moment.

“I’m not allowed to disclose that.”

“Okay then. Uh, do you only know about bartending?”

“My database holds a large variety of information but I am most informed about bartending in particular.”

“Do you know anything about cryo pod malfunction?”

“It’s impossible. Hibernation pods are fail-safe.”

“Well I woke up too early.”

Robin shakes her head, “It can’t happen, promise.” And she smiles at him like she’s assuaging some anxiety Eddie might have at the possibility.

Eddie leans forward ever so slightly and narrows his eyebrows challengingly, “How long until we get to Tovag?”

Robin thinks for a moment, or mimes it at least, “Eighty-nine years, give or take.”

“Yup, eighty-nine years. And when are passengers supposed to wake up?”

“Two months before arrival.”

“So how am I hanging out with you, with ninety years, give or take, until we land on Tovag?”

Robin stills again, the left curve of her smile quivering and one of her eyebrows spasming.

“Ah, it’s impossible for you to be here.” She smiles and nods for a moment, automated, no thought behind her eyes.

“Yet here I am.”

“Sorry, Eddie. Cocktails and riveting conversation are my forte. Take your fancy trick questions to one of those Infomats, they’re full of themselves and think they know everything.”

Eddie lets out a pathetic laugh. He’ll give her that. Jesus this is so confusing.

“I’m so fucking screwed Robin. Royally and completely fucked.”

“Jeez, lots of self pity, and I was just starting to like you.”

Eddie whips his head up to look at the android.

“It’s not self pity, I’m literally going to die on this ship if I don’t figure it out!”

“Eddie, I’m going to level with you. You’re not the first person to come to me with their troubles and you won’t be the last. If there’s anything I know about humans, it’s that they’re stubborn. So, just do something and freaking figure it out.”

Eddie stares into Robin’s eyes, bouncing back and forth between them, and sighs.

She’s right.

It’s so nice to talk to someone. Even if they’re not really a person. But he’s just gonna pretend for now that he’s having a nice conversation and nothing bad or wrong has happened in his life ever.

“Now, how about that drink?”

Eddie lets a small smile creep up his face and nods his assent at her.

Meeting Robin is really what solidifies his determination in fixing his cryo pod. Stupidly thinks he’s been thrown a line when he was so close to drowning, as if it's some fate that he met her. It’s dumb but he knows that he needs the mental fortitude, to take every bit of motivation he can get. It helps that she is just laden with information about all sorts of things, including past and present events on Earth. She unfortunately does not have the ability of interstellar communication, but she can still update her systems on current events and relay them to Eddie when asked.

So between his workshop, cabin, the bar, and the hibernation bay (though he avoids it as much as possible) he’s got his work cut out for him. He writes notes, fills pages with mad scribbling, asks Robin to download as much information about cryo technology as she can, does mathematical equations like his life depends on it (which it does.)

When he has a basic understanding of how cryo pods work he goes to the bay, tool box in hand, backpack full of materials just in case. He accesses the hardware, switching a few things so he can access the CPU from the pod. He has to recode a few commands because typically people are placed in the pods and someone from the outside is manually controlling the lid to close.

He figures if push comes to shove, he could jerry-rig some robot to do it if this doesn’t end up working out. There’s gotta be hundreds of ways to do this (yes, he’s refused to actually do the calculations lest he fucking explode at the real number.)

Once the tech is all set up, he finally presses the command to open the lid.

He holds his breath, eyes flickering across the glass.

It opens, soft air hissing out as the glass lids rises up, condensation billowing out for just a moment.

He exhales a shaky breath and stands before the open pod. He climbs in, situating himself until he’s on his back, wriggling until he’s comfortable and then reaches up to slowly guide the lid back down. The code he uploaded should kick in once it recognizes the magnetization being triggered for the lid, then on its own it should actively seal it before beginning hypersleep functions.

Eddie lays there and tries not to feel claustrophobic. Waiting and waiting. Not sure how long this is really supposed to take, any timelines he’s found about the process is purely useless because of the overwhelming different variables doing this on the ship versus putting someone into hypersleep on Earth with a team of people that know what they’re doing.

He can definitely feel the pod getting colder, which he thinks is a good sign. The pod has to maintain around a temperature of eighty-nine degrees Fahrenheit as that’s one of the main steps of shutting down the body.

The more time that passes, the more Eddie starts to feel claustrophobic. Subtly becoming aware of how small the pod is, the glass just inches from his face, breath fogging it. There’s not enough room to pull his wrist up to his face so he has to angle himself a little bit until his eyes can catch the time on his bracelet.

It’s been ten minutes already.

The pod is just continuing to get colder and Eddie’s barely holding back his shivering.

He thought there’d be some sort of gas to keep him asleep, thought it was already filling the pod before he realized he’s just lightheaded because he’s anxious.

He knows there’s a whole process. He was in a building where some doctors had administered anesthesia before placing him in his pod. But eventually that wears off, so logically something in the pod had to take over, keeping its occupant unconscious.

Nothing was happening though.

It’s not working.

It should be working.

He fixed all of the mechanical parts of the pod, ensuring it’d remain closed this time.

Now he needs to get out.

Right the fuck now.

Shit.

He presses against the lid of the pod.

Pressing, pressing.

It’s not enough leverage with his hands by his hips.

“Fuck me, this is not happening.”

He sucks in his stomach, desperately trying to hold his breath in so he can make room for his arms to come up and it’s a tight squeeze. The glass rubbing against his skin is causing so much friction that it’s rubbing his skin raw.

He inhales, barely getting any air in as his arm is trapped between his ribcage and the cryopod lid.

“Okay, okay, right arm now.”

He gets his second arm up with the same resistance, panicking in full tilt now.

He presses against the glass as much as he can, using his core to point and lift his toes and head along with his arms, gritting his teeth in effort.

He holds for about five seconds before giving up.

Panting more but determined to try again.

“Come on, come on.”

He holds, for longer and longer, until around fifteen seconds he starts to hear air hissing out from all around him.

The overwhelmingly relieving sounds of lock mechanisms moving almost brings tears to Eddie’s eyes.

The lid lifts completely and Eddie springs right out of the pod as soon as he can, giving himself a healthy five feet of distance from the fuckin’ death trap. Staring at the damn thing like it’s gonna reach out and yoink him right back in there.

“Fuck me.”

After he catches his breath, he edges towards the side of the cryo pod once more, connecting with its terminal again, downloading the data that tracks everything the pod does or doesn’t do. He swipes through lines of code, commands, trying to figure out what went wrong.

It’s basically bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

He’ll have to sort through it again later, take a step back from it before he can figure out how to try again.

He heads for the bar.

Needs a drink like fucking yesterday.

He’s barely sleeping, desperately running through any trial he possibly can.

It’s not an easy task all alone. Typically, if there were a complicated mechanical problem in the past, Eddie could enlist a few more people to work on the issue with him. Robots are useful but not particularly when it comes to workshopping a problem, needing someone to bounce ideas off of. Even Robin has her limitations.

So he shoulders it alone which gives him a whole other point of view when it comes to Atlas and the punishment he received.

He’s filled out two journals now, crossed out lists of every varied configuration he has tried and failed in trying to seal the pod and put him into hypersleep. Here’s what he knows: it is an engineering problem. And a cryobiology problem. Go figure.

And for all his research, Eddie’s not a fucking cryobiologist.

Physics is not his strong suit, he’s more versed in the corporeal and visible to the naked eye bits.

So theoretically, he can fix the engineering problem, but that won’t mean shit if he can’t fix the cryobiology problem. He’s found labs on the ship, multiple that he assumes the crew would’ve immediately put into good use upon waking. Racking his brain to see if he can conjure up some drug that’ll balance out the most complicated, chemical parts of the hypersleep process. He tries different concoctions much to his increasing detriment but figures rescue is highly unlikely at this point in time, ergo he’s gonna die on the ship regardless if this doesn’t work.

He shoots himself up with different drugs while entering the pod, now with a beautiful emergency release that Eddie was sure to test out several times, not wanting a repeat of the first time.

The drugs have varying outcomes, some make him pass out incredibly fast once his body reaches a certain temperature, only for him to wake up an indiscernible amount of time later. Some make him ill, ranging from throwing up on himself inside the pod or making him sick for multiple days, and everything in between. There are a few trials where he’s been in the pod for a day or two, no idea why he woke up. Those are the hardest days.

Reexperiencing the same disorientation upon waking up from stasis. He can’t figure out how to give the drug longevity, looks at vaccinations for inspiration and knows there are no records of any drug that has a shelf life of ninety years living in the human body with a single administration. He’d need several doses.

That’s if the repeated long-term effects of waking up from the cryo pod doesn’t kill him. There’s all sorts of negative short-term and long-term side effects of cryogenics and that on top of the risk he’s taking, as someone who is not a professional making drugs in a lab, it is quite daunting.

For all his tenacity and stubbornness, he decides to lay it to rest for now. Tries to not let the staggering feeling of defeat and failure completely do him in and it is a near thing.

Three months have passed of solely focusing on his pod when he gets the deranged idea of building his own type of pod, wanting to combine the two issues into one singular one. Maybe if they’re combined into a more mechanical situation he can get the upper hand.

The cargo hold is the massive underbelly of the Syncitium, spanning from the bow to the rear end of the ship. He flips through manifests, sections off different locations on the blueprints so he can make zones for areas to search through in a day or two, making it as efficient as he possibly could.

He looks for any extra pods in the manifest and finds none much to his disappointment. Just pure fucking arrogance on their part. Everything else has an extra but they prided themselves on ‘fail-safe’. Which makes Eddie want to rip their CEO limb from limb.

There’s a pod-ish thing in the medbay, a scanner from the looks of it. He finds it, takes it apart, puts it back together again. Notes what needs to be added, taken away. Consistent oxygen supply, temperature control, suctioned seal, remove defibrillator, remove scale, remove autoclave. So many things.

And still, no amount of trials, calculations, pleading, frustration, are enough to make the damn thing work.

Everything he’s missing is wrapped up in so much red tape and bullshit confidentiality by Hawkins Space Tech, wanting to needlessly protect their patented cryopods. There’s no way for him to access those files.

It’s another dead end.

One he concedes to by thoroughly drowning himself in a bottle of rum on his bathroom floor, violently shaking from the cold tile because Hawkins Tech didn’t invest in heated flooring, and dismally wondering if this is how cold it feels outside.

If this is how it’s always felt when it’s snowing.

Chapter Text

He decides to switch tactics after a while.

There’s only so long you can go down one path before you realize no amount of working the problem changes anything, it only works to break you down and leave you lagging.

He does maintenance for fucksake, so he knows when he’s lacking on his own, and he can tell the neglect he’s put his body through is starting to catch up to him in a major way.

Miscalculations, accidental self injury, etc.

So he needs to switch gears, get himself in a better way so he can work on something else.

Outside of regular food intake, sleep hygiene, normal hygiene, he needs to find other areas of neglect that he can actually fix. He needs a win in some way. Even something small at this point, he just needs…anything. Anything to make him feel like he’s in control, that he’s making some progress. Not just stuck in an endless spiral of failure that he can’t ever escape.

He turns on his side, originally facing the wall that his twin size bed is up against, now facing outward towards the rest of the small cabin.

Hates the layout, how small it is compared to the place he had on Earth; a lifeless little room.

Appearing in an infrequent flicker of a moment, where clarity breaks through the thrashing turbulence in his head that he’s been suffering from the moment he woke up on this god forsaken spaceship, an idea emerges into sharp focus.

He glances at the toolbox that’s fixed nicely right next to his bed. The metal box feels more normal in his room than anything else, a tether to himself and what was before the storm. Like he can't go anywhere without it and must keep it nearby at all times.

The lid is flipped open, never fully put away, and he looks at the tools that lie in there, eyes flickering between each handle and sharp or twisty end and the idea forms and shapes itself into something solid and real.

He flings himself out of bed and throws scattered tools that are dispersed through his room into the tool box before slamming the lid down and locking it into place.

He pulls up maps and blueprints while walking toward the elevator, the route second nature to him by now.

There aren’t too many details to glean from but he shrugs and thinks then I'll just have to fucking open all of them.

Once he finally cracks one open that looked promising based on the little information he had, he goes in, eyes wide, shock and disbelief and fucking anger surfacing.

It's not a fucking room, it's a suite, with an upstairs. Basically a fucking house compared to the box that he’s been assigned to. He goes upstairs first obviously and takes in the sight of the bed.

It's gotta be a queen, if not a king-sized mattress. Immediately eye-catching when he remembers the pathetic twin-sized, paper thin mattress in his room.

He walks up to the left side, pressing a hand into it. The mattress is plush and firm, completely balanced.

He jumps onto it, exhaling a deep sigh from the depths of his lungs that holds a never-ending hole of despair and pity.

Fuck.

Fuck.

It’s so fucking soft. Comfortable.

He feels like he could sleep for an entire month straight in this bed, right now, immediately.

Still in his sleep clothes, and the adrenaline that kickstarted him out of bed finally depleting, he passes out. Can look at the rest of the rooms tomorrow.

He spends the next few weeks exploring all of the premium passenger cabins.

If he’s going to do this, well, he better have the best fucking digs, so he’s leaving zero stones left unturned. Figures that they’ll have some technician or droid that can reconfigure the locks on all the suites for the people that are actually supposed to be living in them.

Eddie pulls up his maps and marks each one with notes, sizes, likes and dislikes, crosses off rooms he definitely doesn’t want, compares their location to each other, what’s closest to Infomats, elevators, restaurants, the bar, etc.

It’s not even a hard transition, leaving that little box of a room, seeing as he didn’t have any attachment to it. All he feels is towards The Man, the omniscient conglomerate that is Hawkins Space Tech, a silent, raging resentment that he’s in this situation in the first place.

In the end it’s a quick decision, not one to dawdle when he knows what his preferences are. So he packs up his shit, not that much to begin with anyway, and moves in. One of the first things he does in this one corner is remove all of the shitty modern furniture that's occupying its space and the fake plants and completely rearranges it so he can make an art space.

He found an art supply closet and maybe, kinda, definitely went through some other people's luggage to obtain real, decent canvases. He makes himself a fucked up, unbalanced, wonky easel out of the frames of the ugly furniture; what they’re made out of is hard to identify. He’s a mechanic, not a designer. Would be surprised if there were any real woodworkers on the ship, it’s basically an obsolete building material. Most objects or tools have been replaced entirely by metal alloys or other synthetic compounds, if there wasn’t a way to just replace it holographically.

Then the slow beginnings of a workshop start being made. Even though he’s put the pod situation to rest, for now, he’s always liked to tinker and build random shit. Plus he’s been wanting to steal a couple of those mousey looking robots, the small vacuum ones that are always everywhere, and poking around those and seeing how he could mod them.

There’s a full surround-sound system that covers the upstairs and downstairs part of his new place which is decidedly one of the best features of the suite and was one-hundred percent one of the deciding factors in his decision (besides the remote he finds in his nightstand that can control the temperature and elevation on his mattress as well as built-in massage controls. Oh! And the giant ass tub in his bathroom.)

He had an acoustic dropped off with his original luggage to the cabin, but he had several instruments in storage below deck that he figured he could wait for until landing on Tovag. Seeing as that’s not happening for awhile until he figures out how to go back to sleep, he found his sanctioned area of move-in supplies and hauled up some amps, guitars, and a keyboard back to his room. Good enough for now until he can haul some of the heavier things. It’s definitely not a short walk to and from his room. He can connect his amps to the sound system and it makes him feel like he's in a concert venue when he's raging on his electric guitar, chords reverberating around his room and in his skull. It’s fucking amazing.

Sure he could do all of that on his holo tablet, he’s pretty exemplary at using most music software, but it doesn’t hold the same full body distraction he can get from playing a physical instrument. (And he’s just a music snob that way anyhow, Wayne instilled that in him, and his dad before him. Eddie knows it’s practically old school to even own a guitar, let alone play one, but it’s grounding, comforting. Reminds him of home.)

Just being able to have these few things, music, art, and even his pathetic workshop makes it a little easier to breathe. Gives him that tiny bit of a boost to really jump into fixing this shit. He sees it as practical ways to reduce stress and refuses to see it as settling in, or worse, acceptance.

No, it’s just maintenance, like most things. To keep him going.

Since fixing the cryo pod is out of the question right now, unless some new shiny information happens to fall in his lap, he makes a list of alternative routes he can take.

Shit to do!

Break into hatch!!!

Find inventory list of all the tools n shit they have

Die now

Die of old age

Drink myself into a stupor w robbie

Send messages to some fucking ceos

See a therapist

Steal robots and make them my minions

Build transport

Well with that brainstorming session done and the illuminating amount of options he has…he’ll just have to hope other things come along the way. Whatever, it’s a solid plan for now.

Breaking into the hatch is going to be his main goal, he’s assuming that all of the crew are hidden away somewhere on the bridge since he couldn’t find any info in the normal passenger manifest. So he’s assuming that includes all flight crew, doctors, engineers.

Surely they have the information that he needs.

First step is inventory, of what he has access to now and an actual list of equipment and tools that might be scattered around this ship.

He knows where a lot of things are by now but doesn’t want to miss anything.

He starts by grabbing his own tool box, tossing a few extras in from his makeshift work bench, before heading to the little workshop that’s near where he found his books awhile ago.

He thinks he saw a blowtorch in there somewhere.

The first thing Eddie does is try to establish basic weak spots that’d be found in a normal door. The hinges, handles, and the glass window. He’s no welder but he figures they’re good places to start.

His first instinct is to go for the window, and after the first couple of hits he decides to shield his eyes in case of debris. The metal tools from his toolbox don’t do the job though. So he finds something a little bit bigger, an emergency ax he’s marked on his map previously when wandering.

And nothing.

After a few hard swings and then catching his breath he gets closer to the door, surveying its surface. There’s hardly any scratches, let alone deep gouges.

He huffs an irritated breath.

Okay, hinges and handles then.

When tools fail him, he starts making small explosives.

And trust him, he’s used a lot of tools.

The blowtorch only served to add black char marks, the jackhammer was just loud and annoying, that’s how useless it was. He’s broken two axes now, the wood splintering after so many hits, his hands blistered to hell. Forget wrenches and hammers.

So, explosives.

And really, it isn’t hard to make them. It’s not even his first time.

He had too much free time as a kid and a very, very long leash to basically do whatever as long as he was being smart and did at least seventy percent of his homework. And then when he made friends, well that was all the more reason to show off. Poor Wayne.

Because they’re home made and slightly more powerful than the stuff of his childhood, he has to be really careful.

He makes dozens, trying all of them out by the hatch. It’s really the only safe-ish place to detonate them. The first few rounds were very weak but he knew they would be going into this. He just had to find where the baseline was and then increase and decrease ingredients accordingly. It’s a fine art, because he wants them to be strong, but not dangerous. Which he knows is a fucking oxymoron because they’re bombs but he’s working with what he’s got. Desperate times and desperate measures or whatever.

The experiments are a bust.

Not that the explosives don’t, ya know…explode.

It’s just that the door is fucking impenetrable.

And everything surrounding it is impenetrable.

Floors, ceilings, walls.

He’s even used his blueprints to line himself up exactly on the floor above to see if he could just make a hole and drop straight into the command deck. Bypass the door all together.

But no, for all that these Hawkins Tech people are fucking idiots, they do not mess around with their security and protecting their crew members.

He would be impressed if it weren’t clearly sending him into catatonia.

He doesn’t know how to wrestle with failure. It’s something he’s always struggled with, steadfastly believing that every problem has a solution, he just has to find it.

So to be faced with such a horrifying, depressing reality, where he’s running out of options? Well it does something to him, breaks away bits and pieces of himself that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get back. Eating at his spirit. He thinks even if he does find a way out somehow, he’ll always be haunted by this, scared he won’t ever move forward which makes him all the more hysterical.

Time passes by and he tries to keep himself regulated.

Maintenance, maintenance, maintenance.

It’s what he knows.

He tries other options, like hacking the security. Hacking Robin so maybe she could hack the security and grant him access remotely.

Every failure pushes him further and further to breaking.

The ebb and flow of his obsession with The Door comes in violent waves until running out of steam, a ginormous wall of water that’s curling forward, shaped like a viscous ‘c’, twisting further into itself until inevitably it all crashes together. Then smoothing out into a steady stream of foam only to start all over again.

Robin’s listened to it for months now. Door this, door that. Racking his brain, working the problem. Can’t stand not having his hands be busy, feels like giving up, wrong. Can see it all in his sleep, no escaping it. Flashes of failed plans to open the hatch or go back to sleep in a cryo pod ending horribly; the vacuum of space, and without any physical object in his presence, feels what can only be the suffocating weight of loneliness. He has nightmares of Robin not liking him anymore for fuck’s sake. Getting into arguments with her somehow and then her never talking to him again. It’s completely ridiculous.

He knows the fixation with the door is because he’s gone through every possible scenario when it comes to the cryo pod itself, Robin softly confirming she had no further ideas either, and the only thing that he can do besides fix a cryo pod or fucking building one is opening that god damn door. He doesn’t want to believe his last option is dead-end too.

The door.

He’s gotta stop thinking about the god damn door.

He shows up at Robin’s.

He blows out a sharp puff of breath as his head lays against the bar top. His hair is unruly, falling into his face, but he makes no effort to move it away. Just accepts the hairs that curl into his mouth as he opens it to speak.

“Vodka me.”

He dangles his hand in the air, swaying it back and forth with no energy behind it, until he feels a hand grab him to stop his motion and plop a glass into his palm. He cracks an eye open to look above him and then manages to sit up without jostling his drink too much.

He glances at Robin, pulls the remaining strands of hair in his mouth out, and then tosses the drink back without saying anything. After two quick swallows he clacks the glass back onto the countertop and pushes it back towards the droid.

“Ah my favorite bartender, so quick and efficient.”

She chuckles a little before immediately making her voice monotone and eyes dull, “Yes, of course, master Eddie. Anything for you, sir.”

“Oh jesus, don’t do that. It’s disturbing. I take every insult back about you being too sarcastic, bring it back. ”

She returns to laughing. “You’re too easy. What’s going on with you today?”

“Ugh.” It’s long and dramatic, the way he says it. Can’t help himself.

She shoves another drink at him and he tips it at her before swallowing it down again.

“The door is what’s going on.”

He wishes thunder and lightning would crack every time it’s spoken about out loud, it really would help set the mood dramatically.

“Man, you have a serious obsession with this door.”

He furrows his brow and crinkles his nose.

“Seriously.”

“I don’t talk about it that much.” He knows it’s true but he hates to admit when an android is right, feels wrong.

“You know, I can tell when you’re lying, even when it’s to yourself.” She points out ever so kindly.

“Whatever,” he rumbles.

“I just can’t sit around and do nothing. I have to be missing something.”

It’s the only explanation, there has to be a solution, there always is.

“How long has it been now? Six months?”

Has it?

Feels longer, feels like forever.

He pretends that the number doesn’t make him want to throw up all over her shiny bartop. She’d be very upset, even if she was nice about it.

“You’re wearing yourself out and making yourself miserable about it.”

“Well what other option do I have? I’m going to die on this ship if I can’t figure it out!” He says, so exasperated.

She raises a judgemental eyebrow at him before sighing out (Eddie wonders if she has any makeshift lungs in there to store oxygen or if she’s just miming it. Always grossed out and fascinated by how she works.)

She gives him a sympathetic look, “I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling, as I am an android, but I do know that all humans die, just like androids die. We get thrown out and turned into scrap metal at some point. And I also know that sometimes humans get so wrapped up in their problems that they forget about everything else in front of them. Are you really going to spend the rest of your time worried about dying or are you going to actually live your life? The choice is yours.”

The look she gives him is lethal for a total of three seconds and then her face goes neutral, a towel and a glass appear out of nowhere, and she goes about polishing it in her weird expertly way, even though it looks like the glass isn’t dirty as usual.

It’s weirdly similar to the first conversation he ever had with her. Except that time her advice was to fix the problem. Now she’s telling him to move on from it.

Eddie continues to stare at her, digesting what Robin told him. Part of him feels resistance, hates being told what to do, let alone from someone that’s not a real person.

The other part of him thinks that it’s the most eloquent and human thing she’s ever said. Maybe she’s right and she’s learning which fills him with an entirely different type of fear and he’s actually wasting time with the fucking Door, instead of figuring out how he’s going to live here, like this, for the rest of his life.

He doesn’t ever reply, can’t reply right now.

Besides, maybe taking a step away could give him some perspective, reveal new things.

He sips at his drink until he comes up with another topic to talk about which Robin always indulges him in, lets him get away with his obvious attempts at changing the subject. One of the best things about being friends with a droid: they can’t push like a human friend might.