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His fingers twitched as he stared down at them, minute movements that grew stronger as the seconds passed, until finally Saturn clenched them hard, letting them drop down to his sides. His vision was fuzzy around the edges, unfocused, and it only sharpened after several silent seconds of him blinking at the asteroids in the Kuiper Belt.
What had he been doing?
Saturn lifted one hand up and drew it over his cheek, blinking hard when he felt the wetness of tears.
He’d been crying?
Oh, why had he been crying?
He frowned, unsure; and then threw a glance at the dot of light that was the Sun in the distance, his frown dissipating immediately. The Sun really was a sight to see even from this far away, wasn’t he? He dropped his chin against his linked hands and stared, a distant smile crawling across his face as he let his thoughts drift away into the ether, his entire focus entirely on the Sun.
Saturn!
The distant, almost inaudible scream made his head jolt to the sound, and Saturn frowned again, pushing himself to stand up straight. What had that been? He glanced around and tilted his head to the side at the sight of all of the asteroids floating around him. Had he drawn them all towards him with his gravity?
Saturn pressed one hand to his mouth and muffled a laugh.
Oops.
He hadn’t meant to do that. Hadn’t someone told him to be careful about that?
He watched as one drew close enough to him to start crumbling, and abruptly, a horrible shudder ran through him.
Saturn sent them all flying away in one simple movement, a quick spin that made his hair fly about, a golden arc that dropped behind him when he stopped—but then he didn’t want it to stop, and so Saturn continued spinning, faster and faster until it felt like he’d drop from the dizziness, laughs pulling out of him that he couldn’t bear to stop.
He’d missed his own laughter.
Saturn paused at that thought, drawing to a complete stop as his hair dropped against his shoulders.
Why had he missed his own laughter?
And hadn’t he been crying earlier?
He splayed his hands out in front of him and eyed the twitch, the tremble in his fingers.
You’re going to hurt someone. One of us.
He clenched his hands hard, nails digging into his palms. Who had said that?
He whirled around and was met with nothing but the emptiness of space, a few asteroids drifting about where he’d flung them—Saturn blinked at that thought. Why had he flung them? His thoughts slipped through his grasp like smoke, leaving him vaguely unsettled as he whirled around to stare at the Sun.
The Sun.
The Sun.
The— Your gravity!
What about his gravity? Saturn frowned again, taking several steps to the side, his eyes still on the Sun. Was his gravity messing up? He reached out and pulled one of the nearby asteroids closer with his gravity, beaming when it came closer without a hitch.
Ha! His gravity was fine.
Why wouldn’t it be?
His fingers twitched. His hands trembled.
Why?
Saturn forced himself into a spin, one hand held out in front of him; and then he spun just the right way, and something on his hand caught the light, twinkling, and he stopped, tilting his head to one side in confusion. Was he wearing something? His vision had gone unfocused again, but Saturn lifted his hand right in front of his face. It trembled, but he automatically noticed the ring around his finger; it tore a smile from him, his cheeks aching from the force of it.
Jupiter.
He missed him. Where had Jupiter gone?
Oh. Saturn frowned. That was right. Jupiter had been banished.
X had returned… and everything had fallen apart.
His breath caught in his chest, and Saturn blinked at the burn in his eyes, his smile turning fragile, twitching at the edges. He let out a soft sound; and suddenly a tear slipped from his eye, dripping down his cheek and onto his lips, the taste of salt a grounding sensation for barely more than a second before he slipped away again.
He lifted his hand up to stare at—
What had he wanted to see?
Saturn watched the tremble in his fingers and wet his lips, tasting salt.
Had he been crying? Why?
Saturn.
That voice was quieter than the others, familiar and low.
“Jupiter!” he greeted, turning around to the source of the voice—but there was nothing there. He blinked, frowning; and then closed his eyes, and let the memory burned into his psyche build around him. It felt more familiar, more… grounding. He wanted to be there more than he wanted to be anywhere else.
—
“I don’t know any tune,” Jupiter said, slowly—nevertheless, Saturn reached out, lacing their fingers together.
“Then let me lead,” he offered, laughing. “I’ll hum and lead, and you just follow! It’ll be fun, I promise.” He blinked at Jupiter, letting a mock pout pull at his lips, his bottom lip protruding. “Don’t you trust me, Jupiter?”
Jupiter looked up with an amused shake of his head; and then their eyes locked together, and he dipped his head slightly. “Of course I trust you, Saturn.” He squeezed their hands together, placing his opposite hand at his shoulder. Saturn immediately beamed, reaching around Jupiter to press a hand against his back. “Lead the way.”
Saturn immediately started up a loud hum, taking a few seconds to reacquaint himself.
But before long, he began the familiar sequence of steps, and Jupiter immediately followed, the two of them easily falling into step with each other—
—
Saturn was knocked out of his memory when an asteroid smacked into his shoulder, and he frowned, brushing away the segments. Had he drawn it in? Saturn, he heard again, the familiar voice reminding him of what he’d been doing.
“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “I’m just getting distracted, Jupi,” and then he fell into the familiar steps again, his vision entirely unfocused, his thoughts barely registering the fact that there was nobody with him—it was easier to stick with the memories than to think about the reality of the situation.
He felt the familiar burn in his eyes and blinked hard, focusing as the tear dripped down his cheek and onto his lips.
Salt.
He drew to a sudden stop and stared at the twitching in his fingers.
What had he been doing?
He turned at a sudden flash of something in his vision, staring out at the Kuiper Belt behind him, his vision obscured by his half-lidded eyelids. Jupiter.
Jupiter was out there.
Saturn reached one hand out, frowning hard, something constricting tight around his core, making him feel like he’d collapse at any moment—and then it was gone, and he was staring at the Kuiper Belt. He saw another asteroid out of the corner of his eye and whipped to look at it, suddenly wondering where his moons had gone. They had to be around here somewhere, right?
He started forward, humming a tune that sounded familiar in a way he couldn’t quite figure out.
“My moons!” He broke his hum with the exclamation. “Where did you go?”
Saturn looked right; then left; then down; but the thought of looking up made him shudder and swallow hard, so he pointedly didn’t do that.
Right. Left. Down. Right. Left. Down. Right. Left. Down.
There was nobody around.
Where was everyone? His moons had left him again.
Had he done something wrong?
Had he—
Saturn tilted his head to the side at a flash of something in the corner of his vision—and when he turned to look at it, everything within him lit up with an abrupt joy.
Was that Uranus? What was he doing here?
He crept forward slowly, his core constricting hard in his chest; and then Uranus stumbled forward like he’d been yanked by something, standing up straighter only a moment later. “Saturn,” Uranus said—and all Saturn could think was that the sound of someone’s voice was like music to his ears. “Your gravity.”
Oh. His gravity. Something about that hurt, but he ignored that.
"Ohhh."