Chapter Text
Every one of Cyrus' breaths crackled audibly in his chest, reaching Saturn's ears even from where he sat across the room. He bit at his nails, his gaze darting to the door, to the clock, the the window. The lights from the marina lit the room pale green through the cracks in the plywood obscuring the glass, deepening the sickly hollows of Cyrus' face. Above the bobbing lights of the boats, a thick crescent moon hung pale but resolute in the dark sky.
“Saturn?” A voice sounded, clear and quiet, its identity disguised in a whisper.
Saturn stood and tip-toed to the kitchen, the floorboards creaking under him in open defiance of his caution. He'd have to be more careful. This place had been dangerously old even when he'd been a kid, probably condemned or about to be. Nothing was sure.
“Saturn?” the voice came again, clearer. "This better not be a trap."
“Mars?” He rounded the corner and paused in the doorway to the kitchen. Mars squinted at him, crouched awkwardly in the windowsill. At the sight of him, she extricated herself, revealing a large backpack rumpling the fabric of her dress.
“Where is he?” Mars demanded, looking around as though Cyrus might be lurking in the shadows.
“Sleeping. I told you, he's sick.”
“I want to see him.”
Saturn tossed his head. She'd have to learn to respect his authority if they wanted any hope of success. “Did you bring what I asked?”
Mars spared a moment to glare at him before shrugging off the backpack. She unloaded her cargo onto the rickety wooden table: non-perishables, medicines, instant coffee, toiletries, water, even a first-aid kit. “I told the cashier I was preparing for a snowstorm.”
“Not here, right?” Saturn spared a moment to search her face before falling on the supplies, squinting in the darkness. Cyrus had gone without treatment for far too long.
Mars’ eyes glinted in the moonlight as she rolled them. “Obviously not here. I came from Hearthome?”
“Hearthome?” Saturn paused in his search for a thermometer, his hand stilling over the latches of the first aid kit. “What were you doing there?”
“None of your business.” Mars crossed her arms, shifting her weight between her feet. “Can't I at least see him?”
“He's sleeping.”
“I won't make a sound.”
Saturn huffed and threw open the first aid kit. “Wait a moment.” He bent nearly double, straining his eyes to make sense of the packaging within. Painkillers, scissors, bandagages— aha. A temporal thermometer. Perfect. “Alright, come on.”
True to her word, Mars fell silent as they broached the guestroom where Saturn had dragged his master two days prior. At the sound of Cyrus’ labored breathing, she gave Saturn a curious look, but he only pressed a finger to his lips and crept closer to the bed. Mars followed him silently; even her tread was lighter than his, her breathing nearly inaudible.
After pulling the plastic from the battery compartment, Saturn pressed the thermometer gently to Cyrus’ temple.
39.7.
Saturn huffed, the aborted beginning of a heavy sigh. In his sleep, Cyrus coughed and wheezed, his breath coming in strained whistles for a few heart-stopping moments.
When it passed, Saturn led Mars back to the kitchen. She sat at the table, her chin in her palm, face grave. “What's wrong with him? Why can't he breathe?”
“I think it's pneumonia. He's… he keeps waking up in the night. He can't even… I mean—” Saturn cut himself off. The particulars of the strange, intimate moments he had shared with Cyrus were his alone. And Cyrus would probably prefer discretion, or at least a strict adherence to the facts. Still, the truth of his panic and despair welled up on his tongue like blood from a cut. Saturn swallowed hard and did not speak.
Mars let her breath out slowly, almost laughing. “I thought he was dead. When that— that monster took him away, I really— She straightened suddenly, shaking her head. “Is Jupiter coming?”
Saturn shrugged. “I called her. She said she'd come.”
“Right.” Mars sat back in her chair, casting an uneasy glance at the long-neglected kitchenette. "What is this place, anyway? Don't tell me it's one of your childhood haunts; that's the first place the feds will look."
Saturn shuddered. He wasn't an idiot; of course coming back to his hometown had not been the smartest move. But what else was he supposed to do? Cyrus needed shelter, and Saturn, well... He'd done his best.
"Saturn," Mars pressed. "Tell me it's not."
Saturn shook his head. "It's just an old hotel. The Harbor Inn." She didn't need to know how many drunken nights he'd spent here, playing spin the bottle while his more amorous friends broke in the beds.
"And you're sure it's safe?"
"As safe as it can be, given the circumstances." Saturn ran a hand through his hair, only just managing to not roll his eyes. Did she think he was stupid? That he hadn't made the best possible decision? She wasn't the one who had had dragged Cyrus like a broken doll because he'd been too close to death to even stand up on his own. Who had kept vigil in the night, cradling Cyrus' head and covering his mouth to keep him from calling out in his feverish sleep.
"And there's not, like, asbestos in the walls?" Mars stuck her hands into the pile on the table, dragging forth a container of something that rattled.
She held it out to Saturn, and he extended his hand automatically. She shook a few small, pill-shaped objects into his palm "No, there's no asbestos... What is this?"
"Chocolate." Mars tossed a handful into her mouth. "Is there asbestos?"
"No." Saturn stared at the little chocolate pellets in his palm.
"Buuut?"
"It's just a rumor." For lack of anything else to do with it, Saturn paused to eat the chocolate Mars had given him. Unable to risk going out, neither he nor Cyrus had eaten in the last two days. The chocolate tasted artifical on his tongue, nauseatingly sweet. "Apparently, a sailor came to stay at this inn one night. An explorer, I guess. He had just come from some far-off island, and— Well, the rumor is that he went somewhere he shouldn't have, and he caught the attention of a spirit. It followed him here, to the inn. When night fell, he went to sleep and never woke up."
"Uh-huh..." Mars arched her brows. "You mean he died?"
"No, I mean he went to sleep. And he stayed asleep, gradually growing weaker and weaker, until he died. They say the spirit never left, and it lurks in the shadows, waiting to claim its next victim."
"Urgh." Mars shuddered.
"Oh, it gets worse." Saturn sighed and put his head on his hand. What a life, having nothing better to do but tell ghost stories while waiting for the feds to kick down the door. "Apparently, every night on the new moon, a guest would disappear from their bed, never to be seen again." When Mars turned to look out the window, he scoffed. “It's still practically a quarter moon. And besides, it's just a ghost story.”
“You're not even a little creeped out?”
Saturn fixed her with a glare, his nerves fraught. “We have real problems to worry about.”
—
Jupiter arrived hours later, crawling in through the kitchen window just as Mars had done. She came toting camping supplies, unrepentant about rushing into Cyrus’ sickroom amid the sounds of his coughing.
Saturn only just beat her there, falling to his knees by the bedside. Cyrus clung to him, gasping for breaths between coughs that would not abate.
Jupiter did not gasp as Mars had done, nor did she rush to intervene. She simply watched. Once Cyrus had finished coughing and fallen back to sleep, she fixed Saturn with a bold, unimpressed stare. "That cough sounds like a death sentence."
Saturn, though not normally given to violence, could have slapped her. “Shut up. Did you bring what I asked for?”
“A lot of good it'll do you.” She led the way back to the kitchen, unloading her backpack on the old, peeling countertop while Saturn closed the window and drew the blinds again. A bit of eerie green light leaked through from the marina, making stripes on the wall. “How did you find this dump, anyway?”
“Never mind that,” Saturn said coldly. “This inn has been abandoned as long as you've been alive. No one will come.”
“Saturn.” Jupiter set a camp stove down with a thud. “I thought you were smarter than this. If you don't get Master Cyrus to a doctor, arrest will be the least of his concerns.”
Saturn leveled a glare at her. “I told you he was ill.”
“Yes, ill, not on his deathbed.”
“Are you going to leave, then?”
Jupiter was quiet for a long moment, her teeth bared. Finally, she sighed and threw up her hands. “I don't want him to die, Saturn. But you can't seriously—”
“Prepare for the worst if you must,” Saturn interrupted hotly, “but at least do me the favor of expecting the best.”
—
Saturn took one final shift watching over Cyrus, half-dozing in a chair only to rouse when Cyrus would wake to cough and cough and cough.
When the light of dawn coaxed Saturn's eyes open, he found Cyrus lying awake, though flat against the pillows. He looked terribly gaunt in the semi-darkness. Saturn bit his thumbnail. They'd have to get some food into him, and quickly.
"Saturn," Cyrus said gravely.
Saturn straightened in his chair, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Master Cyrus?”
“Stop this.” Cyrus’ voice came only as a hoarse whisper, his breathing wet and labored. “Give this up… This sentimentality... will get you... killed."
“You're delirious,” Saturn said firmly, taking Cyrus’ hand where it rested on the covers. “You had faith in something, Master Cyrus. That means something, even if I don't understand it. I want— I want to show you what loyalty means."
“Saturn—” For a moment, Cyrus’ voice, though raspy and weak, took on its usual commanding qualities. He had to stop and cough, falling just short of the choking fits that had plagued him all through the night. Saturn spoke over him, voice rising: “I'll show you, Master Cyrus. The world hasn't seen the last of Team Galactic!”