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It felt like they never got a break these days.
At least they’d gotten a small bit of one before… well, before he’d accidentally ruined it with his own inattention. They were an Earthling hour into the hike—just he and Saturn, Uranus and Neptune, the rockies left behind in the Earthling home they always stayed in—and he was rather enjoying it. Especially the wondrous look on Saturn’s face as he stared at the views around them, the stretching forests and perfect fluffy clouds in the sky above.
(Saturn was a sight on the regular, but today…)
He’d somehow managed to find himself carrying several of their packs: his own, still strapped to his back, Saturn’s on his front, and Neptune’s hanging from one hand because he’d seen how uncomfortable the ice giant had looked with it on and offered to take it from him. Uranus was the only one who still wore his, hanging a step behind the rest of them with a considering look that matched Saturn’s. Jupiter had a feeling he was trying to take it all in for use on his future paintings.
He’d have to ask about that, later. Uranus’s paintings—the ones he’d seen since they’d gotten back from everything and he’d told himself to pay far more attention to the others than he had before—had all been so beautiful. Especially the one he’d made of Saturn.
(Though he’d only seen a glimpse of that one before Uranus had hidden it away, red in the face and refusing to let him have another look.
He had a feeling why.)
“Jupiter!”
He snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Neptune’s voice. “Yes?”
Still pointing at the trees lining the trail they walked on, Neptune tipped his head to the side. “Why do the trees only grow up?” As he spoke he went from pointing to letting his finger follow the length of the trunk up into the leaves. “Why not sideways? Wouldn’t that be cool?”
He huffed in amusement.
“They’re competing for sunlight. Every tree is trying to get more of it, so they end up reaching in the same direction and growing above their neighbors.” Reading Earthling books as a habit really did help all of this. Tipping his head towards the forest, he added, “And technically the branches grow sideways, don’t they? In every direction, really.”
Neptune lit up. “Wow! You’re right! So the short ones are losing?”
Pausing a second, he finally answered, “I wouldn't say that.” But before Jupiter could say anything else, Neptune abruptly turned and dashed straight into the trees, leaving him and Saturn and Uranus alone on the trail… though he could still hear the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking under Neptune’s feet. With a sigh, he adjusted the weight of the several packs he wore, about to call out towards Neptune when Uranus interrupted him.
“He’ll be back, mate. He doesn’t get lost easy.”
Saturn turned to him. “Are you sure? I’d hate to lose Neptune here. It’s all so…” He swept one hand in the general direction of the forests beside and below them. “Wild.”
“Wild’s the right word,” Uranus muttered. He knocked a leaf off his shoulder. “How long are we out here, again? It’s so hot.” Jupiter barely held back an amused smile, watching as Saturn glided the distance back to Uranus and threw an arm around his shoulders.
“Oh, but aren’t you getting such lovely ideas for your paintings?”
Uranus’s shoulders hiked up under the touch, making his brow slightly tick up.
“Uh—I mean, yeah? Plenty. More than I need, mate, really.”
“What about this one?” Saturn finally released him and wandered away, towards the edge; already slightly on edge from Neptune’s disappearance, Jupiter turned to follow his progress, taking several steps to close the short distance between them. “Isn’t this such a beauty of a sight?”
The moment Saturn turned back to them with a brilliant smile, Jupiter heard a sudden shifting of rocks and stiffened right up, stepping towards the edge. “Don’t worry so much, Jupi,” Saturn said, immediately catching the movement with a fond purse of his lips. He tapped a finger to the tip of his nose. “You should let me take my bag back, at least. Aren’t those heavy? You have to be tired.”
Jupiter shuffled another step back when Saturn reached for the strap.
“Ah, no. It’s fine,” he told him, watching his husband’s unconvinced expression. “I promise.”
Searching for any sort of distraction, his eyes landed on a patch of wild purple flowers growing determinedly along the cliff edge, and ignoring the weight of the packs on him, he crouched and bent down to pluck one, careful to grab one without any insects crawling on it.
(He even brushed at the petals to ensure they were clean.)
“Let’s just finish this walk,” he offered, carefully tucking the wildflower behind Saturn’s ear as he stood still for him, eyes shining with fondness. “And then I’ll let you force me to relax however you want.” Behind them, Neptune was showing Uranus a bounty of rocks he’d apparently found in the forest while Uranus showed either genuine interest or a fantastic rendition of it. “But for now, I’m fine carrying all of this.” Even if carrying Neptune’s pack—which he’d moved to brace against his elbow for the moment—was a little more than he’d thought it would be. “Agreed?”
Saturn tucked his hair behind the opposite ear, tipping his head to one side.
“I suppose I can allow that.” He leaned up, pecking a kiss to one cheek and then the other as Jupiter obediently tilted his head down to allow him easier access. “But you be careful.”
The purple flower now tucked behind his ear looked brilliant against the shining gold of his eyes, and inwardly Jupiter congratulated himself for noticing the flowers.
“Promise.”
He stole a quick kiss of his own, straightened up, and readjusted each of the packs. “Neptune, Uranus, are you ready?”
Both of them looked up—Neptune dropped several rocks where he stood and shoved another in his pocket—and nodded. “Come on, then.” Turning around and heading on, he listened to Neptune excitedly spot and then compliment the flower Saturn now wore as they walked on, making no effort to hide a smile at the mention.
Their quiet voices kept him company as he walked ahead.
“I know,” Saturn crooned, “Jupi’s so sweet, isn’t he?”
“It’s a nice color on you, mate. Maybe you should keep that.”
“Maybe I will!”
The happiness in Saturn’s voice was so clear it stole another smile, his thoughts still submerged in fondness when he saw the drop less than a foot ahead of him.
Oh.
Jupiter tensed.
The gravel under his feet shifted as he wobbled one step backwards—and the whole world fell out from beneath him. “Jupiter!” His only real hold on it all was Saturn’s shout, above and below and every direction around.
He reached for that shout. Out of pure reflex he reached with his gravity and nothing else.
And in turn, nothing.
Only his shoulder slamming into the rock and going fiery and then numb, his breath punched out with an oof. By the time he remembered they were on Earth’s surface and had to play by those rules, he was still falling. “Jupi!” Breathless, he flung out one hand, snagging a grip and losing it a heartbeat later.
His own weight kept him going, kept him falling.
He’d probably made it halfway down the side of whatever he’d fallen over—it wasn’t a cliff, not steep enough, maybe an embankment? And why was he thinking about this when—?!
Crunch.
The ground found him as abruptly as it’d left him, crushing Saturn’s pack against his chest. He gasped for air and found none, barely managing to halfway roll over onto the hard lump of his own pack and try again, gravel rough against his cheek.
Nothing.
Just the same perfect clouds floating above and an empty gasp.
“Jupi! Jupi, are you okay?”
“Jupiter!”
“Mate, what—!?”
“Jupiter!”
Three voices rang out above him, Saturn’s plea rising high enough to drown out all else. He couldn’t respond. He tried, and tried, and tried, and all he could do was wheeze for breath and listen. “Jupi! Say something! Please!”
Breathe. Breathe.
Jupiter gasped, tried to focus on his shoulder for a pain more concrete, and gasped again. His attention pulled away from it only when Saturn leaned over the edge of the embankment, pallid and far enough over to almost fall. The wildflower was still tucked behind his ear, shining purple against the wide gold of his eyes. “Jupi! Jupi, are you okay? Come on, talk to me!”
His palms stung, his shoulder a mess of pins and needles.
His voice remained as far out of reach as his breath.
“Jupi!”
Saturn, he reached for, gasping a third time instead. The moment he did, Saturn’s expression hardened, his knuckles going white against the edge; and suddenly Jupiter could breathe, the first one an ugly whooping drag that hurt every second.
“I’m coming down!”
“Saturn,” Uranus warned, echoing his unspoken thoughts. “I wouldn’t—”
But Saturn kept hold of the embankment, dropped over the edge with one foot out to catch himself, and shimmied down to where he lay. Jupiter watched him the entire way, every inhale and exhale sharp-edged. Once he was close enough to touch, Saturn dropped straight to his knees and inhaled shakily. “Jupi. Oh, Jupiter.”
“I’m—fine—” he wheezed. “Just… lost my… breath.”
“If only I had my— Are you okay? Nonsense, of course you’re n-ot!” His voice pitched up in the final word, and in a bid to comfort him Jupiter braced his arm against the rock, lifted, and—
Smacked right back onto the ground, shoulder wrenching with the mere shift.
His teeth ground together, breath caught in his throat with the sound he refused to let out. Instead of allowing himself to look at Saturn—whose pained expression would surely break him—he looked forward, to where Neptune’s pack had landed. Jupiter didn’t even remember losing hold of it, but even minutes from it happening he could barely recall the fall itself, so… perhaps that wasn’t so surprising. Saturn’s bag was still half-crushed beneath him, his own a counterweight on his back, the straps digging into his shoulder and igniting more static every time he moved.
“Jupi!” Saturn’s golden eyes appeared right in front of him.
The flower was still tucked behind his ear.
“That looks brilliant on you,” Jupiter mindlessly offered. “I’m glad I saw it.”
Saturn’s brow pinched. “Don’t distract me with flattery, darling. Are you okay? What was that? Is your shoulder hurt?” It pinched in even more when he tried a second time to lift, learning from the first to keep most weight off his shoulder. He’d barely shifted when Saturn chided, “Don’t move! Don’t you dare.” Familiar hands fluttered around him, hovering beside his face, above his unwounded shoulder, which still stung from the jarring impact but in no way compared to the rending of the opposite. “I will… I’ll… I’ll do something if you don’t stay still!”
“It’s fine, honey,” Jupiter tried, sighing when Saturn just gave him a pointed look. “Let me up. Please.”
“Fine.”
While Saturn slowly helped him into a sitting position, both Uranus and Neptune leaned in at the edge above, peering down with wide eyes. “Wow!” Neptune dragged the word out. “You fell all the way down there!”
“It’s not all the way,” Jupiter said, frowning. His shoulder twinged, as if it meant to make him take the words back.
Uranus arched an eyebrow. “Mate, that’s a pretty long fall.”
“You had me terrified,” Saturn declared, carefully swiping gravel and dust from his clothes and skin. Every tiny piece of nearly-embedded gravel made his expression twist more, until Jupiter caught his hand with his own good one and squeezed, met with a softer one. “I think I’ve aged another billion years. And don’t tell me it doesn’t work that way!”
Jupiter swallowed back those exact words, squeezed Saturn’s hand again, and tried to push to his feet.
Tried.
He barely put any weight on his ankle when it protested enough that his entire leg gave up and agony lanced through him with all the force of the fall returning. That time he couldn’t even attempt to hold his own pain in, an ugly sound breaking through his gritted teeth as he collapsed back onto the rocks.
“Jupi?” Saturn’s hands were on him instantly, one bracing his good shoulder, the other right above his ankle like he was preparing himself to use his healing on him. “What’s wrong?”
(No chance of that, not here on Earth. They’d have to find their way back to the house or one of them would have to go ahead, and either way Jupiter was stuck with this until Earth could heal it.)
“My ankle,” he admitted, exhaling hard. “I think it’s broken.”
Saturn’s eyes widened, so he quickly added, “Or sprained, perhaps. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Fine,” Saturn echoed. “Fine?”
Jupiter knew from the pitch of his voice that he was nearing the edge of what Saturn could take, so rather than pay attention to his own aching body he shifted, lifting his good hand to cup it against Saturn’s cheek. “I’ll be fine,” he urged, swiping his thumb underneath his eye. “I promise. We just need to get back to Earth, don’t we?”
“R-Right,” Saturn shakily returned, sighing. “I—I suppose we should get moving, then?”
Their only warning was the pinging of rocks down the face of the embankment, and abruptly both Neptune and Uranus landed beside them—though Uranus almost pitched face-first into the ground before Neptune caught and righted him in a single movement—on the… actually, where had he landed?
A glance around revealed what he’d neglected to take in the entire time.
Not too far away, through a thin bank of trees, was the trail they’d been walking on; all they’d done was essentially regress back to an earlier part of the trail, which made returning much easier and settled a bit of the anxiety curdling around his core. “Look,” he said, leading Saturn to turn his head. “There’s the trail. We find our way back to it, return to Earth, and I’ll be perfectly fine before you know it.”
He fixed the flower still tucked where he’d left it.
Saturn looked back at him with a pained expression—but this time, when he tried to stand up, both Saturn and Neptune were there to help him… though not before they peeled away both packs he’d been wearing and slung them on themselves, a fact that he swallowed back a protest over. The knowing look Saturn gave him told him he’d been right to.
“Look at me!” Neptune announced a moment later, revealing he wore both his and Jupiter’s own pack, one on the front and one against his back just like he’d worn them. “Now, I’m Jupiter!”
Uranus snorted. “Does that make Jupiter me?”
He had no idea how that translated, but he didn’t consider it for more than a second before Saturn offered one arm, mouth still pressed thin in worry. “Here, Jupi. Lean against me.” Jupiter barely hesitated a second before Saturn shuffled in closer, tipping his head down to peer through golden lashes. “Please? I can hold you!”
Jupiter had his doubts about that, but he… neglected to say them.
It took Neptune’s cheerful help before he finally staggered to his feet, careful to put as much of his weight as possible onto his opposite—still aching, but in no way as bad as the other—leg. His shoulder still ached in time with every heartbeat, pins and needles interrupted by stabbing pains every other minute, but at least that wasn’t impeding his walking like his ankle did.
It made for slow progress.
Very, very slow progress.
Uranus took Neptune’s place at his side when he abruptly swept away and disappeared into the forest with a shout of, “I’ll be right back!” and by the time he returned, they’d barely made it halfway back to the trail, picking carefully over the ground where it trailed from rocks to gravel to dirt broken only by gnarled roots.
He was mid-step when Neptune jumped in from the tree-line, a long stick held triumphantly aloft in one hand.
“Look what I found,” he chirped. “A stick!”
Saturn’s face twisted, his lips pursing.
“Ah… good for you, Neptune? Can you help us, now? Please?”
But Jupiter understood exactly what he meant it for, so he kept his weight braced against Saturn and on his good leg as he stretched one hand out. “Thank you, Neptune. For walking, right?”
“Right! Like—”
He wouldn’t tell him so, but Jupiter tuned him out as he studied the newfound walking stick, carefully testing how it worked against his own height and where his hand naturally rested. To his admitted surprise, it… was actually perfect, a near exact match for what he might have needed. He’d have to worry about splinters, but… well, it was better than nothing, and as much as he loved Saturn for offering himself to lean against, Jupiter knew he couldn’t bear all of his weight. Perhaps with Neptune and him, but even then that wouldn’t make it easy to return.
So…
“Do you even know how to use that, mate?”
Uranus’s voice ripped him from his thoughts, and he blinked and let his eyes find the ice giant standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow ticked up. He blinked a second time. “I suppose not.”
“Hold it in the hand opposite your injured leg, walk forward with both at the same time. Let it hold your weight instead of your…” He trailed off. “Broken ankle? Is that what it is, mate? Bloody hell, there’s too many weak parts in these Earthling bodies.”
Jupiter grimaced. “You can say that again. But yes, ankle.”
“Okay, yeah, do that. Then you step forwards with that good leg. Got it?”
He took more weight off of Saturn, who inhaled and watched him take several testing—and painful, if more manageable—steps forward with one hand outstretched like he’d catch him at any sign of failure.
(Not that he would.)
It did make it easier, the instructions easy enough to follow, and after a moment—and leaning against Saturn again—he looked back at Uranus, who still had his arms crossed over his chest and was chewing determinedly at his bottom lip. “Thank you, Uranus.” His brow wrinkled. “How’d you know that?”
Uranus just shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, mate. Trust me.”
Neptune perked up. “Oh, that’s because—”
“Because I do,” Uranus said, roughly bumping his shoulder against Neptune’s in a silent—if obvious—no that made his mouth snap shut, cheeks puffed out. “Don’t worry about it. Are we returning or not? You probably don’t want to deal with that for long.” He tipped his chin up and whipped around. “Neptune and Saturn can help you. I probably wouldn’t be any help, you’re more likely to crush me on accident.” He made it several steps forward and then turned, bright red. “Not that you’re—come on, you know what I mean?!”
Jupiter pressed his lips together to hold back a laugh, one very welcome after everything.
“Yes, Uranus. I know what you mean.”
At least he could feel a little amusement before the world of discomfort sure to follow.