Chapter Text
When Remus went down, it was sudden. There was no aura, no warning, no metal taste, no sense of something coming. He was fine, and then he wasn’t. This was how quickly things could go wrong.
It was a common cold. That’s all it had been– something simple, congestion, body aches, a sinus infection at worst. Remus had told Sirius he was pretty sure he’d caught it from some lady who’d sneezed on him at the café, and as disgusting as that sounded, Remus had just laughed it off. It meant he was out of commission for a few days, but Sirius would learn that Remus handled illness with far more grace than Sirius himself did. When Sirius was sick, he made it everyone’s problem. Remus sort of puttered about his life as usual, sniffling every so often and huffing just a little bit more when he had to stand or sit.
Remus said he felt creaky.
“That’s a new one,” Sirius had mused. “What happened to wobbly?”
Remus rolled his shoulders back, wincing a little as he did. “Nothing,” he sighed. “I’m just also creaky. I feel like the tin man.”
“I’m not following,” Sirius laughed.
“I need to oil my joints,” Remus groaned, tipping his head back so it was leaning against the back of the couch.
“If I could help you with that, I would,” Sirius said. “Alas, I can only provide you with off brand sports-drink.”
“Off brand sports-drink?” Remus lamented.
“I know, I know, but look, it’s blue!” Sirius held out the bottle to Remus, and Remus made a little ooh! sound and took it from him. Sirius held back a laugh. “How’s the headache?”
“Achey,” Remus replied.
“Fever?”
“Fever-y.”
“Hm,” Sirius nodded, frowning. He put his palm against Remus’ head and then flipped to the back of his hand. Remus raised his eyebrows. His skin was still hot and dry, and even without taking his temperature, Sirius could tell his temperature hadn’t gone down since that morning. “Fever-y,” Sirius confirmed. “I think it might’ve gotten a bit worse, actually.”
“Lovely,” Remus sighed. Sirius took his hand away. “How many Tylenol can you take before it’s too many Tylenol?” He put his own palm against his forehead, frowning.
“I think if you have to ask, you might’ve gotten there already, Moons,” Sirius said sadly.
“Lovely,” Remus echoed.
“Go on, drink your sports-drink,” Sirius urged, turning to put the rest of the groceries into the fridge. Groceries was a strong word. It was mostly just crackers and ginger-ale and sports-drink, and toilet paper because they’d run out, but that was beside the point.
“Can’t we just call it Gatorade?” Remus asked, twisting the cap off with a crack.
“Nah, we might get copyrighted,” Sirius shrugged, and Remus barked a laugh.
“Copyrighted?” he huffed. “By whom? Gatorade’s gonna come sue me for mislabeling merchandise?”
“You never know,” Sirius said ominously. “Maybe they’re in the walls. Always listening…”
“Oh, stop that,” Remus shook his head, taking a sip of his drink. “You’ll give me fever dreams.”
“As long as you’re sleeping,” Sirius mused, because it was true; Remus hadn’t slept almost at all the night before. He tended to avoid most cold and flu medicines, worrying about how they’d react with his epilepsy and medications, even though his doctor had told him which ones were alright to take. He was paranoid about it– which was valid, of course. Sirius couldn’t fault him for that. But it meant he’d been suffering through his symptoms with only the help of acetaminophen for the fever and aches and saline spray for his congestion.
“I’m trying my best,” Remus muttered.
“Do you want tea? I think we’ve got something with melatonin. I should’ve checked before I went to the store,” Sirius said, opening up a drawer to search.
“I could do tea,” Remus replied, taking another swig. As he set the bottle down, he started coughing, thumping his own chest. Sirius raised his eyebrows at him from the kitchen, but Remus waved a hand at him in a general it’s alright gesture. “Maybe not melatonin yet, though. Save it for tonight.”
“We’ve got…” Sirius muttered, turning back to the drawer. “Blueberry Superfruit,” he read off of one box. “Sleepytime. Oh, that’s the melatonin. Right. Er… chamomile? That’s relaxing. I think green tea has caffeine, so that’s out.” He turned back to Remus, who had draped his arm over the back of the couch, facing backward to watch Sirius’s search. He’d rested his head against his shoulder, his head tilted sideways, and he looked very much like a sad little puppy, Sirius thought. Remus swallowed and winced a little.
“Superfruit sounds like something good for the immune system,” he shrugged.
“Probably,” Sirius agreed, taking the box out. He read the back. “Aren’t blueberries good for your eyes? Or no, that’s carrots,” he corrected himself. “That was written on one of Harry’s baby foods, I think.” Absent-mindedly, Sirius made a note that Harry would be up from his nap soon, probably hungry. He took some peas out of the freezer to start thawing.
“The puree ones?” Remus asked. He stood up from the couch, stretching his arms back behind him. Sirius glanced his way. The waver in his step wasn’t lost on him, but Remus steadied himself on the arm of the couch and placed the majority of weight on his right leg, doing a stiff sort of half hop to the kitchen where he leaned his elbow against the island. Remus got restless easily, Sirius knew, but he wished he’d just lay down for a while and try to get some sleep.
“They had little fun facts on the lids,” Sirius recalled. It was very cute. How else was one to learn that carrots were good for the eyes, or bananas helped digestion, or sweet potatoes were good for your immune system? Remus smiled, shaking his head. Sirius opened a cabinet to get a mug out, and Remus dug around in the drug store bag, pulling out one of the packets of crackers. “They had Saltines but they didn’t have Gatorade?”
“If I knew you’d be so upset about sports-drink, I’d have gone to another store,” Sirius grumbled, and Remus laughed, pinching the bag open.
“I’m not upset,” he huffed, waving a cracker in his fingers. “I’m pointing out the flaw in stocking.”
“They had Gatorade,” Sirius noted, “it was just grape.”
“Eugh,” Remus made a face. “Alright. I take it back. Sports-drink is better than grape. Cheers.” He made a toasting motion and took a bite of his cracker.
“That’s what I thought,” Sirius nodded. He put the kettle under the tap and started filling it.
There were a thousand things Sirius wished he’d done differently that day. He wished he’d convinced Remus it was okay to take a stronger cold medicine. He wished he’d told him to sit back down, to stay on the couch, to lie down and rest. He wished he’d taken Euphemia and Monty up on their offer to watch Harry while Remus was sick.
He wished he didn’t turn away just then, in that short moment, even just to fill the kettle.
“Sirius,” Remus said.
That was the only warning.
He said it softly, like a statement, almost casually– so casually that Sirius turned expecting him to ask something about what they were having for dinner, or telling him he wanted honey in his tea, or complain about how off brand sports-drink didn’t taste as good as Gatorade.
Instead, Remus’ knees were already buckling. His arm was sliding off of the granite corner of the countertop, and his shoulder was colliding with the barstool to his right, and his body was thudding against the hardwood, and the only warning Sirius got was his name. That was it.
He was moving before he even realized what was happening.
“Fuck,” he blurted out, reaching out blindly to turn off the tap, only closing it halfway before he lurched across the kitchen. The shock of it made his chest cold. “Fuck. Remus? Oh, fuck,” he muttered. Remus had knocked a stool over when he fell. It was laying next to his head. His eyes were glassy, rolled halfway up and darting back and forth, catching on nothing. His hands were stiff near his chest, fingers twitching. “Moony, can you hear me?”
He put his hand against Remus’ cheek, and it was awful how hot his fever was. Maybe he’d just fainted, Sirius thought. Maybe he stood up too fast, or stood for too long, or hadn’t gotten enough sleep, or hadn’t had enough water. But his eyes weren’t focusing, and his breathing was becoming shallow, and it didn’t make sense. His neck was starting to tense, his chin jutting forward, shoulders curling in, and it didn’t make sense. He was seizing, and it didn’t make sense.
There were steps for this. Before, after, during– they’d been over them. They’d done them. What happened to the before? It didn’t make sense. It was too fast. Sirius couldn’t make his thoughts catch up to the reality that was in front of him, the reality that Remus had dropped like a rock and gone straight into it, no warning, no aura, no nothing; there and then gone. There were steps. They couldn’t just skip them, they couldn’t–
The breath punched out of Remus’ lungs all at once with a strangled sort of shout, the way it always did when he was about to hit the worst of it, when his breath was about to become strained and thin and painful, and with that awful, thready moan, Sirius’ mind seemed to snap into place.
Before. What was the before? They’d skipped the aura, the sense of dread, the metal taste. They’d skipped getting safely to the ground. They’d skipped clearing the area– but he could do that now, right? He could. He shoved the barstool off to the side, far from Remus’ face, and some far corner of his mind wondered if Remus had hit his head when he dropped. What was next?
Put me on my side, Remus would say.
But they were past that , now, weren’t they? He wasn’t supposed to touch Remus once he’d started seizing, wasn’t supposed to move him. He was on his back, not his side, but he wasn’t supposed to move him. Right?
Don’t stick anything in my mouth. I might not breathe very well. I make a lot of noise. It’s normal. And I bite my tongue sometimes. That’s normal, too, Remus would say.
Sirius didn’t think he’d bitten his tongue, not yet at least. His breathing was becoming choked. That was normal. That was normal.
Time me, Remus would say.
“Fuck,” Sirius cursed again, jumping to his feet so fast he nearly tripped. “Hold on, hold on,” he muttered, and then realized how ridiculous it was to tell Remus to hold on just then as though he could help it. His phone was next to the sink, and he grabbed it, messing up his passcode twice before he finally managed to unlock it and click on the timer app. How long had it been? He should have done this first, should have started the timer right away. Was it even accurate now? The seconds started ticking up.
I don’t usually go longer than three minutes, Remus would say, but sometimes I get to four. At five, call 999.
Okay, Sirius thought. Okay. Okay. “Okay,” he said out loud for good measure. “Okay. It’s okay. You’re okay, Moons, it’s alright.” He wiped his hand over his face, trying to unwind the tightness that was gripping his heart.
Just talk to me, Remus would say. It makes it easier.
Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath, and then he almost felt guilty about it, because Remus’ own breaths were catching in his throat, strangled and cut short. Nothing ever made this easier. They’d been together over a year now, and Sirius had seen Remus’ seizures in all of the forms they took, but familiarity brought him no comfort. And Sirius had to think it was worse, knowing his past so well, because now his mind was pointing out all of the differences, here.
Remus hadn’t gotten an aura. They hadn’t sat down. They hadn’t cleared the area. He wasn’t turned on his side.
“It’s okay,” Sirius said again, because he had to.
It had to be okay.
He did what he could, and it had to be okay.
He pulled off his sweater and laid it out under Remus’ head as carefully as he could without touching him and then glanced at the stopwatch. Time always felt agonizingly slow during these ones. Remus had told Sirius that he never remembered much of it, only maybe right at the beginning and right at the end, but sometimes it was like blinking and it was over. Sirius didn’t think that jealous was the right word, but he envied that in a way. He wanted to cut this out of his memory as well, if he could.
Fifty-nine seconds, a minute, a minute and one… he added ten seconds in his head, or maybe fifteen, because he hadn’t started the timer right away. The uncertainty in that number made him tense. Fifteen seconds to be safe. Maybe twenty. Twenty seconds to be safe.
And then he waited. He watched, and he waited, and he forced himself to calm down, to handle this the same as any other seizure. It would be okay. It was okay.
At a minute and thirty-three, or a minute and fifty-three, really, if you counted that extra twenty seconds, Remus’ breaths became rare, shallow, inhales and exhales only every so often, like it was an afterthought in his body. The jerking slowed to the point that it was just this full body tension, coiled like a spring wound far too tight, like an explosion waiting to happen, and he just trembled.
Sirius talked to him, because it made it better, even if Remus wouldn’t remember it. It made it better for both of them, really.
At two minutes and forty-seven seconds, the convulsions came back. Remus’ neck tensed, and he thudded the back of his head against the floor, elbows locking, and there was red at the corner of his mouth. He’d bitten his tongue. That was normal. It was okay.
At three minutes, twelve seconds, Remus’ lungs seized up again, and when he exhaled, it wouldn’t go back in. Sirius had always found he held his breath, too, in those moments. He didn’t mean to, but it happened nonetheless.
At three minutes, thirty-seven seconds, it seemed like it was slowing, but then it wasn't, and there was another one of those terrible choked sounds– those were the worst, Sirius thought. The ones that sounded like Remus was trying so hard to breathe just for it to get blocked right there at the end. Three and a half minutes was long for him, but it wasn’t dangerous, not yet.
It was at four minutes that Sirius' stomach began to feel tight.
I don’t usually go longer than three minutes, Remus had said, and said again, and said again, but sometimes I get to four. At five, call 999.
Remus hadn’t gotten to four, before. Sirius had never seen Remus get to four. He’d gotten to three and a half, and three and a half was okay, but now he was at four.
And this was the thing, though; the difference between three and a half minutes and five minutes felt infinite– it felt safe. It wasn't dangerous yet. There was the whole "and" there to buffer any fear he felt. It wasn't dangerous yet, because it was a minute and something until bad things could happen, and the and was important. It was safe.
Four minutes was different. Four minutes didn't have that one minute buffer. Four minutes was only sixty seconds from danger, which had no and , and then as soon as it was four minutes and one second, there were only fifty nine seconds left, and then less and less and less.
And something felt terrible about the waiting, then, after four minutes, because if he waited until five minutes to call an ambulance, what if it was too late?
Should he call it at four and a half minutes, so that it would give him time to say, on the phone, it's been five minutes? So that someone was there with him when it became five minutes? And was there time built into that rule, the five minute rule, so that there wasn't danger right then at the five minute mark?
Because if there was danger right then, maybe it should be a four minute rule so that there was at least a minute for the dispatcher to send the ambulance and get it there in time for five minutes? But an ambulance couldn't arrive in one minute, anyway, right?
So if the seizure continued right until the ambulance got there, it wouldn't be five minutes long, it would be, say, five minutes plus however much time it took the ambulance to get there, and then if Remus didn’t stop, it would be ten minutes seizing, and ten minutes where Sirius felt like his whole world was stuttering to a stop.
He called 999 at four minutes and thirty seven seconds.
Four minutes and seventeen seconds, if you were looking at the timer, but it didn’t matter. It really, really didn’t matter, because Remus wasn’t breathing, and he wasn’t answering, and he wasn’t stopping.
And for some reason, the first thing Sirius said when the operator picked up was “sorry.”
“Which service do you need?” the operator repeated, and Sirius shook himself.
“I– a-ambulance,” he stammered.
“I’ll connect you now.”
“Okay,” Sirius breathed, but the dial tone was already changing. The corner of Remus’ mouth had begun to foam red. Sirius pinched himself just to be sure this was all real. It hurt.
A woman’s voice filtered in through the phone.
“Hello, this is the ambulance service,” she said. “Is the patient breathing?”
“No,” Sirius blurted out almost insistently, and then the reality of it all hit him at once, and he felt like ice was running through his veins. “Kind of. He’s breathing, but it’s not– he’s–” he shook himself. Get it together, he urged himself. Handle it. “My partner’s having a seizure. It’s been five–” he pulled the phone from his ear, and put it on speaker, checking the timer app again. “Five minutes and three seconds,” he explained.
“Alright– what’s the address?”
Sirius had only ever called emergency services two times in his whole life. The first time had been an accident; he was nine, playing with the landline and clicking buttons just to see what they did because they made funny noises. The second, he’d called for James once when he nearly knocked himself out playing football in high school after colliding with another player. Both of those instances provided him with very little guidance on how this call would go.
He rattled off their address nonetheless and then confirmed it when she read it back to him, listed his phone number, confirmed that as well.
“Alright, there’s help on its way, now,” the operator said.
“How– how long?” Sirius asked. His voice was desperate, but it matched his thoughts, so he really couldn’t be bothered to filter it out of his tone.
“Won’t be more than eight minutes. There’s two nearby, they’ve both been dispatched,” she assured him, or tried to assure him, but there was a lot of fear tied up in eight whole minutes of waiting that made Sirius feel like the world was crushing down on him. “You said he’s having a seizure?”
“Yeah,” Sirius managed. “He’s– he’s got epilepsy. It’s tonic clonic, he gets them sometimes, but this one’s not stopping, and he– he didn’t get an aura before, and he’s been sick and he’s got a fever–”
“Hold on, slow down,” the operator said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Sirius,” he replied. “Black,” he added.
“Alright, Sirius. What’s your partner’s name?”
“Remus Lupin.”
“Okay, Sirius. Is the seizure still going now?”
“Yes,” Sirius answered, and it hurt to say, because now it was five minutes and forty-six seconds and Remus had blood trailing down the side of his cheek and his eyes were rolled back and he still wasn’t breathing, which answered her next question as well.
“Okay. Don’t move him while he’s still seizing. Make sure the area’s clear, and if it stops, you can move him onto his side to help recovery,” the operator instructed.
“Yeah,” Sirius said. I knew that, he wanted to say. I know that. I know what to do. This time’s just different. Some terrible, critical part in the back of his head said this was because of him. He’d done something wrong. That must be it, right? “Can you– can you stay on the phone?” he asked.
“Of course, dear. It’ll be alright. Is he breathing at all?”
“Some,” Sirius nodded jerkily even though she couldn’t see him. “He’s not totally stopped, it’s just like– it’s like he’s choking.”
She asked questions, and Sirius gave answers– that no, he wasn’t hurt otherwise, he just bit his tongue, that yes, he’d cushioned his head, that yes, he’d helped him through seizures like this before, that no, they’d never gone this long, not while Sirius was there–
Sirius cut himself off, though, because Remus’ arms suddenly went slack from where they were locked over his body before, and his chest jolted once, twice, stilled, and then he breathed.
“Oh, fuck,” he mumbled, the word sort of slipping out of him involuntarily. “Moony? Remus, can you hear me?”
“Is it slowing?”
“I think so,” Sirius answered, and he found himself really very grateful that there was someone here with him to say things out loud to, because usually he’d just be saying it to himself, and left to his own devices here he was pretty sure he’d talk himself into a severe panic that would be helpful to neither of them.
Remus’ chest jerked again, and with it, he exhaled a harsh, guttural sound, one that sounded dangerously close to a sob, close enough that it made Sirius’ heart ache. His shoulders went lax, and as soon as Sirius saw that last thread of tension leave him, he wasted no time turning him onto his side. Remus’ face twisted when he did, but Sirius managed the guilt of that by focusing on the fact that his breathing had picked up, as much as it rattled in his lungs.
"Okay, it– it's stopped, or–” Sirius kept his hand on Remus’ shoulder. It felt like he was the only thing holding him together. “It’s stopping, I think. I don't know... He's breathing better now. Remus?" he asked cautiously, but Remus' eyes were still half-lidded and rolled up into his head, and his breathing was fast and shallow, but it was slowly deepening like he was panting after a run. "He's not waking up," Sirius said into the phone, and his voice cracked. He willed himself to calm down. He needed to calm down. He needed to handle this. “He’s not–”
"Alright, love, it's okay,” she cut him off. “What’s the timer say?” Sirius paused it.
“Five minutes and–” he did the math. “Six minutes and sixteen seconds.”
“Can you do me a favor? Do you know how to check his pulse?"
"Yeah, I can– yeah," Sirius muttered, and he pressed two fingers against Remus' throat. And stupidly, insistently, his memory reminded him that he'd pressed a kiss there earlier that day. How had things gone so wrong? It was just a cold. It had just been a cold. His hands were shaking.
"Just tell me if it's strong or weak," the operator said. Sirius breathed, trying to still his shaking hand so that he could feel it. It wasn't difficult. Remus' heart was hammering hard and fast.
"It's strong," Sirius said. "It's– it's really fast, though, is that–"
"That's okay," she reassured him. "That's good."
"Okay," Sirius said for the hundredth time. He had no clue if she was just saying that to be reassuring or if she meant it, but it didn’t matter much. Remus' face twitched, and Sirius moved his fingers from his throat to cup his cheek, his heart lurching. "Remus?" His eyes fluttered, but he didn't open them, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. "Moony, come on, love. Open your eyes."
Remus strained his neck a little, arching so his temple pressed harder into the ground, and his whole chest jerked once and then stilled again. It punched a terrible sound from his lungs. Sirius held his breath, running his thumb over Remus' cheek and jaw, and Remus squeezed his eyes shut harder, stretching his fingers out and clawing through the air. Sirius caught one of his hands in his own.
"It's okay," Sirius said as confidently as he could. "It's alright. Hey, Moony? Can you hear me?"
“Sirius, is he awake or aware of his surroundings?” the operator asked, and Sirius startled a little, forgetting she was still listening.
"I– I don’t know. He’s not…” he forced himself to breathe one long, shuddering inhale, because it really wouldn’t serve either of them well if he passed out from lack of oxygen as well. He needed to handle this. “I don’t think he’s aware of anything.”
“Okay. Ambulance is about four minutes out."
Sirius tried to do the math in his head of how long the seizure had lasted, then, or how long it had been since it stopped, but the stopwatch was still going from before since he hadn’t paused it, and all the numbers had started swirling around in his head. He cupped his hand around the back of Remus’ head, and then he pressed his fingers in a little bit, trying to feel if there was a bump there. He realized he hadn’t seen if Remus had hit his head.
Maybe he should have called an ambulance right away.
Oh, fuck, maybe he should have called an ambulance right away. This wasn’t normal. He hadn’t gotten an aura, and he hadn’t been sitting, and he might have hit his head, and he was sick, and he had a fever, so maybe Sirius should have called an ambulance right away. A million what-ifs started ringing in Sirius’ ears. A million other ways this could have gone. A million things he wished he’d done differently.
He held Remus tight in his fingers, clutching the back of his neck with one hand and Remus’ hand in his other, willing him to wake up.
“Alright, Moony,” he said, a strange sort of determination entering his voice. “Come on. Open your eyes. Help’s gonna be here soon, and they’ll make it better, okay? Come on.” He ran his thumb back and forth over Remus’ skin.
Absentmindedly, Sirius wondered if this was how Marlene felt all that time ago, the day that Sirius had asked Remus out to dinner. He’d had a seizure like this then, one that landed him in the hospital. He wished he’d asked more questions about that, now. How it went, what she’d done to help, how it had looked. If it looked like this. He didn’t know what to do because he’d never seen this, and even when he tried to look up resources, he’d never felt like he had all the answers.
No one talked about what happened after five minutes, he found. Call 999. That was the only instruction. No follow up, no guide, no answers. No what-if. Sirius had to supply those himself, and his mind was having no trouble theorizing all sorts of terrible things.
Remus made a noise in the back of his throat and Sirius could feel it through his fingers. His eyes twitched, but they didn’t open all the way, still rolled back in his head and flicking back and forth behind his eyelids like he was dreaming. He was panting hard, still, like he was trying to catch his breath.
“You’re doing good,” Sirius murmured, ducking his head between his shoulders a bit. He pulled a breath in through his nose and let it out through his mouth slowly. “Keep breathing,” he said. Please.
He heard a sound, but it wasn’t Remus. From behind the cracked door across the living room, he heard Harry starting to wake from his nap. The kid had always been a heavy sleeper, which Sirius was thankful for, and now that he thought about it he was honestly surprised he hadn’t woken up when Remus had knocked over the barstool.
But he realized now how complicated this was. How complicated this was about to get.
Because Harry couldn’t ride in the ambulance with them.
Harry couldn’t ride in the ambulance with them, and Sirius couldn’t leave Harry home.
“Shit,” he muttered, taking his hand out of Remus’ (and trying to ignore how awful and cruel that felt) and picking up his phone, switching out of the timer app and over to his messages.
“Sirius?” the operator asked, and Sirius jumped. “How’s Remus doing?”
“He’s– he’s the same, sorry, I– I’ve got a kid,” Sirius stammered. “I need someone to watch him, I can’t– I can’t take him in the ambulance, can I?”
“No, I’m afraid not, it’s a safety–”
“Okay,” he cut her off. “Okay. I need to–” Think, he urged himself. Harry had started calling for him, going papa-pa in the other room, and he shook his head, trying to force his thoughts to line up. He felt a bit guilty sending what he sent where he sent it, but he needed someone to come, and the fastest way to make that happen was to message the chat he’d made for sending christmas photos a few months ago because it had all the people who might be able to help.
i need someone to come watch harry
please
emergency
remus going to hospital
and i can’t bring him
Regulus texted back first while Sirius was halfway through writing his next message, something about how Harry couldn’t come with them in the ambulance– what happened? the message said. Sirius started deleting his text to answer the question, but another from Regulus interrupted him– on my way. 5 minutes.
Sirius swallowed hard. Okay, he thought. Regulus lived the closest out of any of them. He often dropped by just to say hello when he felt like it. Andy’s text came through next– i can come too– and then one from Mary– is he alright?
Euphemia started calling him.
Suddenly he regretted messaging so many people at once. Notifications started popping up, and Harry was babbling louder now, calling papa and moo-ey and becoming more insistent because he was awake and he was hungry and he didn’t know what had happened, because he was just a kid, but the noise made pressure build behind Sirius’ eyes. Remus made another noise like a moan. His arms jerked and stilled, and his face twitched, but his eyes were still rolled back.
“Can you keep talking, Sirius?” the operator asked, and Sirius flinched. “Just keep telling me how he’s doing.”
“Sorry,” Sirius choked out. Calm down, he told himself. Breathe. Fuck. “Sorry, he’s–” he pushed Remus’ hair out of his face. “He’s still not waking up.” Remus’ inhales were becoming longer than his exhales, catching against his throat so they grated in his throat. “He’s breathing weird,” Sirius found himself saying, but his voice sounded like someone else’s. “It’s different, he’s–”
Messages were pinging on his phone. His message was abandoned, half-typed, and Euphemia was calling him again, and Harry was calling for papa, calling for Moony, and Remus–
Remus convulsed. His whole body jolted all at once. His back arched. His neck tensed. His elbows locked.
And then he was seizing again.
"No, he's– he's going again," Sirius rasped. "No, Moony, no, please–" he felt like he was begging him, as though Remus could hear him, as though Remus could help it, but he didn't know what else to do, he didn't– "What do I do? What– what do I–"
"It's alright–"
"No, it's– he's–" Sirius forced himself to let go of Remus' hand as his arm jerked back, his elbows tucking in close to his stomach. He’d been so out of breath before, panting like he’d run a marathon, and now it was gone again, and there was nothing he could do–
"Sirius, it's okay. Time it, okay? Can you time it?" Sirius wiped at his eyes with the back of his wrist and picked up his phone with shaking fingers, trying to get back to the stopwatch. Everything was blurry. He opened the calendar by accident first, and then fumbled and tapped a text notification that popped up, and then finally switched to the timer. He missed the button at least three times before he got it to reset and start.
Someone was calling him again. He didn’t know who.
"Yeah, I'm– I'm–" he couldn't finish a sentence. He couldn't even form a thought. Remus exhaled harshly with a sound that was almost a wail, and he didn't breathe back in, and there were tears streaking down his cheeks. Sirius held his breath, too.
Harry started crying.
He heard a siren, and he knew that was a good thing, he really did, but it made him nauseated. It made it real.
"They'll be there in just a second, you should hear them soon." He did. He hated it. "You'll have to let them in, love," the operator added.
"I don't want to leave him," Sirius choked.
"I know. He'll be alright. Just prop the door, okay? Prop the door and come back."
"Okay," Sirius breathed. "Okay. Okay." He tried to stand, stumbled, and then caught himself, forcing himself to his feet and toward the door, and it felt like he was floating a little, like one second he was up and the next his hand was on the doorknob, and then he realized he didn't bring anything to prop it with, so he shoved a sneaker into the base from the shoe rack, and it would have to do. He practically sprinted back to Remus' side.
He still wasn't breathing. There was saliva and blood pooling under his cheek. He was just stiff, all of his muscles tensed and trembling and locked in place, and Sirius wanted to hold him or cradle him against his chest or shake him and tell him to wake up, to breathe, to stop, just please stop. The siren was loud, and then louder, and then it stopped, and Sirius could hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
And then he was answering questions.
It was like he was kneeling there beside Remus and then he blinked and then he was standing, someone’s hand on his shoulder, and there were people there and they were setting up a bright orange stretcher and it was all real and wrong.
He was speaking, and it sounded like someone else's voice, saying times (six minutes and sixteen seconds, a minute and forty six seconds, forty seven now, forty eight–) and saying medications (Dilantin, but before that it was Topamax, but they'd switched–) and no he wasn't allergic to anything (except pollen) and yes he got seizures like this every so often (but they were usually two or three minutes) and yes, he’d had a fever, no, not that high, and yes, he’d eaten something that day, and yes, they had emergency information here, they had a whole binder–
He looked over and someone was pressing a needle into the vein in Remus' arm, and Sirius' mind went blank, because was that his left arm or his right arm, and did it matter, and would the nerve damage make a difference, and should they use his right arm instead, and was he breathing yet? Why wasn't he breathing yet?
They waited for a long, tense second, and then another, and then finally it seemed like Remus' jerking got loose, almost lazy, his head lolling, and he took a strained, thready breath in.
Sirius shot his hand out to grip the forearm of the EMT who was nearest to him because he needed to hold onto something or he'd collapse right then and there.
Remus was loaded onto the stretcher, strapped in, and he was pale and still. Someone asked if Sirius was coming with them, and he didn’t really know who’d asked it, so he found himself sort of answering the question to the room, that no, he couldn’t, that he was waiting for his brother to come watch Harry– and no one had questions about who Harry was, because he was still wailing as loud as his little lungs would let him from his bedroom.
He handed Remus’ medical binder to someone. He gave his phone number to someone. Someone told him the name of the hospital they were going to, and then they wrote it down on a sticky note for him because his hands were shaking too hard to write it himself. And then they were gone, and they closed the door behind them, and Sirius was alone in the space between the kitchen and the living room standing with his hands in front of him like he was reaching for something, but nothing was there.
Harry was crying, and his phone was ringing, and he was alone.
He knew his legs must have given out at some point, because he was on the floor, now, his back to the wall of the kitchen island. Blood was rushing in his ears so loud it blocked everything else out. He couldn’t think. He was alone, and he couldn’t think.
Think, he urged himself. Handle this.
He needed to get up. He forced himself to his feet, steadying himself on the counter, looking around the room for something that would spur him into motion, some indication of where to start. He needed to get Harry. He needed to call Regulus. He needed to find his keys–
The front door opened.
Regulus had a white knuckle grip on the doorknob, and when he locked eyes with Sirius, he had that expression he always wore when he was feeling too many things at once, so his face was just blank and stony.
“He had a seizure,” Sirius blurted out insistently, like Regulus wouldn’t believe him. “He had a seizure, and it was bad, and it– it wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t breathe, and I should have– I didn’t–”
Regulus crossed the space between them and Sirius reached out blindly. Their chests collided hard enough that it knocked the wind out of him. Regulus cupped the back of Sirius' neck and pressed him firmly into the space between his shoulder and neck, and Sirius wrapped his arms around his brother so tight he wondered if it hurt.
“Okay,” Regulus sighed softly, and Sirius realized belatedly that they had the same tendency to say okay when they weren’t sure what else to say. Brothers, and all that. Sometimes they were so similar. “Where is he now?”
“Hospital,” Sirius said, muffled by Regulus’ shirt. “They took him in the ambulance. I couldn’t go with him, Harry couldn’t–” he shook his head, the words getting choked off.
“Alright, that’s– that’s good. He’s with people who can help,” Regulus nodded assuredly.
“What if–”
“No,” Regulus cut him off so abruptly it startled Sirius a bit. “We’re not doing what-ifs.” Sirius swallowed. “He’s with EMTs and doctors and that’s who he needs, right now. They’ll help him. Okay? You got him help.” He said it with such certainty that Sirius found himself believing him.
“Okay,” he nodded.
“Good. Sit for a second, okay? I’m gonna check on Harry, and I need to call Andromeda back. Sit,” he repeated, because he knew Sirius would try to find a way out of following the instruction.
Sirius sat on a barstool, resting his elbows against the cold granite. It made him shiver. Regulus started opening cabinets in the kitchen, but Sirius stared down at the floor. There was a little pool of red drying on the hardwood. He felt sick.
“Yeah, Andy, I’m here–” Regulus said, and his voice startled Sirius a bit. He was pinching his phone between his shoulder and ear. ”Can you call Monty back, tell him we’re good? Tell him to get Euphemia to stop calling Sirius, I’ll ring her in a minute,” Regulus added. Sirius realized his phone was buzzing. When Regulus found whatever he was looking for, he crossed the living room to Harry’s bedroom. “He’s fine, he’s just– hello Harry– yes, I know, here, that’s better, yeah? Hi, yes, I know. Have a snack, kiddo, I’ll be back in a sec.”
Sirius wiped at his eyes, his fingers still trembling. He could have done that, he thought. Just gone and made sure Harry was okay. Just given him a snack. Just said hello, comforted him, stopped him from crying. He could have done anything. He could have done more. He could have called the ambulance sooner.
Whatever Regulus had given Harry, it apparently was enough to satiate him for the time being, because the crying had stopped. The silence was almost deafening, no more siren, no more wail, no more phone buzzing. Regulus came back out of Harry’s room and pushed a hand through his hair.
“Alright,” Regulus murmured. “It’s okay. Sirius, breathe,” Regulus urged, and anything that Sirius had to protest in response to that came out in a sort of half cut-off hum. Regulus put his hands on either side of Sirius’ face, and his fingers were freezing. It made Sirius suck in a breath. “Good. Slower.”
Sirius shook his head, bracing his palms against the chair under him. He needed to get up. He needed to go. Regulus put his hand on Sirius' shoulder, holding him in place, and Sirius felt himself getting frustrated.
“I need to– Remus–”
“It’s okay,” Regulus cut him off. “He’s gone to the hospital. He’s with people who can help.”
“He’s–”
“Sirius, he’s getting help,” Regulus insisted. “You taking a second to catch your breath doesn’t delay that. Breathe.”
Sirius was seeing stars. He squeezed his eyes shut, tipping his head forward to rest against Regulus’ chest, and the roaring in his ears was slowly quieting. He could feel Regulus’ heart hammering as well. He thought about the texts he’d sent; please, emergency, remus going to hospital– he’d probably worried them sick. He was worrying himself sick. Breathe, he told himself.
“Okay,” Sirius nodded. “He’s… okay. Fuck, Reg,” he shook his head.
“I know,” Regulus murmured. He kept one hand rested against Sirius’ shoulder.
“I need to go to the hospital,” Sirius said. “And I need… okay.” His thoughts were slowly lining up. “Should I bring anything? I don’t– I don’t know what I’m doing.” Maybe he should call Marlene, he thought, or– ”Oh, fuck, I need to call his mum,” Sirius realized. The thought of that made him nauseous.
“One thing at a time,” Regulus squeezed his shoulder. It was grounding. “Andy’s gonna be here in a bit. One of us can bring you stuff from here if you need it.”
Sirius nodded. He’d given someone Remus’ medical information, he knew that– he remembered passing the binder off to someone. Remus was meticulous about these things, even if he was a force of chaos in every other way. Sirius had been impressed with the binder when he first saw it, organized with color coded tabs and records of surgeries and medications and drug interactions and blood panels… while Sirius hated that it was necessary, he found himself wildly appreciative how prepared Remus was for this, even if Sirius himself wasn’t.
“Is this the hospital?” Regulus asked, picking up the sticky note from the counter. Sirius nodded again. Regulus opened his phone. “I’m gonna call you a cab,” he said. “You aren’t driving right now.”
Now that he said it, it made sense. Sirius’ hands were still shaking, and he couldn’t quite see straight. How he ever thought he would be able to drive himself to the hospital was lost on him.
“Okay,” Sirius murmured. “Yeah. Thanks.” He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Everything felt so quiet, now. Just a minute ago, it had been so loud, and now it was so quiet. Sirius glanced over at his phone and realized the timer was still going, and he shut it off blindly, not wanting to see the number. “I need to call his mum,” Sirius echoed. “What… what do I even say?”
“Just explained what happened,” Regulus said calmly. “He was sick, right?”
“It was just a cold,” Sirius shook his head. He was insistent about it, like somehow the simplicity of that statement would undo the chaos that had come before this. “He was just… it wasn’t even that bad, just a fever and aches and he wasn’t sleeping great, I guess… god, it just went wrong so fast. He didn’t even get an aura.”
“It was probably just everything all at once,” Regulus sighed. “It’s unpredictable, right?”
“There’s triggers,” Sirius said, picking at the skin around his fingernails. “But it– it wasn’t that bad,” he repeated. He was just so stuck on that. It hadn’t even been that bad. A low fever, a few less hours of sleep, a bit of anxiety over missing work. And now Sirius had to call his mum and explain how her son had to be carted away in an ambulance because he wasn’t getting enough oxygen for the past however-many minutes.
“I know,” Regulus murmured.
“What if she blames me?” Sirius asked miserably. “I should have called the ambulance right away, Reg. He might’ve hit his head, and he was sick– it wasn’t normal. I should have known better,” he breathed, wiping harshly at his eyes again.
“She’s not going to blame you, Sirius,” Regulus said gently, shaking his head. “She’ll understand.”
“But it could be bad,” Sirius insisted. “That– not breathing– it’s bad.” It sounded so obvious, something that didn’t even need to be said.
“You’re spiraling,” Regulus pointed out, and Sirius hated that he was right. “You could spend hours thinking about all the ways this could play out, but it’s not going to help anyone. Come on,” he added, picking up Sirius’ phone from the counter. “Let’s call Hope.”
Something about the togetherness of the word let’s made Sirius feel just a bit less tense. Regulus was here, and he wasn’t alone, and he could do this, because he had to. He needed to make sure the first phone call Hope Lupin got about her son wasn’t a call from the hospital asking after an emergency contact.
“Okay,” Sirius murmured. He took the phone from Regulus. “Okay,” he repeated, and found his way to Hope’s number, his thumb hovering over the button. “Okay.” He hit call.
The phone rang twice before Hope picked up.
“Hello, Sirius,” she greeted cheerily, and Sirius’ heart twisted. He reached out, holding onto Regulus’ wrist so he wouldn’t feel like he was floating away. “How are you, darling?”
“Hi, Hope, I– um–” Sirius stammered. He held Regulus tighter. “Something’s…” he blew out a breath. “Something’s happened.”