Chapter Text
Sirius’ earliest memories are of his brother’s nails. Of how much he hated them. Of how effortlessly they found their home in his skin, digging into his flesh. It was like second nature to the boy, just four years old, with gashes up his arms and legs. He always had a subconscious itch, like he was trying to claw himself away from some inherent part of him.
That habit followed Regulus through his childhood, a childhood of bandaged arms and nails cut as low as they can go. He remembers Regulus crying, coming to him with bloodied arms and torn flesh.
“It was an accident!” He would say, tears running down his face.
Sirius would hold him, pulling his brother close and running his hands through his hair. They would stay like that until Regulus would pull away. And then, Sirius would do his best attempt at first aid. He got better, throughout the years. Someone had to keep his little brother's body from falling apart.
Still, Sirius never got used to seeing his brother bleeding. Never got used to him hurting.
The waiting room was quiet. Too quiet. Sirius’ previous experiences with hospital waiting rooms were an overstimulating loud and busyness, nurses yelling over the crowd, bumping shoulders with a man coughing so hard he might cough his lungs out.
Not today.
Today it's quiet. And Sirius hates it.
He’s sitting on an itchy chair, his legs crossed in his lap in a desperate attempt to hide how hard he’s shaking. It’s not working and he knows it. James is besides him, holding onto him like Sirius is going to fade away any second. It’s not a completely wild idea. Effie and Monty are somewhere, he’s sure they explained what they were doing but he doesn’t even attempt to remember.
Sirius thinks James is trying to talk to him, but he can’t hear him over the pounding in his ears. Only one thought penetrates his brain.
Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus.
He needs to see him. They need to let him see him. That's his baby brother! His baby brother needs him and Sirius will help him. He needs to. He’s a good brother. He can save him. He can fix this. But they won’t let him. Instead they’re keeping him behind closed doors, guarded by people in blinding white coats and that one too tall doctor. Sirius doesn’t trust him. Not with his balding black hair, and eyes so dark they look like charcoal. Sirius knows what Regulus will see when he looks at him. Sirius sees the same. Their father. He needs to stop the doctor from hurting him.
Still, Sirius doesn’t move. He’s paralysed and frantic, freezing and overheating. He’s dangling from the sky, desperately trying to hold onto Earth, he’s down in the depths of hell, fire burning his flesh. He deserves to burn. He could’ve done more. He could’ve fixed it. Could’ve stopped this. Could’ve held Regulus’ hurt on his behalf.
He hears a phone buzz, and cold sinks over him as he remembers that cursed phone call. Just a few hours ago, but it feels like years.
“Hey Monty,” Sirius said when he answered, distracted by the tv.
“Sirius.”
Instantly, Sirius is hit by how panicked Monty sounds. Monty is never panicked, he’s calm and thoughtful and composed. He’s a rock. He doesn't panic and his voice doesn’t shake. But here he is.
“What happened?”
Was it Effie? Was she hurt? Or could it be-
“It’s Regulus. He, uh, we’re going to the hospital. You have to come. Now.”
And Sirius just knew. Because hadn’t it always been so obvious? The way his nails were drawn to his skin, the way he wore long sleeves even in the depths of summer. The emptiness behind his eyes. That dark, dreary sadness that seemed to swallow Regulus up. An ocean pulling him under, tossing his body between the waves.
Sirius just knew. But why couldn’t he have known before the phone call? Why couldn’t he have known months ago? He could’ve helped. Could’ve fixed it. Instead, he assumed Regulus would be fine. That everything would be okay. He never should’ve assumed that. He never should’ve let his baby brother out of his sight.
Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. The kid with the crooked teeth, with eyebags and stuffed animals, with wine-stained breath and a million childish questions. He was a kid who lived a thousand years, the adult who lived none.
He stares at the big, ivory doors that separate him from his brother. That’s his little brother in there, and he needed him. And Sirius failed. How long had Regulus been crying out for help, hoping Sirius would hear him? Would understand? If only Sirius had fucking used his head, he could’ve helped him. Could’ve stopped Regulus from this overwhelming pain. Could’ve fixed all of this. But instead, Sirius sits cold in a quiet waiting room. Because he’s a horrible brother.
Regulus. Regulus. Sirius can’t lose him.
He thinks of his toothbrush, green and white, a little grey cap clipped over the head. Regulus was always nervous about his hygiene, always washing his hands for longer than normal, keeping hand sanitiser on his person like a crucifix. He remembers the delicate white bristles, the way they were pushed down from pressure, a sign Regulus would have to buy a new one soon. The toothpaste stains at the bottom of the brush, the lip gloss stains at the neck. He thinks of the bulldog clip on the end of the toothpaste, something Sirius endlessly makes fun of. Only Regulus would be so prepared, so neat that even his toothpaste was forced to conform. If Sirius is forced to stare at a toothpaste tube without a bulldog clip on the end, he will never breathe again.
He thinks of the laundry basket in that bathroom, of the neatly piled clothes in between lazily tossed ones. Regulus was always so much better than him, organised, forward-thinking and thorough. Sirius was a whirlwind, always moving from one thing to another, careless of the chaos in his wake.
Sirius had always envied Regulus’ ability to wait. The way he spent the entire time at the museum staring at one painting. Entirely consumed by its beauty, by its meaning, whatever it was Regulus found in it. He stood and analysed every brush stroke, never getting bored or distracted.
Regulus saw the brush strokes in people, too. He saw the little things that made up Sirius, the way he looked when his heart was breaking, the stupid little things that made him happy. Regulus saw the brush strokes of the world, saw everything so deeply, in such detail. He cared about every little detail, able to pore over them and analyse them for hours.
Sirius wishes he was like his brother. Because then he would’ve noticed earlier.
He feels the desperate, furious claws of grief grab at his lungs. Ripping them from his chest, sucking all the air from his soul. This was all Sirius’ fault. He never should’ve left. He never should’ve agreed to spend the week away, never should of put a stupid fucking camping trip over his own brother. It was too soon. Regulus’ arrival was too fresh, their newfound relationship still new. And Sirius had gone and done the same thing he did all those years ago. He left.
Sirius abandoned his baby brother.
He had promised he’d never do that again.
In the first week Regulus arrived, he crawled into Sirius’ bed every night. Just like when they were kids and their parents would fight, Sirius stroked his brother's hair, and Regulus buried himself in his arms. They spent every night clinging onto each other, like letting go would end the world. Sirius wishes he never let go.
“I have something selfish to ask,” Regulus said one night.
“Anything.”
“Please never leave me again.”
Sirius held his brother tighter, “I’ll never leave you. I promise.”
This was all Sirius’ fault.
“Sirius,” James’ voice is soft, but he says his name in a way that tells Sirius he’s already said it multiple times. That Sirius hasn’t heard him.
Sirius looks up slowly, but instantly regrets it when he sees the tears in his eyes. To Sirius, James crying has always felt like the end of the world. James was the support Sirius lived on, and when he cried and shook, Sirius fell with it.
“Can I borrow your phone?”
Sirius reaches vaguely into his pocket, mutely handing over his phone. He is too tired to question why James needs it, too tired to offer any sort of refusal. The tired seeps into his bones, as James continues to speak. Whether he is speaking for Sirius’ benefit, or his own, neither of them can be certain.
“I think I should, like, text his friends. They deserve to know what happened. They deserve to be here. And, like, well, I know you have some of their numbers saved.”
The use of like sticks in Sirius’ brain, but he doesn’t say anything. Still, he knows James. Knows his nervous tics. James is afraid. Then again, who isn’t?
“Also,” James says, “You have texts from Remus. Do you want to look at them?”
Sirius shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve whatever comfort Remus is going to offer him.
“Okay,” James says, “That’s okay, Sirius.”
Sirius’ mind drifts to the day Regulus told him he had made friends of his own. The day his heart exploded with pride. Nothing could beat the euphoria of watching Regulus become a person of his own, of watching him grow into more than a pawn in their parent’s games.
Regulus had been nervous since they got home from school. The whole bus ride, the second they got in the house, something had been different. He was quiet, but the kind that said he had so much to say.
“How was school, honey?” Effie had asked.
“Well…” Regulus starts, but doesn’t finish, apparently thinking better of it.
“What’s up?”
It took Regulus a long time to respond. Sirius wishes he could understand why Regulus was so afraid to tell them. Wish he could actually understand what was going on in his brother's head.
“I think I made a friend.”
And Sirius was so, so proud.
“Yeah? Tell me about them.”
“Her name is Pandora. She’s in my English. I don’t know, but she's been sitting next to me for the past few weeks and we talk about books and music and stuff. I like talking to her.”
Sirius had pulled his brother into a hug immediately. In the moment, he had been overwhelmed with memories of what his friends had done for him.They changed everything. And he couldn’t wait for the same to happen for his baby brother.
When Sirius got to meet Pandora he was what could only be described as jittery. Regulus had asked if he could have Pandora over in such a sweet, gentle way that it had brought tears to his eyes. He wasn’t the only one, he had heard Effie crying to Monty after. Though, that was more about the expectation that the answer would be no.
When Pandora entered the house and immediately flung her arms around Regulus, Sirius knew his brother was in safe hands. She hugged Sirius when she saw him, and informed him she had “heard a lot about him.”
Regulus talked with her, alot. For a boy who was often quiet and reserved, he could be open with Pandora the way he only previously was with Sirius. And that warmed Sirius’ heart. So, despite having a tiny conversation with her, this girl with long blonde hair, glitter on her cheeks and pen scribbles all over her arms, became someone he loved dearly. Sirius loved her because she loved Regulus.
Pandora was just the first one. Despite Monty’s initial concerns, it became abundantly clear that Hogwarts was the perfect place to send Regulus. When a boy from James’ soccer team walked past talking to Regulus, Sirius was immediately anxious.
James had shrugged it off, “Rosie’s a good kid, I trust him. And you should trust Reg’s judgement.”
Sirius had been a little offended by the implication that he was overprotective, but the second Sirius met Evan, his worries dissipated. The kid genuinely was sweet as sugar, his cheesy smile and gentle giant appearance an honest portrayal of his personality. Sirius quickly learnt he was the kind of kid to carry your books to class, while also being a kid he could joke with, who would joke back.
Barty, though, was someone who Sirius took a while to accept. Evidently, he came as a package deal with Evan, but Sirius’ kindness towards Evan did not extend to Barty. Barty Crouch Jr had a reputation. He was a loose cannon. He was loud, would yell and scream for the littlest of reasons. He was argumentative, constantly picking fights with everyone who crossed him. Once, he had even thrown a chair at a teacher. And yes, Sirius himself could be a problem child. But he didn’t do it for pure aggression, not the way Barty appeared to.
The day that Sirius changed his mind began with a fight on the oval. Crouch vs Mulciber. Now, Sirius had fought Mulciber many times, but for some reason, he thought Crouch’s reasons to be invalid. He had gotten into an argument with Regulus about it.
“You shouldn’t be with the likes of him, he’ll get you into trouble.”
“Do you even know why they had the fight?”
“Does it matter?”
Regulus raised an eyebrow at him, “Sirius you literally hate Mulciber, why are you on his side now. Plus, I think it does matter.”
“I’m not on his- Whatever. Why’d the fight start?”
“He was defending me.”
Sirius felt his body go cold.
“Mulciber was being a dick to me, and Barty came to my defence.”
“What did Mulciber say? I’ll fuck him up.”
“No need,” Regulus had smiled, “Barty already did.”
Since then, Sirius had learnt to accept Barty’s presence. For all his flaws and his attitude and his anger, he seemed to really care about Regulus. He went soft with Regulus in a way that had genuinely shocked Sirius. He laughed and he teased, but he also genuinely cared. Someone was there to keep Regulus safe when he couldn’t, and that meant more than Sirius would ever tell Barty.
Dorcas was the last one to join their little group. She was actually in Sirius’ grade, and he knew of her. Mostly, he knew her as the gorgeous girl who had utterly captured the attention of Marlene Mckinnon. She was in his art class, but all her assignments were focused around fashion. Her work was incredible, but he didn’t know much of her outside of that.
Sirius actually didn’t even know she and Regulus were friends until he came home from Peter’s to discover her on his couch, wedged between Regulus and Barty.
“Hey, Sirius.”
“Hey?”
From that day onwards, Dorcas was just a part of Regulus’ group. Sirius liked her, and often wondered why it took so long for him to talk to her. She started sitting with them in art, much to Marlene’s blushy excitement. Dorcas was pure creativity, filled with a million stories and ideas. She was sassy, always prepared with some comeback or snarky response. Due to Sirius’ new connection with her, he got to watch Marlene finally go out with the girl of her dreams. Dorcas and Marlene were the perfect couple.
Regulus, Pandora, Dorcas, Evan and Barty were the perfect friendship group. When Regulus was with them, Sirius didn’t have to worry as much. He knew that if Regulus was with them, he was in safe hands. That he was bound to be surrounded by people who cared about him. Regulus had found his people, just like Sirius had. And he was so, so proud.
“Text them.” Sirius whispers, his voice raw.
He knows it’s been a while since James had brought it up, that Sirius had spent time lost in his thoughts. Still, some part of Sirius wants to ensure that they know that they have the opportunity to be there.
They held Regulus at the times when Sirius couldn’t.
“Yeah, I’ve already texted Pandora. Don’t worry, mate.”
Sirius nods, frantic and hurried. He just keeps nodding and nodding because it’s something to do. His neck starts to hurt, the constant pulling and movement straining him. He doesn’t stop. It’s nothing compared to the pain Regulus must be going through.
Night would have fallen by now. It must be dark outside. Sirius wonders if the stars are still out. There's no way they could be shining bright. No way they could still twinkle and sparkle while Regulus aches. If one suffers, they all do. No, if they are out at all they must be dull and empty, no longer offering light.
Sirius can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Regulus passed. Nights of constant darkness, a solitary moon. No stars hung in the sky to bring light, no stars to make wishes on.
Because, while Sirius had never found himself among the stars, Regulus had. His little brother had found himself in astronomy books, in telescopes, in spending hours every night staring up into the sky. For as long as Sirius could remember, his brother had learnt as much as possible about the stars, planets and galaxies.
One night, Sirius thinks he was about seven, Regulus had dragged him to the window to stare into the sky. Sirius had pointed out the moon, full and sparkling. Regulus had just pointed out a star that was kind of near it, shining so bright, standing out against the darkness of the sky.
“That’s you!” Regulus had said.
“That's me? The one I’m named after?”
“Yeah! The brightest star in the night sky.”
“Wow! That’s so cool! Where are you, Reggie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you, Reggie? What happened to you? Why didn’t you call me? Why couldn’t I help? Why wasn’t I enough? What was hurting you? Why didn’t you ask for help? What didn’t I do? Why did I leave you? Why is this happening? What did I do wrong? Where are you?”
It took only two gentle arms wrapping around him to knock the air out of him. “Hey, Sirius, can you hear me?”
Fuck. “Did I say that outloud?”
“Yeah, mate. It’s okay. None of this is your fault, you know that right?”
He didn’t dispute James. Not because he believed him, he definitely didn’t agree with him. Sirius definitely held at least partial blame for this. But because it would hurt James. Sirius has caused more than enough hurt for multiple lifetimes.
Sirius just selfishly pushed himself further into his friend, desperate to take any amount of comfort that the boy was willing to give him. James appeared to understand this, running his hands through Sirius’ thick curls. He was trying to talk, knowing full well that a constant stream of chatter was one of the best things to keep Sirius from spiralling.
“Y’know I was talking to Pete about football and… Well… Mum and I… One time… So the game…”
James was incapable of finishing any sentence he started. Incapable to speak, to pull nonsense from his brain to fill Sirius’ with. Because James was hurting. Because everyone was hurting.
Because Regulus was hurting.
Sirius is flung back to the day he decided he’d never let anyone hurt his brother again. It was Sirius’ seventeenth birthday, and the two three year anniversary of the day he ran away from home. He had a party a few days ago, but James insisted on Peter and Remus sleeping over so they could still be together on his birthday. They were sitting on the living room floor, listening to one of the records Sirius got for his birthday. It was a Bowie album, one he had listened to a hundred times, but it still felt different over record. They were engaged in a very intense game of bullshit, which was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. Then, a thud.
Sirius's whole body went cold. He couldn’t have explained how, but he knew something was very, very wrong. He placed his cards down, listening to the creak of the front door opening. He heard Effie gasp, and call out his name. He could hear the thud of his feet against the floorboards as he rushed to the entryway. He just knew. Something was so so so so wrong.
The sight of his baby brother brought both his purest dreams and greatest fears into reality. Regulus was here, with him, out of that hellhole. Regulus was hurt, crying, and their parents were awful enough to him to drive him to run. Sirius held his brother in his arms, pulling him off the steps, trying not to see the bloodstain his body left behind. He had the warmth of his brother in his arms, he had the weight of his body in his hands.
Sirius knows that he lost it a bit that night. He hadn’t let anyone near him, not even Effie and Monty as they begged him. They had begged him to please let them pass, that they needed to help Regulus. Sirius refused, holding his brother in his arms and refusing to let go.
Eventually, they agreed to let him nurse Regulus’ wounds. Sirius had made it clear it was the only option. Most of the night was a blur, but Peter had told him everything that happened a few weeks later, when Sirius pleaded with him. Effie, Monty, Remus and James refused to, apparently worried that it would make Sirius feel bad. But Peter seemed to understand he needed to know. He needed all the memories of that night, even if they were someone else's.
From Peter, he knows that it took a whole fifteen minutes to get the first aid kit to Sirius. Sirius refused to let people close to Regulus, but he also refused to leave Regulus’ side. Eventually, Remus had to slide it to him across the floor. He knows that James had run out sometime during the night to throw up.
He can remember himself the moment when Regulus awoke, his brother's eyes finally meeting him after so long. The way they felt like coming home. He remembers holding onto his brother tighter, and crying and crying and crying. Regulus didn’t cry. Peter told him that. The whole night, Regulus didn’t cry.
Peter had apparently gotten them water, and Sirius fed his little brother sip after sip. He had sung to him that night, just like when they were young. Sirius wishes he could remember that moment, but it’s all faded into the blur. Remus and Peter had left that night, Peter’s mum coming by to pick them up.
According to James, the two brothers fell asleep on the couch. Nobody else in the house slept that night, constantly checking in on them. Sirius can remember the last coherent thought he had before he fell asleep.
Nobody’s going to hurt Regulus.
Sirius didn’t realise he was moving until he lost James’ warmth. Until he heard James’ noise of confusion and surprise, until he heard Monty ask what he was doing. He called out to the first nurse he saw.
“Change his doctor.”
“Pardon?”
“Get him a different doctor. Now.”
The nurse blinked, “Who? What patient and what doctor? Why does the doctor need to change?”
“He’s going to hurt him.”
“Sir, I can assure you none of our staff-”
“Get him a different doctor!”
“Sirius,” Effie’s voice interrupted him, and he was suddenly made aware of the fact that he was yelling, “What’s going on.”
“The doctor- He’s gonna hurt- He looks like-”
Realisation dawned on Effie, and she turned to the nurse, “Can I speak to you in private? It’s about Regulus Black.”
The nurse nods, clearly willing to be led away from Sirius. Still, he follows, he needs to make sure they can’t hurt Regulus. He needs to make sure his little brother is okay.
“Sirius,” Effie gently places a hand to his chest to stop him, “Sit back down. I’m going to make sure Regulus is okay, I’m going to see if we can get a different doctor assigned. Trust me, okay?”
Sirius wants nothing more to cry and scream and cause even more of a fuss. He wants to ensure Regulus is okay. But, there's a logical part of him that says if he causes even more of a scene he could get kicked out. They could force him away from his brother for even longer. So he steps back, hoping that the glare he sends Effie lets her know just how important it is that she succeeds.
Sirius turns to stare out the window, eyes catching on the streetlamp looming over them like a threat. He remembers sitting on the curb with his little brother, after Regulus had asked him to go for a walk. He had said he wanted to talk.
They sat in silence for over an hour, as Regulus clearly thought through whatever it is he wanted to say. It was only a month after Regulus showed up on the Potter’s doorstep, so the brothers were still getting used to each other's touch. Their knees pressed together as they both stared into the night sky. As they stared up at their stars, as the moon greeted them kindly. Sirius remembered hearing his brothers breathing, loud and anxious. Sirius would give everything to hear his brother breathe right now.
After an hour, Sirius glanced over to his brother again. He was bathed in the warm yellow of the street lamp, but there were tear tracks lining his face, pouring from his eyes.
“What's wrong?” Sirius had asked.
Regulus began to cry harder. Sirius attempted to comfort him, but Regulus kept pushing him away. He sat and watched as his brother sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It made him feel like he was dying.
Eventually, between sobs, Regulus choked out his answer, “I’m gay.”
“Oh Regulus,” Sirius had said. He was hit with an overwhelming amount of guilt. That Regulus was crying because of this. That he hadn’t taught Regulus that it’s okay. That regulus was clearly upset by his own queerness.
“Reggie, you know it’s okay to be gay, right? I’m gay too.”
Regulus’ tears became less aggressive, but when he asked his next question, it was Sirius’ turn to cry. He had looked up at Sirius with the saddest, most desperate eyes in the world and asked,
“You’re not mad?”
Sirius felt the tears pouring down his cheeks, and heard the way his voice wobbled as he responded. “Of Course I’m not mad, Reg. Why would I be?”
Regulus didn’t respond, just wiped his tears.
In hindsight, Sirius thinks he should have said more that night. James had said a lot when Sirius first came out. He said he was proud of him. Sirius should’ve told Regulus how proud he was. Maybe Sirius should’ve said less. Maybe he should’ve said something different.
There’s a lot Sirius should’ve done.
“Sirius?” James called, “Come sit back down, yeah?”
Sirius didn’t move.
It was stormy that night. It was a constant battle between lightning and thunder, shining and blinding, loud and aggressive. It was foreboding. A sign that there would be hell to pay. The image of the pamphlet on the dining table will forever be burned into Sirius’ retinas. He knew what it meant. He knew he had to make a decision.
After he was sent to bed, he had packed a bag. That pamphlet. The door creaking open announced Regulus’ arrival. He sat besides Sirius on the floor, begging and pleading with him to stay. Sirius pulled his brother close, whispering desperate apologies. But he couldn’t stay. He couldn’t. That pamphlet.
He remembers the creak of the window, of asking Regulus to join him. He remembers the way Regulus shook his head. He remembers the feeling of his feet hitting the ground, wet grass soaking through his socks. He turned, his eyes meeting their pair. Regulus. He looked so sad, so afraid. Sirius wanted to climb through the window, to rejoin his brother. That pamphlet. He couldn’t. He didn’t take his eyes off Regulus until the house was entirely out of view. Regulus didn’t do the same.
But still, Sirius left. He knows Regulus still resents him for it. For leaving him in that house. Sirius deserves that resentment. But. Even now, as a fully grown adult, he still can see that pamphlet when he closes his eyes. He couldn’t do it. It was cruel. Their parents were so, so cruel.
“I came as soon as I could.”
Pandora stands in the doorway, in her pyjamas, hair a mess. Monty hugs her, and James gets up to greet her, but Sirius stays to the side. He observes.
“I didn’t think they’d let anyone else in.”
“I mean, they weren’t exactly happy to see me, but I think the fact that I was sobbing helped.”
“Is he doing okay?” Pandora asked.
“Effie’s talking to a nurse now. We haven’t heard much. They’re keeping us in the dark.”
“Are you doing okay?” James asks her.
“I-” Pandora cuts herself off, and she begins to cry, “I didn’t see it coming. He never talked about feeling this. There were no signs. I wish I could’ve helped.”
“Hey,” Monty said gently, “You’re doing great, kid, you’re his best friend. He’s just struggling, yeah?”
Eventually, Pandora sits down, and Sirius returns to his chair, and immediately James pulls him back into his arms. The wait continues.
He remembers the night Regulus got into a fight. It was late, and he knew Regulus was out sneaking into bars, but decided it was safe enough. He trusted Regulus’ friends, and it’s not like he doesn’t do the exact same thing. Still, he planned to stay up until he heard Regulus come home. Just in case.
But then Dorcas called him. She was panicked, voice hardly able to be heard over the pumping music. They were in some sketchy bar that didn’t even check ID. Regulus was in danger.
When Sirius finally got to the bar, he jumped out of his car, not even bothering to park properly. He forced himself through the group of people, frantically texting Dorcas to figure out where they were. He found them out the back.
He remembers the harsh stank of alcohol on Regulus’ breath, thick and pungent. The look in his eyes was comparable to that of a wild animal. Regulus didn’t tell him what the other guy did. He still hasn’t. He remembers the blood spilling from Regulus’ forehead, the napkins he forced into a drunk Regulus’ hands. Lecturing him on why it’s important to apply pressure. He remembers Regulus crying in the passenger seat as they drove to the hospital.
The hospital.
Sirius had sprinted to the car after that dreaded phone call. James refused to let him drive. He claimed it wasn’t safe. It was a three hour drive. Three whole hours. Three hours while his brother was stuck alone in a hospital bed. Three hours while his brother was dying.
“We’re going to be okay.” James says.
He said it in the car too. He said it the night Sirius ran away. The night Regulus joined him. He said it after Sirius’ first break up, after Sirius watched the man he thought was his soulmate move on without him. He said it during the nights spent vomiting, and all the bruises and cuts. He said it in the city, when Sirius passed his parents. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.
But will they?
Can they ever truly come back from this?
Effie’s return to the room is a welcome one. She walks over to Sirius, crouching in front of him.
“I talked to the nurse. I explained the familial resemblance, and I got the doctors switched. He’s now being treated by a woman who doesn’t look anything like any of your family members. They said he’s stable. It’s nothing too severe. He’s doing incredibly well. It’s nothing he can’t heal from.
“Can we see him?” James asks.
“Not yet, but soon apparently. They’ll let us see him one at a time.”
And so, the wait continues.
When Regulus was quite young, he became obsessed with the titanic. He learnt everything he possibly could about it, collecting books and albums and pictures and models. He knew so much, and would spend hours telling Sirius everything. Sirius had snuck to the shops on the way home from school. He spent all the money he could find on buying the titanic dvd, and they watched it on the lowest possible volume one night. Despite the fact that Sirius had to cover both their eyes during one scene, Regulus was utterly mesmerised. He loved it more than anything.
Sirius had asked him once why he loved it so much when it was so sad. Regulus had no real answer for him. But hadn’t his little brother always been drawn to tragedy? He preferred stories of death and horror over stories of romance and love. Ever since Regulus was a child, he had tragedy in his blood.
Sirius didn’t want his brother’s life to be contained to a tragedy. He didn’t want him to be sad then die. He wanted his brother to have a happy life. He didn’t want him to be somebody’s sad story.
It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that Regulus would be driven to this point. That tragedy would so often prevail in his brother’s life that he would prefer death. It wasn’t fair that Regulus should feel more comfortable with sadness than happiness. It wasn’t fair that Regulus should have to be a tragedy.
Sirius didn’t want to let his brother be a tragedy.
The poetry books. The words in which Regulus appeared to derive his deepest comforts. They ended up all over the house, on Sirius’ beside table, on the couch, accidentally left in a kitchen cupboard. Sirius can’t imagine the Potter’s house without them. He doesn't want to.
He knows Regulus writes his own poetry. He never shared it with Sirius, and Sirius never pushes. Now, he wishes he has, because maybe if he did he could understand. That he could’ve seen all the warning signs in the moment, and helped his brother in the way that he desperately needed.
There were so many things Sirius should’ve done.
Two months ago, everything had seemed so normal. Two months ago, they had celebrated Regulus’ seventeenth birthday. They had all of his mates over, and spent the night talking and laughing and having the best times. Regulus had seemed so happy, smiling so wide the entire night. Was it fake? Was he disguising his heartaches for the sake of others?
Peter had made the birthday cake, he’s working on getting his whole baking business off the ground. It was gorgeous, and Regulus had thanked Peter profusely. Sirius knew that Regulus probably didn’t get birthday cakes after Sirius ran away, and he felt an extreme urge to go out and buy Regulus all the birthday cakes he missed out on. He hadn’t, but Sirius feels that urge inexplicably return.
That night had ended in karaoke, and so much laughter that everyone’s stomach hurt. It was an excellent night. Regulus seemed to have the best time. Was he hurting then? Did he have a plan? Did he know this was going to happen?
“Ah, thanks… Yeah, Everything’s okay… Lots of waiting… He’s stable…”
James was on the phone. Sirius couldn’t help but look up, curious. James gives him a weak smile and says, “It’s Remus.”
Then, the phone is in Sirius’ hands.
He stares at it for a while, before slowly pulling the phone up to his ear. Because he wants to be comforted. He’s selfishly desperate to hear his boyfriend's voice.
“Hey, Sirius.”
Sirius doesn’t respond.
“How are you doing, love?”
Sirius also doesn’t respond, because what is he even supposed to say to that?
“Pete and I are back here now, all your stuff is at mine.”
Sirius still doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear Remus was expecting this by now.
“I just want you to know that this isn’t your fault. And that Regulus loves you so much.”
“Don’t speak for him.” Sirius hisses before he can stop himself.
“Alright,” Remus responds calmly, “But I love you. And I know that you’re hurting right now, and everything you feel is probably very complicated, but I hope you're doing okay. And I’m proud of you. You’re an incredible person, and I can’t say for certain, but I do know Regulus, and I’m pretty sure he would agree with me.”
Sirius feels like he’s crying, except he knows there's no tears actually falling. Still, he feels sick down in his stomach, and a little bit nauseous.
Everything is way too much and he needs everything to stop. He wants to go back in time. He wants to have been able to stop this. He wants Remus to stop talking. He wants Remus to be here. He wants to be held by Remus. He wants to see Regulus. God, he wants to see Regulus so bad. He wants to apologise for being a terrible brother. He wants to yell at Regulus for trying to leave him, no matter how hypocritical it is. He wants everything to speed up. He wants everything to slow down. He wishes that people would stop looking at him like he was fragile. He wants some old man to be coughing besides him. He wants the room to be filled with crying children. He wants his bed. He wants to be back at Regulus’ birthday, when everything was okay. He wishes he would stop feeling so sick. He wants to see the stars. He wants to see his baby brother. He wishes Regulus didn’t have fingernails. He wishes he could pay attention to what Remus was saying. He needs to be alone. He wants to be held. He wishes he could’ve done more. He needs a break.
“Sirius?” Effie says, “You can see him now.”
Sirius hangs up the phone. He wipes his tears, and stands up on his weak, jelly legs. The ground beneath him feels unfamiliar, like he’s never walked a day in his life. With every step he thinks of Regulus.
He thinks of his hair ties in the bathroom, the sound of him humming a song under his breath. He thinks of the sound of his voicemail, his voice tinny through his phone. He thinks of the way his shoes look besides the door, tucked neatly besides Sirius’ far less neat ones. His titanic model. He thinks of Vienna, a song that could be heard from his room at all hours of the day. He thinks of his energy drink cans. His schoolbag slumped by the couch. His eyeliner pens. His dirty mug next to the sink. His laugh. That hoodie Sirius gave him when he first arrived, black with roses up the arms, Sirius had never asked for it back, and Regulus had never offered it. He thinks of the stars. His textbooks. His cologne. His nail-clippers. His clothes that accidentally end up in Sirius’ cupboard. The gum he insists on keeping on him at all times.
Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus.
Regulus exists in every corner of Sirius’ life, and he couldn’t ask for anything better. Sirius refuses to see toothpaste without Regulus’ bulldog clip, refuses to place his keys anywhere other than the resin tray that Regulus bought.
Sirius cannot lose Regulus.
Why must he be forced to imagine a world without his little brother?
The door to the hospital room looks like any other. Tall. White. But there's one thing that makes it very, very different. The one thing that makes it clear that Regulus wasn’t here for some easy surgery. The sign that reads in simple, bold letters. ‘Mental Health: High Risk’.
Regulus is wide awake. He never did like sleeping. When Sirius’s eyes fall on his brother, he is starkly aware of the fact that there's a high chance that this never could’ve happened again. That he would never get to make eye contact with his baby brother again. He’s not even through the door when he bursts into tears.
He forces himself to see through the tears, to take in everything he can. To take in the sight of his brother in front of him. His hair is pushed up against his forehead, making room for a bandage. Sirius does remember someone saying Regulus had hit his head. That was the noise that alerted Effie and Monty that something was wrong. There’s a billion different tubes stuck in his body. Bandages cover every inch of him, to the point that you can hardly see his skin. But it’s Regulus. His little brother. Alive.
“Hi,” Sirius says, his voice hoarse like he had been screaming. Honestly, he probably had. He can’t entirely remember.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, his voice barely a whisper. It would be easily missed, if one wasn’t taking solace in every shaky, shallow breath. Sirius doesn’t miss it.
Sirius is next to his brother in an instant, wrapping his arms around him. Regulus lets out a noise that is either a laugh or a sob, but buries himself in his older brother's arms. Just like when they were young.
“I’m sorry, too.” Sirius whispers, stroking Regulus’ hair.
Sirius can’t help but reach for his brother’s hand. He grabs onto his wrist, desperate to find the pulse. Just to prove it to himself. And there it is, beating and thumping and full of life. Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive! Regulus is Alive!
Sirius was fully sobbing now, probably soaking his little brother's hair with his tears. He didn’t care. He cried uncontrollably, holding onto his brother, and feeling his pulse like it was his lifeline. Because it was. Sirius couldn’t exist without his baby brother. He could feel it beating, proof that blood was flowing, that his heart was pumping, that he was alive. Alive. Alive.
But what could have been? What could have happened if Effie and Monty didn’t check on him in time? If Regulus hadn’t made a sound? If they weren’t quick enough? If the hospital wasn’t quick enough?
Sirius could’ve been left alone.
Sirius could’ve been left without his baby brother. He could’ve been left to face the world alone. He could’ve had to live in a world without Regulus’ poetry books or his nail clippers. He could’ve been forced to exist in a world without stars.
Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Regulus. Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.
He feels Regulus’ hand moving, eventually finding its place on Sirius’ own pulse. Their hearts beating in tandem. A reminder that they’re alive. A tether to their own humanity, to their own existence. Sirius doesn’t want to exist in a world without his brother. And while his finger is pressed against his pulse, he doesn’t have to.
Nurses and doctors file in and out, checking vitals, checking in on Regulus. In the centre of it all, the two brothers stay there. Holding onto each other. Fingers pressed against pulses. A lifeline. As long as Sirius can feel his baby brother’s pulse, as long as he can listen to his brother's laboured breathing, then he’s going to be okay. Alive.
Eventually, the doctor comes in, accompanied by Effie. Just as Effie promised, it’s a new doctor. A young woman with an afro, and eyes that are kind. She asks Regulus how he’s feeling, and asks him to rank his pain scale. And then she starts the conversation that nobody wants to have. The conversation of what happens next.
Psychiatric Treatment. Regulus is unwell. He’s a harm unto himself or others. Those are the words they use. The fancy medical terms they use to describe the horrific truth. That they’re taking his baby brother away from him. Whether they're doing it to heal or to hurt him, does it matter anymore? They’re taking his little brother away from him. After he almost lost him for good. They’re going to take his toothbrush and his cologne and his shoes. Sirius can’t let him go. He can’t imagine a universe without his brother. Not again.
“You can’t take him from me.”
“It’s temporary psychiatric care with plenty of visitation. I understand that it’s very scary and very hard, but you will still be able to see your brother. It will help him, I promise.”
“I can help him.” Sirius says, aware he sounds like a stubborn toddler.
“Yes, you can.” The doctor agrees, “But you're not a doctor. You’re not a psychologist. You’re not a medical professional.”
“But-”
“I’m not saying you're not important, you will be incredibly crucial to your brother's healing process. But you can’t do it alone. It’s not healthy for either of you.”
“Please,” Sirius says, though he’s not even sure what he’s pleading for anymore. To not have to say goodbye to his brother. To not be so afraid. To be able to feel his brother's pulse forever. To be able to hear Regulus’ shaky breathing for the rest of his life. To get the mercy of being the one to die first.
“Sirius,” Regulus’ voice silences him immediately, and Sirius listens earnestly. He can’t help but regret all the times he didn’t listen fully to the sound of his brother's voice.
“It’s okay. If they say it’s gonna help I’m willing to do it.”
Sirius nods, tearful, but agreeing. No matter how much he loves his brother and wants to protect him, he can’t tell him what to do. He’s learnt that lesson before.
Regulus speaks again, “I don’t want to have to leave you again.”
Sirius buries his face in Regulus’ chest so they don’t have to see him cry.
Eventually, the doctor’s leave them alone, and they stay lying there. Clutching each other's pulses, listening to the sound of each other's breathing. Eventually, Sirius lifts his head to stare into his brother's eyes.
Everyone has always said their eyes were identical, impossible to tell apart. And for the most part they were. Except for the specs of blue around the edges of Regulus’ eyes, that only show in the light or when he cries. Sirius doesn’t have those. Sirius wishes he didn’t know so intimately how his brother looks when he cries. He wishes the tear tracks on his face didn’t match his brothers.
“You can always call me, Reg. You know that, right?”
“I’m sorry.” Regulus says, in a way that rips Sirius’ heart in two.
“I know.”
Silence falls, and Sirius can’t help but think of all the nights they’ve spent sharing a bed. They’ve been doing it since they were kids. After fights, during thunderstorms, after hard days, Finding comfort in each other. Drifting away by the sound of the other breathing.
“I love you.” Regulus says.
Sirius' voice cracks as he responds, “I love you too, Reggie.”