Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regulus Black sucked back the fiery liquid, hoping he looked sober enough for another bartender not to cut him off. He was still much too sober for his liking and still very on edge. Regulus was still getting over being sentimental, but there was something about days like today, where he couldn’t help himself. He tried to avoid drinking, but today marked a celebration, and he felt like he deserved to celebrate in whatever self-destructive method he wanted to indulge in.

He couldn’t help but think of his father, who was drunk on most occasions. He wondered—not for the first time—if his father had keeled over and died by now. When Regulus left six years ago, age was clearly gripping at the man, and he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his absence, the old decrepit man had finally died. If it wasn’t his organs turning to dust, it would have been the stress of the Black name falling so low and being forgotten by the masses. He hated the name enough to scrape it off his own, but that didn’t mean the thought of the Black family name dying with his parents didn’t make him sick to think about.

Regulus was tired of feeling sick. Being mindlessly drunk was much better than drowning in his own sorrows in tears. He gave the Black name a lifetime worth of them, and he didn’t want to give it any more of his time and energy.

Three more drinks and forty-five minutes later, he was sufficiently drunk and couldn’t stand up straight without assistance. As far as he was concerned, there were worse things to be than a drunk who was kicked out of a shitty bar on a Friday night. He landed on the curb hard enough to send a sick shock up his spine, but the pain only added to the many things competing for his attention. Pain was a familiar comfort, but his back throbbed unceremoniously. He was drunk enough to forget why he needed to bury his problems in a pint of vodka, but he still felt a sinking feeling in his stomach that left him spinning. But that could have been all the alcohol. Regulus was never much of a drinker, but when he drank, he drank enough for a frat party.

He pushed himself off the curb and stumbled toward the closest telephone booth. Standing on the corner of a street lit up by neon signs and crowded with people put a pit in his stomach he was familiar with. All the bars were buzzing with an energy he once craved but couldn’t get away from fast enough. He knew better than to stumble through the streets of California so drunk. If he wasn’t arrested for being drunk in public, he would certainly be held at knifepoint for some of his valuables.

He dialed the only number he knew from memory, hoping that in the years since their estrangement, Sirius had the foresight to change it to something else. The twill of the phone line didn’t instill much confidence. Sirius was smart but often let sentiment get the better of him. The phone line clicked open, and Regulus pressed the phone to his ear with bated breath, unsure of what he wanted to hear on the other line—his brother or a stranger. When a familiar voice flooded his ear, his stomach roiled violently in his abdomen.

“Hello?”

Regulus waited with his phone pressed to his ear, panting hard into the phone. If stumbling in the streets wasn’t immediately sobering, the sound of his brother's voice on the phone shifted the world into shocking clarity. He pulled the phone away from his ear and tried to regain a conscious thought. It wasn’t too late to hang up the phone; Sirius would dismiss it as a wrong number and go about his life. Tomorrow, when he woke up, this misbegotten phone call would be nothing but a drunken memory that he would forget about in days' time. But Regulus couldn’t bring himself to stay quiet, and the word slipped out before he could fully quantify the consequences of his actions.

“Hello?” Sirius tried again.

“Hi,” Regulus squeaked.

“Reggie?” Sirius said suddenly. “Reg, is that you?”

Regulus wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but being instantly recognized cut deeper than it had any right to. He could only think about the feeling of seeing his brother in person. Regulus pressed the phone to his ear and sank to his knees.

“It’s me,” he said.

“Oh my god! Oh my—how did you get a phone? How did—are you alright?”

“I—” Regulus slurred.

“Are you drunk?”

Regulus knew better than to lie to his brother, nor did he feel the need to. They had more important things to deal with, and Regulus’s sobriety—or lack thereof—was not at the top of the list.

“Very,” he said. “I was drowning my sorrows and I lost my phone,” he said. “I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted. He put his hand up, like he could reach for the words and snatch them back, but what was said could not be unsaid. And Regulus knew better than anyone what was done could not be undone, and no amount of wishing would make it otherwise. Sirius spoke with radical certainty. “Your number is the only one I can remember.”

“Say the word, and I will get you out of that house right now. I will get on a plane, and I will come and get you. You know I never would have left you behind if I thought you would have come with me—”

“Sirius!”

“You have to know that. You have to understand that—”

“Sirius—”

“I need you to understand that I would have taken you with me, but it’s not too late—”

“Sirius,” Regulus shouted loud enough to gain the attention of passersby. Not that he cared. Let them gawk at the freak show dissolving over a phone call for a man he knew better than to care about. “I don’t need saving, certainly not from you.”

“Regulus, they will kill you.”

“They can try, but I doubt they’ll make the trek across the ocean,” Regulus bit back with more malice than he intended. His silent sadness turned into a rage that bubbled in his throat. Years had passed since, and Regulus was still that pathetic boy sitting on the stairs waiting for someone to save him when nobody would. He never blamed his brother for leaving, not the day of and the miserable year after. But in the years since, Regulus learned that there were some things a person could never get over, and being left behind after a promise was one of them. “I’m in California,” he explained. “I left after you did. I don’t know why I called you, but I’m glad—” he paused, unable to quantify his thoughts. Hearing his brother's voice was revolting and comforting at once. “I don’t know—”

“Where in California?” Sirius interrupted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Regulus slurred, letting sobriety slip from him and settling in the feeling of drunkenness settling over him. “None of this fucking matters.”

“Tell me where you are, so I can come and get you. I’m not leaving you—”

“Again?” he snarled. “Why don’t you do it again? We know you’re good at it. You gonna get on a plane and fly all the way to Glendale from whatever stupid little house on the prairie you have? You’ve finally come to rescue me—well, you’re about four years too fucking late. I don’t need you now. Do what you do best and leave me alone to rot,” he slurred. His words were laced with an anger that reminded him of his father. He panted at the exertion of energy.

“You’re in Glendale?” Sirius asked. “You’re at the bar, so probably on Silla Street?”

“How—” he started before he could stop himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m coming to get you. Please don’t go anywhere,” Sirius said promptly. Regulus opened his mouth to reply but was silenced by the static of a dead phone line. One click and his brother was gone once more. All it took was a click, and Regulus sat with the phone still pressed to his ear, unwilling and unable to move it.

Chapter Text

Regulus let the alcohol consume him wholly, sinking into the concrete by the phone call, uninterested in whatever could happen to him. If he were killed, all the better, but he knew better than to assume he would be that lucky. Hearing his brother's voice sent him right back to the cold, lonely room in Grimmuad Place, and all the sickening feelings came to follow. For years, he sat on a bed waiting to be punished for any number of perceived wrongs. Sirus took the brunt of the violence for years, acting out at any given opportunity, but that didn’t mean Regulus was spared.

For years, he waited obediently to be saved, and after months of a petchulant hope, he made a silent promise to himself to never wait on someone a long time ago. His brother was something he stopped believing in. He should have stood up and wandered to a back alley to hide, but his legs seemed glued to the thick concrete.

He tried to ground himself in a relative reality, but had a hard time remembering most of it. The most clear and present memories were fleeting and, to his own assumption, frequently wrong. He could almost hear the sound of his mother's shrill voice yelling at him. His mind slid past his childhood of violence: skipping past the muffled voices and the blunting pain on his arm.

The next moments were an unyielding blur, but he took comfort in the bits of the surroundings he could sense. A familiar scent of black pepper and cigarette smoke flooded his nostrils. It was at once sickening and comforting, and the next quiet minutes in a car watching the city lights flash by rocked him back to reality. He forced himself to take in his immediate surroundings, but by then the car skidded to a halt in the driveway of a modest home in a picket fence neighborhood.

“Where am-”

His voice was cut off by a violent cough that tore him from the man's arms and left him to crash harshly to the concrete driveway harshly. He was too filled with adrenaline to feel the pain, and too drunk to scramble up, and instead spent several minutes fumbling on the concrete trying to gain his footing.

“Regulus, let me help you up,” Sirus offered.

“Sirius?” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He vaguely remembered a pathetic phone call but assumed it was a figment of his own desperate mind.

“Yeah, buddy, it's me. I told you I was coming to get you. Now let me help you up.”

Regulus was inclined to say no, but doubted his ability to get up on his own, and wondered how long it would take before his brother took pity on him. The shock of seeing his brother in years was enough to make his muscles uncooperative, and the copious amount of alcohol running through him filled him with a childlike petulance.

“I told you to leave me alone,” he slurred.

“You called me and said you were afraid. You said you needed me,” Sirus said softly, as if he was talking to an injured deer. His voice only made Regulus angrier. The anger started in his stomach and rose to his chest, making him heave.

“I don’t need you, and I haven’t needed you for a long fucking time!”

“You said-”

“We all said a lot of things we don’t mean,” he bit back.

Sirus sighed with great annoyance, not allowing Regulus any time to fall into further despair. He lifted Regulsu by the shoulders once more, helping him to his feet, and guided him through the labyrinth of bushes to the front porch. Sirus leaned Regulus against the brick of the porch while he fiddled with his keys, finding it misplaced in a mess of keychains.

“I know you’re mad at me, I know you are very, very fucking mad at me. I get it,” he said with no malice in his voice. “ But I am really glad to see you,” he said. “Alive,” he added. “ I thought they would have killed you.”

Regulus swallowed hard at the accusation, trying not to let the truth bleed onto his features. His parents did try to kill him, many times in Sirius's absence, but it took more than that for him to claw his way out. There was a long list of things Regulus wanted, and his brother was none of them. He wanted a long shower and to go to his apartment and contemplate the choices he’s made for himself, and how he ended up in the arms of the man that abandoned him. A place he promised himself he would never be.

He found his key and jammed it in the door, wiggling it until the lock clicked loudly. Regulus watched as Sirus kicked open the door with his foot, stuck his head in the gap in the door, and yelled something that Regulus didn’t care to decipher. Regulus was working through the various ways he could walk away from his brother, but found himself confounded at the first step. In all his years of remembering his brother leaving, he never walked away, and couldn’t bring himself to do it first.

Regulus was torn from his misery when his brother grabbed him by the waist and maneuvered him into the house. Reglus was standing in an immaculate foyer when the bile filled his throat.

“Take me outside,” he demanded.

“No,” Sirus snapped back. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“Well, this is a very nice floor it would be a shame if someone threw up on it,” Regulus snapped back. Sirius stared at him apprehensively, and Regulus bowed his head and dramatized a gag to prove his point.

“Nice try, you’re still a shit liar.”

“You’re really willing to risk getting beat because you’re too stubborn to admit that you know nothing about me anymore?” Regulus asked. It didn’t take much to get beaten, and their mother was a stickler for cleanliness. It was the one thing in the house she could manage without their father, and a single speck of dirt was ground for any number of violent punishments. Regulus might have been severely drunk and a glutton for punishment, but his stubbornness wasn’t worth bleeding for.

Sirus looked at him earnestly. Regulsu wasn’t met with the anger he was accustomed to, or the fear he was expecting, but a look of softness. An expression that looked strange on his face. His brother grabbed him by his shoulders and stared into his eyes.

“Nobody is going to hit you here, that I mean. If you never listen to another word I say, listen to that!”

The feeling hit Regulus at once, knocking him like a wave. His body felt unstable and heavy, stacked over feet that were made of jello. His stomach roiled at Sirus’ words. He was inclined not to believe his brother, but he spoke with an earnestness that made his lungs expand so rapidly they hit his ribcage uncomfortably.

Loud feet paraded down the stairs.

“What is all this- WHO THE HELL IS THAT?”

“Sorry, Lou, I know it’s late, but it’s a long fucking story,” Sirus said, dismissing the concerned man on the stairs with a hand wave. “I should have woken you, I’m sorry.”

“Holy shit… is that?”

“Yeah, it’s Reggie, he finally fuckened called me.”

Regulsu spared a look at the man on the stairs, desperate to see the man that his brother had abandoned him for. At the foot of the stairs stood a hunched-over man in pajamas too short and mismatched socks. He was still hastily shrugging on a t-shirt. His short hair was a curly mess sitting on his skull, and even in the limited light, Regulus could make out the ghost of freckles.

Reglus felt his stomach flip violently in his chest and doubled over. A desperate hand clamped over his mouth, but that didn’t stop the vomit that was rising in his throat and spilled out of his mouth. He gagged violently, sending another wave into his mouth, and all of it on the floor in the space between his feet.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” Sirus said flatly. Regulus opened his mouth to force out another quiet apology, but more vomit fell out of his mouth. “Jesus, Reggie, how much did you drink?”

“I don’t know,” he slurred. He had much more to say, but was worried the more he opened his mouth, the more he would have an excuse to vomit. Sirus said nobody would punish him, but he doubted the owner of the very nice house he stepped into would be so gracious.

He looked around the room with hazy vision, trying to piece together his surroundings, but struggled to see anything but his brother- who was looking at him with such pity he fought the urge to vomit again. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another man bounding down the stairs.

“Why is everyone yelling?” someone exclaimed. “What the hell? Who the hell is that?” the voice exclaimed indignantly.

“Sorry, James,” Sirus said quietly. He sandwiched Regulus's cheeks between his hands. “It’s been a night.”

“Yeah, I figured. Why is everyone yelling? And who is the very drunk man throwing up on my floor?” Regulus heard the sound of more footsteps stomping down the stairs, before two feet landed at the bottom angrily. “Oh my god, is that?”

He spared a look at all three of them. It was hard to ignore Sirus, who still looked as he did all those years ago, wearing the same pitiful smile he couldn’t seem to get rid of. At the foot of the stairs stood a man in flannel pants and a faded band t-shirt that was so distracting it made his arms look bigger than Regulus thought they could be from photographs, adjusting a pair of thin wire glasses on the tip of his nose. Regulus recognized him from a blurry photo Sirius left behind. Leaning on the banister, with his arms folded over his chest, looking exactly like the man Sirus spent years fawning over. With the same reproachful eyes and bemused smile. Regulus stared hard at both of them, trying to figure out what was so special about them, but came up short.

“Yeah” Regulus slurred. He forced himself to stand upright. “It’s me, the prodigal son,” he said. “Apparently,” he added. “I’m very pleased to meet the both of you, I’m just wondering which one you are?” he said, pointing to the man at the base of the stairs.

“Regulus-” Sirus stared.

“I’m James,” James said, pointing to himself, then to the man still leaning on the banister.” And that's Remus Lupin. This is my parents' house… well, my house now, but it’s my parents' house.”

A smile cracked on Regulus' face, the mood in the room immediately sobering. “No, I was unclear, let me rephrase, which one of you is he fucking?”

“Regulus?” Sirius said, shocked.

“Oh, please, Sirus, it’s been a while, but I know you, we were brothers after all,” he said. He folded his arms behind his back and strolled to the banister, forcing each foot carefully on the ground, hoping not to appear drunk. “Back when that word meant something. Let me guess, it’s the tall one,” he said. “My brother has a type,” he whispered. He turned his attention to James. “Not you, you’re too… well,” he shrugged. “Look at you. Remus on the other hand, did I get you’re name right, well, Remus is tall and skinny, and has all that great. Let me guess, you’re a writer, you write about all your sad tragedies and doomed life… or whatever, but I still can’t figure it out?”

“Figure out what?” James said.

“What you have that was worth leaving me for?” he blurted out harshly. “My brother might be a filthy heathen, but I never really thought it would be a penis that did it. I mea,n Christ, I hope it was worth it.”

“Reggie, come on.”

He turned suddenly on his heel,s and the room spun around him, but he kept himself steady.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. Only my brother can call me that, and you are not my brother anymore, and I’m not nine and pathetic anymore. You might be 23 but you are still a goddamn coward. Father was wrong about a lot, but he was right about you-”

“Shut up,” Sirus seethed.

“Or what?” he asked. He forced a smile on his face that only a fool would mistake for joy. “You’ll hit me? Do it, I fucking dare, prove daddy right, prove to him that man he knew you to be.”

“You know you sound just like him?” Sirus said bluntly.

“I am well aware of what I sound like,” Regulus said. The collar of his shirt felt unnaturally tight on his neck. He tried hard to be a good man, and as far as Regulus was concerned that was the exact opposite of his parents.

“That doesn’t bother you?” Sirus asked, guilefully, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I’ll add it to the list of things to cry about later, but since we're on the subject-”

“Hey,” James shouted. “Knock it off the both of you-”

“He’s drunk and belligerent,” Sirius said, pointing an accusatory finger.

“At least I have an excuse,” Regulus bit back before he had a mind to stop himself. “And just to be clear if you compare me to that man ever again, it will be the last thing you do.”

The room fell darkly silent. Sirius' eyes turned into saucers as he took an apprehensive step back from him. His lips split open in a nervous smile.

“Reggie, you’re scaring me,” he said sadly. In the dim lighting, he looked like a frightened child. It was the look in Sirius's eyes that shifted the world into devastating clarity, as he was shifted back in time when they were both only boys. It was the first- but not the last- time they saw a dying man, and the brothers watched through their fingers as their father took a man apart on their pool table. At the time, Sirius tried his best to be strong, but the screams melted his resolve, and Regulus couldn’t get past the fact that a person could bleed so much and still be alive, and was strangely fascinated by the way their father methodically took the man apart once he finally died. Regulus would never forget the sounds of the man screaming, and he would never get over the fear in his brother's features.

He looked down at his own hands, surprised there was no blood on them, and snapped back to reality. His hands were pale and shaky from the cold, and he was so upset he felt his face was already blue. He brought his hands to his face, hoping to rub warmth back into his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “ I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I know.”

The weight of the world collapsed down on his shoulders, and he let the weight take him to the ground with little resistance. He grabbed at his neck, hoping to find what was taking all of his air, but only grabbed at the fragile, sensitive skin on his throat. Despite the pain, he couldn’t help but tug, reopening a painful feeling he choked on. The room loped around him, and he let his eyes shut, falling into the darkness that overtook the rest of him. He knew what dying felt like and leaned into the feeling, hoping this time it stuck.

Chapter Text

Regulus woke with a stabbing pain in his head and a dull ache in his chest. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, but it was awful all the same. He’d definitely overdone it at the many bars he’d slugged through, but the temporary relief had been worth it when he felt like he was drowning in a lake he’d dug himself. His body ached, his throat felt scraped raw, and in his hungover delirium it took him far too long to remember what had happened.

His conversation with Sirius had left much to be desired. While he could have said worse, he didn’t believe he had kinder words in him—especially when bogged down by liquor. It took two tries before he could focus his eyes, and in the hazy light, he could barely make out an unfamiliar ceiling. Despite only a few years in his shitty apartment, he’d spent too many long nights and longer mornings staring at that ceiling, and the one above him now was distinctly unfamiliar. The last thing he could remember was being carried, and while he assumed he’d been tossed into a taxi and carted off, he pieced together that someone had stashed him away in someone else’s bedroom.

He pushed himself out of bed and instantly regretted it, as a wave of nausea threatened to keep him down. He sucked in a slow breath, taking stock of his aching joints before standing more carefully than he liked. He wasn’t sure whose room he was in, what time it was, or what his plan for the rest of the day would be. There was only one thought pounding through his aching head: he needed to get out of the house.

He doubted escaping would be anywhere near as treacherous as his flight from Grimmauld Place, but he didn’t care for the eccentricities of it all. He was painfully familiar with being unwelcome, unwanted, and unsafe in a house, and as far as he was concerned, he’d die before willingly putting himself in that position again. What he’d said to his brother had been cruel, and he expected retribution of the violent kind. Whatever Sirius planned to do, he didn’t care to stick around to find out.

He toed into the shoes left by the door and slipped down the hall, following the thin strip of carpeting toward the stairs. He tiptoed down, wincing at every creak that threatened to give him away. He’d known every groaning step in that treacherous mansion he once called home, but here he felt thoroughly unmoored in a way that was nauseating, though that might’ve just been the hangover and the remaining liquor threatening to make another appearance.

As hostile as Grimmauld Place had been, at least it was familiar, and he’d had the benefit of being on his own turf. He knew what to expect and from whom. His mother and father were both various shades of violent, and there house elf Kreacher could not be trusted to keep a secret of any sort. While his mother relied on the subtle cruelty, of a small slice or pinching the back of his neck, his father could always be counted to leave handprints around his neck or bruises on his skin. His brother was always reliably rebellious and could be counted on to do the unexpected, but he gave up on his older brother years ago. Wherever he was now, he thought, once he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he’d have to find the front door and leave as soon as possible.

At the foot of the stairs, he turned left, hoping it would lead him toward an exit. Even if it didn’t, maybe he’d find a back door or a garage, anything that got him out without fanfare. But by the time he stepped into the living room, it was too late to turn back. A face greeted him with open confusion. He froze, trying to place a name to it, but came up short. He opened his mouth to lie, but fear swelled in his throat, leaving him speechless.

“Oh, hi!” the man said with a wave. “I was just about to check on you. I’ve got aspirin, the headache’s gotta be killer,” he added, shoving a bottle of pills into Regulus’s arm, followed quickly by a bottle of water he’d pulled from under his armpit.

“Which one are you?” Regulus managed.

“I’m James,” he said earnestly, waving again.

“You look too happy to be sleeping with him,” Regulus said before he could stop himself.

“Right, well, we’re just roommates,” James replied, a touch of good humor in his tone.

“Well,” Regulus said, studying him. He had kind eyes and expressive brows that betrayed the curiosity in his voice. Freckles stood out in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “James, who’s just the roommate, can you tell me where the nearest door is or shall I just find it myself?”

“You don’t want to stay? Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I would rather-” He stopped himself before a string of rude words spilled out. There was a long list of things he’d rather do than sit at a table with any of his brother’s friends. “I’d rather not,” he finally finished. “Door?”

“Listen, Regulus,” James said plainly, “I know you don’t want to be here, but you are. And now that he knows you’re here, he’s not gonna let it go. This will be much easier for both of you, because if it comes down to it, he will hunt you down.”

Regulus shoved the pills back at his chest in frustration. He didn’t need the fake kindness or cheap hospitality, and as much as it felt like someone was tightening their hands around his throat, he could admit James was right. If he left now, Sirius would never let him go, no matter how much Regulus begged or pleaded or ran in the other direction. If Sirius was as regretful as he claimed, Regulus would never be left alone again. Better rip the band-aid off of an uncomfortable conversation now than have Sirius looming over his life for the foreseeable future.

“Do you have coffee?” Regulus asked, pathetically.

James lifted his brows in surprise, set the pills and water bottle on a nearby table, and clapped his hands together loudly with excitement.

“Of course I have coffee!”