a great, big tragedy

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/41705946.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Major Character Death
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Characters: Regulus Black, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin
Additional Tags: Set in Crimson Rivers Universe, the CRU if you will, not me cracking
jokes on a mcd fic, shut up im nervous, anyway, MAJOR CHARACTER
DEATH!!! PEOPLE WILL DIE!!!, just getting that out there pls dont
read this if you dont want to see your faves die, Angst, blood mentions,
Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Depictions of depression,
technically a sacrificial suicide??? you know what you're getting into,
one mention of a needle being used to sedate someone, mentions of
torture (not described in detail), mentions of dissociative amnesia (not
described in detail), reuinons, a bit of humor, believe it or not there's
actually some happy in this ending, you will cry about a hat be warned,
Do Not Re-upload or Repost Anywhere
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Crimson Rivers Universe
Stats: Published: 2022-09-14 Words: 13,440 Chapters: 1/1
 a great, big tragedy
by bizarrestars

Summary

The Trojan War lasted for ten years.

(divergence from Crimson Rivers chapters 24/25, preferably read after those chapters, and
especially if you've read to chapter 31)

Notes

okay so.

this fic is basically a divergence from my other fic, crimson rivers, from chapter 24/25. you
absolutely do need to read it, if you're reading this. at least up until that point, and then you
can come back here.

it's basically the concept that i originally had for crimson rivers, in which regulus would die
in the hunger games. i trashed that concept and reworked it because i didn't want to write
MCD.

look at me now.

no, hear me out, okay? im a HUGE softie, and i really believed i wouldn't be able to write a
major character death fic. i cherish my happy endings, leave me alone.

so, writing this idea out actually gave me the space to try my hand at MCD to see if i could
do it, while giving me the safety net of, like, not having it feel as damning and final because
crimson rivers is still on-going and will have a happy ending. i wanted to spread my little
writer wings and see if this was something i could do, or liked, and let's just say...

well. WELL, to put it plainly, i have not slept in over 24 hours, i wrote this in LESS than 24
hours, delirious and and running on the fuel of pure angst. i cried. i felt like a god. i am
changed as a person and now in full support of myself writing MCD. will i do it again?
maybe. can't say for sure. but i now know that it's a possibility, and something i might want to
do.

to be clear, crimson rivers is still the same. there will be no MCD in that fic. the same rules
apply. everyone who gets a POV will live, and that will NOT change.
 those rules do not apply here. if someone gets a POV, they can die. regulus, for example, gets
POVs, and he dies.

now, MCD is not for everyone, and that's okay! absolutely do not read it, if you don't want to
see your faves die! just don't read it if you don't want to/can't! you are so, so valid for that <3

also, another note: this is DIVERGENCE from crimson rivers, which means everything that
happens in here doesn't happen in crimson rivers. it's entirely separate. it also contains no
spoilers, because it completely deviates from chapter 24/25 of crimson rivers and goes in an
entirely different direction.

think of it like a parallel universe. a different life. one that's not actually real and never
actually happens. it helps!

you may note that i put a few different snippets from chapter 25 in here, particularly in the
beginning. yes, that was done on purpose!

right, please please please check the tags!!! this fic is honestly brutal and quite literally one of
the worst things ive ever written.

general warning list:

-sacrificial suicide
-depictions of blood/injures
-one mention of a needle being used to sedate someone
-disociative amnesia (not in detail)
-depictions of violence
-mention of torture (brief, vague, and not in detail, literally just one sentence)
-references to past deaths (in crimson rivers)
-one very brief scene with sexual content/implications, but it's not explicit
-grief
-angst
-DEATH. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!!! YOUR FAVES WILL DIE. I AM TELLING
YOU THEY WILL DIE.

check the end notes for the warnings for death, if you need it, which is so valid!!!

EDIT: [please do not post my works on any other platform, or any other format. do not create
typesets for people to download and use to bookbind through profit means; do not put my
works anywhere near websites such as amazon, lulu, or etsy; do not put my works on
goodreads or wattpad. any and all pre-existing translations/podfics are only acceptable on ao3
with proper credits, and im asking now that there aren't more made in the future]

See the end of the work for more notes

The Trojan War lasted for ten years.

Regulus supposes there's something fitting about that, something almost fated, a ten year
battle that neither side could win because they were too evenly matched. And then the Trojan
Horse. The turning tide of the war.

Regulus was always fascinated by the Trojan Horse used to enter Troy. It struck him, the
brilliance of hiding something within something else, because no one saw it coming, no one
could have predicted it, and it was fool-proof. It influenced him so much that when life
waged a war on him at fifteen, he thought to turn himself into that Trojan Horse.

When Regulus hid, he hid within himself. He folded himself down and retreated just like the
Greeks, waiting and waiting for the cover of night to return, but it never seemed to come. He
thought—he always thought he was stowed away, just awaiting the moment it was time to
destroy Troy.

It's some kind of cruel irony to realize that, in truth, Regulus was never the Trojan Horse.

Regulus is Troy. He's always been Troy, because the real Trojan Horse, this whole time, was
love.

Regulus, without even knowing it, hid his love within his hatred, and no different from the
Trojans, he pulled the wooden horse of his hatred in like a trophy. After a fruitless ten-year
long siege, night has fallen, and the time to destroy Troy has come.

James gazes at him, gently, with unbridled affection. Fondness. A selfless adoration. A tender
devotion. Regulus knows that James has feelings for him—that has been made quite obvious
to him by now—but the magnitude of his feelings have never shined brighter than when he's
bleeding out. Blood is messy. It stains you and whoever dares to come in contact with it.

It's a lot like love that way.

"Did you know that I loved you?" James whispers, his hand coming up, knuckles gently
brushing over Regulus' cheek.

Regulus feels the words catch on the inside of him, like a knife, like maybe he was the one
who was stabbed by Axus, by his own blade. It's the past tense that gets Regulus. Loved. As
if that's done. As if that goes away, fades, vanishes when James' heart gives its last beat. But
it doesn't. It won't.

James' love will scald him for a long time after he's gone. It will erode into his skin and eat
through tissue and bone like acid. He will rot with it.

Hands shaking, Regulus reaches up to cup James' cheeks and leans in to brush a gentle kiss to
his mouth. It's soft, and James smiles when Regulus draws away.

"I loved you, too, when I was young," Regulus murmurs, and James' face softens, like
hearing that is enough for him, like knowing that there was a point in time where Regulus
loved him is all he needs. "James, I love you still."

"Are you saying that because I'm dying?" James asks, studying his eyes, a cautious sort of
hope reflected in his own gaze.

"I'm saying that, because it's true," Regulus admits, and James' eyes light up, his breath
hitching. He looks so happy. So unbearably happy. Regulus means it, because it's the truth,
and he's only just now realized it.

James is dying, and Regulus hates and loves him, because they were always one in the same.
This whole time—not for five years, not for ten, but for fifteen—it's been the same. I hate
you, he says. I love you, he means. I love you, he feels. I hate you, he knows. Ouroboros.
Around and around, but the cycle is made of the same from beginning to end.

"I'm going to die happy, knowing that," James breathes out, choking out an exhilarated laugh,
fingers flexing on Regulus' arm as he tugs on him a little. Shamelessly asking for one last
kiss. Regulus gives it to him. When they break apart, James whispers, "Thank you."

"James," Regulus croaks, his whole body starting to shake as he watches James drop his hand
to his pocket, bloodied fingers withdrawing the vial of Vespa's venom.

"You're almost home, love," James tells him, giving him a wobbly smile. "So close now. I
just… I'm really tired, and it hurts, but I'd—I would never ask you to speed up the process for
me. I'll handle it, alright? You don't have to worry about a thing. Just stay with me, that's all I
ask."

And, the thing is, the absolute mad thing is, Regulus actually thinks he'll be able to do it. So,
he nods. He sits right there next to James and holds his hand. He sits right there, madly and
desperately in love, and actually believes he's going to be capable of losing James. He is still,
after all this time, a fool.

James exhales shakily and flicks the stopper out of the vial, eyes slipping shut as he brings it
to his mouth. Regulus sees it, and his heart fucking riots. His stomach lurches, every single
cell in his body screaming out in protest, because he can't. He can't do it. Please don't make
him do it. He won't do it.

Without even really deciding to, Regulus' hand snaps out to grab the vial, and he plucks it
right out of James' fingers before he can turn it up. In the next second, Regulus flings the vial
away with such force that it goes across the river, landing on the other side. James blinks at
him.

Regulus isn't sure what happens to him, all he knows is that he's suddenly crying so hard that
he can barely breathe, his shoulders heaving; his chest is caving in, surely. "No, I'm—I'm
sorry, just—not yet, please not yet, James, please—"

"Okay, hey, okay," James says quickly, sounding alarmed, his eyes wide as he reaches out to
tug Regulus close to him. He cups the back of his neck, squeezing it. "That's okay, Reg. The
slow way, then."
"I'm sorry," Regulus chokes out, because it's immeasurably selfish of him to demand James
to suffer the pain of a slow, aching death simply because Regulus hasn't come to terms with
living without him yet. He hasn't figured out how he's going to do it. He needs more time.

"It's alright, shh," James soothes him, sweeping his hand up and down Regulus' back. He's
the one dying, and yet here he is, comforting Regulus. "I don't mind, really. I get more time
with you, don't I? Come here."

"No, no, no," Regulus moans pitifully, his shoulders heaving as he starts crying in earnest. He
folds forward and buries his face into James' shoulder, but only for a few moments. A few
breaths. He gasps out a sob, then swallows it as he lifts his head and gazes at James. "I can't
do it. Don't do this to me. Please don't do this to me, baby."

"I'm sorry," James whispers, his eyes sad. "I really am, Reg."

It's hitting Regulus now, fully, all at once—and he's not taking it well. Not even slightly. He
realizes suddenly that he's not going to figure out how to live without James; he'll never be
ready to lose him; he's always going to want more time.

They didn't get enough time, and they'll never get more, but it comes down to who will have
to suffer time without the other alongside them. Regulus doesn't want it to be him. James has
Sirius; he has his parents; he's so strong, so brave, so willing to try. He's fit for survival,
because it's not just about who will live on; it's about who can have a life without the other.

Regulus can't. He refuses to.

Exhaling, Regulus sets his shoulders, feeling his resolve harden within him like iron infusing
with his bones. He studies James' face for a long, long moment and reaches the conclusion he
was barreling towards at full speed anyway, the conclusion that's been building within him
since they entered this fucking hopeless, hapless arena.

Regulus doesn't want to go home without James. He's not sure if home exists at all without
James. Ironic, isn't it? He said he'd do anything to make it back home, and he's had home
with him this entire time. Just failed to realize it, until it's too late for it to matter. Always so
close, but never close enough.

"I love you. I've always loved you, James. I always will," Regulus murmurs, dropping his
hand to the ground, patting around slowly as a lump forms in his throat. His heart is pounding
in his chest, hard. "Don't forget that."

"I love you, too," James says earnestly, his eyes shining, a mixture of pain and joy.

Regulus gives him a trembling smile and reaches out to catch his hand, lifting it up above
their heads as he rocks forward to give James a slow kiss. Soft. Caring. Loving. James melts
into it, and it's easy. It's so easy to break his heart. Just one simple click of the handcuffs from
Regulus' bag locking around the pole and James' wrist, keeping him tethered there.

It's that easy.

Slowly, Regulus pulls away from the kiss to see the confusion on James' face, his own heart
clenching violently in his chest. "It's okay, baby. Everything is going to be okay."

"What are you doing?" James whispers, wary already.

"Sirius needs you, James," Regulus whispers back.

James eyes' widen. "Wait. No, stop. He needs you, too. Don't you dare. He—he needs—"

"He needed more than me," Regulus says softly, and he gives a gentle shrug. "He always has.
He needs you."

"Regulus—"
"Hold onto my hat for me, okay?"

"Regulus," James bursts out, scrambling forward as far as he can go the moment that Regulus
rips himself backwards. "Stop, get back here. Don't—please don't. Please just—just wait,
alright? I'll—I'll never forgive you. I'll never recover, okay? So, please—I'm begging you,
just please stop."

"Even if you hate me, you'll still love me," Regulus tells him, lips curling up sadly. "Trust
me, I know all about that."

James releases a choked noise, folding over a little bit like the words are a physical blow. He
stumbles against the ground from where he's trying desperately to yank his hand free from
the handcuffs, to no avail. He groans through his pain and whines with his fear, and Regulus
has no pain and feels no fear, because acceptance is easier when it's driven by love.

Regulus stops at the edge of the crimson river. "If I'm lucky, James, maybe I'll have a slice of
paradise waiting for me. If I do, then you know where I'm going. However long it takes, I'll
be there when it's time for you to come; we'll dance, and we'll laugh, and none of this will
even matter. The other life where we're not a great, big tragedy—that's where I'll be waiting
for you, baby."

"Please," James begs, and it's a mere breath, almost lost to the wind because it's so soft and
feeble. He shakes his head, tears steadily building up and spilling down his cheeks. "Please
don't leave me."

"I'm sorry," is all Regulus can think to say in his last moments, because he is. He's so, so
sorry about so many things, and it's too late for him to do anything about it. So close, and as
always, never close enough. He's sorry that Sirius has to see him die, after losing so much of
himself to do everything he could to keep him alive. He's sorry he was too lost and too
fucked up to even realize what he wanted, let alone let himself have it. He's sorry he didn't
climb higher; he's sorry he never looked inside the wooden horse; he's sorry he's Troy. He's
drowning in his regrets before he ever hits the water.

It's easy, somehow, to give himself over to gravity, relaxing back into the freefall. He hears
James yell, calling out his name in frenzied desperation, and it's the last thing he hears before
he hits the water with a splash. The crimson river welcomes him like it was waiting; it
welcomes him with cold, clawed hands that drag him deeper beneath the surface.

Regulus realizes very quickly why it only takes two minutes for those in the crimson river to
die—because it's not just the drowning one has to worry about. It's also the hands yanking at
him, claws dipping in deep and ripping at his skin, trying to pull him apart. They're relentless,
ruthless, and he can't stop himself from opening his mouth to scream underwater, lungs
protesting and pain exploding in every limb. Except it's not water, it's blood, and it's thick in
his mouth as he swallows it and swallows it, instinctively trying to survive even now, just as
he has been this entire time. There are hands raking at his chest, one pushing in like it's trying
to get to his heart and snatch it right out like a trophy—and that's exactly what it's doing, he
realizes. And that's how he will die. Heartless.

No one can hear him beneath the surface, but his muffled, water-logged screams take the
shape of a name. In his panic, in his haze of pain, it's Sirius he instinctively calls for.

It's the last name he'll ever speak.

~•~

"Please, please, please," James begs, ripping at the grass, nails digging into the dirt as the
world tilts around him, his breath punching out of him as he tries desperately to claw his way
forward. "Please not him. Please. Let it be me. Just let it be me. I'll—it can be me, okay?
Please? Please give him back to me."

Nothing.

Just silence.

The river is still. Regulus had been dragged under instantly, no different than Hodge, or
Bernice, or Peter. One second, he was there; the next, he was gone.
James' mind races, frantic, but he doesn't have anything. He doesn't—he can't find anything
to do, or use, or say. As much as he pleads, no one answers him, and Regulus is still gone.

His dagger. Regulus' dagger. James can see it where Regulus dropped it earlier, refusing to
kill him, and he can see that it's very out of reach. He still tries to get to it anyway, stretching
so far that it hurts, gagging and choking on his own sobs, and there's—nothing. Just nothing.

The silence is so loud that James screams to break it, his frustration and fury and fear
reaching a peak until he's curling forward and screaming until his throat is raw.

"Please," James begs, his voice hoarse, right back to bargaining because that's all he can do.
"Please, please bring him back. I'll do anything. Please just—"

Boom!

James flinches at the sound of the cannon, his whole body locking up as his gaze snaps to the
water.

In the beginning, James thought there would be some sort of fundamental shift in the world if
Regulus died. He thought that he'd just—know. He thought he'd feel it, somehow.

In reality, James doesn't believe it, because he's still here. How is it possible that Regulus is
gone, if James is still here? Still dragging one breath in right after another, still bleeding as if
he has any life to give, heart still beating as if it wouldn't have been ripped from his chest the
moment Regulus' stopped.

It's a trick, clearly. That's all it can be. Regulus is alive. Of course he is. Anything else is
unfathomable to James, and he doesn't know how Regulus managed it, but he's alive in that
river. James can still—he can still save him.

"Congratulations," comes the cheerful voice of Slughorn. "May I present the Victor of the
84th hunger games!"
"No!" James snarls, shouting it at the sky. "You're wrong. He's still in there. He's still—"

There's a gentle splash, the light sounds of waves lapping at the shore, and James' breath
catches in his throat the moment he sees the form bobbing in the river, floating there. There's
a flash of dark hair. Pale skin. Torn clothes.

James makes a choked sound and stumbles forward, wheezing out a harsh breath as his vision
blurs, and there's a sudden give on his arm that makes him trip slightly. His arm drops, and he
glances back to see the pole has been erased entirely, no doubt the gamemakers' doing, but he
doesn't care. The moment he has his freedom, he uses it.

Seconds later, James is colliding to his knees on the bank of the river, wading into the water a
little bit carelessly, but no hands grab him. Nothing happens at all. The arena is eerily silent,
no birds chirping, nothing but the sound of James panting as he drags Regulus out of the
river, up onto the bank, slipping and gripping at him desperately.

"Reg?" James chokes out, his hands trembling as they tug Regulus over so he's splayed out
on his back, the motion easy with how slack Regulus is.

Regulus' eyes are open.

He's not looking at anything.

"Love?" James whispers, like maybe Regulus will blink, and his eyes will snap to James', full
of life.

They don't. They remain open and glazed.

Dead.
James presses his lips together and tries his best to lock in the whimper that builds in his
throat, brittle on his tongue, and he can feel the way his chin wobbles as his eyes sting.

It's like something in him was just ruthlessly severed. Snipped away. Broken off and left to
wither. He can feel where it carves into him, a horrible and undeniable reality, proof right
there in front of his eyes. Something in him is gone, lost forever, taken away from him. He
will never get it back.

There's a moment before James sees it, and he'll never be the person he was before that
moment passed, before his gaze trails down Regulus' chest and catches sight of the gaping
hole where his heart should be. It's gone.

His heart was ripped out.

So many things pass through James' mind in that moment. Mad things. Horrific things.
Desperate things. The thought that he'll just take his heart from his chest and give it to
Regulus, because he always had it anyway. The thought that he'll dive into the river and
drown before ever resurfacing without retrieving Regulus' heart, because James wants it, and
he wants to take care of it. He always wanted that.

James breaks. Wholly and completely. He doesn't mean to, because giving into it means
admitting it, means believing it, and some part of him had been fighting not to. But he can't
help it. Can't do anything but shakily cover the grotesque open wound of Regulus' chest with
his hand.

Slowly, carefully, James drags Regulus closer, pulling him further into his lap. He brushes
shaking fingers through his hair, tugging at the wet clumps. He's gentle when he wipes the
smears of blood off his neck with the cuff of his sleeve, and then he dips in and presses his
forehead to Regulus'. It's cold.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Breathes. Feels his eyes itch and prickle. Lets the tears fall.
Doesn't move.

Stays there.
Stays.

~•~

Sirius doesn't know he's slamming his hand into the side of his head—trying to forget,
begging his memory to fail now, wanting it more than he ever has—not even aware of the
action until Remus collapses on the floor next to him to yank his hand away. Arms wrap
around him, holding him in place as he folds forward into the crook of Remus' elbow, trying
to spill out of his arms, trying to crawl away, like he can physically escape the grief if he just
moves.

"My brother, he's my brother," Sirius chokes out, desperate for someone to understand,
needing someone—needing the entire world—to grasp how fucking devastating this is. If
they realized, if the universe understood, maybe someone or something would make it stop.

"Okay, okay, hey, I know," Remus whispers, hauling him a little bit, holding him.

"We—we didn't—we never even got to—" Sirius cuts himself off with a small sound, weak
and helpless. They didn't get to fix it; they didn't have enough time. Sirius never got to tell
him that he loves him.

Sirius is still desperately trying to hold onto Regulus, but he can't reach him from here. He
still tries. Crying, repeating Regulus' name over and over, he tries so hard to keep him.

But there's nothing to keep.

Hands tug at him, and Remus is hissing in his ear, sounding strangled, "Sweetheart, you have
to stop. You're hurting yourself. You can't—I'm sorry, but—"
"Get off!" Sirius snarls, jerking away. He crawls forward on shaking hands, scrambling to
grab onto anything, except there's nothing. There's just him, left in a world where his brother
is dead, and he hears a sound of grief so heavy that his heart breaks for whoever made it.
Until it cracks in his throat, he has no idea that it's him.

Remus' arms haul him up, ignoring how he struggles, dragging him back into his lap. Sirius
slumps right where he is and curls in on himself, tucking up against Remus chest, clinging to
his shirt and burying his face in the fabric.

It does very little to muffle the sound of his sobs.

~•~

They have to lift James out by the coffin-cage crane, because he refuses to let go of Regulus'
body. He'd bleed out there if they didn't, so he's scooped up along with him. James barely
even feels the shift, barely feels anything.

To get him to let go of Regulus at all, they have to sedate him on the heli-carrier. Despite
being wounded and suffering severe blood loss, he still fights off three people who get too
close to Regulus, and it takes the combination of five people altogether to jam a needle into
his neck that has him growing woozy, the world swirling away from him, making him
stumble over to Regulus, making it in just enough time to slump against him as he passes
out.

When James wakes again, Regulus is gone.

There are nurses there, explaining that he's had surgery, and his leg is injured to the point that
he'll need a cane. He lays there and doesn't move, doesn't speak, doesn't do anything as they
check his stomach and his leg. They talk to him, but he doesn't listen. He doesn't care.

People come and go. Maybe James sleeps, maybe he doesn't. He isn't sure. Everything has a
strange, fuzzy quality to it, like it's all coming from far away, happening to someone else.
He's not even here.
He's in the bottom of a crimson river, with Regulus' heart.

There is no warning for Sirius' arrival. Or maybe there is. Maybe someone told him, but he
just couldn't hear it over the sound of rushing water in his ears. Either way, he isn't prepared.
Suddenly, Sirius is there.

Just there.

Right there.

He stands at the end of James' bed, not speaking. He's very, very pale. Silent. Motionless. His
eyes—

Sirius and Regulus have always had very similar eyes. Same shape, same color, just used
differently. James has never gotten them mixed up, and he doesn't now. He just looks into
Sirius' eyes and hates the sight of them. Hates them even more for how hollow they are now.
Empty. An inner-light extinguished.

Slowly, as if it hurts to move, Sirius walks around the edge of the bed and settles down in a
chair next to it. He doesn't speak. Doesn't say a word.

James turns his head away and resumes drowning.

~•~

Sirius shakily pulls the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling a cloud of smoke, watching it drift
over the balcony railing. He thinks he gets it now, why Regulus liked it out here so much.
You can see everything, and also nothing at all. It's a good place to feel everything, and
nothing at all, too.

The door creaks open, and Sirius' head whips around, instantly defensive of this space. It's
Regulus' space. He doesn't want anyone here. Remus seems to sense that, or maybe he just
sees it in Sirius' blazing eyes, because he freezes in the doorway. He doesn't move forward,
which is for the best.

"What?" Sirius asks, his voice dull. "James?"

"No, he's… Pandora just checked on him. He's—fine," Remus murmurs, his throat visibly
bobbing.

James is not fine. James is a ghost, barely even here, barely even real. He moves when
someone guides him, eats mechanically when someone watches him, and that's it. He doesn't
speak. He doesn't emote. He doesn't do anything.

Sirius can barely stomach the sight of him.

Remus releases a shuddering breath and rasps, "I—have to go back to my cell. I'll see you in
the morning."

Sirius just nods, turning to gaze back out over the balcony. The door shuts again, and Sirius
continues to smoke.

~•~

"We are so, so sorry for your loss, James," Rita says softly, reaching out to cover his folded
hands with her own. "It was just tragic watching you lose the man you love."

The room is quiet.

James looks at Rita's fingers. He could break them. The last person who touched his hands
was Regulus. He doesn't do it, though. He doesn't do anything.

Rita clears her throat and draws her hand back. "Ah, why don't we—let's discuss your time in
the arena, yes?"

James doesn't respond.

"James?"

James doesn't respond.

"Oh, you poor thing. You miss him terribly, don't you?"

James doesn't respond.

"Right," Rita says, her voice strained. She glances out at the crowd, the room thick with a
heavy layer of discomfort. She looks lost, like she isn't sure what to do. The only thing she
can do is try. "Maybe you'd like to talk about Regulus, then? The fact that he loved you,
perhaps? What about you, James? Will you ever find it in yourself to love again?"

James doesn't respond. Unlike Rita, James is no longer trying. He can't. He's too busy
drowning.

He's just drowning.

~•~
Remus knows Sirius is lost to him. Sirius is lost to everyone.

He's not angry. Of course he's not. He knew from the very beginning that losing either James
or Regulus would ruin Sirius, and it has. Remus can't take care of him anymore. It's not
something Sirius would be able to accept, or even register, not for a long time. Remus doesn't
have the time he needs to be there for Sirius, and this is it.

Sirius has spent all his free time out on Regulus' balcony. He doesn't come in to eat. He
doesn't come in to see Pandora, or Remus, or even James. Not that James cares to see anyone
at all. He's… He's a shell right now. Hollowed out. An outline of James Potter, the same face
and the same body, but that's all.

The interview with James hadn't gone well. He'd just sat on the stage without speaking, or
moving, staring at nothing. He never once answered a question. Rita had eventually cut the
interview short, and that had been that.

Right now, Sirius and James are two broken, jagged pieces that don't fit together, or fit
anywhere. Regulus is the missing piece that could have saved them from this fate, could have
let them all click into place, but he didn't make it.

Pandora has been a wreck, drifting through the halls, weeping quietly behind closed doors.
Remus cleans a lot, cooks food no one really eats, does laundry just to keep his hands busy.

On the last morning, Remus waits with some sort of helpless hope that Sirius will come to
him, but he doesn't. He remains on that balcony, right up until the time Pandora goes to
collect him and James so they can go.

With not much else to do, Remus goes to stand near a wall, like a shadow, and blinks against
the stinging heat in his eyes as he clips his mask onto his face.

Sirius drifts through the room with James, there but not, and Remus watches them go. The
door opens, then shuts.
Sirius hadn't said goodbye.

~•~

"I have to admit, I was really hoping I wouldn't see you here like this, lover boy."

Regulus jolts, letting out a yelp as he blinks open his eyes and finds himself perched on a
branch, high in a tree, right next to Evan. He frantically grips the trunk between his thighs,
eyes bulging as he stares down at nothing. He can't see the ground.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Regulus whines. "Really? A tree?!"

Evan bursts out laughing.

~•~

James falls off the train when he arrives home. Stumbles off the step, can't get his footing,
and just collides on the platform. It hurts. He doesn't get up. He just lays there.

"James?"

It's the first time Sirius speaks to him, or maybe it is. James isn't sure. It's the first time he
registers it, in any case. He doesn't respond, too busy reaching out with his hand to gently
touch the dusting of snow on the ground.

A hand hesitantly presses into his arm, then gets a firm grip and helps haul him to his feet.
Sirius grunts, and James doesn't assist him very much. He nearly crumbles right back to the
ground, feeling wobbly from the inside out as he takes in the flurries of snow that drift down.
He remembers the snow in Regulus' hair.

He remembers the hole in Regulus' chest.

He remembers.

"Come on, I'll get you to your parents," Sirius says gruffly, holding him up until he can stand
on his own.

James does, eventually. Once he is, Sirius backs off. Doesn't touch him. Doesn't seem to want
to. James doesn't want Sirius to touch him either. Doesn't want to be touched at all.

They walk in silence.

James watches the snow.

When they reach the gate, Sirius presses the button and waits with him as it swings open.
Effie and Monty are there. They waste no time in rushing right for them, an incoming
collision that James barely even feels. They wrap their arms around him, around Sirius, and
he doesn't cry.

They wrap their arms around him, and he's still in the bottom of a crimson river.

Drowning.

Drowning.

Drowning.
 ~•~

"You know, after a while, it's not so bad," Regulus muses, kicking his legs back and forth on
either side of the branch.

"I told you," Evan declares triumphantly. "Didn't I say? It's actually really peaceful, yeah?"

Regulus hums and tips his head back to look up at the empty branch high above him, his
voice soft as he says, "It's a good place to wait."

~•~

James moves out of his parents' house.

Sirius doesn't.

It's not something anyone actually discusses, and it's not like it's planned. It just happens,
gradually. James was given a house, and since he can't go into his own room, he just goes to a
room that doesn't have a hat in the dresser drawer. His mum starts dropping off clothes for
him, and food, making sure he eats and showers. She doesn't make him talk. He wouldn't be
able to, if she tried. She doesn't touch him anymore, because he's now taken to flinching any
time someone starts to.

Sirius doesn't come around. James doesn't miss him. Doesn't think about him. Doesn't think
about anything, really. He lays in bed, mostly, letting his leg ache. Sometimes, that's the only
thing he can actually feel.

Weeks pass this way. Months, maybe. Could be years, for all he knows. It doesn't really
matter to him. Nothing does.
If he sleeps, he doesn't know it. There are no dreams. It upsets him sometimes, because he'd
give anything to see Regulus again, even just in his nightmares.

Everything is a haze.

One day, Sirius does show up. He looks different. James can't really place why, because he
hasn't changed his appearance, but there's some unfathomable, inexplicable differences in
who he is now anyway. He looks like a stranger. He looks like James' best friend. He looks
like Regulus.

"There's a gravesite," is all Sirius says, the words quiet.

James stares at him.

"Do you want to go?" Sirius asks, still so quiet. He sounds small. Shrunken in on himself.
Young.

"Yeah," James croaks, and he thinks it's the first time he's spoken since Regulus died, but he
can't be sure. All he knows is that it's difficult to speak when you're drowning. His words
warble in his throat, groggy and thick. "Yeah, I'd like to go."

It takes a while for them to get to the gravesite, because James hasn't been taking care of his
leg properly, so he relies on his cane—the one the Hallow made for him—to get there.

Regulus was buried out by the tallest tree in the district, on the edge of the mayor's property,
a special request that Sirius made that was actually granted. It's not right near the base, but it's
fairly close by. There's a headstone that displays his name, birthday, and the day he died.

"How long has it been?" James whispers.

"Two and half months," Sirius whispers back.

James closes his eyes, and drowns, and drowns, and drowns. It takes him a while to figure
out how to breathe again. When he opens his eyes, he looks at the cold marble and feels a
sharp pinch in his chest. He can't help but think it looks so bare.

So hollow.

~•~

"Who were you waiting for?" Regulus asks.

"You," Evan replies.

~•~

Sirius has lost a lot of time. A lot of memories and moments. Gone again. He doesn't really
come back to himself until he's back home. He doesn't remember if he said goodbye to
Remus.

He hopes he did.

It's strange living with Effie and Monty without James there. He feels like an imposter, like
an intruder, but he doesn't have anywhere else to go. Effie and Monty wouldn't let him leave
the first time he suggested going back to his old house, with his parents, as much as the
thought terrified him.

They said he could stay, so he did.

Without James, it doesn't really feel like home. Most nights, he sneaks into James' room and
curls up in his bed, weeping as quietly as he can and wishing, wishing, wishing…
Sometimes, he looks at the moon and thinks about going out to greet it. He doesn't.

He has no idea what he would say.

~•~

When Remus is taken down to the lower levels of Azkaban, forced into a chair, and tortured,
his last thought is of all his many regrets, too many to count. Sirius is one of them, but he
came later in Remus' life, so he doesn't make it to him in time.

He's dead before he ever gets the chance.

He dies thinking of Lily.

~•~

James starts growing flowers, just so he can take them to Regulus' grave. He doesn't say
anything. He sits them down and briefly touches the headstone, a chill running up his spine
as, each time, he recalls how cold Regulus had been in death.

He brings flowers every day, replacing the oldest when they wilt, and he waits for words to
come to him. They don't.

Feeling doesn't either. He's numb. He's fighting for his life.

That's all drowning is, really.

 ~•~

"Bet you like these, Reggie," Sirius says softly, reaching out to gently bump his knuckles
against the flowers at the base of the headstone. "They're pretty, don't you think?"

Regulus would probably think so, but he would never admit it. He'd chew through his own
tongue before confessing how delighted he'd be by James giving him flowers. Sirius can
almost picture the light that would enter his eyes, the pleased flush that would flood his
cheeks. He loved James so much.

Sometimes, Sirius hates James for that. Hates him for being someone Regulus loved enough
to die for. Hates him for being the person who was there in Regulus' last moments, who got to
hold him, before he died and after.

Most of the time, Sirius hates himself for being the brother that he was. The one who made
Regulus believe he wasn't enough. The one who didn't hold onto Regulus for longer, tighter,
when he had the chance. The one who couldn't bring himself to tell Regulus how much he
loves him.

His little brother.

Always his little brother.

Blinking harshly, Sirius tips his head back and blows out a harsh breath. "You know, I—I
really—Regulus, I loved you. Did you know that? I really fucking hope you knew that. I
loved you. I always did. I always will."

Regulus can't say it back. He's not here to, and Sirius doesn't know if he would, if he was. He
doesn't know if Regulus loved him, and he'll never get to know.

~•~
"Mum?" Remus whispers.

Hope turns her head and smiles sadly. "Oh, sweetheart, it's far too soon for you to be here."

"Mum," Remus chokes out, shoving himself forward and colliding into her with a gasping
sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I'm—"

"Hush, honey, hush," Hope says gently, peeling back to cradle his face, tears in her eyes.
"None of that now. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm so proud of you."

"You are?" Remus asks, his voice cracking, afraid to believe it after everything he's done.
"But I—"

"I know," Hope murmurs. "I know, Remus, it's okay. You've endured so much. Too much. I'm
so sorry."

Remus blinks harshly. "I've missed you."

"Oh, I've missed you, too," Hope chokes out with a hoarse laugh, tugging him back into her
arms, and he falls into her, falls into his mother and sobs like a small child.

~•~

"No."

Everyone is surprised when James speaks. Maybe it's because of how gruff his voice is.
Maybe it's because of how harsh he is. Maybe it's because he hasn't spoken very much at all.
But, well, over his head dead fucking body. It's not happening. He doesn't care what the
Hallow wants. He doesn't care that it's the victory tour. He doesn't care that Pandora is only
relaying the message, and that it's not her fault. He'll kill her. The camera crew. Dorcas.
Anyone he has to. He'll kill the first and last person who dares to think filming James at
Regulus' grave is going to happen. They'll have to kill him and dump his dead body at the
headstone if they want that possibility.

"James," Pandora says, swallowing. "It—it wasn't a request. Riddle himself gave the order."

"Fuck Riddle," is the cold response, and it's not from James. It's Sirius, who is seething. "No
fucking camera is coming near my baby brother's gravesite. I mean it, Pandora."

"They're determined to film there, Sirius," Pandora says weakly, blinking tears out of her
eyes. "I—I—"

"I'll handle it," James announces sharply, and then he's on his feet, marching right out of his
house. The camera crew is getting themselves in order out front, talking, waiting for
directions to the gravesite. The door opens and shuts behind him, Sirius hissing at Dorcas and
Pandora. James doesn't slow down, going right up to the camera crew, who all stop and stare
as he approaches. "Who's in charge here?"

"Me," says one of them.

"We're filming here. Right here. Not at Regulus' grave," James declares, flexing his fingers
on his cane. "Got it?"

"Sorry, the gravesite is where we'll be filming, even if we have to go through the mayor to
find it," is the stiff response.

James presses his lips into a thin line. "I'm only going to say this one more time, and you're
going to agree if you have even a smidgen of self-preservation. We're filming here."
"No," is the agitated response, "we're filming at—"

The rest of the sentence is cut off by James raising his cane and swinging it hard, slamming it
into the side of the idiot's face. One hit, and they drop. James gets a firmer grip and swings
again, and again, and again—repeatedly beating the lead of the camera crew into the ground.
The others scream and scramble back, horrified.

"James!" Sirius shouts, rushing forward to halt James by his wrist and forcefully yank him
back. "If you kill—"

"Don't fucking touch me!" James spits out, shoving him back, and Sirius flinches like he's
been slapped. James stares at him for a moment, then exhales sharply, swiveling back to stare
at the person on the ground. "We're filming here. Got it?"

Through the tears, he hears the response: "Got it."

Regulus' grave is never seen on a screen.

~•~

"Lily would have shown up, right? If she was dead, I mean?" Remus asks, lifting his head
from Hope's shoulder.

Hope gives him a tender smile. "She's not dead, honey."

Remus dumps his head right back on his mother's shoulder and breaks down crying again.

~•~
Sirius doesn't remember his first victory tour.

He doesn't remember most of James' either.

James has been—James throughout the victory tour, or the James he has become since
Regulus died. Silent. Distant. Closed off and untouchable. Out of reach.

He goes through the motions. Goes on stage and speaks in a flat voice into the microphone,
devoid of emotion, his eyes empty and glazed like a fucking machine. He doesn't break,
doesn't cry, doesn't deviate from the speech he reads off the paper, because that's the only way
he would speak.

It's unsettling. The districts feel it, too. They're as hollow as he is. Grieving in silence.
Compliant. Afraid.

By the time they make it to the Hallow, Sirius has lost a lot of moments, going in and out,
constantly triggered over and over. He leaves himself, comes back, leaves and comes back.
He loses minutes, hours, days. Pandora tells him that he's been quiet.

Sirius is always quiet these days.

Some part of Sirius had hoped that Remus would be in the Hallow when he arrived.

Remus isn't.

They don't get a servant anyway, so his hope was unfounded to start with. He dares to hope
that maybe, just maybe, he'll see Remus at the party thrown in James' honor, but Remus isn't
there either. Sirius can't do much about it, because he has to escort James around and play his
usual mentor role.
Towards the end of the night, Sirius hunts down the man who runs Azkaban, the top prison
warden, and he lays on the charm. He goes to work manipulating the man, getting what he
wants out of him one silky sentence at a time. In the end, it's the promise of bribery that
works.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," the man agrees, his voice low. "It'd make my life a lot easier if you
happened to know the name of the servant you had last year. Who was it, do you know?"

Sirius hesitates, then says, "Remus Lupin. His name is Remus Lupin."

"Ah, wait…" The man grimaces, wrinkling his nose, and then he clicks his tongue. "Yeah,
him. He died about three months ago, I think? Dead as a doornail, that one."

"What?" Sirius whispers, his heart dropping right to his feet, his entire body going cold. "You
—no. No, that's not—surely you must be mistaken. You're—wrong. He's—he's not—"

The man raises his eyebrows. "No, yeah, I'm very sure. Wrote the report myself. Took care of
his body and—"

"Took care of—" Sirius chokes, his whole body vibrating as he stares at the man, wild-eyed.
"What do you mean you took care of his fucking body?"

"Had him sent off. Donated his parts."

"Donated—"

"Yeah, for experimental purposes, or medical—"

Sirius has his hands around the man's throat in seconds, slamming him back against the wall
and squeezing. His vision tinges with red, and he's losing it, losing everything, yelling his
head off and slamming the man's head into the wall over and over as he shakes him. The man
chokes, clawing at Sirius' hands, flailing, his face turning red, then purple, eyes rolling.

"Sirius! Sirius, stop it! Sirius!"

It's James who manages to yank him back, pulling him away from the man, who gasps for air
and sinks down the wall, tears streaming from his eyes.

"Don't! Don't you dare fucking touch him," James snarls at the approaching Aurors, so
ferocious about it that they actually slow down. All eyes are on them. The room is silent.

Sirius doesn't remember anything else.

~•~

"It hurt," Regulus says quietly. "Dying, I mean."

Evan hums. "Yeah, it did. I was… Well, you helped."

"Did I?" Regulus asks.

"I was glad you were there," Evan murmurs. "I don't regret it, meeting you. Dying with you
by my side."

Regulus smiles. "I don't regret it. Dying for him."

"Lover boy," Evan teases, and Regulus rolls his eyes as he looks off to the side with a gentle
laugh.
 ~•~

James cries for the first time since Regulus died when he gets home to find all the flowers at
his grave wilted. Stupid. Of course they would be, after a week. He should have left water for
them. He should have—

"I'm sorry," James chokes out, kneeling down despite the throb in his leg to replace the
flowers.

It's the first thing he says to Regulus, after begging him not to leave him.

Fitting, he thinks.

~•~

Sirius used to think that there were some things the Hallow could never take from him. After
all that he suffered because of the Hallow, the games, he still dared to believe there was at
least one thing he couldn't lose.

Foolish of him.

Regulus is gone. Remus is, too. And oh, that—he doesn't know how he'll ever be okay with
that. Remus was… He was the love of Sirius' life, and Sirius lost him. Lost their last
moments, whatever those may have been; lost their future, whatever that could have looked
like; lost him, and didn't even know it.

Sirius misses him so much that he aches. He loses himself to it a lot, to the grief and lack of
closure. He can't stand the sight of the moon, glares at it most nights, teary-eyed and
vengeful. He wants to blow it up and erase it from the sky. He wants to cradle it in his arms
and never let it go.
It's not Remus, not really. Even the moon isn't big enough to fill the Remus-shaped hole in
him, in his life. That will always be empty, echoing with all the things he's lost and will
never, never have again.

Of all the things that the Hallow has stolen from him, Sirius never believed that James would
be one. He told Sirius he'd always be with him. He lied.

"You know, as much as I love you, Reggie," Sirius mumbles, his chin resting on his knees, "I
really fucking hate you, too. I hate you for dying. I wish you were here. Not just for me, but
for him. James. Look what mess you've left."

Regulus would only arch an eyebrow at him and say, shut up, idiot, stop whining to me, and
go do something about it.

The thing is, Sirius doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what he wants. It's going to
hurt. It already hurts, and he's so tired of the pain. James is his best friend, has always been
his best friend, and now they don't speak. They have something simmering under the surface,
waiting to boil over, and Sirius is scared to let it. Sirius is scared to find out what it is.

He knows what it is.

"Maybe tomorrow," Sirius whispers thickly.

~•~

Two months after the victory tour, eight months after Regulus died, James wakes up
sweating, gasping out Regulus' name in a delirious haze as he rocks his hips against his bed.

It takes him a few moments to make sense of what's happening, of what he's doing, and then
he freezes.
He's so close.

James swallows and closes his eyes. It wasn't a dream, exactly, or not one he can really
remember. A memory, maybe. A form in the dark taking the shape of Regulus, a whisper of
warm skin, fingers ghosting through his hair. It's almost, almost, almost like he's there. James'
mind is a jumble, and he's aching inside and out, choking on harsh sob as the echo of Regulus
flickers; so close, but never close enough.

"Regulus," James whispers, a whimper, a plea. He needs him. He needs him to be here. He
needs—

I've got you, baby. I've got you.

It's not even real. That's the worst part. It's just what his mind conjures up, because he's half-
asleep and desperate. He shakes, eyes squeezing shut, and he chokes out Regulus' name on
yet another sob as his hips rock forward again.

That's all it takes. Just once. Just a voice long-gone in his head that he'll never hear again, the
memory of fingers on his skin he'll never feel again, the presence of someone who will never
be here again. James shudders, and then the shame hits.

It's pretty much instant. A curdle of shame sours on his stomach, and he buries his face into
his pillow, curling up into a ball and crying so hard he doesn't even make a sound.

~•~

"Tell me about him," Hope says, her eyes sparkling.

Remus feels his face got hot, and he knows he's blushing. It brings a smile to his face, soft
and adoring. Like an idiot in love, he sighs dreamily and says, "Oh, Mum, you would have
loved Sirius. I did. I loved him."

Hope laughs gently and settles in to listen.

~•~

"Today," Sirius tells Regulus, anxiously rocking back and forth beside his headstone. "It's—
I'm doing it today, Reggie. I mean, why not today? He's—I should have done it sooner."

You think? Regulus would ask sarcastically, if he were here.

"Oh, shut up," Sirius grumbles. And then, "I miss you. I miss Remus. Are you two together?
It's a nice thought, but… Well, you two never really got to be friends, did you? I think you
would have liked him."

Sirius can't imagine how Regulus would reply to that, and it makes him feel—horrible.
Angry. Frustrated. Grief. He has so much grief for Regulus, for Remus, for James. For
himself.

That's one of the hardest parts of losing people, he's learning. All the things he never got to
do, and will never get to know. He has no idea what he and Regulus would have been like if
Regulus hadn't died. Would they have been close? Would Sirius have taken the opportunity to
tell him he loved him? Would they have drifted apart again? Did they ever have it in them to
be brothers the way they wanted to be?

Sirius will never get those answers.

Then there's Remus. What was their goodbye like? Did Sirius kiss him? Did he cry? Did
Remus? Had Sirius promised to see him the next year, like he was planning from the moment
he realized he would have to leave Remus behind? What would their reunion have been like?
Would Remus have ever told him his crime? Would they ever have…sex? Did Sirius…want
to?
Sirius will never know.

Sighing, Sirius pushes to his feet and bumps his knuckles to Regulus' headstone, a parting
ritual that has become a habit now. He comes out here basically every day, just to sit down
and talk to his brother, making up for all the years that they never spoke a word to one
another.

It's warm out today, the last vestiges of summer still clinging as fall comes creeping in. Not
too long now, and it'll be a year since Regulus died. In three months, his birthday will arrive.
Sirius isn't ready. Sirius wishes time would stop, wishes the world would slow down in
turning, wishes he could preserve everything as it is, just as it is, so nothing changes. He
hates the thought that Regulus and Remus are stuck, unable to keep going, while everyone
else has to. While he has to.

When Sirius makes it home, he sneaks through so as not to alert Effie and Monty of his
presence. They haven't been subtle about trying to get Sirius to go see James, slipping in
suggestions that he bring over food for him, or just invite him over to dinner, believing if
Sirius does it, James will actually come. James hasn't shown up to dinner in a long time.

Still, Sirius wants it to be his choice, and he—he has a plan for this. It's nothing—well,
serious. He probably should have done it months ago, but he just…couldn't. He's not much of
a builder anymore, hasn't properly built anything since he was sixteen, until now. It's a cane.

It's the only thing Sirius could bring himself to build at all, and he won't build anything after
it ever again.

He worked hard on it, took his time, made it good. Had to start over a few times, yeah, and
maybe it could be better, but it's… Well, as soon as he finished it, he knew that was it.

The cane is made from dark wood, rich and shiny once he got through with it. The handle is
black, and on each side, there's a Leo constellation carved into it, the Regulus star the most
prominent. Sirius carved R.A.B into the groove where James could run his thumb over it. He
hopes…
He doesn't know how it will go. James might lose his damn mind. He might break down. He
might snap the cane in half and shout at Sirius to get out.

Sirius doesn't know.

But he can find out, and he knows how much it hurts not to have that chance, so he isn't
going to waste it.

Taking the cane, Sirius goes to James' house and knocks on the door. When he gets no
answer, he lets himself in. James has a room on the bottom floor, so it doesn't take Sirius very
long to get there. The door is open, so he hovers awkwardly in the doorway. James is sitting
on the edge of his bed, staring out the window. He must have heard Sirius coming.

"James," Sirius says, holding his breath until James finally looks over at him. Sirius
swallows. "I have something for you."

"Yeah?" James murmurs. His gaze drops to the cane Sirius is clinging to for dear life. "A
cane?"

"I—I made it. Built it. For you," Sirius croaks, a tight pinch in his chest. "You can tell me to
fuck off, it's fine, I'm stupid—"

"Is that—" James halts, his gaze latched onto the cane. His throat bobs. "That's Regulus, isn't
it?"

Sirius exhales shakily and whispers, "Yeah. It's him."

James stares for a bit longer, then holds out his hand. Sirius shuffles forward, stepping into
the barren room, empty and hollow and completely devoid of anything personal, anything
that makes this James' room instead of just—a room James so happens to stay in. Sirius
hesitates, and then he passes James the cane. His fingers tremble when he pulls away.

Carefully, James splays the cane out over his legs, rubbing reverent fingers over the wood,
one hand coming up to cup the handle. His thumb gently passes over the constellation,
pressing in for a beat, and then he swivels it to treat the constellation on the other side the
same. When he discovers Regulus' initials, he breaks out into a small smile, the very first
Sirius has seen since he left the arena. Tears glitter in his eyes when he raises his head and
looks right at Sirius.

"For me?" James checks one more time, his voice cracking, as if it could ever be for anyone
else.

"Yeah, James, for you," Sirius tells him.

The tears spill out of James' eyes, and he—he laughs. He bobs his head, crying, laughing,
looking alight with joy, and completely, utterly heartbroken. His shoulders heave, and he
chokes on his laughter, on a raw sob, curling forward. One of his hands reaches out, shaking.

"Sirius," James weeps. "Sirius, please, I—"

"Okay. Okay," Sirius says, reaching out to meet James halfway, taking his hand. It's easy
then, to move closer and touch him, crouch down and wrap his arms around him. Hold him.

The cane clatters to the floor. James clutches at Sirius and pulls him in, pulls him close,
gripping him so hard that it hurts. He grinds his forehead into Sirius' shoulder, releasing these
horrible, dreadful noises that Sirius feels reverberate through him, mingling with all the tears
he's spilt and all the pain that's replaced them, always replacing them. He never runs out of
tears. He's crying now, just in silence.

"I loved him," James chokes out. "I love him so much."
"I know. Me too."

"It hurts. I miss him. All I do is miss him, Sirius."

"I know. Me too."

"I'm so sorry."

"I know," Sirius says softly. He closes his eyes. "Me too."

~•~

James asks Sirius to move in with him. It makes him nervous, but he does it. He wants—
well, he wants Sirius close by. He wants them to be okay again. He wants to be the friend he
should have been all this time, but couldn't manage it.

He knows Remus is dead. He found out the same night Sirius did, because Sirius was a
sobbing wreck all the way back to the suite, having to be carted along by Marlene and Frank,
while Pandora stayed back to smooth everything over.

Marlene and Frank didn't know Remus. James did. Remus was his friend, and it hurt, losing
him as well. He knew his hurt paled in comparison to Sirius'. He didn't comfort Sirius. He
didn't stop Sirius from getting roaringly drunk and trashing the suite. He didn't pick Sirius up
from where he passed out in the bathtub, clinging to an empty bottle of whiskey and
mumbling about the moon. He didn't do anything.

James will never forgive himself for that.

He thinks Regulus would be pissed at him for this. He thinks Regulus would be pissed at him
for a lot of things. James doesn't know how to feel about that. It's been nearly eleven months
since he died, and James still doesn't know how to feel about much of anything at all. Nearly
a year, and James is still struggling to breathe. Still drowning.

But Sirius… He is sure about Sirius. It's not something he was aware of until Sirius was
standing in his doorway with a cane. It wasn't about the cane at all. James loves it. He
cherishes it and uses it every day, even when he doesn't need it, and he takes it with him
wherever he goes. It's one of the most important possessions in his life, don't get him wrong,
but being sure about Sirius had nothing to do with the cane.

It was about the hope in his eyes. Just that. His hope. That look that said I miss you. That look
that said I need you, do you need me, too? That look that said you're my best friend, and that
means something, doesn't it, hasn't it always?

James has missed Sirius. James needs Sirius; always has, and always will. They are best
friends, and nothing can change that, not even this insurmountable, unthinkable grief and loss
neither of them knew how to deal with.

They still don't know how to deal with it, but James thinks that, together, they can try.

It's like coming up for a breath of fresh air.

~•~

"What would you have done if you won?" Regulus asks.

"Lived," Evan says wryly.

Regulus snorts. "Well, obviously. No, I mean it. What would you have done with your life?"

Evan is silent for a long beat, and then he murmurs, "I think I would have climbed a lot of
trees, gazed at a lot of beautiful views, and lived a very lonely life."
"Would you have been happy, though?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I would have been. Eventually."

"I'm sorry," Regulus tells him.

"I'm not," Evan replies. "My life after wouldn't have been much different than my life before,
other than going on with the grief of losing my best friend. I was happy, Regulus. I lived a
happy life, despite everything."

"Good," is all Regulus says.

"What about you?" Evan asks. "Were you happy?"

Regulus glances up at the empty branch above him, his face softening, and then he glances at
Evan. "There was a time when I was, yeah, but time just…ran out. I wasted a lot of time not
being happy, after that, not knowing how to be."

"A bit tragic, that," Evan says.

"Tell me about it," Regulus agrees dryly.

Evan tilts his head curiously. "If James hadn't made it, what would you have done if you
won?"

Regulus swallows, then confesses, "Wished I hadn't."

 ~•~

It's strange living with James at first. It's strange because it's strange, because it's not
supposed to be, because they're best friends and they're supposed to know how to do this. It's
supposed to feel natural.

It doesn't.

They don't really know how to…be, not to start with. It's a lot of awkward, stilted
conversations and unintentionally bumping into each other, like two people being constantly
startled that they share the same space. Sirius has to resist the urge to sneak back over to his
room at Effie and Monty's more than he cares to admit, and he suspects James has to force
himself not tell Sirius to leave just as many times.

It's hard to live with each other when they both love the same person who's gone. Everything
feels like a fucking bomb about to go off, buzz words to avoid and elephants in the room and
grief so stifling that it's hard to breathe, most days. Neither of them want to brush up against
the insinuation that they can just be fine because they have each other, like it's something to
be ashamed of, healing together.

Grief is cruel. It shows no mercy, none whatsoever. There are no rules, and yet they attempt
to stick to an internal guideline in their own heads that remains entirely unspoken. There is
no proper way to mourn, or to heal, or to regress and try again, and yet they do their best to
do it as they think they should.

It doesn't last very long.

For one thing, it's not actually mourning or healing when they're just pretending, when
they're bottling it all up and tiptoeing with plastic smiles on their faces. They fight against
their grief like if they bear it right, it won't be as messy. Here they are, thrashing and
screaming and demanding an escape, pleading for reprieve, and reality pins them in place,
holds them there as they struggle, and tells them that there is no relief, and tells them they
will never breathe the same again.
They don't. They haven't been. It takes Sirius days to notice, but they don't breathe in sync
anymore. The realization makes his lungs burn, burn, burn.

All it takes is one bad day. All it takes is saying the wrong thing, either of them, both of them.
All it takes is Regulus dying, and they fall apart.

They get into a fight. A bad one. It includes raised voices and physical shoves that turn into a
screaming match and thrown punches. What it was, underneath the surface this whole time,
was a simple byproduct of grief—looking for a target to place the blame on, to unload on, to
lash out at.

Really, they should be proud they made it this long without turning on each other for it. Sirius
knows it's not so much about what they actually believe, or feel. It's just that it's easiest to
reach a target that's closer to you, and no one's closer to each other than them. It's so very
easy to lash out at James, to seek out that desperate need to release some of the pressure that's
been built up since Regulus died, teetering in between them both and begging to tip over.

More importantly, there's relief in being a target in reverse. Standing in place and taking it,
feeling it, letting it sink in like proper penance to the nagging guilt that exists within.

Yelling at James feels good. Hitting James feels better. Being yelled at by James hurts. Being
hit by James hurts better.

They make each other bleed.

Their words have teeth.

Grief is messy.

It takes them a while to clean up. It takes fists and tears and bruises. It takes choked
confessions of their regrets, swapped secrets about their shame, aching anecdotes they're
terrified to lose. It takes a hug so tight that neither of them can breathe through it, clinging
and not letting go for a long time.

They never do breathe in sync again.

~•~

On Regulus' twenty-sixth birthday, James goes home.

He has lunch with his parents and Sirius. He eats, and he smiles, and he breathes. It's not
quiet, or somber. Effie tells stories of Regulus when he was young, a gentle boy with big eyes
that followed James wherever he went. It puts a flutter in James' chest and makes his ears go
hot, looking down with a bashful smile. Sirius tells what stories of Regulus that he can
remember, few as they are, and James snorts drinks out of his nose and laughs uproariously at
the memories. James…

James tells the story about Regulus punching him when he was thirteen, when James snuck in
through his window because he believed it was Sirius'. He tells the story of the first flower he
ever gave Regulus, one to press in his journal, thinking of all the flowers he gives him every
day now. He tells the story of Regulus' fifteenth birthday, when he hit James in the back of
his head with a snowball, and James turned to find him with bright eyes and snow in his hair,
the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on in his entire life.

Sirius calls him a sap.

After lunch, Sirius goes to visit Regulus' grave. He's had a bad week, a hard one with
Regulus' birthday approaching, as well as the realization that he couldn't remember how
Remus took his tea, or the exact shade of his eyes, or what his laughter sounded like. I'm
forgetting him, James, Sirius had choked out, wide-eyed and frantic, shaking and rocking and
crying so pitifully that it broke James' heart. James couldn't help him remember; he's
forgotten a lot, too, and that hurts most of all.

When Sirius asks if James wants to come to visit Regulus, James says no, says he'll be along
later. Sirius, who has been exhausted and emotionally wrought, looks relieved and then guilty
by that relief, but James gets it. He gets that Sirius likes to be alone at Regulus' grave, just
him and his little brother.

Instead of going to Regulus' grave just yet, James enters his old room, easing himself in like
the walls might close in around him, or he might get stuck. It's…half-empty.

Most of James' things from here have migrated to his house, which isn't as empty and barren
as it once was. Since Sirius moved in, there has been more clutter, more life. A shining star in
a sunless sky. Sirius is good at that. Providing a beacon of light in the dark; he is the brightest
star, after all.

James stands in the middle of his room and stares at the dresser, his thumb gently swiping
along Regulus' initials on his cane. His heart throbs in his chest like an open wound.

Taking a deep breath, James moves forward to sit down on the edge of the bed, easing
himself down on the creaky mattress as he leans his cane against his leg. Slowly, he reaches
out to open the top drawer in the stand by his bed, a flood of heat springing to his eyes
immediately, as soon as his fingers brush the fabric he knew was waiting there all along.

He draws the hat out carefully, his breath hitching in his chest, a little erratic as he gets ahold
of it. Tears blur his vision, and it's just a hat, a lumpy knitted hat with a frayed ball on top, but
he touches it as if it's made of gold.

For a long time, he just sits there and holds it, stroking it, his chest stuttering on soft sobs that
don't hurt the way they used to. He thinks about the last time he saw Regulus in this hat, and
he smiles, small and trembling.

He never did get to see him in it again.

It's that thought that turns his sobs from gentle to harsh, and he folds forward to press his face
against the hat, trying to cling to something that's been lost to him for so long now, something
he wouldn't be able to find in a hat that marks the day he lost it for the very first time, and for
good.
James refuses to mess up the hat, so he pulls away from it before he becomes an even bigger
mess. As he draws it down, the bell gives a gentle chime, so soft he nearly misses it.

Breath catching, James freezes. His hands tremble as he shifts one hand up to tap the frayed
ball on top, a choked laugh of wonder and disbelief escaping him when the bell jingles again.
Maybe it's just a figment of James' imagination, or some form of coping, but he would swear
that he can hear the faint sound of Regulus' laughter every time the bell rings.

James closes his eyes and listens.

Later—much later—James makes his way to Regulus' grave with a fresh flower and a hat.
Sirius isn't there, so he must have gone home. James doesn't mind. He goes through the usual
ritual of replacing the flowers, then gingerly lays out the hat at the bottom of the headstone,
lips curling as he flicks the ball and listens to Regulus laugh.

"Happy birthday, love," James whispers. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about that. I've
been…doing fucking awful. Well, doing my best, but it's awful without you. I think—" He
swallows thickly, blinking hard. "I think that, for a long time, I was angry at you. Didn't
really know how to forgive you. And I didn't know how to—to handle that. But it's… Well, I
think you'd like to know that I do. I do forgive you, and I'm—I'm getting better. I'm getting
there, Reg."

He draws his hand back, breathes in and out, his gaze tracing the name on the headstone with
reverence. Regulus Arcturus Black, but not only just. He's James' love.

His love.

"I'm going to be okay," James says softly, and he is. He knows he is. "I'm still trying,
Regulus. I'll never stop trying, love."

And he doesn't.
 ~•~

"How long do you think it'll take?" Regulus mumbles.

"Impatient, are we?" Evan asks, amused.

Regulus rolls his eyes. "I'm not saying I want anyone to be dead. I mean, I was just curious
about how time worked, like what the time frame is. Not that you'd know, but…"

"Oh," Evan says lightly, "not too long now, I'd say."

~•~

It's not too long at all, not for Remus at least. Or it doesn't seem that way. He isn't sure how
much time has passed that he has spent with his mum—as well as his dad, when he showed
up—but there is eventually a knock on the door.

"That's for you," Hope says, smiling.

He doesn't ask her how she knows. He knows, too. In some unfathomable, inexplicable way,
he knows that knock is just for him, and so he goes to answer it.

"You bastard," is the first thing Lily says to him, and he laughs through a choked sob,
nodding in agreement as she slams into him, wrapping him in a hug. Lily clings to him,
sobbing, and he squeezes her tight. "You died."

"You lived," Remus responds, kissing the side of her head, and she did.
She did.

~•~

For James, and Sirius, it takes a while. Years. Decades. It takes a lifetime, one they spend
together. There's a war to fight, a corrupt government to overthrow, and they do. There's a
world to build in the aftermath, and they do that together, too.

People die. They lose some, they save some, they kill some themselves. People live on. They
go home, or they go somewhere new, or they stay right where they are. People are born. They
grow up, they aren't in danger, they don't lose their lives to an arena only one can come out
of.

Things change, and them with it, but they are them just as they have always been. They are
them from their first breath until their very last.

All those years that they spent breathing in perfect sync, and all the years that they didn't,
Sirius is the first to stop. His last breath comes before James' does, as easy as falling asleep.

There's a door before him, sea-foam green door with a door-knocker. Sirius spends a great
deal of time confused about where the fuck he is, and then even more time debating on how
to knock on the door. Fist? Door-knocker? Who the hell even uses door-knockers? It's
basically just decoration.

Sirius knocks with his hand, then second-guesses himself, worrying if that was rude or not.
Despite him classifying it as decorative, door-knockers do actually serve a purpose. It's even
in the name. Door. Knocker. He should use it, right? Whoever owns this house might be
offended if he—

The door opens, and Sirius forgets door-knockers even fucking exist. He nearly swallows his
damn tongue, because that's Remus. It's been years. It's been—
"Sirius," Remus murmurs, breaking out into a smile. He leans against the doorway, eyes
gentle and bright. "Well, don't you look beautiful for such an old man?"

Sirius is indeed an old man, technically, but he'll be damned if he doesn't blush like a young
one, like he's still in his twenties and easily flustered by Remus Lupin. No one ever had this
effect on him but Remus. Just Remus. No one ever had any effect on him at all, to be honest.

"Hi," Sirius breathes out.

"Hi, sweetheart," Remus says, and Sirius swallows a muffled sound of pure fucking glee
before launching himself forward to throw himself at Remus like no time has passed at all.

Remus is laughing into the kiss, despite Sirius' enthusiasm, and Sirius doesn't even mind. He
laughs with him, breathless, feeling young and alive and in love again. He looks the exact
same. Remus, that is. Sirius does as well. He looks like the person he was when he and
Remus were happy together.

He feels it, too.

~•~

"Oh, here we go," Evan says, laughing breathlessly, eyes bright as the branch abruptly
breaks.

Regulus proceeds to lose his shit immediately, as any sane person would about the fact that
the tree branch they were just on suddenly broke without any warning, and now they're both
fucking falling. Evan, the lunatic, is cackling the whole way down. Regulus, wisely, is
screaming his head off.

They never hit the ground.

 ~•~

Sirius blinks up at the sky, startled to find it littered with stars, some brighter than the others.
Two brighter than the rest. He stares at them for a beat, then looks around.

He goes still instantly.

Regulus.

He's just—here. Well, here being a balcony under the stars, sitting curled up in a chair with
his chin propped up on his fist, looking supremely bored. After all these years, Sirius has
forgotten what Regulus looked like, properly. He's forgotten how much of a miserable little
shit he was.

"You're dead, and you're still scowling," Sirius says.

"Yeah, well, I was hoping you were James," Regulus admits bluntly, because he's terrible.

"Sorry to disappoint," Sirius croaks.

"You can't help it. That's sort of your thing," Regulus tells him, arching an eyebrow.

"Were you always this annoying?"

"Only to you."

"Ah," Sirius mutters, "I somehow doubt that."

Regulus' lips twitch at the corners, and then his face does something Sirius genuinely can't
remember if it ever did before. It softens. All he says is, "I love you, too, you know. I did
then. Always did. Still do, against my better judgment."

"You—you heard me?" Sirius chokes out, his eyes stinging. He's spent years telling his little
brother he loved him, just too late for him to be heard, but if—if Regulus did hear—

"No, not…exactly," Regulus murmurs. "Some things just sort of make sense here. You know,
after dying. I just knew. You pick up on it easier with time. Focus hard enough on someone,
and a lot of things will become clear."

Sirius blinks tears from his eyes. "You focused on me?"

"You're my big brother," Regulus says. "Always my big brother."

"Oh, fucking hell, I'm so glad we're alone," Sirius whines approximately five seconds before
bursting into tears.

Regulus laughs at him, the fucker.

Sirius doesn't care. He stumbles out of his chair, stumbles over to his brother, and pulls him
into a tight hug. Regulus hugs him back just as tight, and for all his mockery, he's crying a
little bit, too. That's okay. It'll be their secret.

In the sky, two of the brightest stars get even brighter.

~•~

There's the soft sound of music, something distant and fuzzy in the background, and James'
eyes flutter open to find that he is warm. A fire gently crackles and pops from the fireplace,
casting a soft glow across—
James' breath catches.

"Mm, don't stop now, I'm so comfortable," Regulus murmurs, eyes shut as a tiny smile curves
at his mouth.

"Reg," James whispers, like a revelation, a miraculous discovery he can actually reach out
and touch. He's right here, quite literally in James' arms, swaying with him. Well, he was, but
they've stopped now, because James is about to lose his collective shit here in a second. He is
about to levitate.

"What'd I tell you, hm? I told you I'd be waiting here," Regulus says, lifting his head. "You
sure took your time, you know. Not that I wanted you to die, but honestly—"

James shuts him up, with his mouth, his hands flying up to cradle Regulus' face as he kisses
him deeply and all at once, desperate and gasping like he's finally getting air into his lungs
after years and years and years of drowning.

It's been so long. Too long. A horrible, wonderful journey full of turmoil and pain and love.
Always so much love. James has shaped himself around his love, shaped by it, molded by
hands of everyone around him, and hands of those that were gone. These hands, Regulus',
holding onto him.

He forgave Regulus, and he loved him. He lived. He tried. He never stopped trying.

"Oh, just—okay, right to it, then," Regulus wheezes, his chest heaving as James tugs him
even closer, chasing his mouth.

"I—I tried so hard—"

"I know. I know you did. I'm so proud of you."

"I love you," James declares breathlessly between one kiss and the next. "I love you. I love
you. I loved you until the very end, and now here. I love you here, too. Anywhere.
Everywhere."

"I love you, too," Regulus whispers, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him. He's
smiling. He's glowing. "I loved you from the very beginning. At all times, baby, at all times."

~•~

The Trojan War lasted ten years.

Regulus' love outlasts it by many, many lifetimes. Not just in this one, but also in the next,
and all the ones after. No one talks about it, really, but no matter how often Troy was
destroyed, a new city would rise up from the ruins without fail. Regulus finds that he's not
much different, in that aspect.

Really, Troy isn't the worst thing to be.

Here he is, building anew.

End Notes

list of those that die and how/when:

-regulus dies in the hunger games in the crimson river (no he doesn't die in crimson rivers)
-remus dies when he's tortured in azkaban (i promise you he doesn't die in crimson rivers, he
is very safe)
-lily dies at an unspecified time from an unspecified cause (also doesn't die in crimson rivers)
-sirius dies at an old age (doesn't die in cr)
-james dies at an old age (doesn't die in cr)

okay! so, how was it?

did you cry? i fucking cried 😭😭😭 but, by the end, i was giggling and kicking my feet and
twirling my hair. maybe it's because it had a semi-happy ending? like, even in a MCD fic, i
had to have it end at least a little bit happily. im still so soft.

there's a reason i posted now, which is partially because the divergence from crimson rivers
has already happened, and also part of the reason i didn't want to post this AFTER crimson
rivers is because i didn't necessarily want it to like. be the end of crimson rivers, if that makes
sense? like, i didn't want crimson rivers or the crimson universe to end on THIS note.

im aware that some people will read crimson rivers in the future and THEN read this, but for
those of you coming along on the journey, it felt right to have it flow this way.

so yeah, this was my fist dive into MCD, and it was definitely An Experience, let me just tell
you that.

i could say a lot of things about this, but it's just a really big, heavy thing, ya know? it was
sad. the hat! the cane! the flowers at the grave!

just. like, there's So Much to say that i can't even articulate it. im also very tired. no sleep
lmaooo

i do want to say that NOTHING in this is in any way a promise of what's to come in crimson
rivers. like i said, it's entirely separate. so don't get any ideas from this when continuing to
read crimson rivers.

anyways, im gonna shut now and just post. im VERY nervous, so please be kind. <3

EDIT: [please do not post my works on any other platform, or any other format. do not create
typesets for people to download and use to bookbind through profit means; do not put my
works anywhere near websites such as amazon, lulu, or etsy; do not put my works on
goodreads or wattpad. any and all pre-existing translations/podfics are only acceptable on ao3
with proper credits, and im asking now that there aren't more made in the future]
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