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
Relationship: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Character: 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
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Crimson Rivers Universe
Collections: Marauders | Best of, Marauders
Stats: Published: 2022-09-14 Words: 13441

. a great, big tragedy

 by zeppazariel

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!!!

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 is 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

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