Sirius and Regulus: Willing and Able
1/1, 4.7k words. angst with mild hurt/comfort, open/hopeful ending.
Regulus had never been in this particular neighborhood of the city before. The roads were narrow, lined with tall buildings in red, white, gray and cream brick, some of them decorated by brightly colored graffiti art and posters advertising new plays, movies, musicians, protests— Regulus could almost laugh at the predictability of it. If you asked any of his family where they believed the heir of Black to have run off to, he supposed they would come up with something like that. An overcrowded area full of undesirables, where smoke polluted the air, with women in suits and men in heels. The shops on the ground floor had pulled in their product displays to protect them from the cold wet weather, though some opted to simply throw a sheet of plastic on top. Regulus turned the corner, coming face to face with a lewd sex shop that he had to immediately avert his eyes from when he made uncomfortable eye contact with a lady on the corner. His mother would have a heart attack if she knew where he was roaming about. If she still cared.
Thinking back on the evening he’d had, the pounding headache and the ache in his eye and jaw returned with a passion. It throbbed, making him wince and pull the hood of his hoodie tighter around his head. He didn’t need anyone to think he was trouble. He was almost impressed that he’d managed to ignore the pain for the entire train ride from their town to the big city where Regulus had only been a number of times in his life. He wondered if people could tell. If he looked like he came from a place where nobody ever left. If his clothes didn’t alert people, perhaps the black eye he was sporting or the bruise on his jaw would. For a woman so small, their mother sure could pack a punch. Sirius would know better than anyone.
And Regulus supposed that was it. That was why he was there. Why, the second his mother’s fist connected with his face the second time, he picked himself up off the floor and all but ran out of the house, his mother’s voice screaming in rage behind him. It was why he didn’t take the left turn at the end of his street to where he knew Barty lived in what could really only be defined as a shed. It was why he’d gotten himself all the way to the train station, taking the first train to the city and then walked in the rain for an hour to make it to the neighborhood he wasn’t even sure Sirius still lived in. It had been years since Sirius had last tried to contact him. The radio silence from him for the past five or so years had caught Regulus a little off guard. Sirius had always been notorious for breaking down doors he wasn’t meant to enter, boundaries be damned— Perhaps Regulus’ cold attitude had finally managed to freeze the hinges in place, leaving his brother on the other side.
Above the shops, apartment buildings rose to the sky. Regulus had never seen buildings that tall. In his hometown, everyone lived in homes that were centuries old, passed down from family to family. Everybody knew everybody. Despite the weather, many of the apartment windows were open and Regulus found himself zeroing in on every single shadow, almost half-expecting Sirius to suddenly pop out. He didn’t know where he lived exactly. He only knew the area. They had been fighting when Sirius had told him. It was one of Sirius’ last attempts at trying to get him to leave with him. He’d told him about how James’ parents had helped them put down a deposit for an apartment in the Rowena neighborhood. How he and Remus would share a room so that Regulus could have his own right across from James’. How there was a book store just down the road where Regulus could get all the books he wanted, even the ones that explored topics his mother usually wouldn’t allow within the four walls of Grimmauld. How Regulus didn’t have to do anything but pack a bag— Sirius would take care of everything. Of him. The way he always had.
But Regulus couldn’t. He had to stay. He had to stay for dad, who was only getting older, more and more dependent on the bottle, more and more incoherent. Sometimes Regulus would find him on the porch, ranting to nobody, like those crazy people his mother said lived in the city. He had to stay for his mother, had to stay for the small fraction of hope he had, that somewhere in her soul she might still carry some love for him. In the five years since Sirius had left, that hope had been slowly but surely beaten out of him, and the last punch to his jaw had completely crushed it. Regulus was twenty-six. Homeless, hopeless, powerless, just less.
The Rowena neighborhood had, for decades, garnered a rather tarnished reputation. Supposedly, the place had such a high density of radicals, homosexuals, undesirables, that Regulus’ mother had feared that even close proximity to the area would somehow turn Regulus gay, and the few times they’d visited the city, they’d often taken large detours to avoid it. Regulus figured if homosexuality really did rub off, Sirius would’ve infected him long ago. He thought, absentmindedly, that it was probably Rowena’s reputation that had made Sirius run there the second he escaped Grimmauld.
Regulus grabbed onto his hoodie and the strap of his backpack. He’d managed to grab it from the car in his hurry, though the items in it were quite useless. Gum, his wallet with no money in it, an old photograph that Sirius had sent four years ago, back when his older brother still had some hope in their relationship. A pack of Barty’s cigarettes, one of Pandora’s crystals that she’d given him for luck and abundance. A book he’d read a thousand times, The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides. He never took it out of his bag, never let it enter Grimmauld out of fear that his mother would’ve discovered it. If she had discovered it, Regulus would’ve been on the first bus to that mental home in Hogsmeade where they’d sent cousin Bellatrix.
He paused on a street corner, rumaging through the bag until he felt the familiar paper of the photograph. The ink on the back was nearly gone but Regulus could still make out the street. The number, if there had ever been any, was gone. He glanced up at the street sign at the crossroads, back down at the postcard and back up. Arbor Street. He took a few steps forwards, then glanced down the street where his brother supposedly lived. It looked just like the others. For a moment, he simply stood there, almost as if waiting for the regret to sink in, for him to crawl back to where he came from.
But what would he do? Go back to Grimmauld and face off against his mother? Let her send him away to that therapy camp she claimed could fix him? Sirius had always said Regulus was brainwashed, that he was a puppet following their parents’ every whim, but even Regulus knew that who he loved was ingrained deeply into his very being, in a way that could not simply be erased by a few words and couple of rough hands. He should know, he’d tried. He almost laughed. Perhaps Sirius did rub off on him after all. He was sure his rebel brother would be happy to hear that he’d left an imprint, now resting in the shape of a handprint on Regulus’ face.
He glanced down at the photo again.
Don’t be a stranger. Come visit. If you’re able.
He felt the familiar swell of anger rise in him. If you’re able. Regulus scoffed. Sirius could fuck right off. He jammed the photograph back into the small front pocket of his bag and turned, taking a step forward only to immediately collide with something solid and warm. He heard the clatter of something fallen onto the ground, a gruff oof. Regulus would’ve fallen backwards if it wasn’t for the hand that flew out to grab onto him, holding him steady. He all but yanked his arm out of the grib, huffing, glancing up to give the person a piece of his mind, only to find himself staring directly into the face of Remus Lupin.
Regulus rolled his eyes, ”I’d rather die.”
Remus blinked a few times, then, ”Regulus?”
Regulus didn’t give him a response. He supposed it was obvious enough. People had loved pointing out how Sirius and Regulus looked alike. When they were kids, Regulus had been skinny, sickly, pale. Sirius had been both taller and stronger and louder, a true heir. As the years passed, Regulus grew more and more into his features. When Sirius was twenty-three, right before he’d run away, he’d stil stood over half a foot taller than him, but Regulus’ skin had lost its sickly sheen and his shoulders had become broader. He was almost convinced he could take his older brother in a fight. Almost. When Regulus was drunk and trying to console himself, he’d tell himself that Sirius left because he didn’t want to risk losing to his younger brother.
”What are you doing here?” Remus spoke again, after a moment of silence. The older man looked both the same and different from what Regulus remembered. Remus was the most tolerable of his brother’s minions. He was tall and lanky, had tan honey skin covered in scars from an accident he’d had as a child. He used a cane, had dark brown eyes and light brown hair, and the cutest smile in the world, if you consulted Sirius’ diary.
Regulus still had the scar he got from falling down the stairs when Sirius had chased him through the house, screaming at the top of his lungs to give it back, you little midget! He remembered bleeding, remembered Sirius’ frantic expression. If his heart hadn’t been halfway up his throat, he probably would’ve laughed at the memory. Instead, all he managed to say was, ”my brother.”
Remus blinked, then seemed come back to himself, ”oh, of course— We live in number 27b, right down the street but I’m afraid Sirius isn’t home, he works late on Fridays—”
”I’ll wait,” Regulus cut Remus off before he could say anything else. He walked around him, ignoring the eyes in the back of his neck as he walked down the street. He sincerely hoped that Remus wouldn’t call or text his brother and tell him of the situation, however, he knew that the chances of those two not sharing everything were slim. Number 27b was a tall building of red brick. The ground floor was a flower shop, closed, though Regulus spent a long time stalling, looking in through the windows at the flower decorations. He thought that perhaps he should’ve let Remus talk. Maybe he could’ve given him a key. Regulus stood there for roughly ten minutes, letting himself marinade in his thoughts, sinking deeper and deeper into a frantic sort of anxiety he hadn’t felt in a long time. Life in his hometown, while miserable, had been predictable. Now, Regulus was on his own. He knew nothing. The thought alone was enough to close up his airways.
He was jolted from his mind when the door to the building suddenly opened and a large family came tumbling out. Regulus watched, completely baffled, as a couple with five children and an older lady poured out onto the street, making more noise than Narcissa had that time Bellatrix spilled red wine on her new dress. The children were arguing, the baby in the stroller was crying, the older lady was muttering to herself— Regulus found himself so overwhelmed that he almost forgot to slip inside the building. Once inside, he let out a breath before checking the mailboxes for his older brother’s name. For a long time he just stood and stared at the name. It was like reading about a dead relative, except his brother was very much alive. In fact, he was probably more alive than any of them.
He climbed the stairs to his brother’s door, eyes immediately drawn to the mat in front of the door, ’Better late than ugly’. It was so stupid and so immature and so Sirius that Regulus felt a sudden sting in his eyes. He blinked and blinked, willing it all back in, the way a true Black did. Then, he leaned against the wall and let himself slide down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs, waiting for his brother to come fix it. Fix him.
Sirius climbed the stairs to his apartment, his body feeling more and more heavy with each step. His hair was soaked, sticking to his face and he was leaving wet footprints in his wake. He wanted nothing more than to go and change into some comfortable clothes and snuggle up with Remus on the couch. But he knew Remus wouldn’t be home. He’d taken up tutoring some of the teenagers in the buildings surrounding theirs, did it for free too. Sirius wanted to text Remus and ask when he’d be home, to see if attempting to stay awake for him was realistic, but his phone had died hours ago. When he finally made it to his floor, he heaved a sigh, glancing up from the floor and— A person was sitting in front of his door. Their head was resting on their knees, face hidden from view but Sirius could make out dark curly hair, pale skin. Regulus.
For a moment, Sirius stood still, blinking several times as if he was expecting him to just suddenly evaporate and turn out to be a figment of his imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sirius used to have dreams like this, where Regulus would turn up on his doorstep and admit that he was wrong, that he should’ve come with Sirius. One would think that with time Sirius would stop believing in the dreams, but every time he opened his eyes and didn’t find Regulus there, he felt the same heavy weight of disappointment settle in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, Sirius inched forward, crouching down in front of his brother. He grabbed onto his shoulder, lightly shaking him, ”Reg? Hey, Reg?”
Regulus’ head shot up suddenly and Sirius couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping his mouth if he tried. Regulus’ left eye was swollen black and blue, to the point where he was barely able to open it. His jaw was turning a yellowish blue and his cheek had a faint red mark in the shape of a hand. The first thing Sirius felt was shock. He had never seen Regulus hurt to this extent. Sirius had always made sure of that, taking whatever he could, doing all that he could to keep the attention off of Regulus because any attention at Grimmauld was bad attention. Slowly, though, the shock ebbed away and left behind an all-consuming, fiery rage, one that Sirius knew would take him straight to Grimmauld if Regulus wasn’t sitting hurt on his front step.
”Fuck, Regulus, what the hell— What happened?” Sirius grabbed onto Regulus’ chin and turned his face to inspect the wounds. He tried to ignore the fact that it had been years since he’d been this close to his brother. That it had been years since he’d touched him, hugged him, done anything with him that wasn’t fighting.
Regulus scoffed, his hand coming up to bat Sirius’ away as his expression settled into a scowl, ”nothing to worry about, Sirius. I just need somewhere to stay the night until I figure something out.”
Sirius blinked, completely baffled. First at the insinuation that Regulus would not be going back to Grimmauld. Then, at the assumption that Sirius wouldn’t let him stay for more than one night— No, that Sirius would let him leave in the condition he was in. His brother really could be an ignorant prick at times. And he knew what to say and where to push to bring out Sirius’ worst sides. And so, Sirius wasn’t even that surprised when the first thing that came out of his mouth was a snarky ”what, did you get in trouble with mommy and daddy?”
He could almost see how Regulus retreated into himself, how the drops of pain and fear that Sirius had been able to spot on his face were slowly covered up by an indifferent expression, cold as ice. Sirius wanted to punch himself and then Regulus, and then probably his parents. For hurting his baby brother, for making them into this— Two people who couldn’t care for each other in any other way than screaming at the top of their lungs, than pushing and pulling at each other. They were fire and gasoline, and they sought each other out even when they were aware of the resulting explosion. Regulus didn’t say anything so Sirius sighed, standing up, ”well, come on then.”
Sirius unlocked the door and walked into his apartment, then turned around and watched Regulus pretend not to wince at every step he took. He bit down his questions and his worry and instead steered Regulus into the living room, sitting him down on the couch. Regulus was staring at everything they passed. The pictures on the walls, the furniture, the blatant mess of books Remus had left on the coffee table, the dirty mug with a single mouthful of tea at the bottom— Sirius supposed Regulus had never seen a home that looked like it was lived in. After Sirius had first left Grimmauld, he’d found himself suddenly realizing that perhaps Grimmauld had never been a home at all. It was just a house. People slept there, but they did not live there.
As Sirius walked to the bathroom, he allowed himself to freak out. About the fact that his little brother was in his apartment. That he hadn’t seen him in five years. That Regulus had been twenty-one when Sirius had left and now he was twenty-six. That he’d missed five years of his baby brother’s life, that he didn’t really know who he was, who was sitting on his couch. That he didn’t know how to hold a conversation with him, didn’t know how to talk to him in a way that didn’t end up in a screaming match. Then, of course, the fact that Regulus was hurt and that their parents were likely the ones who did it, and that Sirius hadn’t been there, and— He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and crouched down in front of the sink to pull out the first aid kit that Remus had insisted on getting when they first moved in.
The first two years of freedom had been the best and the worst time of Sirius’ life. He was free. His parents weren’t lurking around every corner, watching over his every step, correcting him, trying to mold him, forcing him into shapes he didn’t fit. He could play music as loud as he wanted, spill drinks on the couch, leave a mess behind, look unpresentable, kiss his boyfriend. But he couldn’t talk to his brother. He couldn’t call his brother and ask him how his day was. He couldn’t tell him about the annoying landlord they’d had in their first apartment, or about how insanely expensive groceries were. He couldn’t ask him if he was okay, if their parents had hurt him since he left, if he needed him to come and get him. He couldn’t even hear his voice.
Sirius had distracted himself. With freedom, with alcohol, with tattoos and Remus and loud music, had been more reckless than he’d ever been before. He’d gotten parking tickets and landed himself in a holding cell once for pissing drunk on a public building. He’d punched a guy in the face outside a pub for making homophobic comments about Remus and he’d stolen a pack of cigarettes from some woman’s handbag. But his thoughts would always circle back to that tiny, gloomy town. That wretched family, his despicable parents, his snobby cousins and— his baby brother. His absolute favorite person in the world. His boy. When Sirius walked back into the living room and took in the slumped figure on his couch, he found himself wondering if that boy was still there, somewhere, or if their parents had completely erased the parts of him that Sirius had fought so hard to keep.
”Alright,” Sirius said as he sat down on the coffee table. Regulus sat quietly while Sirius cleaned his wounds. He seemed to have given up on fighting him on it. Sirius removed the hood of his hoodie and tried not to wince when the light hit the wounds. He tried to control his anger so he wouldn’t accidentally dab Regulus’ face too hard. Regulus winced when Sirius made contact with his swollen skin and Sirius apologized quietly under his breath. The younger’s eyes were looking suspiciously misty and his breaths were coming out shaky and uneven but Sirius opted not to comment on it.
When he finished, he put the first aid kit away, ”fancy some tea?”
Regulus merely nodded. Making the tea, Sirius once again disappeared into his mind. This time, he thought about what on earth perfect little Regulus could’ve possibly done to unleash this kind of anger from their parents. Sirius had often been on the receiving end, but it was to be expected. Sirius had always been loud and brash, impulsive, opting to make as much noise as possible in the hopes that Regulus could go unnoticed. Even after he’d left, Sirius had stayed rebellious for years until he realized with a sudden jolt that he didn’t need to be. Then, he had calmed down. Gotten softer, Remus always said.
It wasn’t until he was sitting back on the couch beside his stiff brother, watching two steaming mugs of tea in front of them that the questions finally forced themselves out of his mouth— ”What happened?”
He glanced up at Regulus, watched the younger’s eyes narrow, the frown return to his mouth, and for a second he kind of wished that he could tow the question back into his mouth. Regulus promptly looked away, scowling, ”none of your business.”
Sirius scoffed, ”Oh, come off it, Reg. When you showed up here, you made it my problem.”
”I apologize for ruining your perfect life. Do you need me to leave so that you can go back to pretending?”
Baffled, Sirius felt the familiar anger rise in him, like a flood that he had no power to stop. He stood up, turning around to face his brother, ”you know that’s not what I— Fucking hell, Regulus, I’m trying to care for you!”
”Why? Why now? You had no issue leaving back then but now because I got a little banged up, suddenly you care?” Regulus stood up too, forcing Sirius to take a step back. For a moment, Sirius thought Regulus was going to punch him. A sick, sort of twisted part of him wanted him to. The younger’s voice was rising in volume and it caught Sirius slightly off guard. Regulus had never raised his voice. Not when their mother yelled at them or disciplined them, not when she would punish Sirius in front of him to teach a lesson. He’d only ever heard Regulus raise his voice once and it had been when Sirius was leaving, all those years ago. It would seem that Sirius brought out the same thing in Regulus that Regulus brought out in him. Stubbornness, pride, anger, fear. Love, worst of all.
”I cared back then, too! I asked you to come with me and you,” Sirius jabbed a finger into Regulus’ chest, ”you said no.”
”Oh, now you’re my brother?” and Sirius had always known those words would come back to haunt him. The moment he’d said them back then and seen the hurt seep into Regulus’ eyes, he’d known. He’d been so hurt at the prospect of losing his brother, of Regulus choosing their parents over him that he’d said the first thing that came into his mind, the first thing that he knew would hurt him back. You’re not my brother anymore. An hour later, after he’d left and been halfway across town, after the fire of the moment had left him, he’d regretted it. Regretted it so much that he almost went back just to tell him that he didn’t mean it. That he would never mean it.
They stared at each other for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly. Regulus’ brows were scrunched in anger, his eyes steely. When Sirius didn’t respond, he scoffed and turned around. Grabbing his bag from the floor, he made his way towards the door, muttering under his breath and suddenly, Sirius felt panicked. Panicked that his brother was leaving and that he was pretty sure that he’d never see him again if he did.
”Who’s leaving now?” Sirius shouted after him. Immediately after, regret so strong that it made him nauseous hit him. Why couldn’t he just talk to him? Why couldn’t he just tell his little brother that he had been angry because he loved him? That he’d been so heartbroken at the prospect of Regulus not choosing him that he’d lashed out. That he’d thought about him, endlessly, since then. That he’d dreamt about a day where Regulus would show up on hid doorstep and Sirius would get to right the wrongs. There was some fantasy that lived in Sirius’ head, where they could get to know each other again, know each other better. They could learn to do everything and nothing together like they used to.
And even if they couldn’t, Sirius would take this. He would take the screaming matches and the low jabs and the gritted teeth. He would take angry Regulus if the alternative was not having him at all. If Regulus had a bone to pick with him, if he had a million things he wanted to chew him out over, if he wanted to punch him in the face, Sirius would be willing and able to take it. He would probably have his own punches to throw. Perhaps, Regulus would be willing and able, too.
And it was with those thoughts that Sirius found himself stumbling forward. He caught up to Regulus halfway through the living room and all but threw his arms around him, squeezing Regulus’ back against his chest. He could feel Regulus struggling in his hold, could feel him fight it for a second and then give up when Sirius didn’t let go. His body was shaking, his breaths coming out uneven and Sirius wouldn’t be that surprised if he turned him around and found tears in his eyes. It reminded Sirius of that night he’d left, when they’d stood in front of the glow of the TV in the middle of the night, screaming at each other because their parents weren’t home and it was their only chance at leaving. He remembered Regulus’ teary eyes and red face, remembered the way their voices had cracked as they screamed at each other. Remembered himself screaming I’m leaving and Regulus screaming back stay gone!
”Stay,” Sirius said, so quiet that he wasn’t even sure Regulus would hear it. Suddenly, he felt Regulus turning around in his grip. He didn’t get a chance to see if Regulus was crying before the younger was shoving his face into Sirius’ chest, arms snaking around Sirius’ middle. The relief that hit him was unmistakable, like a puzzle piece suddenly slotting back into place as he realized that they might have a chance. He felt Regulus nod against him, and tightened his grip. Yeah, they had a chance— they go way back, after all.
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