Walburga had been openly critical of her firstborn, so Sirius grew up measuring his worth against her expectations. When he proved himself in the military, it stuck, and it became the foundation of his identity. Getting shot threatened that. He grew restless, fixated on returning to active duty, and the pills became part of that push. At first he took them as prescribed, then more, justified as speeding up recovery. He pushed too hard, worsened his shoulder, and dragged the process out. The frustration built, and the pills shifted from pain to nerves. By the time he healed, the army had already decided. Suspected substance abuse, unfit for duty. Access to the pills tightened, but he still didn’t see a problem. He wasn’t ready to let the military go. When an old comrade pointed out that he’d been dismissed because they thought he was an addict, he latched onto it as something fixable. If he quit, he could prove them wrong and go back. He forced himself off the pills alone. It was brutal, but he did it. But it changed nothing. The army didn’t take him back.
So he started (continued) drinking. He tried to keep up with his old unit, but he either drank too much or withdrew completely. Eventually, they stopped asking. He drank alone after that. He had rules: only at home, only to take the edge off, only to sleep. He told himself it was controlled even as the rules bent and the amounts grew. It was easy to underestimate how bad it had become, because he still functioned well enough, and that made it easy to justify. Sometimes it unsettled him how much he planned his days around drinking, but he dismissed it. He thought he could stop whenever it mattered, he had already proven that. He even tested it a few times. The results never lasted.
Then the accident happened. He was lucky, no one was hurt, but the bike was completely wrecked. He got his licence revoked and a huge fine to pay. Alphard took care of it. He didn’t blame him, even though it was his beloved bike Sirius ruined. He promised to fix it, he just needed to get himself together first. He tried to quit again, more seriously this time, but it still didn’t last long enough. Each relapse deepened his shame, feeding the cycle. The bike became a symbol of it, something broken he couldn’t face. Then Alphard died.
That finally broke the cycle. Not just the loss, but the fact that Alphard left everything to him anyway. No conditions. Sirius didn’t know what to do with that kind of faith. The only conclusion he could reach was that he had to become someone who deserved it. By then, the relapses had stripped him of any illusion that he could outthink his addiction. There was no room left for shortcuts. He rebuilt his life around a strict routine: daily gym, steady work, no empty time, no situations where drinking was possible. He trained as a mechanic and started fixing things. He kept people at a distance, avoiding anything that might disrupt his new life. It was lonely, but controlled. And he was sober. Even if, in the end, the discipline became its own kind of dependency.
Some links & tags: my gym bro AU tag; @goldenlionprince's first & second ficlet, @diamondmeadow, @lovelymasks, @thistlecatfics & @lilacella!
