LOCATION: Saint’s Home in Shoreditch
DATE: Evening of February 4th
@sxint
Finally, after much discussion and enough pleading to knock his pride a few pegs lower, Rita agrees to come home, back to their great manor outside the city. The massive thing, their wedding gift from the Wardens, the sprawling gardens and empty rooms all silent for nearing seven months. In the middle of divorce, it means something to return there together. There’s negotiations, conditions arise, his ex-wife strikes a hard bargain. But eventually, she concedes —for their safety, of course. However, Remus can’t deny the heart sighs, the butterflies fluttering in stomach at the thought of being that close again. Same house, separate bedrooms, and the rooms are open to any member of War should they need it. It’s enough to rekindle a cautious flame of hope.
Arrival to his brother’s flat is part of a larger mission, an easy stop on the final trip home to Rita. Having recently smashed Saint’s phone together in an act of catharsis, an attempt to cleanse his brother of the curse of Kitty Mallick, Remus does worry about leaving him alone without a form communication for too long. Normally, he trusts his relentless, reckless brother to take care of himself, but things are different in the midst of a warzone. Remus lets himself in, hauling the bag of things Saint left behind for darling brother at the Chelsea flat after leaving in a hurry. “Saluuut, c'est Rem,” he calls out, voice bouncing off of brick walls in an eerily silent space, “quoi de neuf?” Remus makes himself at home, moving through entryway and into living room to search for his little brother. No answer and no sign of him — but if he’s still, if he’s quiet, he can hear the sound of Indi whimpering from upstairs, the surefire sign of something gone horribly, terribly wrong.
Panic hits him in a in instant. Remus nearly flies up the stairs, throwing bag onto couch in frantic rush. He calls out to his brother again when feet hit the upper landing, following the sound of Indi to his bedroom. Remus isn’t prepared for what he sees just behind the door, left barely ajar to reveal Saint, pale cheek to cold floor, frail and looking broken as he’s sprawled between disheveled bed and bathroom. It’s like a crime scene, the state of his brother’s body and the smell of sick hanging low in the room. “Saint,” Remus croaks, falling to his knees at his brother’s side and turning feeble body onto back. He can see the beads of sweat at forehead now, can feel the burning, fervent heat radiating from clammy skin. Remus’ hands take the other’s shoulders and shake. “Saint.”
It’s just that for a moment, that desperate attempt to wake his brother from deep unconsciousness. “Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck,” he cries out, voice breaking, tears welling. A gnawing, aching pain in his stomach reminds him that this is what Saint must have felt when he found Remus in his own fucked up state. To see his brother alone in his own vomit, out cold on the floor is a vision straight from nightmares, straight from paranoid visions induced by drugs and drink. After nearly losing Maman right in front of his own eyes, this is too much — it fucking breaks him. Tears fall as Remus shakes Saint again, one of his hand squeezing his brother’s tightly. “What happened to you? What fucking happened?”