I love the relationship Pascal has with everyone on the team and how they all look up to him. I was wondering if you were interested, would you write something about a game where maybe he gets hit? Like I can just imagine Logan and Sirius rushing over because it's Pascal! And the whole team is in uproar of Pascal getting hurt? Up to you!!
Fic O'Ween Day Two: Gatekeeper/ Keymaster
Hurt with a dash of guard dog Logan, a healthy dose of pre-Coops R.J. Lupin appreciation, and a good amount of Dumo being just as crazy about hockey as the rest of them. Good job, hot PT on the bench. They'd be lost without you. Characters belong to @lumosinlove, prompts from @noots-fic-fests!
They came out the gate hot, with two clean goals in the first five minutes that got the crowd on its feet. It was a rare sight for a weeknight game, but a welcome one—Pascal loved the Canadian fans with a certain softness for their undying passion for a slugger of a game.
His line hit the boards soaked and panting and ready for a break, however short. The Habs drove t
hem hard. Something about the icy winters set them on a warpath. As much as he hated to admit it, matching their physicality took a lot more out of him than it used to. He took a swig of water, then drenched the back of his neck for a little relief. Sirius tore past and he banged on the boards with the others, too breathless to shout and too worn out to go through the rigamarole of standing. He’d be back around soon enough. Roadies to his home turf were fun until he was staring down the barrel of an extended everything-but-vacation.
Sirius scored; the stadium exploded with noise. Pascal was up before Arthur finished calling his line, flexing his ankles against the door. Logan was a ball of red-hot adrenaline beside him. He had been racking up assists like tokens at an arcade all night.
“Your parents are here?” Pascal asked over the noise.
Logan blinked up at him, all blown-dark eyes and a feral grin. “Ouais. First time they could come.”
“Finally picking points over punches, eh?”
Logan hit him for that. Pascal thumped him on the back of the helmet for good measure.
“Dumo!”
Familiar calm dripped through his veins as he took his place at the boards. An endless sea of red and blue. Ice he had skated for so long, he could dream of the feeling beneath him on a breakaway. “You’re looking good,” he called to Logan over his shoulder. “Keep your head up.”
He hit the ice running and didn’t wait to make sure Logan followed. Beck swept past and Pascal shadowed his every move, cutting a hard left to block his path to the goal as he jabbed his stick forward to knock it free. Plastic and fiberglass clattered between them—he muscled the kid back a step, enough for Logan to snatch the puck off his stick the second it came free. Good kid. Fast, when he got out of his own head. Endurance like Pascal couldn’t believe, even as he watched Logan race off before his very eyes with a low-set power that said he could do it forever.
Tap-tap-tap and a shot that bounced off the right post. He caught the rebound, but his slapshot slammed straight into Montembeault’s blocker, to the crowd’s obvious glee. Pascal swore under his breath and dug his skates in to chase it back down the rink.
Impact knocked his breath and half his vision out before he could think to shout.
His stick went one way; his body went the other. Boos split the silence in a scream of sound. A dull ache bloomed between his shoulder blades. The game was still going, blurred figures shooting past. Pascal rolled onto his back in time to see Sirius and Logan slam into Wideman from either side, sending him sprawling in four different directions at once. A whistle shrieked. The booing rose to a fever pitch.
“Dumo?” A new voice. A familiar voice. Pascal wheezed. Above him, Remus’ face swam in ripples and blurs. “I’m going to feel your ribs, okay? Anything feel broken?”
My pride. He coughed hard and felt a wisp of oxygen force its way in. “Non,” he choked out. “Lungs.”
“Yeah, he got you good.” Stabbing, aching, vicious pain. It crawled from his back around the side of his ribs, digging deep into soft tissue. He ground his teeth against it at even the gentlest touch of Remus’ hand. “Can you try another breath?”
It stop-started like a faulty engine. Panic stole through him in icy waves. He shook his head hard. Heat, heat all over.
“We’re getting a stretcher for you, just keep trying and stay still.”
“Call—” He grabbed for Remus’ hand on his chest. “—Celeste, call—”
“Hey, hey.” He had lost a glove somewhere along the way. Remus cupped his hand in both of his own. His image sharpened, calm even in the face of Pascal’s struggling. “Look at me,” he said. “When have I ever let something bad happen to you, huh?”
Never, he thought. Not once. Air rushed back into the left side of Pascal’s chest. Blistering pain filled the right, and he still couldn’t get a full breath in, but the dark spots on the ceiling far overhead were starting to fade with every blink.
The stretcher was a boon on his aching neck. His feet were sore. That was a good sign.
“I’m gonna stay with you to the ambulance,” Remus told him, tapping two fingers against the back of Pascal’s hand. Wheels rattled under him. “Hey, what are you doing for Halloween this year? We’ll be home.”
“Ghostbusters,” Pascal managed. Every breath came in half-measures, but at least it came. Thank god it came. “Keymaster, Celeste’s—Gatekeeper. Kids are—crisse—Katie’s Slimer.”
“Oh my god,” Remus laughed. The hallway tunneled around them in sudden darkness after the overwhelming light of the stadium. “That’s amazing. Poor kid.”
Pascal attempted a laugh that was more like a pathetic cough. “Picked it herself.”
“The others are the Ghostbusters?” Remus guessed.
He nodded. The tight feeling was building again, nearing a peak that made him grimace. He wanted to curl away from it, but the restraints gave him nowhere to go.
“Hey. Hey, Dumo. Pascal. We’re almost there, you’re gonna be fine.”
He wanted to believe it. Remus sounded so sure. “Chest,” he mumbled.
“Yep, they’re thinking one of your lungs collapsed. Wideman got you with his shoulder, really wound up for it. They’re gonna take you to the hospital and you’ll be a-okay in a couple days.”
He couldn’t help a groan.
“They see these all the time,” Remus said, quieter. Just for him. His smile was small, but Pascal believed it. “C’est bon.”
“I’m too old for this shit.”
“Wideman’s old enough to know better.” They had reached the ambulance already. It had been forever and no time at all. Remus folded his fingers for him and bumped his knuckles gently with his own. “Go get ‘em.”
He was so kind. Down in his bones, from the moment Pascal had met him and every minute since. Old enough to know better, he said, and it was true. Remus never let them dwell or blame. His chest hurt so much. Celeste would be worried sick. The doctors would call her. Would tell her he was okay, that they saw it all the time, that he’d be fine in a week.
He would call Celeste as soon as he could speak, he decided. And then he would draft a very sincere thank you card.
--
“But he’s okay?”
“He called Celeste, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“That doesn’t tell me he’s okay.”
“He’s fine, according to every doctor that’s come through.”
“What do you think?”
“I think he collapsed a lung and needs to rest for a couple days, and then he’ll be good as gold.”
“Thank you.”
“Any time. How are you?”
Silence fell. Sirius would be doing his funny sort of face communication, all subtle cues and hand-waving at the concern, and Remus would be reading him like he always did. Pascal heard a laugh from the hall—no, two, one lower than the other. “Wideman’s a fucking loser.”
“Pretty sure he knows it, now.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Seriously, though, how’s your knuckle?”
“Better than Wideman’s face.” Another beat of quiet, then, “It’s fine. I promise.”
“The doctors think all the flights had something to do with the lung going, so. Not something you need to worry about in the future much. They’ve seen it all before.”
“Thank you, Re.”
Oh, that nickname. Every time Pascal thought he was seeing things. Every time he thought, surely not. Re. Loops, most often, save for those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments. Thank you, Re.
Hockey had a deep love of irony, he had come to find over a lifetime. He thought of himself, feeling brazenly young until skate-cut snow met him head on. He thought of Sirius, and that ankle, of blood and bone and the light going out of his eyes when they pulled him off the ice that night. Of Remus, watching from the sidelines like nothing else in the world was happening. When have I ever let anything bad happen to you?
That injury could have killed Sirius. It should have left him hollow. He looked good tonight in front of Logan’s parents and his home crowd, strong and whole. Pascal wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t pry. But the minute Sirius crossed the threshold to come be a worrywart over him, he would make it abundantly clear who was to thank for his recovery tonight. It took a certain type of person to stand between this team and the worst parts of the game. Maybe somewhere between his fussing and tutting and a thousand confirmations of yes, I can breathe, I’m talking to you, Sirius would even think to let a little of that into his life.
Perhaps he should have waited to call Celeste. Ah, well. He needed something to do for the next three days if they weren’t going to let him back in the game, and she loved few things more than a debrief. Pascal was still only half-sure she hadn’t married him for his gossip.
Re. Unreal. He shook his head in the dim solitude of his hospital bed and turned to the window, where the lights of downtown Montréal glowed forever. If it took a collapsed lung to get some sense into this team, they’d never hear the end of it.
Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove
TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)
“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”
“Fine.”
God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”
Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?
He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.
“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”
Sirius blinked. “You?”
“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”
“Ah. Ouais.”
“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”
Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”
“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”
Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.
The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”
“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”
Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.
Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.
“Done?”
He jumped.
“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”
“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”
Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.
“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.
Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.
“How’s your ankle feeling today?”
Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”
The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”
“A little sore?”
The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”
“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”
“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”
“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”
Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”
“Non.”
“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”
This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.
“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”
“Even with crutches?”
“Ouais.”
“Do you sleep with it on?”
“…my crutches?”
“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.
“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”
“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”
Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”
“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”
How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”
Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”
It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—
“Hold on.”
Sirius paused.
Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”
“Quoi?”
“You’re…what, six-three?”
“About.”
“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”
What the fuck? “Uh, no?”
A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”
“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.
“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”
Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”
“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”
Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.
It was no use. “What was that?”
“Hmm?”
“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”
Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”
“Where?”
“Uh. My ankle.”
“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”
He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”
The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”
“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.
Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”
You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”
“Please don’t ever do that again.”
If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”
“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”
The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.
“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”
“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”
“Ouais.”
Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”
“Non.”
“You sure?”
“Just—makes me nervous.”
“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”
Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”
Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”
“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.
“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”
Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.
“You can take it off.”
Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”
Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.
“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”
Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”
Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”
“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”
“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”
“Oh, please.”
“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”
“Yes, I know.”
“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”
“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.
He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.
“Sirius?”
He hummed.
“You okay?”
The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”
“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”
“The exam?”
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”
Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”
“Are you—”
“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”
“Okay,” Remus said quietly.
They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.
“Ow.”
“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”
Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.
“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”
Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”
“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”
“Okay.”
Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.
“You did great.”
Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”
“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”
The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”
“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”
Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”
“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”
“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”
“Awesome, see you then.”
“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”
“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”
“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”
Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”
“Got you beat, there.”
Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”
“Très bien, Loops.”
Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.
Hello! I just went through the entirety of your coops fics because I was in a very major coops mood. The most recent one is also absolute gold, I loved it so much! If inspiration ever strikes you, might I request some more of ✨sexually charged✨ (if that is the word) pre-coops? I'm in love with the way you write the tension between them! (And they certainly don't always have innocent thoughts about one another pre-dating, jeez Remus "maybe I'd like him to push me up against the stalls when he's energized" Lupin) I hope you have a great day, no matter what you do with this ask obviously and thank you for all your amazing writing!!:) Also, apologies for my English!
Fic O'Ween Day 2: Moonlight! This is more cute and sweet, but there are certainly some moments where they need to go to horny jail. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!
TW for momentary impure thoughts (gasp!)
You Have One (1) New Message From: Sirius Black
Remus nearly choked on half a sandwich as he snatched his phone off the desk with a glance to make sure the door was closed. Despite his best efforts, it was scientifically impossible for him to keep down a blush when Sirius was involved. The last thing he needed was someone wandering in while he was at his most embarrassing.
Are Pots’ pads in the storage closet?
And then, two seconds later:
Good morning : )
Remus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. He received a dozen similar messages from the team every day, but there was something about Sirius that made his heart skip a beat after even the simplest question. Maybe it was because he could hear Sirius’ voice even through the screen, his accent curling around each word. Maybe it was because he could see that shy smile in the emojis that always, always accompanied a text from the captain. Maybe it was because Sirius was the one person he wanted to kiss until they were both blue in the face.
New Message To: Sirius Black
No, Pots’ pads are drying in the ice room.
And then, after two seconds of thought:
Morning : )
“Pull it together,” Remus muttered to himself as his stomach flipflopped. He checked the time, cursed, and set his phone facedown on the desk. Less than ten minutes of his lunch break remained—he would be lucky to get five with the team’s track record of terrible timing.
Sirius was laughably out of his league, famous, and straight. Remus’ poor, romantic little heart didn’t seem to get that memo. It was kind of mortifying, actually—he was afraid he’d start doodling their initials in tiny hearts on the corner of his notes like a fucking middle schooler soon.
Remus groaned under his breath at the thought and let his forehead thud against the top of his desk. Feelings were a nightmare. Curling up under his desk like an elderly fox dying in the woods was sounding better with every passing moment.
“Fuck.” He checked the clock again—six minutes until the end of his lunch, eleven until Kasey’s appointment. He cast one more baleful glance to his sandwich before sliding it back into his lunch bag and dragging himself upright.
--
“I almost have it, stop twitching!”
“Well, maybe if you moved your ass—”
“Hey, guys, I—oh.”
Sirius froze and felt James do the same.
“Should I…” Remus trailed off, tilting his head slightly to the side. “Should I come back, or…?”
“No, no, you’re good,” James assured him. His weight rocked back and Sirius gritted his teeth as a heel dug into his shoulder. Of all the humiliating positions to be found in, Remus had to walk in when he was playing the illustrious role of human stepstool. Fantastic.
He tried to fight his blush when Remus looked down at him, a laugh ticking at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you were looking for pads?”
“We are.” Sirius bit back a groan when James’ foot found a bruise from the last game. “Couldn’t find them.”
“Yeah, no, I got your text. But why are you looking up there?”
“We checked everywhere else.”
“Why would I put your pads in a place I can’t reach?”
A beat of silence passed. “I guess we didn’t think of that,” James mused before stepping back onto the floor with one last dig of his bony heel into the small of Sirius’ back.
“Ow—”
“Don’t be a baby.”
Sirius got to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster and dusted himself off, offering a strained smile to Remus. He was in his usual (adorable) uniform of khakis and a polo—blue today, softening the pale gold of his skin—and waited patiently for them to finish in the doorway to the ice baths. “We checked in the storage closet,” Sirius explained. “For the pads. They weren’t there.”
Obviously, or else he wouldn’t have found you two doing a Dumb and Dumber skit. Remus, to his credit, seemed rather unfazed as he turned to James. “Did you check the towel drying racks?”
“The what?”
“How are you alive?”
“Stubbornness and healthy living,” James said brightly.
Remus just shook his head with a grin, his soft curls falling over his forehead. Sirius wanted to squeeze him. “I don’t get paid enough for this. C’mon.”
Sirius trailed after him without hesitation, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Remus’ left ear. Not his (strong, lean) shoulders or his (perfect for holding) waist or his (god bless the inventor of khakis) rear end. Left ear. The left ear was safe, bland, and—and—
And there was a small freckle near the tip that Sirius wanted to kiss. And the short-cropped sides of Remus’ hair just brushed it like a halo. And, and, and, because Remus Lupin could never be just one thing. There was too much good about him. Sirius had known it from the moment he realized he’d do anything for a single smile from those lips.
“Hey, are you feeling okay?”
He startled, glancing down at James. “Why?”
James shrugged. “I dunno, you seem distracted.”
“Maybe you should be more entertaining.”
That got him a grin and an elbow to the ribs; Sirius smiled, ducking his head with it. James was like that, too—so much good condensed into a best-friend-sized package. God, he could hear the ‘package’ jokes James would make if he ever said that aloud. From anyone else, it would have been irritating.
Remus paused by the door with a flourish of his hand. “Ta-da! Pads drying on a drying rack. Who would have thought?”
Sirius’ cheeks heated as James let out a bark of laughter. Embarrassment never seemed to affect James, unless it came from Lily. He watched as James slung an arm around Remus and planted a wet kiss to his cheek, and tried not to acknowledge the hot spark of want in his belly. Remus was nice. Remus wouldn’t think anything of it if Sirius did the same. The problem was, Sirius wasn’t sure if he could stop himself once he folded.
“Next time, check your phone instead of playing ladder for Thing One, eh?” Remus teased, twisting a dry towel in his hand before patting Sirius on the chest.
Sirius choked a noise back at the last possible second.
Remus blinked. His butterscotch lashes fluttered once before his eyes settled on Sirius’, curious and deer-soft and full of the intensity, the pure focus, that Sirius admired above most other things. He had been studied his whole life and never once been seen quite like that.
Remus’ hand was still on his chest. His brow furrowed. Sirius was acutely aware that he was still holding his breath; his mouth watered at the thought of pressing a light kiss to that worried crease, the scrunch of his pointed nose, the slight downturn of his lips. The uninvited image of where else that furrow-scrunch combination might appear (on his mattress, healing hands curled in the sheets, bright in the moonlight like Remus deserved and stop it stop it stop it) sprang to mind before Sirius could divert his attention. He was morbidly grateful for his loose basketball shorts.
A light jab to the chest shocked him from his daydream. “That hurts?”
“…huh?”
Remus poked him again, dead center over his right pec. “You made a noise. What’s wrong?”
“I—um, I was—” Words. He needed words. What’s a word? “I was on bench rotation. Tired. Tired muscles. Non, nothing wrong.”
Remus snorted. “Being a baby, then, got it.”
The far door flew open and Sirius flinched, but Remus’ attention was already gone and James was shaking his skates at him like a dog’s leash. “Yo, it’s showtime, stop hogging my Loops.”
“Captain privilege, I get first dibs,” Sirius countered with a wry smile, even as something in him twitched at my Loops. Maybe it was his imagination, but Remus looked rather pleased.
“You have to stop using that excuse to get whatever you want.”
“Someday you’ll understand.”
“Hey.” Remus touched his elbow and Sirius stopped on a dime. He wound the towel around his hand once more, offering a smile that was half-concern, half-assurance. “Tell me if that muscle keeps acting up, okay? Powering through won’t help if you pulled something.”
As if Sirius would ever pass up an opportunity to talk with him. Was it unethical to fake an injury? “I will,” he promised.
“Solid.” They bumped fists and Sirius gave a dramatic shake of his hand, just to watch Remus roll his eyes. “I’ll see you at four. Remember to—”
“—ice 30 minutes before and bring Tylenol for after,” he finished, nodding along. “I got you, Loops.”
Remus’ next breath was a bit sharper than usual, smoothing on the exhale with a smile. “Yeah, I know.”
“Captain!” James hollered.
Sirius smiled through the urge to lock his best friend in a storage closet. “Four o’clock.”
Tbh I think about what Dumo and Celeste might have talked about or planned during that stormy night they got snowed in for Sirius's birthday in SW. I'd love to see something Dumo POV centered if you felt like it 👉👈
These two meddlers, my god. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!
TW for mentioned alcohol (casual drinking with dinner)
“So,” Pascal began, twirling a few strands of pasta around his fork.
Celeste hummed. She knew that tone of voice. “So.”
“Sirius.”
The corner of her mouth ticked up. “I’ve heard of him.”
Pascal raised an eyebrow, but turned back to his pasta with a serene smile, the same one she had seen moments before he proposed to her. Smug, but calm. Mischievous, but still subdued enough to miss if one didn’t know what to look for. “He’s not involved with anyone, is he?”
“Not that I know of.” She licked a bit of cream sauce off her lip and reached across the tablecloth to twine their fingers together. “Has he mentioned any…partners…to you?”
“Not yet.”
Celeste paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Yet?”
Not even a pointed bite of fettucine could mask his grin. “Yet.”
She set her fork down fully and scooted her chair closer to the table, bowing her head slightly so the couple seated next to them couldn’t hear. “What did he tell you, Pascal?”
“He didn’t have to tell me anything,” Pascal answered, maddeningly cool as he always was when he puzzled something out before her. “Remember the Halloween party?”
“Of course.” Her Christine dress had been heavy enough to make her feel pregnant all over again, but at least it was pretty. Celeste narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
Pascal took a long sip of wine, stroking the pad of his thumb along her wrist. “He’s got a crush,” he singsonged under his breath.
Celeste Dumais was not a fool. There was a reason she had entranced Pascal ‘Meddling’ Dumais the instant they set eyes on each other, and she prided herself on her ability to read people within moments of meeting them. It was impossible to lie to her, a trait her children hated and her husband adored. Sirius Black was quite possibly the most open book she had ever met.
So she snorted, and turned back to her wine glass. “Oh, mon cher, I know that.”
“I know you know,” Pascal countered. “But do you know who he’s besotted with?”
And Celeste paused again, caught. She had ideas. Many of them. Three top contenders had been circulating in her mind for several months, now, but they all fell into one category that was not her place to reveal if Pascal was wrong. Celeste Dumais was not a fool, but she was not cruel, either. She would not share her oldest son’s secrets behind his back. Pascal’s gaze was steady when she met it. “Pascal,” she warned quietly.
He nodded. “You know, don’t you?”
“It depends.”
“He’s a kind young man.”
“I care for him deeply,” she agreed. “As do you.”
“I do, and I want him to be happy.”
“So he hasn’t told you.”
“Has he told you?”
She took another bite of pasta, chewing slowly. “I don’t think he’s told anyone,” she finally said.
“I sincerely doubt he has.” Pascal eyed her as he finished his meal. “That could be to our advantage.”
There it was. Celeste smiled. “You already have a plan.”
“I have part of a plan.”
“You have 75 percent of a plan and you need me to help with it so he doesn’t catch on too quickly.”
Pascal grinned roguishly. “You know me too well.”
“I know you just well enough to memorize your scheming face,” she corrected. “And this plan had better not involve anything extreme, or you’ll scare them both off.”
“Both?”
“I have three guesses, and one seems more likely than the others.” Obvious interest settled into every line of Pascal’s face, but he did not pry, and Celeste loved him for it. Two full minutes of silence passed before either of them spoke again. “I’ve always liked Remus Lupin.”
Bingo. His grin became a smile, true and honest. “As have I, mon amour. As have I.”
She laughed softly and gathered the last of her dinner onto her fork. The knot of unease in her stomach released. “He has a big job ahead of him.”
“We can make it easier.”
She hummed in agreement, squeezing his hand once before folding both under her chin in quiet contemplation. “Not during the season, though. And Sirius will be in Europe for the summer. This may take a while.”
“He can’t know that we know, or it won’t work,” Pascal added with a pensive drum of his fingertips on the tabletop.
“Oh, definitely not.”
“He’ll be too focused on the preseason to pay attention if we start then. And those first few games always make him anxious.”
“What about his birthday?” Celeste offered. “26 isn’t anything big. It can be a small party, just us and a couple of guests.”
Pascal considered it for a moment. “You think we have that kind of time?”
“Sirius’ contract doesn’t expire for a few years, and Remus won’t quit. We’ll start slow, invite him to more team dinners, give them little nudges, and then…” She raised her brows with a significant look, drawing a smile from Pascal. “We find a way to get them happy, full of cake and a bit of alcohol, and alone together. If that doesn’t work, we try the Christmas party and pray for a snowstorm.”
“You don’t think Remus will get snapped up by then?”
Celeste scoffed. “Have you seen Sirius lately? And if you’re right about Halloween, then he’ll wait.”
“It sounds like we have a plan, madame Dumais.”
They tapped their wine glasses together; the faint chime was almost inaudible over the murmur of other couples talking. “I think we just might, monsieur Dumais,” she answered with a devilish grin as she waved down the waiter. A slice of chocolate cake sounded like a good after-plot reward.
hi eve would absolutely love a PT loops fluff! like him being hyped up/supported by the team or maybe a little video for being w the team for x amount of years or something :)) if you have the time!! much love xoxo
PT Loops!!!! This isn't specifically a birthday fic, but it felt appropriate to publish on Remus' actual birthday. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3
Remus turned the corner of the tunnel and came face-to-face—or rather, face-to-ass—with a spandex-clad backside.
He blinked once, twice, and raised his eyebrows. “Talkie?”
“Loops!” Talker clambered down from the bench, dragging Remus in for a boisterous hug. “Hey!”
“Hi,” Remus laughed. “What’s all this?”
“Nothing, just wanted to hug my bestie.” Talker stepped back and grinned, then gave him a firm slap on the back that knocked a cough out of Remus. “Got a minute?”
Remus shook his head, though he couldn’t keep down a smile. “You need a stretch?”
“I need your brain.”
“Well, I’m using it at the moment, but check back on Wednesday after the pallets come in and you’re free to have whatever’s left.”
Talker snorted and ruffled his hair; Remus wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but he couldn’t deny the soppy affection that bloomed whenever one of the boys jostled him around like he was one of their own. “How about your eyeballs, can I borrow those?”
“Only if you keep them attached to my face.”
“Great!” Talker beamed, then promptly bent over to rummage under the bench again. “I dropped my necklace somewhere in here, and if I don’t find it, I’ll never score another point.”
“Where’d you lose it?” Remus raised his hands when Talker shot him a look of disbelief. “Figured I’d ask.”
“I know I took it off before going on the ice, but I don’t remember where I put it.”
“In your bag?” Remus suggested as he laid over one of the benches and shoved a duffel bag out of the way.
“Nah.”
“Around your waterbottle?”
“No, but I should do that next time.”
“Are you sure you took it off?” Remus squinted in the darkness, then pulled his phone out and turned the flashlight on for a better view. Dust bunnies and ancient bits of trash stared back at him—the shiniest thing in sight was a long-abandoned paper clip.
“I think I’d notice if it was still around my neck,” Talker said dryly.
Remus kicked his calf. “I meant it might be in your gear.”
Talker poked his head out of the duffel mountain and pouted his lower lip with an exaggerated rub to the muscle. Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to help us, Loops, not hurt us!”
“Hockey players are so fragile,” he sighed, shifting so the bench stopped digging into his ribcage. “Which way did you come from the tunnel?”
Talker slid down onto the floor and wiggled between the rows with a grunt. “Left, but I wandered around a bit before I noticed it was gone.”
Remus groaned. “And you’re sure you weren’t wearing it on the ice?”
“Very sure.”
“And you didn’t take it off in the locker room?”
“Nope.”
Something glimmered in the corner of Remus’ vision and he bit his lip. “Talkie.”
“Loops.”
“I spy with my little eye, something shiny and gold.”
Talker jumped, and immediately bent his head to look under Remus’ bench. “What? Where?”
Remus fought to keep his laughter down. “You sure you didn’t take it off in the locker room?”
“I…” He frowned, feeling around on his neck before patting down his jeans. A sheepish smile spread over his mouth when he reached his back pocket. “Oops?”
“How long have you been looking for that?” Remus asked around a grin. “Y’know, sometimes I worry about you guys.”
“You get paid to worry about us,” Talker snorted as he stood and brushed himself off, grimacing at the dust that clung to his t-shirt. “Buckle me?”
“I got you.” Remus had always found it a little funny how many hockey players wore jewelry. And not big, flashy stuff, either—they seemed fond of the more delicate things, like Talker’s simple gold chain and tiny pendant. It seemed like a bad idea to wear something so breakable for such a violent sport, but the objects had become good luck charms and therefore fell under the protection of whatever hockey god made players so superstitious.
The clasp hooked in with a last little flash in the bright lights of the rink and Remus patted his lower back. “Got it?”
“You’re good,” he confirmed. “Need anything else before I go?”
Talker raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed to a stretch…”
“Goodnight,” Remus laughed, socking him lightly on the shoulder and getting a gentle shove in response. “Jesus, I swear you all owe me for unpaid overtime.”
Talker hustled after him as he set off down the tunnel again. “Where’re you headed?”
“My office, and then my bed.” Remus rubbed the side of his neck with a wince; four and a half hours of paperwork were not kind to his muscles.
“Come on, it’s your anniversary!”
He cast him a look out of the corner of his eye. “With who?”
“With us, Fruit Loop, don’t tell me you forgot.” Talker slung an arm over his shoulders and dragged him closer until their hips bumped with each synced step. “Three years. I got you flowers, ‘cause I know you won’t do anything nice for yourself ever.”
“Bullshit,” Remus snorted, though his heart skipped a beat. Talker was right—he hadn’t put much thought into it beyond making himself something fancier than takeout for dinner as a celebration. He could hardly believe so little time had passed, and yet it felt like forever since he stepped foot in that office and shrugged on a staff jacket and got to call both his own. He knocked his temple against the side of Talker’s jaw. “Best three years of my life, man.”
“Damn straight,” Talker teased. “You better not be sick of us yet.”
“The health insurance is worth spending five minutes tracking down a necklace that wasn’t even lost in the first place,” he said with mock-solemnity, earning himself a playful kick to the ankle. “Asshole.”
“Motherfucker,” came the affectionate retort. Voice echoed down the hall and Talker slowed considerably.
Remus frowned in confusion. “What’s going on?”
“Those—” He pressed his lips together with an unhappy exhale and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Nothing, just—I think I left my wallet in my bag, let’s go grab it real quick—”
“Woah, hey, what?” Remus ducked out from under Talker’s arm as he tried to guide them back down the tunnel, suddenly wary. “What happened?”
“Come with me for—” Talker made a face at his phone when the screen brightened again. “—like, five minutes? Yeah, five minutes, it’ll be quick.”
“What did you do?” Remus repeated, chancing a look over his shoulder. He did a double-take when he saw the one open door. “Is that—is that my office?”
“Definitely not,” Talker said quickly, reaching out to steer him away. Remus dodged his hands like an oncoming check and set off at a light jog, his heart pounding. “Loops, wait!”
He had left all his paperwork spread over his desk, and if they were trying out some sort of prank that would make him do it all over again, Gryffindor might have its first serial homicide case since the city’s conception. “What do you think you’re—”
Remus stopped dead in the doorway. All movement ceased immediately, save for a string of crepe paper that came free of its scotch tape binding and fluttered down by James’ side. A large gold balloon bumped the ceiling. Its shiny red string had been tied to the poor overwatered cactus on his desk, which was next to…
“What?” Remus said faintly. His mother’s face was flushed with suppressed excitement.
“Surprise!” James said, shoving his glasses up his nose with his free hand. “It’s not your birthday, but it also kind of is.”
“What?” He was pretty sure Jules’ feet were only on solid ground because of their father’s grip on his shoulder; in the months since Remus had been home, he had grown at least an inch and a half. His chest felt very tight, suddenly. Like something had grown four sizes and made breathing more difficult than it had to be as he pressed his hand to his neck. “You—oh.”
“Three years is a long time,” Arthur mused. Remus could see the twinkle in his eye all the way across the room. “Congrats, Lupin.”
Remus swallowed hard. He wanted to say something, do something, but all that came out was “you got my family?”
“Cap’s idea, actually.”
And oh, if that didn’t make Remus’ heart trip over itself even more than it already was. He let his eyes slide to Sirius, who was hiding in the corner with the other end of James’ crepe paper and a shy smile. It took two more failed attempts at speaking before any words formed. “I don’t even…”
Sirius shrugged one shoulder, always bashful when it came to anything real. His confidence had drawn Remus in like a magnet from the day they met, and his quiet care had kept him there, a hopeless moth to the flame. “It was just a phone—”
“Thank you.”
Sirius seemed surprised by that, if the pink of his cheeks was any indication. Remus had thought it was hard to keep himself from kissing Sirius when he was sweaty and flushed with adrenaline, but that was nothing next to that look. “De rien, Loops.”
Remus sniffed against the emotion clogging his throat despite his dry eyes, then turned to Talker, who was leaning on the doorframe, terribly smug. “You really didn’t lose your necklace.”
“Please,” he scoffed.
“Did you do this?”
“Team effort.”
“You think any of them could plan this alone?” Moody asked with a wry grin.
Remus huffed a laugh as the disbelief trickled out and left simple, blinding happiness in its place; his cheeks ached from smiling when he looked to the ceiling. “Jules, cover your ears.”
“Covered,” his dad confirmed.
“I fucking love you guys.”
A cheer went up like the deafening roar after a victory, echoing off the walls of his office as the team swarmed him—Remus accepted hugs and hair ruffles and slaps on the back while fondness threatened to spill out of every pore. Then the crowd parted, and he practically fell into his parent’s arms with a hitch of breath.
“I can’t believe this,” he mumbled into his father’s shoulder, holding them both as tight as he could.
“We are so proud of you, baby,” his mother whispered. “You’ve done so much good.”
“How the hell did you—” Remus let his train of thought break off as he bent to sweep Jules into a hug and felt his heart heave when skinny arms held him just as tight. “Missed you, bud.”
“You’re suffocating me,” Jules wheezed, drawing a laugh from the rest of the room. Remus didn’t let his grip falter and closed his eyes; Jules snuggled up close to him, hands balled in the back of his shirt.
“Are you missing school for this?” Remus asked after a moment.
“We’ve got a long weekend, you nerd.”
Remus flicked his shoulder as another wave of laughter rippled behind him. “You grew.”
“The doctor said I’d be taller than you.”
“Not that hard,” Kasey remarked. Remus cracked one eye open and flipped him off behind Jules’ back.
He saw Sirius lingering in the back of the group and carefully detached himself, swiping his sleeve under his nose. “You did this? You brought them?”
“They brought themselves,” Sirius half-laughed, shifting his weight from side to side. “But ouais, I called.”
Remus didn’t let himself hesitate as he closed the two steps between them and wrapped both arms around Sirius, startling a small noise out of him. He even smelled incredible, because of course he did. Like it wasn’t already hard enough for Remus to hide his racing heartbeat as two large hands spread tentatively between his shoulder blades.
He forced himself to let go a moment later and patted Sirius on the bicep, which did nothing to calm the lurch in his stomach at the feeling of his warm, soft skin. “I owe you.”
“Non.”
“I do,” Remus said earnestly, holding the silver gaze that had been occupying his dreams more often than not while Jules plastered himself to his leg again. “Sirius, this is—thank you.”
“You’ve spent three years taking care of us, Loops.” James’ dimples popped as he gave him a nudge. “Let us do the same for you, eh?”
“I’ll try,” Remus laughed, though he had to clear his throat when he turned and the reality of his family—his whole family, every part of it all together—crashed back in. “You guys really are the best. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not for many years, I hope,” Dumo said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “There is far too much left to do.”
Maybe something with Dumo first realizing Sirius liked Remus. I feel like it would be something along the lines of "aw, it's good Sirius is making friends - nope, he likes him"
Fic O'Ween Day 2! Have some pre-Coops Halloween pining <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!
Prompt #2: Masquerade Meet-Cute
TW for implied/ mentioned alcohol (no drunkenness)
Dumo ducked to avoid a flying lollipop and leveled a playful glare on Logan—he received a sheepish grin beneath the skeleton half-mask before Finn jogged past with the lollipop in hand and dragged him back off into the crowd. It was exciting to have a new rookie in his home after all that time, especially one so different than Sirius.
Speaking of…
He leaned back against the table and craned his neck to try and spot the familiar head of raven hair; the excessive sprawl of the rink ballroom made the search much more difficult than it would have been if they kept to the tradition of having the party at his own home. Still, he couldn’t deny that a costume party wasn’t a little bit more fun when he didn’t have to scrape crepe paper off the walls at the end of the night.
“Ope!” The sudden yelp to his left startled him; when he turned, red was already dripping over pale fingers. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” Sirius said, already dabbing at the spilled drink with a handful of novelty napkins. His brow was furrowed over his domino mask. “It was my fault, I should have been more careful.”
“I’m such a klutz,” the other man sighed as he reached around Sirius’ waist for a few more napkins. The accent was familiar, but the gray-and-tan wolf mask obscuring his face made Dumo stop and think for a moment. He was never all that good at placing American accents, especially when they were watered-down by years spent in the melting pot of Gryffindor and muffled by the noise of the crowd. “Did I spill on you?”
“Not at all,” Sirius assured him. The other man’s free hand flailed uselessly by his sloshed drink before he pushed the mask up, revealing an apologetic smile and worried hazel eyes. Sirius visibly paused. “Oh.”
“I guess your costume kind of hides it, huh?” Remus laughed with a shake of his head. “Good call.”
Sirius remained quiet for reasons Dumo didn’t quite understand before he blinked and seemed to come back to himself. “It was all Pots. Uh, James’ idea. Looks a bit stupid without him here.”
“Hey, no way!” Remus protested, looking up from his attempts at salvaging his tattered and lightly stained flannel with a frown. “You look badass. Robin, right?”
A soft smile—too soft for a mere lucky guess, to be honest—came over Sirius’ face. “Exactly. James is Batman.”
“He chose you over a couple’s costume with Lily?” Remus teased. The punch was nowhere to be seen on his hand, but neither of them moved from their place by the table. Interesting, Dumo thought. It wasn’t like their corner was particularly well-lit or close to the action. Very interesting.
“Catwoman’s around here somewhere.” The smile didn’t fade; if anything, it grew broader when Remus laughed.
Dumo tilted his head. Oh.
Oh.
“Oh,” he murmured to himself, taking a sip of the punch Logan had definitely helped spike not twenty minutes earlier. Pieces began clicking into place like the cutouts of a jack o’lantern, forming a whole picture that he had somehow missed over six years of knowing Sirius Black. There was no concrete proof, of course, but there was just enough to prod the back of Dumo’s thoughts.
He had never seen his pseudo-son look at anyone with that same bashful excitement before. Yet there it was, directed at one Remus Lupin.
Their topic had changed; Sirius poked one of the fuzzy wolf ears perched on Remus’ head and his eyes grew mercury-bright against the black of his mask at the responding snort. Though Remus’ quick sip of his drink might have hidden his face from Sirius, it did nothing to conceal his grin from Dumo.
Someone called Remus’ name over the pumping Monster Mash and they both jumped. “You should probably go make sure nobody drowns in the apple tub,” Sirius said wryly.
“Nah, I’m off-duty. Means I just get to enjoy the show.” Remus’ eyes twinkled in the low light under the brim of his mask. The voice called out again, more insistent, and they laughed. “Happy Halloween, Wonder Boy.”
Sirius’ breath visibly caught in his chest as Remus turned and nearly bumped right into Lily, who rolled her eyes and linked their arms before dragging him off. Dumo wasn’t the best at reading lips, but he could have sworn he saw Sirius mouth ‘wonder boy’ to himself before setting his own glass down and vanishing into the dense crowd.
Very, very interesting, he thought with a sly smile.
He checked his watch—ten minutes to midnight. Plenty of time to slip away like the phantom his own mask was named for and fill Celeste in on the plan taking a vague shape in his mind.
Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.
Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!
Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3
Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove
TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)
Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.
The next nudge was more insistent.
“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.
Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”
You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.
Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.
Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”
“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.
Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”
Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.
Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.
“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”
He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.
Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.
He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—
“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”
“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.
“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.
He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”
“Yep.”
“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”
“Probably.”
“Coach will be upset.”
“No question.”
“It’s the Badgers.”
Remus made a face. “I know, right?”
“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.
“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.
“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”
“Would it?”
“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”
The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”
“Of course,” he scoffed.
“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.
“Sorry.”
Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”
“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”
“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”
Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”
“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”
“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.
“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”
“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.
He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”
“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”
“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”
Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.
Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”
“Is that real?”
“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”
“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”
“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”
A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.
“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.
“Not your fault.”
“It’s not yours, either.”
Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”
“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”
“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”
“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Cool.”
Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”
“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”
“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”
“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”
“I am.”
He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”
Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”
“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”
In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”
Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”
“I know.”
“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”
--------------------------------
Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.
Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.
Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.
“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”
“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”
“Brat.”
Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”
Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”
“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”
“No problem, Cap.”
He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.
An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—
No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.
The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…
He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.
