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Sirius hears it as soon as he steps back into their dark apartment—a panicked sob coming from the direction of the bedroom.
Sirius had spent half of a very long night tossing and turning, unable to lay still long enough to sleep. Exhausted and frustrated, he had left Remus passed out in their bed not thirty minutes earlier while he stepped out onto the porch to chain smoke. Now, he hurriedly follows the loud gasping sobs back to their room at the back of the apartment. He panics momentarily when he reaches their doorway and he doesn’t immediately see Remus. Their bed is empty—only a pile of twisted sheets. His eyes cast wildly around the room until he sees him: Remus has balled himself up on the floor on the far side of their bedroom, hidden between their two dressing cabinets. The room itself is dark, and it takes a moment for Sirius’ eyes to adjust and see him clearly. The curtains are drawn—the waning gibbous glowing through a gap between the drapes, sending a stripe of golden light across the room, only just illuminating Remus’ prone form. Their bedside lamp is broken on the floor in front of him, just a bare bulb and a cracked base—glass smashed into the carpet. The lampshade is nowhere to be seen. Sirius tries to assess the damage Remus may have done to himself from his place across the room. He’s shirtless and wearing Sirius’ old, threadbare plaid pajama bottoms. His curls are wild where his hands have run through them—one hand is still in his hair, the other pressed firmly into his eye. There are vicious red claw marks on his chest that Sirius thinks will scar. His feet are bare and coated in fragments of glass from the lamp, but there is no blood that he can see in the low light of the room. Remus is rocking furiously back and forth, muttering quietly and incoherently to himself between sobs.
“Remus?” No response. “Moony love, it’s Sirius. Can you hear me?”
When he still doesn’t get a response, he heaves a sigh. It’s been three years since the end of the war, and Remus still has nightmares so vivid that he forgets where he is. He wakes up dissociating and doesn't know what’s real and what’s not. He loses himself in time, in place. Sometimes, if Sirius is there when he wakes up screaming, he can hold him and calm him—his sobs subsiding and his body gentling in his arms within minutes. The episodes don’t always get as bad as this one, but they have often enough that Sirius knows what Remus needs from him.
He moves toward him slowly so as not to startle him, but it’s a close thing—he wants to run forward, but he knows that will make things worse. Remus hears him coming anyway and looks up with a start—hands flying outwards towards some unseen evil. His eyes are wide and tears are making tracks down his cheeks. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen—pupils so blown, his eyes may as well be black. “I cant— I cant do this.I can’t do it anymore. They aren’t—Sirius? What’s happening?”
Sirius crouches in front of him and gently takes Remus’ face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. He ducks his own head, trying to get Remus to look him in the eyes. “Remus, it’s okay. Whatever you think is happening or happened, it’s not, okay? You’re alright, I’m here. No ones trying to kill you, love. We’re safe, you’re safe. Do you know where we are?” Remus looks around as if just noticing that he is anywhere tangible at all. He looks to their bed, up to the ceiling. “Our—our apartment?.”
“Right, that’s right love. We’re in our bedroom, in our apartment. It’s 1984. The war's over. You’re safe. You’re alright.”
Remus whimpers, but his eyes seem clearer—some of the brown returning. “L—Lily? And James?” Sirius inhales an unsteady breath, but keeps his voice level for Remus’ sake. “I’m sorry, love. No. They—no." This causes further tears to pool in Remus' eyes, his hands grasping uselessly at nothing in front of him. Sirius shushes him, pulling Remus gently forward with a hand at the nape of his neck, placing his head in the junction between Sirius’ neck and shoulder. He keeps one hand on the back of his neck, his other arm holding him firmly, wrapped around his middle. He rocks Remus tenderly, the hand around him moving to run the length of his back, stroking his spine and quietly whispering re-assurances and apologies. “I’m here Moony, it’s alright. Don’t be scared, alright? I love you. I’m here. We’re both here.”
He doesn't mention what they've lost. What will never be, what was. He just waits until Remus' tears have slowed, his sobs have quieted. Until he has exhausted himself and is nearly asleep on Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius stands, using his full strength to bring Remus up with him and then he carefully walks them both back to the bed. He lays Remus down on his side, gently placing his head to the pillow and brings the sheet and the duvet up and over him. Once Remus is settled, he walks around and climbs in on his side of the bed. The sheets are cold from being empty for so long, but he is warm as he moves behind Remus, pulling him back and wrapping him up with his own body. He kisses the hair at Remus' temple and tries to follow him into sleep.
It's a long time before he starts to drift off—the sun rising steadily outside, hidden behind the curtains. He sends up a silent prayer to whomever is listening that tomorrow will be better. That he's one day closer to not feeling like they're still fighting for their lives. He drifts off to Remus solid in his arms, snoring softly. For now, it’s enough.