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The thing about therapy, was that no matter how many people you ask, every experience is different. Every therapist was different, and as someone who wanted needed to know what to expect in a new situation, regulus felt like he was going to explode at the mere thought of divulging this feeling inside of him to someone so unpredictable.
Sirius had started therapy a few months after he and regulus had moved in with the potter’s, once he had realised all of that trauma wasn’t going to go away just because he was out of there.
Regulus had begged the potters not to send him as-well. He knew he was screwed up. Knew that he had habits that weren’t normal. Weren’t safe. But the pain of it- it was his. He controlled who knew, and who didn’t. He didn’t want someone else rummaging through the piles of garbage that he called is mind.
Of course the potters respected this, and promised him that they will never make him do anything he doesn’t want to do, as long as he’s safe.
He chose to believe they meant from his parents- ignoring the blaringly obvious implications of, it’s you. It’s you. It’s you. You are the danger.
That didn’t last long though.
His mental health worsened dramatically in a matter of weeks, and suddenly it became very apparent to everyone else that he couldn’t keep going on like this.
Long sleeves became a constant, and sirius found himself with a bottle of antiseptic and bandaids in regulus’ room in the dead of night, more often than not.
They all knew. Sirius, the potters- James. It scared them all half to death, but they didn’t know what to do.
Eventually bandaids weren’t enough for the damage he was doing. Sirius had woken the potters up one night and heaved as he forced out that regulus needed the hospital. His hands were shaking perpetually and regulus couldn’t do anything more than squeeze his eyes shut, clutching his arm to his chest as he rocked hurriedly, sobbing apologies until he couldn’t breathe.
it became apparent that night that regulus couldn’t keep all those emotions he’s was forced to bottle up as a child to himself, and while anyone bringing up his problem sent him into a guilt ridden meltdown, it was their only choice. So once regulus had calmed down enough to be coherent, he had anxiously agreed to start seeing a therapist, that the on call psychiatrist that night had recommended.
The thought terrified regulus, but he knew that the potters wanted him to see a therapist, and the thought of burdening them even more, made his arms burn in a horrendous cycle of guilt.
It helped that the therapist was a community one, and after obtaining a referral from the hospital psychiatrist, it meant that the first six weekly sessions were completely free.
Regulus knew that the potters weren’t concerned about money anyway, as they were very well off, but the guilt still tore regulus in half most days.
No amount of reassurance from anyone could convince regulus he wasn’t a burden. Because he knew he was. This wasn’t an opinion. It was a fact.
Those first weeks of therapy were so unbelievably hard and uncomfortable for regulus. He sat as far away as possible from his appointed therapist, eyes locked on his hands as he forced them to stay still.
He didn’t like the way he was being studied. Watched.
He already felt as if people were judging his every move, and now he had someone who was being paid to do so.
Someone who was literally taking notes. How wonderful.
Regulus didn’t speak to her, not once. He just nodded and shook his head. He shrugged and filled out these stupid little questionnaires with questions that made regulus nauseous.
How often do you feel so sad that nothing can cheer you up?
Have you ever had thoughts of ending your own life?
If he answered he was vulnerable. If he didn’t, perhaps that was worse. It would give them their answer anyway.
He could always lie, but something tells regulus that not even this stranger, who he’d never spoken a word to, would believe him if he said he’d never thought about killing himself.
He knew it wouldn’t matter to them that he would never actually do it. He couldn’t do that to Sirius.
She seemed to know everything regulus definitely did not want to talk about, so it’s clear she had access to atleast his medical file.
He knows she had also gotten some information from the potters, as Effie had told him what they had spoken about, not wanting to make regulus feel like he was being talked about behind his back.
Regulus listened as his therapist brought up things that regulus didn’t even let himself think about, like she was asking about the bloody weather.
“Do you think your self harm is an attempt to punish yourself in ways your mother no longer can?”
Regulus doesn’t remember anything after she had casually asked that question. It was like she had found an off switch in his brain, one that destroyed every sense but a horrid ache in his chest.
All he knows is that no one let him be alone for a while after that. Sirius slept on the other side of his bed, hand clutching regulus’ arm even in his sleep- an unconscious attempt to keep regulus from slipping out of bed during the night when the thoughts tried to push him to escape. To ease the burning.
Regulus was taking a break from school for a bit, but Sirius had been back with James for a few weeks. Yet for a while after that day, Sirius panicked at the thought of leaving regulus too long, and barely lasted a day without his anxiety overwhelming him, forcing him to come home and check on regulus.
Later, regulus would barely survive the guilt. But in that moment, everything was a blur. Time was meaningless.
In the end, he knows it was that therapists job to ask hard questions, but he thinks that for someone he’d never actually spoken a word to, it felt mean.
Regulus never went back to see her. It felt dramatic, but he panicked so hard he threw up all over himself, the day he was supposed to have his next appointment, so Effie promised him he wouldn’t have to go to her again, as sirius tried to soothe his impending meltdown.
The months after that regulus got worse. Much worse.
The hospital trips had become more frequent, and no matter how many sharp items they took from him, regulus always found a way.
Eventually the guilt nearly broke him, and regulus stopped telling the potters when he’d gone too far. His meltdowns were becoming more common, and he was barely eating at all.
One night things got bad. Really bad.
Regulus had to spend some time in the hospital after that, and when he got out, Sirius begged him to start therapy again. His hands were shaking in a way regulus could tell meant he was about to breakdown, and he told regulus he was scared, that he was terrified that if he kept bottling up his feelings, one day it would become too much, and Sirius wouldn’t survive that.
He wouldn’t survive if regulus didn’t.
Regulus didn’t know what to say to that. But he agreed anyways, because despite how hard he tried to convince himself that the injuries were only hurting him, he knew that in hurting himself, he was hurting everyone around him.
Everyone was happy when he asked the potters anxiously, if they could help find a therapist for him. He just didn’t want to go back to the old one. Regulus knew it was dramatic of him, as she hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but regulus just couldn’t. He couldn’t explain why, he just couldn’t do it.
The potters were good when it came to that kind of stuff.
There were just some things that regulus can’t explain; like why some days his skin felt like he was set on fire with the lightest touch.
Why he hurts himself
Or why sometimes, something will just feel wrong. So wrong that regulus feels paralysed. Like his brain shuts down, and all he can think is a chorus of wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
But the potters never forced him to explain why. They never forced him to do something that made him freeze.
Regulus wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. The only person who had ever accepted the way regulus’ brain worked, was Sirius.
He had thought he would be the only one who ever would.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
One night, a while after Regulus had been discharged from the psychiatric ward, he confessed to James during one of those early mornings after leaving the emergency room, that he didnt understand why Effie and Monty weren’t mad at him for “not trying hard enough”
For not trying to get over the things that made him freeze.
He asked why James wasn’t mad at him.
James had only studied him for a moment before flicking his eyes back out the windows, into the sky, like he knew the weight of his careful gaze would make regulus crumble.
“Why do you think we should be mad at you for something out of your control?”
The words were ones regulus didn’t want to face. But he answered anyway, as his heart clenched in an uncomfortable way.
“This isn’t-“ he swallowed harshly, pressing a hand to his aching chest, as if he could relieve the pressure
“I should control it. I need to control it.”
James just hummed, waiting for him to continue, and regulus felt like holding his breath. The James he found during nights like these, was oh so different from the one he knew during the sunlight. The james who was loud and proud of it, who filled silences like they physically hurt him.
Yet the James he met while under the stars was different. Sometimes regulus wondered if he spoke his thoughts aloud during the day, just so he could have room for the ones that left him quiet.
In an uncharacteristic moment, regulus felt the need to fill the silence.
“I need to try harder to control it, because I can’t keep doing this to your parents.” Regulus rushed out, fingers moving quickly over the edge of his bandage. Over and over.
“I can’t-“ regulus’ voice cracked and he forced himself to focus on the words as he said them, because the world felt weird, and his own words were the only thing keeping him grounded.
“I can’t keep doing this to sirius. I can’t keep doing this to you”
The silence felt deafening, and regulus really held his breath this time, until James tipped his gaze back toward regulus.
“This isn’t something you can control Reg.” He said gently, in a way that forced regulus to look away from him.
Regulus shook his head, letting out a short frustrated whine.
“This-“ regulus hesitated, forcing air into his lungs as he gestured to himself.
(It didn’t matter what part of him, the scars had taken over everywhere a long time ago).
“I did this to myself. That means I made the choice to do it.”
But James only shook his head, “your brain didn’t give you that choice.”
Regulus pressed a fist over his chest and pushed down, trying to force air into his lungs, as he scrambled for the words to make james understand that this wasn’t like some cold he just couldn’t kick. This was him. This wasn’t a virus, It was all regulus.
“It’s- it’s not.. I-“
“Breathe, Reg” James interrupted, and regulus let himself rock back and fourth as he forced himself to do so, if only to make the tinge of worry in James’ voice go away.
Regulus often found himself wondering if the way his breath would often escape him, was karma for all the times he wished he wasn’t breathing at all.
Eventually, when the room felt bigger, James shuffled closer, a hand hovering over the one regulus held to his heart.
Regulus wasn’t usually one for understanding non verbal cues, but he understood the question in James’ eyes from nights much like this one, so he nodded, and when a gentle hand pulled his own into theirs, regulus was glad it didn’t burn.
His brain takes a lot from him, and regulus was just relieved it allowed James to hold him so carefully.
“It’s the chemicals reg. You can’t control the chemical imbalance, and we know that.” James tells him softly, gently rubbing a thumb over regulus’ knuckles.
“We want you to get better, and I know you think that’s because then we won’t have to help you anymore, but I need you to know that it’s because we want you to feel better for yourself. Only for you, and we will be here as long as it takes.”
Regulus doesn’t know how to handle that. He doesn’t know how to handle the way he can’t find any trace of a lie on James’ face.
He doesn’t know how to handle someone saying those things so plainly and meaning it.
But his brain is cruel, and it always has been, so it forces out the words before he can stop them.
“What if this never goes away?”
Regulus hates himself for how vulnerable and small he felt waiting for an answer. He hates how he knows the answer is going to be that he will be on his own at that point.
But then,
“As long as it takes reg. I mean it.”
Oh
James is looking at him in a way regulus can’t decipher, and regulus doesn’t know why it makes him feel the way he does, but he pushes it down anyway, because whatever it is, it surely isn’t how he’s supposed to feel. How he’s allowed to feel.
How he deserves to feel.
But then James speaks once more, and regulus feels so many emotions that he’s scared they might pull him under. That he will drown right here, in a room with no water.
“You will feel better one day reg. I promise you will.” He tells him softly, fingers drawing shapes on regulus’ hand. “It won’t last forever. I promise it won’t.”
Regulus doesn’t think this is something James can actually promise.
He tries to believe him anyway.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Regulus’ 16th birthday had just passed when Effie had told him that her and Monty had found him someone to talk to who they thought would be a good fit, and they had booked him an appointment for the next week.
Her name was Poppy Pomfrey, and she was a psychologist who specialised in neurodivergence and ptsd in adolescence.
Regulus couldn’t do anything more than nod. He didn’t know how he felt, but it was a lot, and he wanted to thank her profusely, but the words seemed stuck in his throat.
He knew that seeing a specialist was more expensive, way more expensive, and the thought made regulus nauseous.
“Darling it’s okay, if you don’t want to go, that’s alright. We don’t want to push you.” Effie interrupted his spiral.
Regulus blinked harshly, a hand automatically coming us to his face, to shake a clawed hand infront of his mouth twice. The sign for ‘sorry’.
Sirius had taught him a few basic signs when they were younger to help him communicate when he wasn’t feeling well.
Regulus thinks sorry might be the only one he really uses. It makes sense though, that the motion rivals his need to claw the words from his throat.
“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologise regulus, we can cancel the appointment, it’s all alright.” Effie spoke gently to him, and regulus hated himself, because that’s not what he meant, and he didn’t want her to think he was ungrateful, he really did want to try this time, but he couldn’t express that, and regulus wanted to claw at his heart.
He shook his head frantically, letting out a whine as he tried to force the words out of his mouth, they were there, he knows they were but he Just. Couldn’t. Speak.
Apparently regulus’ reaction had caught the attention of everyone else in the kitchen, as sirius was up from the table and moving towards his brother carefully, face impassive as he stopped just infront of him.
“Reggie? What’s wrong?” Sirius asked carefully, as he had done so many times since they could ask anything at all.
But the question only made regulus more frustrated, because he couldn’t tell sirius what was wrong, all he could do was alternate between pushing a fist over his heart, and signing sorry.
Im sorry. Im sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
He hated how he was freaking out over nothing. Hated how he was worrying everyone because he was so dramatic and sensitive about everything.
He hated that he could never explain what was going on inside of him, nonverbal or not.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. Do you want to write something down? Can you tell us what is making you upset?” Sirius asks him softly, patient as ever with calming his brother down.
Regulus can only nod frantically, whining as he flexed his fingers into claws and back to normal again, over and over. He can’t even remember why he’s feeling this way, but then he sees Monty bring him a piece of paper, and he’s suddenly reminded of how guilty he feels.
Regulus drops to the ground with the paper, using the floor to lean on despite the table being right there.
too expensive im so sorry you shouldn’t im sorry so expensive you don’t have to
It’s wobbly, his normal elegant writing that was drilled into him, turning to chicken scratch with crosses over mistakes as his hands tremble, and regulus wants to pull his hair out as that voice that he can’t get rid of tells him that mother is going to be mad. She’s going to be mad and she’s going to yell, because the potters will now realise he’s not worth the money and send him back.
Regulus feels sick by the time sirius gently takes the paper from his hands, sitting down cross legged on the ground next to him, because he knew sometimes regulus just needed to be on the ground when he was overwhelmed.
He doesn’t touch his brother, only reminding him gently that he was safe, and he was okay.
After reading over the words, sirius frowned, passing the paper up to Effie, who was watching with a look on her face that regulus couldn’t decipher.
Euphemia potter was always hard to read, as was Monty. She was hard to read because regulus knew the faces parents should make. He knew because he’d studied his parents, he knew what each face meant.
it was the only way to survive them.
What regulus didn’t understand, was why even when he screwed up, the potters faces were kinder and less sharp than his own parents on their best days. On days that had long past. Ones before they were old enough to savour them.
Maybe it was just one of those things that he would never understand.
“Regulus darling, can you listen to me for a moment? It’s okay I promise.” Effie asked gently, knees cracking as she knelt down next to him.
And it felt like a trap. Regulus knew it was a trap, but he forced himself to do as he was told, because despite the screaming in his mind, despite the way his hands were numb, yet filled with the ache to move, regulus had a lesson on listening to adults carved into his back. Scars that felt deeper in his mind than they were in reality.
Deeper than anything he had ever done to himself
But when he met Effie’s eyes, they made no attempt to frighten him further, and despite his brain screaming not to trust them, not to trust anyone or anything, regulus trusts her.
Maybe this was regulus’ worst form of self destruction. The way he’s so desperate to be loved, that he will let all of his walls down, even if everything in the past tells him there’s an angry hoard waiting to get in.
Effie smiles when his eyes flick over her face, even just for a moment, and regulus wants to slam his head against a wall.
“There is no price when it comes to your happiness.” She speaks after a moments time, and regulus isn’t sure what to do with that either.
All he can do is pull a clawed hand up to his face one more. Shaking it twice, pausing, and then repeating again and again.
“You don’t need to apologise sweetheart, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We want to help, and we would do this for any of our kids”
Effie speaks the words softly, and regulus can’t seem to find any ulterior motive behind them.
Yet he finds himself wondering if his guilt might drown him right there on the kitchen floor. If his lungs will fill with water that no one else can see.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Regulus’ first session with Poppy was strange.
Instead of pamphlets lining the walls of her office, she had an array of colourful fidget toys filling the shelves, as well as a variety of stuffed animals and other objects that regulus was unsure of their purpose.
Regulus wondered if those were for children that had sessions here as well, but he didn’t ask, attempting to focus on keeping his hands still by his sides as Dr Pomfrey gestured to the couch and chairs next to the shelves.
“Take a seat anywhere you’d like.” She spoke evenly, and regulus wondered if this was the first test. The first of many, that regulus suspects Pomfrey would be observing.
Regulus didn’t like being observed. He didn’t like being perceived at all, and would be perfectly happy if no one ever watched him do anything ever again.
But he knows he has to try, so regulus stands frozen, biting the inside of his cheek as he goes over his seating options, and how those might affect how this goes.
Chair furthest from the door? Definitely not.
Why would he willingly put so much distance between him and his one exit?
Regulus immediately looks to the seat closest to the door, but it’s also closest to Pomfreys chair, and regulus would like to be as far as possible from her.
That leaves the couch. There’s three spots on the couch and regulus tries to seem like he hadn’t been thinking too hard about it as he takes the seat in the middle, though he knows Pomfrey can see the way he hesitates, sitting stiffly on the couch with his hands in his lap, as his eyes bounce around the room.
“Well, let’s begin shall we?” Dr Pomfrey begins, and regulus finds himself blinking harshly in an attempt to ground himself to his surroundings, as he nods distractedly, before cutting off the motion as he realised it was likely a rhetorical question.
“I’m Dr Pomfrey, but you can call me poppy if you would like.”
Another nod, but regulus knows he won’t be calling her anything less than Dr Pomfrey. She’s an authority figure and regulus knows better than to undermine that, even when she had given him permission to. Perhaps it was the next test.
“It’s very nice to meet you Regulus” she speaks once more, and regulus wants to let himself scan her face, he wants to force his eyes up to hers and search for the obvious lie on her face. But he doesn’t and he can’t.
He knows that it’s not actually nice to meet him.
He knows she’s here because she’s getting paid to be. And regulus finds himself becoming nauseous at the reminder that he spent so many years being “cared for” (if you could call it that) out of obligation.
He tries not to think about the time he had asked his mother for a hug after a bad dream. Tries not to think about how she had laughed in his face.
He tries, but the memory claws its way to the surface. The memory of the pure naivety so blatantly displayed as he asked why she didn’t hug him like other Mums hug their kids.
He tries. He tries. He swears he does.
Yet regulus was always one to push against his bruises. Always one to give in.
So in the end, regulus thinks about the way she told him that those parents must have actually wanted those children. Actually loved them. Not just kept them around because it would look bad if she didn’t.
Sirius hugged him that night though. So regulus wonders if he’s just looking for some reason to be angry at her.
“-eres no pressure to have any hard conversations right away, this is just about getting comfortable being here right now-“
Regulus blinks and the swirling patterns of the rug come back to focus.
He hates the way the previous moments were a clear indicator of why he was here. Why he was sixteen and sat in-front of a psychologist.
His mother is there, even when she isn’t, and maybe that means regulus is losing his mind.
Maybe it means that his first therapist was right.
“Do you think your self harm is an attempt to punish yourself in ways your mother no longer can?”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The rest of the appointment goes fine. Dr Pomfrey never points out the moments his mind tended to wander into the past, nor did she mention the way he sat on his hands in an attempt to stop their anxious motions, or how he never uttered a word.
She spoke kindly, and regulus noted in his peripheral vision, that she spent much of their session with her eyes elsewhere in the room. Never staring him down, or attempting to intimidate him into speaking.
She spoke about things from her type of therapy she offered, to her favourite kind of books. She asked simple questions with answers regulus could indicate with a simple nod or shake of his head.
It was odd, but regulus found that this didn’t feel like a punishment.
It was still a lot though.
It’s messed up, the way regulus’ brain doesn’t know how to function at the thought of things actually going well.
Effie is waiting for him when Dr Pomfrey walks him back out into the waiting room, a smile on her face as she places her book back into her bag and stands at the sight of them.
She had promised regulus that she would stay in the waiting room while regulus was in his appointment, incase regulus had wanted to leave early. So regulus isn’t sure why he’s surprised that Effie had actually stayed.
It makes him feel selfish and ungrateful, the way he assumes the worst of everyone. How he can’t seem to believe that the potters actually care about him, that they want him there, despite them doing absolutely everything to help him. Despite the way they have never let him down, and never done anything to make him distrustful.
Effie smiled supportively, exchanging a few words with Dr Pomfrey that regulus couldn’t seem to focus on, before guiding him out of the building and into the car.
Regulus wasn’t sure why everything felt so sharp yet fuzzy at the same time, but he appreciated the way Effie didn’t try to touch him or make him talk.
Regulus liked silence. He usually did. But sometimes silence felt damming. It felt ungrateful, because in the quiet of the car, all regulus knew was that Effie had done all this, and gotten nothing in return.
And maybe it made regulus an awful person for the way he felt the need to claw his way through his own guilt with shitty excuses, but regulus was always weak. He had always been selfish.
“I- I’ll talk more next time. Im- I’m sorry, I was just nervous”
His voice sounded foreign, far away from wherever regulus knew himself to be. Yet he knew it came from him. He knew because he felt the way the sound had been scraped from his throat.
Effie only looks at him with a frown for a moment, and regulus doesn’t let himself brace for impact. He should. He did at one point in time. Back when he was small and didn’t think he deserved the sting.
But then-
“Regulus sweetheart…” Effie murmured gently, and regulus realised with a startling clarity that he wasn’t there anymore.
Eyes flicking up to study her face, regulus barely breathed as guilt crashed over him once more.
“I don’t want to be like this anymore” he gasped out, hands coming up to cover his face, as he let out a stuttering sob.
Effie frown deepened, “it’s okay-“ she tried to soothe.
“No- no it’s not.” Regulus sobbed harder, “you do all this for me- and, and I’m ungrateful, and I’m selfish-“
“You’re not selfish regul-“
“I am! I’m selfish and I’m not trying hard enough- and, and all I do is cry and hurt myself even when there’s nothing wrong anymore!”
Sometimes Regulus gets so overwhelmed he goes silent. But sometimes, sometimes he feels like he can’t get the words out fast enough. Like he needs them out.
Maybe it’s just another thing he can’t control.
Or maybe, in some fucked up way, it happens because eventually the silence builds up, and all the words that swam around and thudded harshly against the walls of his brain, suddenly needed out.
Maybe it’s even more fucked up that there are always more to take their place.
“Honey you are not selfish, and this is not your fault.” Effie spoke softly
Regulus shook his head frantically, a hand flapping as his side, “it is! But I don’t want to be like this! I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Mrs Potter-“
“Regulus sweetheart-“
Regulus choked on a sob again, his chest tight in that familiar ache.
“Breathe-“
“You’re all so-“ his fist thumps against his leg, words punctuated with gasps- “you’re all so good! You and- and Mr Potter- and james!”
Somewhere in the back of regulus’ mind, he knows he’s not making much sense, but he just needs it OUT.
”Sirius isn’t like this! He- he got it worse and I’m the one who’s being like this! And I can’t- I can’t!”
Maybe Effie is responding, maybe she’s trying to calm him down, but there’s a roar in regulus’ ears that rivals a jet engine, and her words are lost on him.
Suddenly Regulus isn’t in the car anymore, but he’s not back with his mother either. He’s there and he’s not- and it doesn’t make any sense- but it doesn’t matter all that much anyways.
Then time passes, he knows it does, because his head hurts. Everything hurts.
The first thing he’s aware of is that it’s no longer just him and Effie.
He can feel a hand holding his own, but he can see both of Effie’s hands, which means someone else is here.
Regulus gets confused sometimes after big moments like that, where everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.
He blinked sluggishly for a moment, before he tried pulling his hand up to rub at his face, frowning with an anxious tug at his chest when he was met with resistance.
“Reggie, hey, you’re okay- it’s alright, just keep your hands down for a bit longer- yeah?”
Regulus turns for the first time to find whoever was holding his hand, frown deepening when he realised it was Sirius.
When had he?….
He looked worried. Regulus supposed he looked worried about him most of the time, but it still felt strange.
“-eathe, keep breathing, you’re alright.” Sirius told him, and despite the way his brain was full of sludge, regulus found that Sirius seemed older than he really was.
He hates himself for forcing Sirius to grow up too fast, in order to keep him safe.
Sirius says it’s not his fault, but regulus knows how tired he is.
Sirius tightens his grip on his wrists, and regulus realises he’d been attempting to pull his fist back to his leg. “Hey, hey, hey- it’s okay, just relax, I’m here- you’re safe”
Regulus blinks at him for a moment, before letting out a stuttering sob, “ i- I’m s-sorry”
“Don’t be, don’t be- you’re okay-“ Sirius soothes, “it’s all okay reg. All okay.”
Regulus knows Sirius is aware he won’t believe his words, yet he says them anyways, maybe it’s instinct, or maybe he’s hoping if he says them enough, regulus might believe him.
Regulus nods either way, if only to show sirius that he can hear him.
He hates the way Sirius still has his hands pinned in his own. He hates even more that he knows why.
But Sirius is right, and no amount of self loathing will change that.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Regulus knows about Sirius’ nightmares.
He knows that Sirius sees it. That he feels it as visceral as he had that night.
Regulus’ nightmares are different.
While Sirius dreams of pain and fear, of the terror and blood, Regulus dreams of a time where his mother was his Mum.
They both wake up screaming when it’s all over.
Neither of them dream of their father, and sometimes regulus wishes he did. Maybe his Dad would give him a hug, and tell regulus that he was sorry for never caring.
Maybe his father would slap him after a meltdown, like his mother did. It would show that he cared.
“You need to learn Regulus. I’m sick of this behaviour!-“
It’s what makes the dreams of his mother all the more horrifying. Because she’s there- and she’s the mother regulus wanted. She was showing love in a way that didn’t hurt.
The worst part about it, was that for just a few moments, it felt real. The way she held him and soothed him felt natural, it didn’t feel dream-like, it felt consuming, as if she only had room in her heart for love.
Maybe it’s just the pull of his self destructive brain, that wonders if her love really had been so natural at some point; if it was regulus that made her so mean and bitter.
Why else would it seem so real?
Some nights she would take him and sirius to the library, and on others she teaches them to cook or tie their shoe laces
Yet the dream always ended the same.
She had to go. She always did.
Regulus chased her every time. He would run and run, while sirius was screaming behind him to let her go.
And as she disappeared into the distance, Regulus would be shaken awake, with a sore throat and a scream for his Mum on his lips.
Sometimes it was sirius who woke him up, sometimes it was James, or Effie or Monty. They all assumed he was screaming for her to go away.
Regulus chose not to correct them.
He didn't want them to know he missed her. That as much as he hated her for what she had done to them, for what she had done to Sirius, some days he just missed her.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
James woke him up one early morning, having been the one to hear the strangled pleas from his room down the hall.
“You alright?” James asked softly, once regulus had caught his breath.
He couldn’t do much more than nod shakily, hand pushing over his own heart in an attempt to slow it down.
James simply waited for everything to come back into focus, “You’re safe, it was just a dream” he spoke once regulus opened his eyes again.
Just a dream.
Just
A
Dream
“Reg?”
Regulus’ eyes snapped back to James, and he realises he must have been spiraling, as James is demonstrating his breathing loudly, in a way he hadn’t needed to just moments earlier.
Pressing a hand over his eyes, regulus lets out a heavy sigh, forcing himself to match James’ breathing.
“Good, good job. Keep going.” James told him softly, and regulus clung to the words, hating himself for the way he wanted them to be coming from his mother.
She had to go.
regulus isn’t sure if what happens next is an effort to punish himself for those selfish thoughts, or just an unconscious attempt to distract his mind.
All he knows is that the pain helps. It always does.
Perhaps that’s the problem.
His nails are just below his elbow, pressing and pressing into something that’s not quite healed, when James is suddenly there again.
“Reg- hey, don’t do that” he stresses, hands reaching for him, but not quite making contact, knowing the feeling would only make things worse.
Regulus flinches, feeling caught and guilty.
James attempts to keep the swell of worry out of his face and voice as he speaks once more.
“It’s okay-“ he holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “just- just don’t scratch, yeah?” He continues, feeling a bit lost for what the right steps were at this point.
Regulus only squeezes his eyes shut, willing the burning to stop.
Because now that it’s there, it’s all that there is. That ache- the one that makes regulus do the things he does, is there.
And it hurts.
The urge hurts more than the actual injury ever does, and regulus wonders if it makes him insane.
His psychologist says it doesn’t, but regulus wonders, despite how lovely Poppy is, if she’s just saying that because she’s paid to do so.
“-gulus? Reg? Do you want me to get Sirius?”
Regulus’ eyes snap open. “No!”
James eyed him worriedly for a moment, and regulus wanted to scream. He wanted him to look away, he needed to be alone.
“Don’t!” He let out a frustrated whine, “just- just go! I’m fine” regulus heaved, but James only shook his head.
“Reg I cant leave you when you’re like-“
“Like what?! I’m fine!” Regulus cut him off, but he knew james would never believe him.
He’d seen the after.
James had held his hand in the quiet of the early morning, once wounds were sewn or stapled shut, and regulus came home exhausted and drowning in guilt from the er.
James had never seen the before, but he had seen the after. And the guilt in regulus’ eyes was very much the same.
James was quiet for a moment, only watching with a frown as regulus’ hands crept to his own arms again, an ominous descent he could not control.
He blew out an anxious breath, and regulus wanted to scream that he was sorry, to just look away for a moment, and then he would stop. He didn’t want james to see this. He never did.
But his arm was burning, and regulus was desperate to put out the flame.
“Please go.” He begged once more, because it was unbearable, and despite the scream of how selfish he was, no matter how loud it echoed in the sky-
Regulus was already underwater with a weight tied to his foot, the muffled voice above getting further and further as he sunk deeper.
He had to go.
“Reg please-“
He knew James wanted him to stay, but he needed to go.
Maybe he can’t help it. But maybe it also makes him just like her.
It makes sense. Regulus has always wondered why she had always been there, even when she isn’t.
His mother is there because he is. She’s a part of him.
You’re not her
Regulus wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and claw and he wanted to be better.
It’s okay, you are not your mother.
He wanted to run- to force himself into motion and make the burning stop. To fight fire with fire. It’s all she ever did.
I’ve got you reg, it will pass. You aren’t her.
Huh?
Even in his mind, regulus’ mother had never been so kind.
“Good- so good reg, squeeze my hands, yeah?”
Oh.
James.
James is back, and maybe Regulus should be concerned that his mind had wandered once again.
But he’s not.
It’s still there. The urge- It hasn’t left, hasn’t lessened, but james is there now too.
“It will pass. “ James soothes in the silence, then, “breathe, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” And regulus realised he had been holding his breath.
“It will pass. You’re doing so well”
Regulus had always thought it was bullshit when Poppy, or any other person, had told him the best deterrence for harmful urges, was distraction.
He had wondered how anyone could think of anything else in that moment. How there was any room in their brains for any other thoughts.
But James is there now.
Hes there and he’s holding his hands. He’s squeezing them in time with his breathing- and regulus follows, because despite all of his self destructive tendencies, he wants to let himself breathe for once.
The revelation feels oddly like a slap to the face.
Maybe it’s why the burning began to ease. One pain for another.
“ you’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you.” James tells him, smiling at him in a way regulus can’t quite find a reason for.
He draws in an anxious breath, avoiding James’ gentle gaze as he blinks to orient himself.
It’s fucked up that Regulus doesn’t know what happens now.
Usually there’s a fumble to bandage himself, a sob as he rocks on the bloody tiles and tries to convince himself that he doesn’t need medical attention.
Usually the panic continues and it takes Sirius waking up from a nightmare to look for him, for his mistake to be made clear.
But in this moment, things were different.
“Any better?” James asked softly, rubbing his thumb over regulus’ knuckles, grip loosening but never ceasing.
Regulus just nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Sorry.” He forces out, guilt ever present.
But James only smiles softly again. “Don’t be.”
“But-“
“I know. But I’m telling you that it’s okay.”
Regulus flicked his eyes out of his open window, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m still sorry.”
James follows his gaze into the early morning sky, stars still slightly visible as the sun began to rise. “You have nothing to be sorry for-“
“James-“
“But if you have to be,” James cut him off gently, “then I forgive you.”
Regulus didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how forgiveness came so easily from James.
He went to flex his fingers in an automatic, anxious stim, but was quickly reminded that James was still holding his hands. It panicked him for a moment, but James seemed to realise what was happening and loosened his grip, before catching his eyes-
“Will you be safe if I let go?” He asked simply, voice not accusing, and regulus felt horribly embarrassed.
He avoided james’ eyes, looking back out the window as he nodded.
James seemed to hesitate for a moment, but eventually let go of his hands, shuffling over to give regulus some room now that he hopefully didn’t have to keep him from scratching anymore.
While less overstimulated in that moment, regulus felt himself missing the safety of James’ hands.
He told himself it was just because it was grounding, but knew he didn’t really believe that.
“would you like some ice?” James asked a few moments later, and regulus frowned in confusion.
“I read something about it helping with urges.” James murmured, obviously noting regulus’ confusion- his voice unsure.
Regulus just blinked at him for a moment, “I-“ he hesitated “I don’t know”
James nodded patiently, “alright, that’s okay..” and then- “it said It didn’t work for everyone so..” he trailed off, and regulus just stared at him, a weird feeling that he couldn’t describe, tumbling around his chest.
“You read about it?” Regulus asked eventually, voice quiet and unsure.
James shrugged casually, as if it was a given. As if it was something everyone would do.
“A bit yeah.” He met regulus’ eyes, and seemed to realise this wasn’t casual to him. “ I wanted to help- well, as much as I could.. I just- I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, or make it worse-“ James rambled a bit, before regulus cut him off-
“Why?” He asked with a frown.
James blinked in surprise, “why do I not want to make it worse…?” He asked, unsure.
Regulus shook his head, rocking himself back and forth softly as he flicked his eyes out the window- then back to James.
“Why- why do you want to help me? I don’t exactly make this easy on you.” He forced out.
Sometimes regulus feels like he’s dangling over the edge of a cliff, hands aching as he holds on.
There’s someone kneeling on top of the ledge, begging him to let them help him up, to just give them his hand and be pulled to safety.
But he just stares at them. Because he doesn’t know how to let go of the ledge, no matter the safety that’s promised if he lets go for just a moments time, to grab onto his saving grace.
“It’s not easy for you either.” James says carefully. “I want to help you.”
Regulus’ chest aches as he rakes a shaky hand through his hair- frustrated that James isn’t hearing his point.
“But why?” He forces out again, and immediately regrets it when James’ face does something odd.
But then-
“Because you’re you.”
Oh.
Regulus can’t help but force his eyes back to James’ once more, searching and searching for some kind of answer that makes sense to him. He hears what James says, but it doesn’t make sense.
Regulus being regulus, has never been a reason to stay.
His chest aches as James keeps his gaze, and regulus doesn’t know how he’s supposed to look away.
“That’s- thats not a reason.” regulus finally lets out- a little breathless, for a reason he doesn’t let himself linger on.
James simply studies him for a moment,“Isn’t it?”
Regulus doesn’t know how to stop the grief that comes with the way James is looking at him. The way James always looks at him.
Because he knows. He knows even though James hasn’t said it in so many words. He knows because he looks at James the same way.
It’s loud and screaming into the quiet of mornings, but neither of them mention it, because regulus isn’t ready to; and james never complains. He never complains and regulus knows it isn’t fair.
Regulus is choking on a dry sob before he can stop himself. “This isn’t how Im meant to be”
James’ face falls with as much grief as regulus is feeling and regulus wants to die or get better or something- or whatever else there is-
Just not this.
The reality is there is nothing else. There’s recovery or there’s death.
You either live or die.
Whatever tightrope regulus is walking on, can’t go on forever.
Regulus knows this. He just doesn’t want to believe it.
“You are you, reg” James tells him, voice shaky in a way that makes regulus wobble on the tightrope. “That is enough. It will always be enough.”
Regulus shakes his head, hating the way tears are falling once more.
“Reg-“
Regulus shakes his head, again and again.
“It is more than enough-“
Regulus wants to be better. But she’s there. She always is.
“Not to her!” He forces out, chest heaving.
Time is moving both forwards and backwards at the same time.
“She was wrong.” James tells him, voice firm yet gentle enough that regulus doesn’t feel scared. “Please reg” James begs suddenly, “she was wrong but she can’t decide that anymore. She’s not here.”
Regulus flinches, and james’ face falls even further, voice shaking as he breathes for a moment.
“I’m- fuck I’m sorry, I just…” he continues, “I know it’s not the same- fuck, but I’m here, and- and you’re enough for me. You’re more than enough just because you’re you and I don’t know how to convince you that it’s true.”
Regulus just stares as james speaks, watching his chest heave in a way that makes regulus scramble to apologise.
“James-“ he forces out, but James is shaking his head, calming himself down in a way that almost makes regulus jealous, before he speaks again.
“I know” he smiles sadly “it’s okay.”
Regulus feels sick. “I’m trying, I swear I am-“
James nods again, a sad smile on his face as his fingers twist in the sheets of the bed, aching to reach out. “I know you are. You’re doing so well.”
Regulus can’t help but doubt it, but he choses not to argue, and for once- he doesn’t let the thought consume him.
James lets out a surprised sound as regulus throws himself into James’ hold, clinging to the old pyjama shirt jame shad hastily thrown on before rushing into the room.
“I’m going to be better. I’m going to be better. I’m going to be better-“ regulus murmurs through hiccups, over and over, as James squeezes him tightly, the hold easing the pressure inside of regulus’ body.
And James is talking to him, reassuring regulus that he’s okay, and that he’s there.
Regulus has spent a long time walking into the ocean of his own accord. A long time letting the current take him under.
But in this moment, Regulus decides that maybe he could fight the waves.
Drown or swim.
Live or die.
Either way, Regulus wants to live.