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None of the Marauders really liked the full moons, even if they meant they could frolic with abandon through the Forbidden Forest. In the end, they still had to watch one of their best friends (or in Sirius' case, his boyfriend) go through an insurmountable deal of pain as he transformed into the wolf and back again—tendons snapping and reforming, bones stretching and shrinking. Honestly, the whole affair was awful to watch. So really, it shouldn't be a surprise that they often weren't fun nights (not to mention the added exhaustion and worry for Remus after the night). However, this moon was, by far, the worst. Or the worst that the Marauders had been around to witness, at least.
It had been almost a year since the group of boys had mastered the art of becoming animagi, and started joining Remus on the full moons, and up until that point, nothing too bad had happened. In fact, the boys had noticed that after they had started to join him, Remus was far better after the nights, and took less time in recovery.
All in all, this night was like any other—the boys waited quietly as the tower got quiet, then snuck out of their dorms and down to the shrieking shack where Remus was taken just an hour before. In the time before the transformation they made sure that Remus had everything he needed, then proceeded to distract (or at the very least try to distract) their friend before the transformation would start and they would shift into their animal forms.
Simply. Easy.
Right?
Well, the technical answer was yes. Only, that night seemed more complicated. The wolf was agitated (no doubt a reflection of the stress Remus was under) and almost refused to cooperate with the animagi, which usually put him at ease. For ages, the wolf howled and snarled and—much to Sirius' horror and worry—took his claws to his own skin. Countless time, both himself and James (or Prongs, whichever you prefer) attempted to placate the wolf and get it to play and ease its agitation, but to no avail.
By the time the moon set, the walls and floors of the shack were tinged in red, and when finally, Remus transformed back, it was to a bloody collapse.
Hardly a breath had passed before Sirius had transformed back from Padfoot, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud as he landed beside Remus. His eyes flitted over the broken body of the boy he loved so much, and, against his best attempts, felt a strangling sense of panic rise in him. Could you blame him? Remus looked half dead, and his breathing was coming out inconsistently and shallow.
"James. James he—he...why isn't he breathing properly?" he choked out, his voice half a whine, if anything.
Vaguely, he felt James and Peter beside him, and a hand on his shoulder, and a mumbling of encouragements. Pomfrey will help. He's been through worse. It's going to be okay.
The words would have been more convincing if they hadn't been so hesitant.
"Pads we have to go before Madam Pomfrey comes," James mumbled, rubbing circles into his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.
It didn't work.
Vigorously, Sirius shook his head. His vision was being blurred by the manifestation of his panic and in no world—in that moment—would he even consider leaving his boy's side. He couldn't. He couldn't. "I can't. James—James...I..."
He cut himself off, another desperate whine escaping him. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, thoughts swimming. Fuck's sake he should know. He should, because how often did he have to patch himself up? Or Regulus? What use was he if he couldn't help Remus now? What good did it do? Why couldn't he just think?
"I know. I know, Sirius," James said, voice cracking a bit. "But Pomfrey does, yeah? She's going to help him, but we're going to get caught if we stay, and then we won't be able to help Moony at all, okay?"
Gently, Peter grabbed Sirius' hand. With a small nod, the blond boy eased Sirius' grip off of Remus, rubbing his palm and mumbling nonsense.
He really wished he could say it helped.
Eventually, Peter and James managed to pry Sirius from Remus, and, by some miracle, get him to their dorms. The trip was a foggy memory for him now—his thoughts consumed by Remus, there, broken and bloody and just laying there, half-breathing, and...and—
"Sirius?"
He blinked, looking up to find James staring at him. He was sitting down, he realised. On his bed. He blinked again, seeing Peter standing just a little behind James with an equally worried look.
"You with us, mate?" Peter mumbled, worrying at the hem of his jumper.
With a nod, Sirius started to do the same, until he felt something warm on his fingers, and with a sick feeling, saw that his clothes were not as clean as his friends' were. His stomach flipped, and in a flurry of panic he ran to the washroom, kneeling over and emptying out a stomach that wasn't full.
It was only after he was sure he was done, he rested his head against the cold porcelain, his body shaking with exhaustion and fatigue.
A gentle, cooing voice knelt beside him. A voice that could only be James.
"James."
"I know," he whispered. "I know."
The door opened, and Sirius didn't look up, but Peter must have gotten Sirius some fresh clothes because next thing he new he was throwing off the blood-stained clothes and changing into the clean ones with a sort of desperation that he couldn't begin to name.
Before he could dwell on the clothes much longer, James took them and put them away—hopefully, the house elves wouldn't question too much.
With some struggle, the boys managed to situate themselves in the washroom. Their beds would have been much more comfortable, no doubt, but after Sirius had tried to stand and his body simply refused, they had agreed to stay there for a while to...calm down.
Currently, Sirius was leaning against James, both their backs to the wall while Peter sat in front of them with his knees tucked up to his chest. All of them were shaken—their eyes bouncing around the room and never really landing on anything for more than a couple seconds. Meanwhile, James was mumbling under his breath—chant-like and persistent.
"He'll be alright. Pomfrey's got him now."
* * *
Sirius was the first one awake the next morning. He was exhausted and his body was sore all over from having fallen asleep in the washroom with the other boys last night. A few minutes passed in groggy discomfort before he made sense of everything, and remembered last night, and Remus, and...and...
Well, that was the only motivator he needed, really.
Carefully, he disentangled himself from James and stepped over Peter before breaking out into a run, not caring for the state of his dress or the odd glances from people in the halls.
He ran, and he ran, and he ran. His lungs hurt and so did his sides, but he didn't stop until he came to the infirmary wing. Then, he paused, took a breath, and—still rather out-of-breath—opened the doors. His eyes scanned the room, quickly locating Remus' cot. He dashed over and heaved the most relieved sigh he could muster.
Suddenly feeling the effects of the night, and the emotions, and the ache in everything (though especially in his heart), Sirius collapsed into the chair that waited—open and ready for him—next to Remus. Heavily, he sighed, rubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes and cringing at the thought of what an absolute mess he must have looked like at the moment.
He wasn't sure how much time passed before Remus stirred, but it was enough for Madam Pomfrey to pass by twice, and for Sirius to nearly fall asleep once.
But that wasn't the point.
He nearly launched himself out of his seat when he heard the soft rustling of sheets from beside him. Sluggishly, Remus stirred, groaning in his pain but alive, and there, and frankly, that was all Sirius needed in that moment.
Carefully, Sirius grabbed Remus' hand, rubbing his scarred—and bandaged—knuckles.
"Hey, Moons," he whispered when the other boy's eyes finally opened.
In response, Remus gave a small hum.
Before he could say anything else, Madam Pomfrey was there, looking at wounds that made Sirius grimace and re-bandaging and examining and otherwise caring for the boy. Sirius sat back, hands clasped in his lap and sitting quietly in his impatience as the woman worked. He knew, logically, that Madam Pomfrey was an incredible medic, but he couldn't help his want to...well...help. He felt a tad useless, sitting there watching Madam Pomfrey nurse his half-conscious boyfriend back to health.
But time passed, and wounds were healed, and eventually, with a sympathetic smile, Madam Pomfrey left the two alone.
For a moment, Sirius simply sat still, watching Remus as his mind warred between concern and relief.
Maybe it could be both.
"Never thought I would see the day that Sirius Black had nothing to say."
Sirius blinked, brought out of his daze by Remus' voice. He chuckled—though it was frayed around the edges—at the familiar snark in the other boy's tone.
Maybe things were alright.
Maybe.
A moment passed in Sirius' stillness before Remus' expression shifted, turning to something a bit more stoic.
"I won't break, Sirius."
"I didn't say you would."
Remus raised an eyebrow. Sirius sighed. He knew Remus didn't like being pestered or treated with fragility, but the truth was that Sirius had been terrified, and seeing someone he loved so much in such a state had left him rattled.
A moment came and went before Sirius worked up some small courage.
"Remus you didn't..." He paused, losing himself for a minute as his eyes drifted to the bandages and bruises and cuts and...He cleared his throat. "You didn't see the state you were in," he whispered, the words escaping him more like a confession than anything. Though, they were, he supposed—in a way. Evading Remus' gaze, he continued. "I had never seen you like that and you weren't—...you weren't breathing. Not properly, at least. And there was so much blood, Moony, and I...I couldn't help you..." He trailed off as a lump formed in his throat. In his mind, the boy he was looking at now was still a mess of blood against wooden floors. "I couldn't do anything. I'm not blaming you or—or 'treating you like you're fragile'. I was scared. I don't want you to feel like it's your fault but I am not patronising you for caring."
Finally, with a deep breath, he met the boy's eyes, and he hated—he hated—that he saw guilt in them. As if it were somehow Remus' fault.
"Sirius..."
He shook his head. "No. Don't. Please don't. You're breathing, and you're here, and you're okay. That's all I need, that's all..." His lower lip wobbled in a pathetic act of defiance against his own stoicism.
Slowly, and with a bit of struggle, Remus scooted over just enough so Sirius could slip into the cot beside him—and that's exactly what he did. With so so so much care, he clambered into the tight space and gently (but in a way that was also grounding) wrapped his arms around Remus. In those moments, he forced himself to listen to his boy's heartbeat, and watch his chest rise and fall with his breathing, and simply prove to himself that he was here.
He was here.
Sirius exhaled, eyes closing for a minute.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
"What for?"
"Rambling nonsense while you're in pain," he said, chancing a glance up at the other boy.
Remus frowned, eyebrows drawing together. "It wasn't nonsense, Sirius."
Sirius hummed. "Yeah, well, it doesn't—"
"No."
Now it was Sirius' turn to frown. "No? No what?"
"No, don't put yourself down just because I'm in pain. If you were in my place—Merlin forbid—I would feel shaken too, Sirius. I..." He sighed. "Just...don't, okay?"
A moment of stubborn silence passed before he nodded begrudgingly. "Okay."
With a content hum and the beginnings of a smile, Remus tugged Sirius ever so slightly closer, and for a moment, Sirius felt a little bit of peace ease its way into his heart again.
* * *
It was a couple hours later that James and Peter wandered up to the infirmary to check on their friend. When they did, their worry eased, because there, on the snug little infirmary cot, laid two of their best friends, sound asleep, and seeming perfectly at ease, all things considered.