Chapter Text
The first sensation Regulus became aware of wasn't the cold from the surrounding water. Nor was it the burning that seemed to have settled in his lungs, or the unbearable weight of his own body, as if every bone had been replaced with damp lead. It was pain. A deep, jagged, and widespread pain, one that didn't seem to come from a single place but from everywhere at once: his arms, his legs, his back, his neck. As if hundreds of hands were still holding him even after he had escaped. As if something continued to cling to him, refusing to let go. And then came the dampness, sticking to his skin, his hair, the tattered fabric of his clothes; then the wind, brushing against his face with a cruel softness that made every inch of his skin burn. His senses seemed to be only half functioning. Everything was blurry. Heavy. Distant. He heard the waves crashing nearby, the sound of water moving against the rocks, and something else. A voice. Distorted. As if someone were calling him from the other side of a wall that was too thick.
"Reg!... Regulus!"
The voice sounded again, closer this time, though it still felt strange, muffled, as if his mind refused to acknowledge it. Regulus barely frowned and slowly opened his eyes, forcing himself to focus despite the immediate stinging sensation. For a few seconds, everything was a blur of colors and meaningless shapes. Sand. Gray sky. Dark rocks. Then a silhouette. Black hair. A soaked jacket. A face bent over him. And suddenly the world seemed to fall into place. Sirius. Sirius was kneeling in front of him, breathing heavily, completely drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead. There was wet sand on his boots, his trousers, and his hands. His chest was rising and falling too rapidly. He was agitated. Trembling. And it took Regulus only an instant to understand what that image meant, because it wasn't difficult to piece it all together. Sirius was soaked. He was out of the water. And that meant only one thing. Sirius had gone in for him.
The realization came so quickly that it even momentarily pushed aside the pain. Because it didn't make any sense. None whatsoever. How had he found him? How did he know where he was? Why was he there? But above all: why had he saved him? They hadn't spoken in two years. Two years since Sirius had left Grimmauld Place. Two years since their last argument, since the last time they had exchanged words without them turning into blades. Sirius should hate him. He should despise him. Regulus had stayed where Sirius had escaped; he had followed the path Sirius loathed; he had borne the Mark that Sirius considered a curse. So no. The real question wasn't what he was doing there. The real question was why he had gone after him.
"Regulus, look at me."
He blinked slowly.
"Can you hear me? How many fingers do you see?"
Regulus barely moved his gaze. Sirius had raised a hand in front of him.
Three.
He didn't answer immediately. Before doing so, he forced his mind to work, slowly and heavily, reviewing first what seemed most urgent. He could breathe. It hurt to do so, terribly, but he could. He could see. He could hear. His legs were still there. His arms, too. He was dizzy and felt his body completely destroyed, but he was alive. Surprisingly, absurdly alive. Although the very idea still sounded strange inside his head.
"Three..." he finally managed to say.
The word came out broken. Harsh. As if he had swallowed glass. His throat burned immediately, and an unpleasant sharp pain shot down to his chest. Even his own voice sounded unrecognizable, so worn that for a second he thought he had heard someone else.
Sirius let out a long exhalation. And although he tried to hide it, Regulus clearly saw the relief cross his face. It wasn't exaggerated. There was no drama, no tears, no huge smiles. Just a tension barely easing from his shoulders, as if he'd been holding onto something invisible for too long and could finally let it go.
But he didn't let his guard down. He kept watching him, alert. As if he expected him to stop breathing again at any moment.
Regulus was going to ask something. Anything. But the thought vanished almost instantly when he felt a sharp pain shoot through his skin. He frowned. Something was off. Something was wrong. Slowly, he looked down at his hands. They were trembling. There was dried blood between his fingers. There were cuts. Deep scratches. The skin around his nails was torn, and some were broken almost in half. He looked up at his wrists, then his arms. Scratches. More blood. Irregular, reddish marks disappearing beneath his tattered sleeves. He felt a strange knot rise in his stomach. Without thinking, he brought a hand to his neck. His fingertips grazed open skin. Then he moved higher. His cheek. Another wound. Another one closer to his nose. One running down his jaw.
No.
He didn't want to see himself. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to imagine how...
The weight of something falling on his shoulders abruptly pulled him from his thoughts.
He blinked.
He looked down and glimpsed a cloak, black, heavy, and dry. Regulus slowly raised his head. Sirius was still standing in front of him.
He didn't say anything. He just watched.
Regulus looked at the cloak. Then back at Sirius. The question hung between them, unspoken. Sirius understood immediately. He exhaled through his nose before running a damp hand through his hair.
"It's windy. You're still soaked. And you're not exactly in any condition to get sick right now."
The answer was so simple, so direct, so Sirius, that for a moment Regulus just watched. Because he couldn't even remember the last time Sirius had done something for him with such utter nonchalance. His brother glanced down at Regulus's arms and frowned slightly.
"Besides, you're still bleeding."
Silence. And then:
"Do you think you can handle Apparating, or do you need to wait a while?"
Regulus took a few seconds to answer. Not because of the question itself. Because of the implication. Because appearing meant leaving. And then another question arose.
"Where to?"
His voice came out raspy again. Sirius raised an eyebrow.
"Not St. Mungo's, if that's what you're thinking."
Regulus did not relax his expression.
"Then..."
"Potter Manor."
Silence. And for a moment the sound of the waves seemed to disappear. Because there were many things I could process right now. But of all of them, one struck first.
James.
James Potter would be there. And that thought alone was enough to make something slowly sink in his chest. Because just a few days ago, he had ruined everything. He could still remember his expression. The confusion at first. Then pain. And then those awful words spilling from his own mouth. Words spoken with the sole intention of hurting. Of breaking. Of making James hate him enough to move on when he was dead.
Because James deserved to live. He deserved to be happy. And Regulus was going to disappear. That was the plan. That was always the plan. But he was alive. And now he would have to look at him again, and he wasn't sure he could bear it. Not if James hated him. Not if James looked at him differently. Not if…
“I’m not sure I’d be welcome there.”
The sentence slipped out before he could stop it. Sirius watched him for a second. And then something strange crossed his expression. Something akin to discomfort.
“…If this is because of James…”
Regulus looked up. Sirius cleared his throat and looked away. And for the first time since he woke up, he seemed slightly uncomfortable.
“Look, I’m still processing a lot of things about… well… that”—he gestured vaguely between them—“but nobody’s mad at you.”
Regulus blinked. Sirius continued:
"Actually, they were worried."
Silence.
"Very."
Regulus felt his brow furrow slightly.
"What?"
"After the breakup, you disappeared. James tried to find you. All of us did. And Mum Effie and Dad Monty were practically ready to go looking for you themselves."
Regulus watched it silently. Because there were too many things there. And one stood out above the rest.
Sirius knew.
The surprise lasted barely an instant before logic took over. James was his best friend. If James was desperate, if he was looking for him, if he was worried... of course he would have spoken up eventually. Even if he and Sirius weren't on speaking terms. Even if it must have been strange. Even if Sirius was probably still processing the fact that his younger brother and his best friend had been together for over a year and a half without him saying a word. The idea would have been almost funny in any other context. But now he was too tired. Too sore. And too lost.
He slowly looked up. Sirius was still waiting, and that was strange too. Because Sirius never waited. Sirius interrupted, dragged things along, decided for both of them. But now he was just there. Waiting for him.
Regulus exhaled slowly, because he was right. He couldn't go back. Not to the cave. Not to Grimmauld Place. And, frankly, he didn't know where else to go. So he closed his eyes for a moment, breathed, and finally spoke:
"I can handle it."
Sirius raised an eyebrow.
"The apparition?"
Regulus slowly opened his eyes.
"But you'll have to do it."
He paused.
"I don't think I can do it alone."
Sirius didn't answer right away. He just nodded once, gently.
"All right."
Then he drew his wand.
"But first I'll let them know we're coming."
Regulus watched him take a few steps away before he was alone. And then, for the first time since waking, he looked around. The beach was beautiful, strangely beautiful. The gray sky was beginning to part with a few clouds, and the sea was still lapping slowly against the rocks. There were small pools among the sand and dark formations, and the wind still carried the scent of salt and dampness.
He hadn't noticed it before. Not when he arrived.
And the thought surfaced slowly: Because he thought he'd die there. The thought was small, brief. And then another one followed. If he died there... then Sirius had to revive him.
Regulus slowly turned his head, looking at his brother. He was still leaning slightly forward, still breathing a little faster than normal, still trembling. And suddenly something clicked. It hadn't just been going into the water. Sirius had had to pull him out. Drag him. Revive him. For who knew how long.
And Sirius had hated the sea since they were kids. Not swimming pools. Not rain. The sea specifically. And yet he'd gone in... for him. The thought had barely settled when Sirius returned.
"All done."
He put his wand away and then extended a hand.
"Ready?"
Regulus didn't answer. He just stared at it for a few seconds before taking it. The effort of standing sent a sharp pain through his body, and he had to lean on Sirius immediately to keep his balance. His brother held him firmly without saying a word. And after a few seconds, he spoke, his voice low and strangely gentle.
"Let's go home, Reg."
And before he could dwell on those words, the world vanished into shapes, colors, and darkness.