It's a Friday night in a ratty club in London, colored lights flash through clouds of fog and the dance floor is packed with young twenty somethings that are all chasing after some sensation through drink, drugs or sex. It's not Regulus' type of place, he's not a fan of places he needs to yell over the music to be heard, or the overly warm atmospheres created by crowded, inebriated bodies, but James is in his element here; amongst all his friends as they revolve around him like he is the center of their solar system, their sun. If there is a crowd, you can be certain that James Potter will be in the thick of it, Sirius beside him and Remus watching, either fond or exasperated on the fringes. James is the picture of ease, the attention he draws as if a beam of sunlight follows him everywhere he goes is something he harnesses well, and everybody wants to be part of it, drawn helplessly to his magnetism. Everybody wants to be him or be with him, to have any part of him, even those that pretend they don't are lying (Regulus would know).
James acts as if he is an open book, heart on his sleeve, earnest and good, though quite a bit egotistical. For the most part, he is that way organically, a smile for every passerby, a tear shed for every heartfelt moment in a movie, effortlessly cool while also being enduringly patient and kind. But there is one thing about James that he doesn't let anyone else see or come near, something kept separate, something kept hidden at all costs. This secret puts a damper on the glittering mask that is James Potter, this secret makes that mask seem more like fool's gold.
On the outside, he appears perfectly healthy, taller and broader now than he was as a teenager; with warm brown skin, smile lines that show like dimples when he grins, and perpetually windswept-looking charcoal black hair. But the inside, not his heart or his mind, but his body, is a different story. On the inside, his nerves were alight with strange pain that radiates and bounces across his extremities, and muscle spasms that jump under his skin. It's a little known fact that James Potter, sunshine incarnate, spent much of his childhood in hospitals being tested and prodded a million different ways for the cause of his mysterious illness and pain. It's a little known fact that after going most of his life without answers, James Potter, sunshine incarnate, has been disabled by this mysterious pain.
Contrary to popular belief, James has always been good at hiding, there's just very little he cares to hide about himself. He knows that if you act as if you're untouchable and unbothered for long enough, the people around you will start to believe it. It's a suffering of his own making, forged and cemented in years of people pleasing and an aching loneliness, this mask of his and all of its faults. He cannot fault his friends, the few that know of his disability, for forgetting sometimes, even if all he wants is to be seen for how hard he's trying all the time.
Even Regulus forgets sometimes too, which sounds horrible as his boyfriend and roommate, but James is so good at pretending; so gracious with his time and energy for everyone, even though it comes at great cost to him, that it can be easy to forget that he has limits. But Regulus knows first hand how debilitating it is, because he lives with James, and sees the consequences more often than anyone else in his life. He sees how James' shoulders slump when the last person leaves their flat, the casual smile on his face dropping into something weary and lined, his movements slowing down and becoming more careful. Regulus knows of the pain that comes at night, without fail each time he pushes himself too hard, the sparking pain that makes him jerk and curse as he tries to tamp down on desperate whimpers. Regulus probably remembers more than the rest of them, but he's not infallible.
Regulus is sitting in a quiet booth, away from most of the noise and people with Dorcas and Evan, since Pandora and Barty left them to disappear in the throng of people on the dance floor. They're people watching for the most part, enjoying each other's company and passing the time by making entertaining assumptions about the other strangers in the dingy club.
"5 pounds on blonde ponytail going home with beefcake over there," Evan says, tipping his beer slightly toward the pair, the girl with a ponytail has her head tilted, golden hair wrapped around a twirling finger while the guy confidently leans on the bar to show off his biceps as he flirts.
"I'll take your wager," Dorcas says, watching now too, "Besides, she's been flirting for free drinks all night, I saw her do the same thing to at least two other poor sods."
"Damn," Evan says, "I take it back then."
"Too late," Dorcas replies with a smug grin, "I have to admit, she's got great technique though, dude's practically drooling."
"Guys are so easy," Regulus adds with a sigh, draining his glass.
All three of them make a disgusted face when the guy makes a horrible attempt at a cocky smirk that only manages to twist his face up awkwardly as he leans closer.
"Ooh, that stings," Evan laughs, as the trio watch the girl dodge the guy's kiss and duck under his arm with her drink raised in thanks.
"That's my girl," Dorcas says with conviction, joyfully snatching the note from Evan's hand before another person catches her eye, "Bet that guy is wearing women's lingerie under his clothes."
"Cas, that's the straightest man I've ever seen in my life," Regulus says, though the image makes him chortle a little. "Though lingerie would look ravishing with that combover he's got."
"You saying he'd give Potter a run for his money?" Evan asks conspiratorially, but his eyes are searching for Barty on the dance floor, brightening when he catches him and Pandora twirling around each other with flushed cheeks and intoxicated glee.
"Obviously," Regulus replies, though his attention is divided too, often straying toward where James is standing by the bar with his friends.
James has been on his feet since they practically got there, Sirius dragging him off to the dance floor almost immediately, and he's been bouncing from person to person since. Regulus knows it's hard for him to ask for a break, whether he is genuinely enjoying himself or simply being stubborn about his limits, it's difficult for James to ask for anything that might remind others that he has limits. There's no way he'd mention needing a break, or needing to sit down while they talk, even though Remus already is and the group is gathered around him effortlessly. But Regulus has been navigating this long enough that he knows how to operate, three years of living together has taught him how to care for James subtly in public and he's developed techniques to make it easier.
The first sign Regulus notices as a signifier of pain is his shuffling feet, moving his weight from side to side casually, almost like he's swaying to the music, if he wasn't so stiff about it. Standing is much harder for James than walking, it puts more pressure on his joints and makes him tense and achy. The second sign comes when, a few minutes later, James starts to roll his shoulders, his eyebrows drawing in slightly as his pain climbs, but the easy smile remains on his face, and when he laughs loudly at a joke, nobody notices the way he winces a little at the movement. Regulus doesn't understand why he doesn't just sit next to Remus, who is seated on a bar stool, cane resting across his knees as he faces the group, but he knows it's not that simple.
James has always compared himself to Remus. He's never been validated in his disability by doctors, and hasn't been diagnosed or given a mobility aid, so he's always felt unworthy of special treatment, even when it would greatly benefit him to have it. Remus has always had physical signifiers of his disability; scars from surgeries that litter his body, a pronounced limp and a cane covered in stickers. Next to Remus, James doesn't look any different than anyone else, and he finds it especially hard to accept help around him, as if he's afraid to be accused of pretending. Remus himself has spent years trying to convince James that he deserves care, and validating his disability, but it's hard to say whether or not James ever really believes him.
James has always had it in his head that nobody would want to rely on him for anything if they found out that he has a weakness, something that limits him, and it's a similar issue with his mental health. James doesn't like his friends knowing when he's overwhelmed or depressed, he's so determined to be everything everyone could possibly need that he does a deep disservice to himself, and the people around him ignorantly let him. The few of them that have seen him during flare ups or episodes, only see a degree of it and even then, James downplays it as to not scare or worry anyone, always afraid they would think he's faking, or worse; he's afraid that if he were ever to admit that he has limits to what he can offer people, that they will leave him, because who would love him if he couldn't be useful?
Regulus makes the decision to interfere not too long after the second sign, knowing if James is only showing signs of pain now, he's probably been in pain for most of the night, and he's just now starting to struggle to hide it. He wishes his boyfriend wouldn't go to such lengths to hide it, he knows none of James' friends would belittle him for his illness, they're all friends with Remus too, so it's not as if they'd treat him badly, but he knows it's not that simple for James. Regulus goes right to his side, slipping an arm around his waist in a way that appears affectionate, but also helps take some of James' weight off his joints as he joins the group of friends.
"Talking about your rugby glory days again?" Regulus asks Frank, because he knows the answer. Whenever Frank got even a little drunk, all he could talk about was their year twelve rugby team, the one he led before graduating.
"Yes," Marlene complains, strands of choppy blonde hair hanging in her face, "He tells stories as if James and I weren't even there."
"We were literally on your team," James adds with a fond smile.
James doesn't mind the stories, he loves talking about rugby, even though he only managed to play for one year before the months of hiding his symptoms and pushing his body caught up to him and nearly hospitalized him again. He was forced by his parents to quit the team after that, much to his teammates dismay and confusion, their secondary school team was the strongest it'd been in years with James on it. He endured endless questions about his retirement from the team from most of the school, saying through a shrug that he just didn't like playing the sport as much as watching it, even though it hurt to say, lying through his teeth. It still aches, the grief overwhelms him sometimes, he's lost so much to something that didn't even have a name, he didn't have anything to point to and blame, just this invisible pain that wars all over his body. There aren't many words for this particular grief, it's a hopelessness that James isn't accustomed to submitting to, so he simply doesn't let himself think about it. He's more fun to be around when he's optimistic and hopeful anyway, and people need that from him.
"Remus doesn't know the stories!" Frank protests, gesturing sloppily, beer sloshing over the side of his glass.
"Mm I do, but that's okay. We know it was hard for you, peaking in secondary school, I mean." Remus coos, patting his arm condescendingly. The group breaks into laughter as Frank squawks indignantly, cheeks going redder and redder the more they laugh.
"Jamie, can we sit?" Regulus says in a purposefully whiny voice, "These shoes are killing me and I've got blisters, but I've barely seen you all night," It's a lie, and maybe a little manipulative, but this is one of his tried and true techniques: make the self sacrificing git think he's helping Regulus rather than simply suggesting he sit down.
He nods easily, "Yeah, sure love, I bet Dorcas has some plasters."
Regulus turns toward the bartender before they go, "A water, please."
He nods in thanks when the glass is slid toward him, tugging James' arm around his shoulder to take more of his weight as they retreat from the group. James gratefully leans into him a little, but not enough for it to be blatantly obvious. If anyone finds it strange, nobody says a word, Frank fruitlessly trying to argue that he is capable of talking about things other than rugby, while Marlene and Remus egg him on and try to hold back their smiles at his frustration. Regulus and James make their way back to the booth, emptied out now, their friends scattered around the club.
"Should I go find Dorcas for you?" James asks, already looking around the club.
Regulus shakes his head, slipping into the booth and pulling James' hand, "Nah, let's just sit for a bit."
James blows out a sigh as he sits next to him, stretching his legs underneath the table, the tightness in the muscles tugging his lips into a slight frown. Too much movement hurts, and too little movement hurts, if there was a balance, James has yet to find it. He'd be angry about it more often he ever let himself think about it, but if he does let himself, he's afraid he'll never find it in him to smile and pretend again, and that he’ll be angry and bitter for the rest of his life. The pain medicine the doctors gave works alright, neutralizes some of the problem, but the pain is consistent and will not be dampened by much anymore. Sometimes the medicine feels inconsequential, but then he misses a dose and suddenly, the thrum of constant pain gets sharper and more concentrated, more punishing.
Regulus brushes a thumb over the downturned corner of James' mouth, pushing the glass toward him, "Have you had a drop of water since we got here?"
In their abandoned booth and dark corner of the club, James lets the mask drop a little, his glasses sitting low on his nose, dark brows draw and hazel eyes tired. "It's a club, I didn't even know they sold water."
Regulus rolls his eyes, "Idiot. Drink. You're supposed to be 70% water, not lager."
James obeys, though he makes a show of being exasperated, lowering his glass as a thought occurs to him, "You don't have blisters, do you?"
"No, mon cher, but you needed to sit and were being stubborn about it," Regulus responds lightly, smirking despite the scolding undertone the words carry.
A moment of silence passes, and then James drops his head on his shoulder, mumbling a sheepish and exhausted, thank you. Regulus presses a kiss to the crown of his head, letting his lips linger for a few seconds before nudging him up again to drink more water. They leave not long after, making their rounds to say goodnight to everyone and driving home in easy silence.
James wakes up from a fitful sleep the next morning to the hollow ache in his joints, the constricting pain in his back, like a straitjacket or corset pushing against his ribs, and intense pressure in his head from grinding his teeth into dust. For a moment, he closes his eyes again, exhausted in the same way he's been for years, like sandbags have been tied to each of his limbs. They're meant to help Sirius and Remus move into their new flat today, which means a long day of manual labor, already not James' strong suit, even on a low pain day. He doesn't know how to manage it, but he knows he must, so he gets up gingerly, wincing at the pop of his joints and the lightning bolt of pain down his spine. Pain lights every nerve like a christmas tree, forcing him to slow down even more as he tries to straighten up.
He is used to the pain, but sometimes he feels small in the wake of its devastating effects. Sometimes, James feels like a child, and all he wants is to run to his mum, hold onto her skirt and sob, to plead, make it better, please. He wants to go back to a time when he still believed his mum could fix everything. He is used to the pain, but sometimes he's so damn angry about it, so horribly grieved by it, he wants to scream until he's breathless and tear his clothes to shreds until he is nothing but the physical manifestation of agony itself. James makes his way to the living room slowly, stopping every now and then when a bolt of pain threatens to weaken his knees, nearly biting through his lip to contain his building frustration.
Sirius and Remus' new flat is luckily on the first floor of a cramped building with peeling paint, further away from central London and on easier terrain for Remus. There's only four concrete steps that lead to a cheery red door, a new label on the buzzer with the name Lupins scrawled in pen. It's a rare sunny day in London, which is nice, because moving furniture in the pouring rain would've been miserable, and James is miserable as it is. He barely convinced Regulus to let him leave the flat, but since Remus can't lift anything heavy, Regulus eventually gave in knowing Sirius and Remus were relying on their help.
James is already drenched in sweat, his body struggling to regulate his temperature while his frayed nerves ricochet pain like a pin ball machine is inside him. Regulus sends him frequent, nervous glances, clearly wanting to intervene but respecting James enough not to bring it up in front of the others, for now. It’s not that Sirius and Remus don’t know, they were absolutely inseparable for seven years of private school, so they’ve seen him down and struggling several times, they just hardly ever see the worst of it, James won't let them.
Remus grabs a lighter box at the top of the pile in the back of the truck labeled kitchen, forgoing his cane so he can carry it with both hands, and walking up the steps slowly. Sirius' hand is not far behind him in case he wobbles too precariously, though when Remus snaps his head back to check he’s not spotting, Sirius drives his hand through his hair and fakes a casual whistle as he looks the opposite direction. Remus, like James, can be frustratingly independent, something they heavily relate to each other, even if Remus is slightly better at accepting help, often not given a choice in the matter.
Regulus helps organize the boxes brought in to the right rooms, keeping a clear space for them to walk. James mostly helps to unload, handing boxes off to Sirius to take inside. His back is killing, and there's a building pain in his neck and legs, the muscles taut from the strain of lifting, and his joints groan each time he bends down, threatening to give out every time he comes back up. A few times, he has to grab the side of the truck to steady himself, though he does his best to hide it, not that Sirius seems to notice anyway.
"We didn't have enough room for a pet in our last flat, but I reckon I can convince Moony to get a dog or cat in this one. I’d prefer a dog, but I can just see how sweet Moony would look, curled up with a book and a tiny kitten on his lap," Sirius says with a dreamy sigh, before shaking his head and gesturing to the furniture, "Help me move this couch will you?"
Sirius says it casually, and he doesn't think about it, because why would he? James didn't tell him how much he was hurting, but the request makes him frustrated anyway. While he wants to be normal, James also wishes that his friends would remember more often that he's disabled too. That just because he has a hard time saying no, and hides his pain well, doesn't mean it doesn't exist at all. He knows it's unfair to be angry when he doesn't communicate it, and does his best to hide the worst of his symptoms, but the spark of frustration and helplessness is there anyway. James nods in agreement, knowing he couldn’t say no and saying none of the words swirling in his chest.
Sirius keeps talking, unaware as he grabs one end of the couch, "I've always wanted a dog though, like a chocolate lab or something, they're supposed to be like, the best companions. One, two—" They lift the couch on three, and James feels his head throb and swim a little as he straightens up. Sirius doesn't notice, chattering on.
Getting the couch through the door is an ordeal, they have to revolve themselves and the couch a few different times to fit, James feeling the strain in every muscle, his skin disgustingly slick with sweat, and breath burning in his throat. Eventually, they get it through, with Regulus helping direct them, and they plop it on the floor as soon as possible, James sprawling on the floor next to it exhaustedly. Regulus is about to ask him if he's alright when he jumps back with a curse as Sirius trods on his toes by accident.
"Merde, Sirius!" Regulus exclaims, "If you're going to wear those garish boots, at least watch where you're going so you don't break my toes!"
Sirius gasps dramatically, "Garish? I'll have you know, these were 300 pounds, and are very in style right now!"
James tunes them out, closing his eyes as he tries to deepen his breathing, silently willing his pain to fade long enough to get him through a few more hours of this. But between the club and moving in his friends, his body is screaming for a break that he doesn't have time for, later, he tells it through hard to catch breaths, later I'll rest.
"Look up the definition of garish, brother, I'm sure you'll find a picture of those boots right next to it."
Sirius' mouth drops open in further offense before he crosses his arms and sniffs, "Well, if you looked up the definition for crotchety arsehole, your photo would be right next to it."
"Oh, nice comeback, Sirius, truly inspired."
James groans loudly when both of their voices rise to meet each other in agitation, the noise only adding to the pressure in his head and at the peak of his pain, his patience terribly thin, he yanks his shoe off to launch in their direction from the floor. It sails past Remus' head as he walks into the room from the bathroom, eyebrows raised as he follows the motion. His eyes dart from James to each of the brothers, waiting for an explanation. But Sirius and Regulus are focused on James, who's struggling to his feet when the familiar sinking feeling swirls in his stomach, as if he's stepped into quicksand. Not now, not here, James thinks desperately, but time slows as the weight of his limbs pulls him back to the ground.
"Prongs?" Sirius says, concern evident in his voice as he leaps forward to grab his arm and hold him upright.
James sways in place, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead, despite the day not being terribly hot, as his cheeks rapidly drain of their previously flushed color. A glassy, distant look in his eyes replacing the one of irritation they held seconds ago. His head starts to droop like a wilting flower as he wavers on his feet unsteadily, hardly able to see or hear anything beyond the black spots gathering in his vision, and the static buzzing in his ears.
"Time to sit, Jamie," Regulus says, a nervous edge to the words as he catches his other elbow, he and Sirius guiding him to rest on the couch.
He goes pliantly, which lets Regulus know how bad off he is on its own, a low noise of pain escaping his throat as he sinks into the cushions. He's not really there, though he's not fully unconscious either, in a strange in between that happens when he pushes hard enough that his body shuts down. Regulus crouches in front of him, brushing thick hair off James’ forehead, feeling the hot and clammy skin. He berates himself internally for not intervening sooner and insisting James stay home, but he'd tried to without much success, and despite anything he could say, James is an adult who makes his own choices. It doesn't make it any easier to watch him destroy himself, though.
“Shit, Prongs,” Sirius curses, wide eyed and fidgety as he looks between Regulus and James, “I shouldn't have made you carry that couch, you're just so capable, I forget that you—"
“S’fine,” James interrupts hoarsely, trying to blink past the fog invading his brain, it’s hard to form sentences or coherent thoughts, he is only a leaking wound, drenched in misery and pain. “Don’ worry bout me.”
Regulus huffs indignantly but doesn’t say anything, instead, he presses his fingers into the soft flesh on the inside of James' wrist, counting heartbeats on his watch like Effie taught him to. Everything he knows about taking care of his boyfriend came from hours of conversation and the occasional nervous text to Effie when James seemed particularly bad. He feels James’ pulse racing, but his heartbeat is strong which helps him relax a little. Regulus feels his own heart racing along with him, no matter how many times he witnesses the worst sufferings of his boyfriend's disability, it scares him every time. It's the only time James appears small and uncertain, vulnerable in a way very, very few people in his life ever get to see.
“I go to the bathroom for five minutes and everyone falls apart,” Remus jokes lightly, though it does nothing to diffuse the tension in the room. When no one speaks, he adds, “I've got a Gatorade in my bag, I'll grab it, shall I?”
James hums sleepily, eyelids fluttering and widening every few seconds. He’s fighting the pull of unconsciousness, he always does, he hates to worry anyone, and hates the loss of control when he passes out. But it’s difficult to stay awake, he can’t raise his arms or move his head, and there are weights on his eyelids, forcing them to close.
"Thanks Rem," Regulus says, before turning to his distressed brother, “Can you find a flannel somewhere and wet it with cold water? It might help him come round sooner."
Sirius nods, grateful for the instruction, following Remus out of the room. Remus wraps an arm around him in the hallway, though it’s a bit awkward while leaning on his cane still, and presses a kiss to Sirius’ temple. Sirius looks at him with watery eyes, feeling like the worst friend in the world, his shoulders slumping with guilt, and Remus coos a soft, it’s okay, before he ruffles Sirius’ hair and leaving him to get his bag.
“Can you hear me, Jamie?” Regulus asks, hand still wrapped around his wrist, scanning the man’s abnormally pale face. James doesn’t reply but his eyes slide over to him sluggishly, heavy lidded and unnervingly blank. Regulus rubs his arm, trying to soothe himself and his boyfriend, “Okay, that’s alright, I know it’s taking a lot just to keep those eyes open. You’re doing good, baby.”
Every few seconds, his limbs jerk and jolt in response to the assault on his nerves, whines of pain escaping unbidden. Regulus feels the temptation to keep Sirius and Remus away from his boyfriend, knowing how upset James will feel about this display of his weakness (or what he perceives to be weakness) in front of them, but he thinks it might be good for him to be taken care of by them. He wants to respect his boyfriend's wishes, but he also desperately wants James to see that it's not a burden for him to have weaknesses or limits, and it does not change his value either.
Sirius returns with the cold flannel minutes after digging through several boxes, sitting carefully next to his friend so as not to jostle him, and gently wiping away the sweaty strands of hair that cling to James' face. It twists him up inside that he didn't notice how bad off James is. He's always been great at masking, but never with Sirius. Sirius has always been skilled at breaking through the layers of charm to the bruised and beautiful heart of him, the insecurity wrapped in barbed confidence, and the loneliness he keeps close to his chest. But seeing his best friend twitching in pain and barely conscious, Sirius wonders how much he really knows about James' pain. He was James’ best friend, he wasn’t supposed to be fooled by his masks.
James flinches slightly at the sudden coldness on his face, hazel eyes opening with a little more awareness than before where he was drifting on the edges of sleep. He tries to say something, but it comes out as a groan as his veins constrict and an electrical fire races through them.
“You with us, Prongs?” Sirius asks, leaning closer to meet his foggy gaze and biting his lip nervously. When James makes a noise in his throat, he takes it as an answer, “You’re a prat, you know that? You should’ve told me you were feeling this bad, I wouldn’t have made you come at all.”
“Sirius, not now,” Regulus hisses, though his face reflects the same sentiment.
“S’okay, Pads,” James replies airily, his eyes sinking shut for longer and longer seconds.
Sirius’ brow wrinkles, and he opens his mouth to respond but the rhythmic clack of Remus’ cane announces his presence before he enters the room. He has an uncapped bottle of blue Gaterade in his hand, a bendy straw sticking out of the top. It’s a small thing, but it shows how much Remus understands, James wouldn’t be able to open the bottle himself or raise it to his lips to drink it, his hands clumsy and his arms weighted. Remus, who is often the patient. Remus hands Regulus the bottle, then sits on the ground a few feet away, not wanting to crowd James too much. He has to lower himself awkwardly, because there isn’t anything to brace on, but he gets there, if a little clumsily. Sirius glances over and opens his mouth to say something, maybe about how Remus should sit on the couch instead, but Remus waves him off.
“Alright love, need you to drink for me,” Regulus says softly, pressing the straw to his lips. James attempts to lift a trembling hand to grab it, but Regulus pushes it away. “Let me do it, I’ve got you.”
James makes a face in protest, but clearly doesn’t have the energy to fight much, so he sips at the drink, eyes downcast to avoid the scrutinizing gazes on him. Color returns to his cheeks slowly, brightening his face from the deathly pale shade it was before. It takes several minutes before he can summon the energy to lift his head slightly, glancing at them with clearer, wary eyes, though he’s too weak to do much else.
Regulus cups his face, fingers hooking under his chin to turn James towards him gently, “Hey Jamie, you back now?”
James nods slowly, though his chin wrinkles like he’s silencing his whimpers. His head is heavy and his mind feels scrambled, the static in his ears slowly dying down as his awareness returns. Vaguely, he feels embarrassed, kicking up a fuss for no reason, but mostly, he’s bone tired.
“Can you tell me how you feel? Can you rate your pain so I know how to help you?” Regulus requests, still holding his chin, helping him hold his head up more than anything else at this point. It’s what they do, Regulus and James, they take each other’s weight.
“Everything hurts,” He says in a strained whisper, “All of it aches and burns and throbs. I’m— I’m really tired, Reg.”
Regulus sighs, leaning forward to press his forehead to his boyfriend’s, “I know, Jamie. I’m sorry,” After a moment, he pulls back, kissing James’ forehead, “And what do you rate your pain?”
James hesitates for a long time before admitting quietly, “Like an eight, maybe a bit more.”
“Do we need to take you to A&E? Tell us honestly, Prongs,” Sirius asks urgently, laying the damp flannel across the back of his neck.
James shakes his head as best he can, though it’s a lazy gesture, he still hasn’t regained full function of his limbs, “No, I’m fine, they won’t help much anyway.”
"Fine is not the word I'd use," Remus adds pointedly, from his seat on the floor.
"Fine enough," James grumbles, letting Regulus force-feed him more of the drink, though his ears and cheeks turn red.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Sirius asks.
“You can help me get him to the car," Regulus says, pushing off his knees to stand, "Everything we have that can help is at home."
"I can get there myself, just give me a minute," James mutters, pulling at his shaking fingers.
Sirius covers them with his hand, waiting for James to glance at him before speaking gently, "We want to help, so let us. Don't be a stubborn git about it, you won't win, and I know you don't have the energy to fight us on it anyway. We love you, Prongs, we just want you to be well."
James opens his mouth but can't find the words, so he only nods, a single tear trailing down his cheek. Sirius brushes it away kindly, thankfully not bringing attention to it, before looping an arm under James' armpit, while Regulus does the same on the other side. They draw him up slowly, making sure he's steady on his feet before loosening their grip a little. When Sirius is sure James won't collapse again, he steps away to offer a hand to help Remus up too.
"Come on darling, up we get," Sirius says.
Remus takes the hand easily, using his cane to help him balance better as he gets to his feet. "See, Prongs? Sirius helped me up and the world didn't end, what a marvel."
"Sod off, prick," James mutters, still leaning heavily on his boyfriend.
"Oi, that's devilishly handsome prick to you," Remus replies in an incredibly accurate impression of Sirius, down to the poncy accent and hair flip. James tries to hang on to his irritation, but fails to stop the grin from spreading across his face when Remus keeps fluffing his hair like Sirius compulsively does. Sirius seems split between indignant and reluctantly impressed, which only serves to make the entire charade funnier.
"Alright," Regulus says, amusement coloring his tone, "I really ought to get him home and off his feet, you lot alright?"
Sirius waves a hand dismissively, "I'll call someone else to help with the rest, you've done more than enough. Feel better, Jamsie, if I hear you're giving my brother trouble and not resting, I'll sic Effie on you."
"You better not," James threatens as they make their way toward the door.
Sirius grins back at him toothily, holding the door open for them, "Better rest well, then."