Remus has been going through something.
It’s been four weeks since he left the pack, and since then he’s been in agony. His mind is berating him with thoughts, the same ones over and over and he can’t stand it. One week after the incident, he got up from the bed, (Sirius was on an Order mission), and locked himself in the bathroom. He sat there for an hour, before opening his muggle razor and cutting three cuts on his arm. It bled and bled, but it felt good. And since then, even if Sirius is home, he goes to the bathroom, casts a silencing charm, and slices his arm until it burns. And Sirius doesn’t know.
Until one morning, where Remus is feeling particularly horrible, is when it all happens. He wakes up, the bed empty beside him, and he guiltily breathes a sigh of relief. He can’t deal with putting on a happy face right now, he doesn’t have the energy. He stands up, stretching his sore muscles. The full is in two days, his first one since the pack. He won’t lie, he’s very anxious, but he won’t tell Sirius that. Or James. Or Lily. Or Marlene, or Mary, or Peter, or Dorcas. No one. He walks outside the bedroom, going to the windowsill and lighting a cigarette. He’s been smoking a lot too, almost an entire pack each day. But Sirius doesn’t notice. He’s too busy to notice, to be here, to love Remus. He’s out there, saving the world, and here Remus is, smoking and slicing open his arm. After smoking six, he goes to the kitchen and pulls out an extra bottle of firewhiskey. He downs it in four gulps, slamming the bottle down on the counter so hard it shatters. The glass flies everywhere, on the counter, on the floor, some shards hitting Remus himself.
“Look. The glass. Even the world is telling you it wants you to die.”
Remus’ breaths become shallower as he looks toward the glass on the floor. He’s doesn’t really wanna die, does he? No, he doesn’t think so, but the idea just seems so appealing right now. The unbearable pain of the full moon, the harsh grip the war has on everyone he loves, the sadness and emptiness that have such a tight hold on him, would all be gone. And, Merlin, does that sound amazing. But he doesn’t want to leave Sirius and all his friends, because they’d be sad. Remus doesn’t know why, but he knows they would be. But he can cut himself.
So he drunkenly stumbles to the bathroom, and in the haze of a near panic attack, he doesn’t think to lock the door. He just falls to the floor, back up against the wall, as he fumbles for the razor blade he stashed there last night. Sweat drips down his forehead, and he struggles to breathe, but he eventually finds it and rolls his sleeve up. His self-inflicted cuts blend in with his … well, other self-inflicted cuts, but you know what I mean. The only difference is that his werewolf-related ones are long and jagged, whereas his other cuts are small and straight, lad in a cross-cross motion. He takes the small blade in his trembling hand, before dragging it along his forearm. The pain stings, but it feels good. So good. Cut after cut, till seven red marks are added to his shrine. He sits there, struggling to catch his breath, before the noise of the front door opening and shutting fills his ears.
“Moony? Love, I’m home early. Where are you?” Sirius’ voice calls. Remus looks at his arm, noticing he’s bleeding a lot. Too much. His arm is gushing it, going down his hand and onto the floor. “Bathroom, I-I’ll just be a second.” He calls out, too lost in a daze to realize how shaky and weak his voice seems. He grabs a few tissues, attempting and failing to clean it up. The door opens, Sirius’ head popping in with a small smile. Which fades when he sees Remus bleeding from his arm, with a tissue in his other hand, and a blade left forgotten on the tile floor. “Remus?” He gasps, quickly rushing into the room, falling down beside him. “Oh, god, love, what did you do?” Sirius whispers, voice wet. Remus’ eyes grow watery, and he mumbles, “I’m sorry, Sirius, I’m sorry.” Sirius shushes him softly, grabbing the tissue and pressing hard onto his arm. Remus groans in pain, and Sirius mutters soft apologies.
After Sirius finished cleaning him up, he and Remus laid down in bed, Sirius holding him tightly. Sirius looks at his arms, the dozens and dozens of cuts littering the skin there. “Why, Rem? Why didn’t you talk to me, love? I-I could’ve helped you, Remus, you didn’t have to resort to this, to hurting yourself.” Remus swallows the lump in his throat before responding, “Since the mission, my brain doesn’t seem to work right. And Greyback was fucking with my mind anyway, maybe he still is. But I’m just so empty, Sirius. I have no more energy, no more fight, no more hope, and you’re busy with all this stuff with the Order, and the full is only in a few days, and I’m sore, and I’m just tired, Sirius.” Sirius sniffs, pulling hm closer. “oh, Rem. We’re gonna get you help, love. Just never this again, okay?” Remus nods, whispering a soft, “Thank you.”
Sirius presses a kiss into his brown hair, muttering, “Anything for my Moony.”