two
James woke to the distant sound of voices—urgent, hushed, and filled with something heavy. His head pounded, his throat was raw, and his body ached with something deeper than just the physical. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know where he was. The Hospital Wing.
It had worked, then. Someone had found him. And now, he had to live with it.
There was a bitter taste in his mouth, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the remnants of firewhiskey or the shame curling in his gut.
"He was in the bloody forest, Remus! The fucking Forbidden Forest—with a rope—it was already around his neck—"
James inhaled sharply through his nose, curling in on himself beneath the covers.
"Shh, Sirius, keep your voice down," Remus whispered, though his voice was hoarse, like he had been crying.
"I don’t care! I don’t care if the whole castle hears! Do you have any idea what it was like, finding him like that? He was—he was just lying there—" Sirius cut himself off, and there was a deep inhale, an attempt at control. "He could have died, Remus."
The words carried an unbearable weight, settling over the room like a thick fog.
James squeezed his eyes shut, praying for the mattress to swallow him whole. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to be here.
"Of course I know that," Remus said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of course I do."
A chair scraped against the floor. "I don’t understand," Peter finally spoke, his voice shaking. "Why wouldn’t he tell us? Why would he—"
"Because he’s a coward."
James’ stomach clenched at the venom in Sirius’ tone. He had never heard him sound like this before.
"Sirius—"
"No, Remus. He’s selfish." The word cracked in the air like a whip. "How fucking dare you, James?"
James felt his breath stutter in his chest, but he didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, they’d stop.
Sirius didn’t stop. "We’re your best friends. We’ve been through hell together. And you just—" He exhaled sharply, footsteps pacing. "You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just leave us behind like we’re nothing."
James swallowed, his throat tight.
"Pads, that’s not fair," Peter murmured. "He wasn’t thinking straight."
"Then he should’ve talked to us! He should’ve—" Sirius’ voice broke, and that was what made James’ chest cave in on itself. "He should’ve told us."
The room was silent.
James felt like he was drowning in it.
It was Remus who finally spoke, quiet and careful. "He’s awake."
James could have kept pretending. Could have rolled over, turned away, shut them out. But he couldn’t hide forever. Slowly, hesitantly, he cracked his eyes open.
Three pairs of eyes met his. Peter’s were red-rimmed, brimming with worry. Remus’ were tired, understanding but heavy. And Sirius—
Sirius looked furious.
But beneath that, there was something worse. Something raw and broken.
James forced himself to sit up, even though every inch of him screamed to stay down.
Silence stretched between them.
James tried to speak, but his throat burned. The only thing that came out was a croak.
Peter beat him to it. "James, why?"
James looked at him, at all of them, and for the first time in years, he didn’t have an answer.
"I—I don’t know," he admitted, voice barely audible. "I just—"
"Bullshit." Sirius’ voice cut through like ice.
James flinched.
"Bullshit, James. You don’t just wake up one day and decide you want to—" Sirius stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t even say it. "Why didn’t you tell us?"
James clenched his fists in the sheets. "Because I didn’t want you to look at me like this."
Sirius let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Too fucking late for that."
James’ stomach twisted.
"I’m sorry," he whispered. It was all he could offer.
Sirius’ face crumpled. "You don’t get to say that," he snapped, but his voice wavered. "You don’t get to just say sorry and act like it’s enough."
James lowered his gaze. "I know."
Another silence. It was Remus who finally stepped forward, placing a hand on James’ shoulder. "You’re not alone in this," he said, steady and firm. "No matter what’s going on in your head, you have us."
James let out a shuddering breath.
He wanted to believe that. He really did.
But for now, all he could feel was the weight of his own shame, and the suffocating fear that no matter how much they cared, it wouldn’t be enough to fix him.
James wasn’t allowed back in lessons yet. The school thought it best if he had time to ‘recover,’ though James wasn’t sure what that even meant. How did you recover from being alive when you didn’t want to be?
He spent hours in bed, barely moving, staring at the canopy above him. Time blurred. The days passed, marked only by the occasional presence of his friends. But Sirius—Sirius never left.
At first, James thought it was some misguided sense of loyalty. But it quickly became clear that Sirius wasn’t just sticking around to help—he was keeping watch. Like he expected James to try again the second he was left alone.
It was suffocating.
"You don’t have to stay," James muttered, voice hoarse from disuse.
Sirius, sitting on the edge of his bed, scoffed. "Not leaving."
James clenched his jaw. "I’m not going to try anything."
Sirius let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Yeah? Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it."
James shut his eyes. "Sirius—" he mumbled, turning his head away, ashamed. "I didn’t mean for you to find me."
"Oh, well, that makes it so much better," Sirius snapped. "Did you even think about what that would do to us?"
James’ hands curled into fists. "I didn’t think about anything except making it stop."
Sirius inhaled sharply, standing up abruptly. "Well, congratulations, James. You fucking broke me instead."
James winced. He didn’t have a response to that.
Sirius exhaled harshly and sat back down. "I’m not leaving you alone," he said again, softer this time. "So get used to it."
James stared at the ceiling. He felt empty. Exhausted. Angry at Sirius. Angry at himself. Just… angry.
But Sirius was staying. Whether James wanted him to or not.
Days blurred into each other. James wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had spoken properly, since he had really existed as more than just a body lying in a bed. The world outside his dormitory carried on without him, and he couldn't bring himself to care.
He was still here. That was the problem.
He should have been gone. It should have ended in the forest. But something—someone—had interfered, and now he was trapped in the aftermath. Grieving his own death that never happened. Mourning the loss of an escape that had slipped through his fingers.
And Sirius wouldn’t leave.
At first, James had assumed it was just a temporary thing. Maybe the school had made it a rule, maybe Dumbledore had asked Sirius to keep an eye on him, maybe McGonagall had given one of her rare soft looks and said, he needs his friends right now. But as time stretched on, and James remained curled in bed, silent and unmoving, Sirius stayed.
He stayed when James refused to eat. He stayed when James didn’t answer him. He stayed through the long, sleepless nights where James felt nothing but exhaustion and an unbearable, aching emptiness.
Sirius stayed, but it wasn’t out of kindness. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t forgiving.
"Get up."
James barely registered the voice. It was distant, like it was coming from underwater.
"James, get up."
He didn’t move.
There was a sharp yank on his duvet. The warmth disappeared, leaving James exposed to the crisp morning air. He curled in on himself, but Sirius wasn’t having it.
"James." His voice was flat. Hollow. "Get. Up."
Nothing.
A long silence, and then a sharp, frustrated exhale. "You don’t get to do this." Sirius’ voice cracked at the edges, raw and uneven. "You don’t get to just—just lie there and pretend like none of this happened."
James let out a slow breath. "’m not pretending."
Sirius scoffed, kicking the edge of the bed frame. "No? Then what the fuck do you call this? Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like you’ve just given up."
James didn’t respond.
Sirius let out a bitter laugh, pacing. "You know what? Fine. Be a coward. Waste away in bed. Let everyone around you lose sleep over whether they’re going to find you dead one morning—again."
James flinched.
Sirius noticed. "Oh, so that gets a reaction?" he bit out. "That’s what it takes?"
James clenched his fists in the sheets.
Sirius turned back around, eyes burning. "Do you have any idea what you did to me?" he demanded, voice barely holding together. "To Remus? To Peter?"
James shut his eyes.
"Do you know what it was like to pry rope from your best friends—fuck, no, your brothers hands, and not know if you were fast enough? To have to shake them, beg them, scream their name, and not know if they’ll wake up? To not know, even though you hadn't actually hung yourself, if you had done anything else?"
James’ throat closed.
"You did that to me," Sirius said, voice shaking. "And I don’t know how to fucking forgive you for it."
Silence.
Finally, James spoke, voice so quiet it was almost lost. "I wish I hadn’t woken up."
Sirius let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Me too."
And that, somehow, was the worst part of all.