Missing
Sirius felt Regulus’s death two weeks before he read the obituary. It felt like the air rushed out of his lungs, his blood freezing, his eyes watering. He hadn’t been able to explain it when he woke up sobbing, Remus sleepily asking him what was wrong.
He could explain it now.
The words on the page blurred together, but it was clear as day. Regulus’s photo didn’t look like him anymore, but that was to be expected. Sirius hadn’t seen him in three years, since they were in school. Since Sirius told Regulus he hated him.
And now he was dead.
He was dead, and Sirius never said goodbye.
Sirius could feel his hands shaking where they were clenched on the edges of the newspaper. He could hear Remus pouring his coffee, but it sounded like water in his ears. He must’ve let out some sort of noise because Remus turned to him so suddenly, his eyes widening.
Sirius could feel tears track themselves down his cheeks. He could hear Remus dialing James on the phone, yelling at him to come over. He could see words on the paper, blurring together, unable to be read. It wasn’t real. Nothing was real. This couldn’t be real.
Sirius couldn’t breathe, the air never quite making its way through his lungs properly. He felt dizzy, light-headed, like the world was falling away and he was all that’s left, floating in space, just like his namesake. Maybe Regulus would be lost in space with him. If Sirius was a star, floating through the night, then Regulus would have to be there. He had to be there, because if he wasn’t-
Remus’s hand was on his shoulder, and then pulling him in, wrapping arms around him. He was shaking. When did he start shaking? Why can’t he stop? Why is he left here, broken, and dying, but still standing?
Why did Regulus have to die?
Sirius shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t hurt him like his heart being removed from his chest. He told Regulus he hated him, and it wasn’t a lie. At least, not a total lie. And maybe it wasn’t a total truth, but in the moment, he knew he meant it, so why did it hurt? Why did it have to be his little brother? It shouldn’t have been him.
And maybe it’s Sirius’s fault that he’s gone. Maybe if Sirius had just stayed, and bitten his tongue, and said what Walburga and Orion wanted to hear, Sirius would be dead, and Regulus would be okay. Maybe if Sirius had taken Regulus with him, left in the night and gone somewhere where their parents couldn’t find him, someone else would’ve died in his place. He would still be here, being his baby brother.
Always his baby brother.
And James was there now, holding Sirius tightly, like he knew what Sirius was feeling. He probably did, honestly, knowing James. He was always so in tune with Sirius, like no one else. Except for little Reggie. He always somehow knew everything about them. As the years passed, that kind of faded. Maybe James was a replacement for that feeling, of being known, of being cared for, of being seen. Did Regulus see James as his replacement? Is that why he stopped talking to him? Sirius didn’t do anything to make that better. He always called James his brother. But now that his real brother was gone… Well, James was fantastic, but he wasn’t Regulus. He wasn’t his little brother.
Time didn’t pass for Sirius anymore. He was stuck in stasis, forever missing a part of himself. Regulus was the heart in his chest, ripped away, and now he was just a dead man, wandering through a gray-tinted world. He didn’t eat much anymore. Didn’t talk much either. He mostly drank, almost always seen with a glass of whiskey in his hand, at least until the glass was empty, and that’s when he started crying again. He cried at least twice a day now.
Remus was worried about him, Sirius knew it. Sirius didn’t know why he even bothered to stay. Sirius was dead now, ascended to the stars with his brother, who he was sure didn’t miss him. Sirius didn’t complain when Remus started refusing to buy him more alcohol, saying that this ‘wasn’t healthy’, and he needed to ‘sit with his grief’. He didn’t want to sit with his grief. He didn’t want his grief at all.
He slept a lot more than usual, then a lot less, and the cycle continued. Every waking moment was filled with the absence of Regulus, and every dream was covered in Regulus’s image. Usually not the one from the obituary, the version of his brother that he always knew plaguing his sleep. The young one, who was always too thin, and too small, and always said that one day he’d be big and strong, and Sirius would laugh and ruffle his curls. The one who would sit on the roof with Sirius and talk about how one day they would jump off together, and they’d fly off and travel the stars. The one who Sirius knew was dead long before his brother’s obituary appeared in the paper. There was always too much Regulus, or too little Regulus, and both hurt like a dagger twisting into Sirius’s side.
James stopped by all the time. He was there almost as much as Remus was. He would ask about Regulus, and Sirius would speak for a few minutes, and then his throat would constrict and he’d go silent again. James would never push. He’d bring Sirius food, and make him tea, and talk to him, and then he’d comfort Sirius as he cried, and leave again. His eyes were almost always red-rimmed. Sirius wondered who he was crying for.
When the alcohol was gone, Sirius turned to cigarettes. Remus hated the smell, so Sirius smoked on the balcony. Usually at night, when it was dark enough that the contrast from his room wouldn’t hurt. It still hurt, but for different reasons. On instinct, he searched for Regulus in the sky. Usually he found him. Sometimes it was cloudy, or rainy, or the city lights obscured the stars, and Regulus was gone, and that made everything so much more real. On those nights, Sirius sobbed violently on the balcony until the cigarette went out, and then he’d go inside, his hair limp and sticking to his neck from the rain. On those nights, Remus would get him a towel and a blanket, and make him a cup of tea. He would stay until Sirius fell asleep with tear-stained cheeks, and then he’d make breakfast in the morning that Sirius never had the appetite to eat.
Sirius didn’t leave the apartment anymore. Two weeks of absences past, and he was fired from his job at the garage. He wouldn’t have done very well anyways. He couldn’t really focus, not when every time his eyes closed, Regulus’s face popped up, a ghostly reminder of what Sirius did wrong, and of what he should’ve done right. He should’ve been there. He should’ve saved him. He should’ve, should’ve, should’ve.
Two weeks turned into a month, and that month turned into two, but it might as well have been moments since he saw Regulus’s face, cold and frigid, printed in black and white in the paper. The pain was still fresh.
Everything was Regulus, especially Sirius himself. They always looked so similar, though Regulus was smaller, and thinner, and Sirius was built with a bit more muscle. And they had very different styles, Regulus always leaning into the formality they were raised in, while Sirius leaned as far away as he could. Still, they had the same eyes, storm gray with dashes of blue. And the same glare, one that could kill thousands. And Sirius hadn’t been eating, so he was thinner now, and he looked more like Regulus than he ever did before, and that was terrifying, but also so right. Every glance at his reflection was just the ghost of his little brother, the little bits that Regulus left behind.
Remus didn’t seem to know how to help him, and eventually, James stopped coming by every day. Sirius should’ve expected it, honestly, but he still cried when Remus told him that James wasn’t coming over anymore. Sirius felt more alone than ever. Remus was distant, and concerned, and confused, and James was too busy to help, and Regulus was gone, gone, gone, gone, gone.
The first time Sirius left the apartment, it was to wander down to the liquor store with two hundred dollars in his pocket. He just needed to forget for a couple of hours, maybe a day or two. He needed to sleep and not see Regulus’s face. He needed to be awake without feeling heavy with grief. He just needed, needed something to make him feel okay, lighter.
It didn’t.
He woke up in the alley next to the apartment building, a concerned Remus nudging him awake. Remus called off work that day to take care of Sirius, who very much didn’t appreciate Remus dumping out every remaining drop of alcohol, and forcing Sirius into the shower. He made Sirius food that he didn’t eat. He gave Sirius one of his sweaters which Sirius didn’t wear. He offered to brush out Sirius’s hair, which Sirius refused. He didn’t want to feel good. He just wanted to sleep, without dreams, without Regulus.
And you know what? He was angry. Angry that Remus treated him so delicately, angry that James didn’t, just angry, angry, angry. And maybe he was angriest at Regulus for dying and making this happen in the first place. If only he hadn’t died. If only.
And then he wasn’t angry anymore and he was crying because he was so, so angry at Regulus, and at the same time, he never could be angry at Regulus, because he was still just his little brother and he wasn’t sure he knew how to be angry at his little brother. No, he couldn’t really be angry. He just missed Regulus. He missed his brother, more than he could say.
Eventually, Remus got tired of Sirius’s wallowing. He couldn’t let Sirius stay in his room forever, he supposed, but it didn’t make Sirius more comfortable, being sat down on the sofa in their living room, and being given a cup of tea as Remus sat across from him, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.
“Sirius, you have to start moving on eventually,” Remus said bluntly, and Sirius blinked out. He heard what Remus was saying, but he didn’t, and his heart was trapped in his throat. He was choking on it.
When he started hearing things again, he was yelling. He wasn’t really sure what he was yelling, but he was loud, and he could see Remus resisting the urge to shrink into himself. And Sirius stopped, so suddenly, going silent, his eyes filling with tears. He felt heavy, and broken, and he was hurting Remus. He wasn’t trying to hurt Remus. He didn’t want to hurt Remus.
Sirius plopped down on the couch, his face buried in his hands, fingernails digging into his scalp as he sobbed. Remus stood up, Sirius could hear his shoes shuffling against the carpet. Suddenly, Sirius was pulled close into Remus’s chest. He was warm, and he smelled nice, like autumn afternoons and everything that came with them. For a moment, Sirius was calm, and it was the first time he had.
“I don’t know much about dealing with grief, Sirius,” Remus whispered. “But I talked to Lily, and she told me about how she dealt with her dad, and I know it feels like you’re stuck, and it’ll never get better but I just- I want you to try something for me, okay?” Sirius nodded shakily into Remus’s chest.
“I want you to try journaling, or writing letters to Regulus,” Remus said, brushing gentle, calloused fingers over Sirius’s scalp and through his long, matted hair. “You don’t have to keep doing it if you don’t like it, or if it makes things worse, but I want you to try. Please, Sirius, just try.”
Sirius nodded, wiping tears from his eyes on the back of his hand. He trusted Remus. He would listen to Remus. Remus pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
Sirius would try.