All Regulus smells is smoke and blood.
"Black! We have to move!" He distantly hears Evan scream. There's a vague ringing in his ears as he looks across the burnt down muggle town.
It was a stupid plan. Raiding used to somewhat amuse him. Then it became enjoyable because he was pleasing his parents. Now it's just monotonous. He's older now, and doesn't get off on murdering muggles unlike some of his peers. They're filth yes, but the chaos is undignified. Mindless killing doesn't serve any greater cause than wasting time. It's ridiculous how Mulciber and Avery find it so enriching they brag about how many families they've annihilated at meetings.
Mulciber and Avery are stupid. They're all stupid.
The raid was nothing special. Just some small village around Brixton. The whole plan was sloppily put together, just a bunch of the group wanting the high of a murdering spree. Regulus should've known it was a poor choice to come along because barely an hour after they got started Dumbledore's lackeys showed up.
There was a lot of crossfire, perhaps the only interesting thing that day for Regulus, but now all the Death Eaters were retreating tail between their legs. There's still a few laggers running around and apparating away, Order members all chasing them down, it'll be for naught. Regulus managed to sink into the shadows after he realized mid-way that they were to be outnumbered. They had that insufferable muggle born Lily Evans there, and he's pretty sure he saw a glimpse of Frank Longbottom. Clearly meaning that the group weren't just mediocre flunkeys Dumbledore sent out on a whim. Regulus figured Order backup would outnumber and overpower them, so that's why he backed down. Judging by how his fellow Death Eaters were retreating they must've reached the same conclusion.
Regulus lingered for just a bit longer than needed as the dust settled. He didn't want to go back and have to listen to Mulciber's irritating screeches about how their night had been ruined. Regulus is so tired. In these dark moments Regulus misses Sirius. He would never say it out loud, but he's too exhausted for denial. Regulus loves Sirius. Regulus hates Sirius. Sirius hates Regulus. Sirius didn't choose Regulus. True as the sky is blue and the stars stay unreachable.
Regulus is okay with that.
Then just as Regulus was about to apparate back to Grimmauld Place he heard a thump and a loud pained groan. Regulus cursed internally.
Of course the moment he's thinking about Sirius, James fucking Potter shows up. James Potter is everywhere.
James Potter ruins everything.
He's slumped pathetically against a stone wall directly across the dark alley Regulus is standing in. He's in Regulus' line of view very clearly and he's injured. His head falls against the cobblestones and his hand is bracing his stomach he's bleeding heavily from. Dust is streaked across his face while sweat and blood sticks his mop of black hair to his face. His wound seems to come from some kind of slicing jinx. Regulus is actually pretty surprised one of his peers was skilled enough to perform the hex and manage to land it. Another loud gasp of pain comes from James again. Regulus now realizes how much blood he must've lost by now. There isn't anyone around this part for some reason. It's eerily quiet as all the Order members must've moved on to regroup across town. James is alone and bleeding out. No one here to get him a healer. James might die.
Regulus doesn't know how he feels about that. James Potter dead. He remembers wishing James was dead as a teenager, but he could never actually imagine it could happen. James was just this thing that seemed forever. Like he was born to shine and steal from Regulus for eternity. An immovable force. Stone set and unbreakable.
What a pathetic way to die. Slumped up against a wall in a dark burnt out town, alone. James is never alone. Always surrounded by friends and admirers. He remembers once in his second year he heard James loudly proclaim he wished to die in glory. The midst of battle, doing a great deed that would have him remembered forever. Hogwarts James would pitch a fit if he found out this is how his life would end. Not in the fire of battle, brought down by a killing curse as he tried to shield one of his friends. He'd want to die with his loved ones surrounding him. He'd be comforted because he died valiantly, protecting someone. The true Gryffindor way. The James Potter way.
Regulus finds that rather………sad. Quidditch star, war hero, beloved son and friend James Potter. He dies with his only witness to be the Death Eater brother of his best friend who's name doesn't occupy a shred of worthy memory.
Regulus crosses the distance between them.
There is no one there to witness this. Even James himself is too out of it to notice him approaching.
There is no one here but him, James and the smell of smoke and blood that surrounds this town. No one there to see Regulus raise his wand and press it to James' bleeding abdomen. No one there to see Regulus whisper a healing charm that seals the fresh wound. James will not die tonight. Maybe one day in a situation much like this one, but without Regulus to come and save him. Maybe he will achieve his dream, die in glory. Maybe he will outlive everyone, pass the veil in his sleep when he's old and wrinkly. When the memory of Regulus' existence doesn't exist even more than now.
He stands up once James' breathing steadies enough. Regulus begins to walk up the spindly road of the old town, through the foggy smoke and the dull scenery of the deserted and destroyed.
"James!" He hears someone scream. He recognizes the voice.
How could he not? He should've known. James Potter and Sirius Black. One comes, the other is not far behind. You don't see one without the other. The package deal. Brothers. At least what brothers are supposed to be.
He hears running, and breathing and Sirius checking James all over. Regulus doesn't have to turn around to feel the waves of panic come from Sirius. He just keeps walking. Finally it seems Sirius notices his presence. Regulus isn't sure what he'll do. Pick up his wand and curse him? Run after him to turn him in? Could he even recognize his brother under the gleaming of the silver Death Eater mask?
He's answered though. When Sirius' hoarse voice calls out to him.
"Regulus!" He screams.
It's been a while since he's heard his name on his brother's tongue. It feels foreign.
He spares one glance. Sirius is hovering over James' knocked out body. His long hair tied up, a scuffed leather jacket hanging off him. He's looking right at Regulus. This shock and denial in his eyes.
He's looking right at Regulus, but Regulus doesn't feel seen. He's come to be used to this.
Regulus looks away and after walking back through the clearing smoke and dust, he apparates away. He probably won't see Sirius or James in a while. Maybe never again if they manage to get themselves killed before then. Or maybe Regulus will be the one slumped against a wall, bleeding out. His deeds and ghosts finally catching up to him. No one will know though. No one can.
Because unlike Sirius and James, Regulus was not born to be remembered. He’ll die with the smoke and blood that he was born from.