Chapter 1
Regulus Black had always lived inside his own head. It was easier that way. Besides, he was...comfortable there. Yes, sometimes he woke up in a cold sweat, having no memory of the day (days?) before, and sometimes Walburga would scream until her face was blue, demanding he admit he lied, when in reality Regulus just couldn't remember. But it was manageable, because at the end of the day, he could retreat inside his mind, and finally be at peace.
So when Regulus Black wakes up in a bed that is not his, he doesn't panic. Not yet. He's woken up in strange places before; at school, he'd woken up at the door of the Gryffindor dorms more times than he'd like to admit, and once he'd ended up in the forbidden forest. So it wasn't exactly unusual.
But, this time, it feels...different? He feels warm and content, albeit a bit sore. He pulls the heavy quilt off of himself, noticing he's dressed in a loose pair of Muggle pajamas. Walburga would never approve. But she's not here, is she? Sirius had taught him to recognize her footsteps, her voice, so he could prepare himself. He didn't feel the need to prepare himself.
He had pristine white bandages around both of his wrists, and he felt an aching bruise blooming across his stomach. It was a bit hard to breathe, but again, that wasn't unusual.
The room he was in, he's never seen before. It was quite simple. There was the bed he was on, a desk, a wardrobe, a window, and the door. The walls were empty but there were curtains on the window and a sweater neatly folded on the desk.
Regulus stumbles out of bed, pushing down the rising panic as he realizes he truly has no idea where he is. Usually when he wakes up in strange places he at least knows them.
Once he's out of bed, he realizes how cold he is. He admits defeat and grabs the sweater, wincing as he pulls it on. God, he's so sore. Luckily, most of his wounds seem to be bruises, except for whatever happened to his wrist. It's then that Regulus realizes that in order for his wrists to be bandaged, someone would have had to see him and touch him and that makes his stomach lurch. Had he been asleep the whole time? That seemed unlikely.
Regulus Black has never been brave, but right now he buries his fears and slowly opens the door, wincing as the hinges squeak. Now that the door is open, he hears voices, hushed whispers from across the hallway. He follows them, trying not to make a sound. Sirius had also taught him how to walk quietly, to avoid alerting their mother, and Regulus had never felt the need to break the habit.
He finally reaches the source of the voices, as he enters what looks like a living room. There's two maroon couches each pushed to a wall, with a muggle television on the opposite wall. And sitting on the couch, whispering to one another, is James Potter and Sirius Black.
Regulus makes eye contact with his brother, before turning around and going back to the room he had woken up in. He needs to go, he needs to leave, he can’t be here, not with him, not without him, because he needs to go home, even if the idea of that makes him sick to his stomach.
"Reg, wait!" Sirius calls out. Regulus only walks faster, but he hears Sirius' footsteps behind him. He finally enters the room, looking around for his wand or his bag or anything that could help him get out of here.
"Reg, please," Sirius says, eyes wide. "Let's just talk, alright?"
"About what?" Regulus responds, as he frantically searches the drawers of the wardrobe.
"About last night? About why you're here?" Sirius says, sounding a bit frustrated.
Regulus goes cold. Last night? What happened last night? And where is here?
"What?" Regulus says shortly, as he finally gives up on finding his wand. He's winded now, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. He can't breathe and he can't tell if it’s because of the bruised rib or because he's talking to his brother for the first time since Sirius left two years ago. He tries to take a deep breath, but it's not working, so all that comes out is a stuttered gasp. He sees Sirius reach for him out of the corner of his eye and flinches so violently that it makes the both of them stop in their tracks.
"Don't touch me," Regulus mutters, shame pooling in his gut. He admits defeat and stumbles to the bed, practically collapsing. His head is spinning and he feels like he's about to lose his breakfast (did he have breakfast?). He doesn't remember.
"Sorry," Sirius responds quietly. "I know we haven't talked in forever, but please, I need to know what happened last night."
"I don't remember," Regulus says, staring down at his hands. He feels the bed dip as Sirius sits down, making sure to keep his distance.
"How can you not remember? You showed up here covered in bruises and you wouldn't talk or eat or do anything. You wouldn't let Effie fix up your wounds and she finally waited until you were asleep to do it."
"Effie?"
"James' mum. We're at the Potters, Reg."
"Oh," Regulus responds. He tries, really he tries, to remember, but everything just comes up blank. He remembers going home for the summer holidays, and he remembers...there had to be something else, right? "I don't...I don't remember."
"How can you honestly not remember?" Sirius asks, sounding flabbergasted. "If it was something with Mother, you know, you can tell me. It's okay, Reg."
"I don't remember, Sirius, okay?" Regulus says, getting irritated. Why can't Sirius just accept that he doesn't remember. He doesn't remember and he can't remember and frankly, does he want to remember?
The room is silent, except for Regulus' still labored breathing.
"What day is it?" Regulus finally asks. He's embarrassed to ask but he needs an answer.
"June 27th," Sirius answers, eyeing his brother warily. Regulus nods, trying to understand what had happened in the past month. He went home for summer holidays and nobody had picked him up from the train so he'd walked and he hadn't gotten home until late and Mother had been angry and Father was away, he was always away, and Mother sent him to bed without dinner but then Kreacher knocked on his door and said she needed him downstairs in his best robes so Regulus obeyed because he always obeyed. And then...and then he woke up here.
Regulus felt his eyes water but he would not cry. Not here, not in front of Sirius. Sirius didn't deserve to see him cry. He bites down on his lip, drawing blood. Just don't cry. Wait for Sirius to leave.
"Reg, I..." Sirius starts, eyes darting between Regulus and the bandages on his wrists. "I don't know how to talk about this."
Regulus almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it all. This is the first time they are speaking to each other in two years and Regulus can't even remember why he's there.
"We don't have to talk about it," Regulus offers. He's extending a vine. He's letting Sirius know that it's okay, they can go back to what it was before and they don't need to talk about it or fix it, they can just pretend. Pretending is easier and far less painful.
Sirius looks almost tempted to agree, but he shakes his head, hair falling in front of his eyes.
"Reg, Effie says...your wrists. Were you trying to...hurt yourself?" Sirius asks, looking so uncomfortable that it's almost funny. Regulus shrugs, and with that, Sirius leaves the room.