Your Hand in My Pocket (To Keep Us Both Warm)
Patrol had become so routine and desensitizing by now that Sirius had to stop for a moment while at a light after giving his third ticket of the night right after catching yet another loiter call.
It’s not often that he has to deal with things with someone in the back of his car, but he trusts that the guy won’t get out.
Glancing back at the attractive man in the back of his car, Sirius switches lanes, quietly passing another late night driver.
He hates New York traffic.
Pulling over into an empty lot, Sirius glances around, checking his radar for surrounding cop cars as he gets out of the car.
The guy in the back lounges out, stretching towards the door as Sirius opens it, crawling into the back seat.
Grabbing his wrists in one deft hand, Sirius pins the guy to the right window, bending his head down until he’s a breath away from the man’s lips.
Remus grins at him, a lopsided sexy little smirk that makes something in his stomach flutter, “Officer, is there anything I can do to get out of trouble,” he rasps.
Opening his mouth to play along, Remus starts wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and Sirius loses it, bending down to bury his head into the crook of Remus’s shoulder as he laughs.
Remus slips a hand out of Sirius’s hold, his fingers burying into Sirius’s hair and curling, massaging ever so slightly as Sirius sighs.
He lets go of the other hand, curling up against Remus as he rests his head against Sirius’s shoulder, whispering into the dark car, “How many times am I going to have to pick you up under a bridge before you just agree to come home with me?”
Remus sighs, digging his fingers slightly harder into the side of Sirius’s head when the smaller man makes a noise of appreciation, “I already tol’ ya Rus, I don’ accep' charity.”
Pushing his head into Remus’s shoulder enough to make it obvious he’s pressing, Sirius mumbles into his shirt, “It’s not charity.”
“‘M fine, really.”
Scoffing, Sirius sits up, staring fully at Remus, “You don’t have consistent income and you’ve been “misplaced” since January.”
Remus smiles softly at him, running a soft hand through Sirius’s slightly wavy hair, “Jus’ a minor setback.
Glaring at him, Sirius takes in the man. He’s thinner than the last time Sirius saw him, his strict military haircut beginning to grow out at the top even though the sides are firmly short (product of Sirius cutting his hair and also begging him to try to grow it out) showing signs of a slight curl that isn’t quite long enough to hold to a pattern. His eyes are drooping slightly as he stares at Sirius, dark circles staining his skin like watercolors under his eyes that only highlights his pallid skin.
“You look like you’re about to keel over.”
Remus shrugs, “Hey, ’ve been caught five times now this month loitering, I think that warran’s an overnight stay on a real bed in the barred place, yeah?”
“You got caught on purpose?”
Sirius already knew he had, Remus is too slippery to really get caught unless he wants to, or unless Sirius is the one doing the catching.
“Not really importan’, yeah?”
“I can’t take you in again, you’ve been getting caught too much.”
Although he tries to hide it, Sirius can see the disappointment in the slope of the man’s shoulders, written in the lines between his eyebrows, “Can’ really get caugh’ too much can I?”
Sighing, Sirius relaxes back against the man, “This is the tenth time in six weeks, it’s too much I should technically make a report against you, put it on your record, which,” Sirius emphasizes, twisting to make eye contact with him, “would make it even harder to get a steady job.”
Remus shrugs, “‘M a half deaf vet that didn’ even last two years in the militia because ‘m batshit, I don’ think a record’s gonna make people less inclined to hire me than they already are.
“Don’t say that,” Sirius says, nudging his head against the man’s shoulder like a dog trying to comfort, “You’ll find something.”
Remus sighs, a heavy weight that settles over Sirius’s shoulders like a death knell, “‘M gettin’ real tired Rus.”
Embarrassingly, Sirius’s eyes fill up with tears, making his vision blurry and fractured, “Don’t say that,” he whispers, a broken record.
“Can’ help it.”
“Please,” Sirius begs, sitting up to look Remus in the eyes again, “Stay with me, I have a really great bed, and if we’re not there yet, you can sleep on the couch, it’s so soft and fluffy you wouldn’t understand.”
“I can’,” Remus denies for probably the hundredth time in the time they’ve known each other.
“Well, if I keep bringing you in, people are gonna be suspicious.”
Remus gives him one of his famous looks, “They’re already suspicious, ’ve never been caught this much and you’re the only one that can catch me.”
Nuzzling into the crook of Remus’s neck, he smiles, “It’s ‘cause you like me so much.”
He can practically hear Remus’s sarcastic smile, “Oh yeah, I like you loads.”
“If you liked me loads, you’d come stay with me.”
“Rus, you could lose your job.”
Yeah, he could lose his job, but the justice system is fucked anyway, whether or not Sirius is parttaking in it, acab or whatever, reform from inside.
Maybe he’s been trying to get promoted to a chief position instead of lead detective, clean up at least one part of the system, really help people from his position of authority, but the selfish part of him would rather help Remus.
“I don’t care,” he does care, so much, but it’s not worth it if Remus is hurting.
“Well I do.”
“Good on you, If I give you a medal will you stay with me.”
“No,” Remus says, looking away to break eye contact that Sirius has been practically forcing on him. The two boys are breaths apart, and in order for Remus to fully look away, he has to look down.
Down at Sirius’s lips.
Reminding himself that they’re having a Sirius (ha) conversation is harder than it should be when Remus’s attention is on him, but it’s always been this hard, this isn’t anything new.
“Remmy I can’t take you in, I’d have to put it on your record, just stay with me for a few days, until one of these famous jobs that are chasing after you make an offer.”
“Sirius, I-”
From the front seat, his radio buzzes with activity, “10-65-82, 21st Street and Borough Avenue, all surrounding officers called, 10-54.”
Sirius glances up at his cross street, cursing quietly as he moves around.
“What’s going on?” Remus asks, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to get a read on Sirius’s emotions.
Sirius shoots him a small glance in the rearview mirror as he turns the car back on, “There’s an armed robbery and fire in progress two streets down, linked with a hit and run, probably the robbers that started the fire. I’m too far to take on the chase but I need to get to the fire because I’m close enough to help first responders.”
Hearing more than seeing Remus shift around in the backseat, Remus voices the question Sirius knew would come, “You’re bringing me?”
“Yeah, and then I’m clocking out and you’re coming home with me.”
He knows it isn’t as easy as this, that Remus will probably fight him tooth and nail on it, but he doesn’t care, that man is getting a meal and a bed to sleep in as long as Sirius has a say in it.
They arrive before Remus can formulate a response and Sirius jumps out, flashing his badge at civilians as he moves through the already growing crowd, watching the firemen run around.
A woman nods at him as he walks up, “Any casualties?”
She shakes her head, “One civilian had been inside but Spider-man had been fighting across the street,” she points to the bank across the street that Sirius can see from here is partly demolished, “he rushed off soon after,” the woman says pointing, “went somewhere in that direction.”
“I’ll find him,” Sirius says, eager to do something. Recently he's had more headway with Spider-man than most law enforcers, probably because he doesn’t bring his gun to friendly conversations with the vigilante, but hey, who is he to judge?
He nearly passes the alley, but the blue flickering catches his eye, the light illuminating a red and blue suit in an otherwise dark alley.
Bingo.
Sirius steps closer as the flickering powers off, watching as the guy prepares to fling another web into the air in a dazzling protest against basic physics, “Spider-man?”
Said superhero jolts, spinning to face him as the eyes on the mask widen fully to their iconic teardrop shapes, the tight fabric over the man’s face giving away nothing.
There’s silence for a moment before Sirius steps forward again, getting slightly closer, Spider-man steps backward in tandem so Sirius steps back, raising his hands in a non-threatening gesture, “Just want to ask a few questions.”
The man shifts, and though Sirius can’t see his expression, he can practically feel the panic tinged sarcasm in the man’s body-language as he prepares to slip away, “Not really in the mood for an interrogation.”
“Not an interrogation,” Sirius parrots quickly, trying to calm the man down enough to stay, “Couldn’t be one if we’re on the same side.”
“U-huh,” the superhero says disbelievingly, climbing up an alley wall until he reaches the top of a fire escape and settles in a crouch on the bar of it.
The pose is a relaxed show of strength, only the balls of the man’s feet touching the rounded bar as he perches like it’s effortless, arms wrapping languidly around his knees and he tilts his head down to keep Sirius in his view.
Distantly Sirius registers that it’s probably the advantage of high-ground that Spider-man seeks in case this conversation went South.
Doing his best to look casual as he leans against the grimy wall, Sirius tilts his head to keep the vigilante in his view while not quite looking up, just forward, “What’d you see?”
He doesn’t interrupt the silence as Spider-man contemplates the open question, “Lotta smoke really,” the guy eventually answers, “got the guy out.”
Sirius nods, “Do you know what started the fire?”
“Yeah,” Spider-man says after a hesitant pause, he doesn’t elaborate and Sirius doesn’t try to push.
“Good job on getting the guy out.”
“Not looking for glory.”
He can’t help the small smile that takes over his mouth, “I know, just wanted to give credit.”
“Don’t want that either.” Spider-man has tensed up now, legs shifting slightly as he raises a hair up from the crouch, an obvious near flight position.
Sirius takes that sign for what it is, a desperate need for a change of subject, “I’m Sirius.”
The introduction seems to throw the poor guy off, “I know who you are.”
Now Sirius is the one thrown off, “I- How?”
Spider-man shrugs, settling back down more fully into his crouch, “We’ve met before, your name is on your badge.”
“You’ve never seen my badge.”
Silence settles over them again and Sirius is terrified for a moment that the guy is going to flee, but Spider-man says a beat later, “You flash it around crime scenes every now and again, Sirius Black right?”
It’s true that Sirius flashes it around crime scenes, but Spider-man has never been next to him when he pulls rank, always at least a rooftop away, watching from afar as the police arrive on a scene. Always definitely too far to read his name in tiny print on an ID smaller than the palm of his hand.
It’s confirmation he didn’t really need that Spider-man has enhanced sight, and it’s implicit trust that Sirius won’t tell higher ups about it.
It’s more than he could ever expect from the secretive vigilante, and Spider-man knows it too.
They’ve once again moved into dangerous territory, so Sirius changes the subject once again as he gets a glimpse of the nasty burn on Spider-man’s arm.
“You have someone to go to for that? Emergency response would be happy to patch that up for you.”
Spider-man glances at the burn on his arm like he had forgotten he’d been burned, surprise filling in the slope of his shoulders as he glances back at Sirius, “It’s fine, it’ll heal.”
The vigilante shifts and the burn practically glimmers in the small sliver of streetlight that has leaked into the alley, the burn looks even worse in the light, “You should at least get it looked at, come back with-”
“It’s fine,” Spider-man dismisses, changing the subject as he stands on the bar without even shifting his balance (Sirius is needlessly jealous), “The guys have weird tech, I’ve never seen it before and I’ll look into it.”
Sirius watches the man prepare to leave, “How will you get the information to us?”
Even though the man’s face is completely covered by fabric, Sirius could swear he’s smirking at him, “You’ll know.”
With that, the superhero swings away before Sirius can get another word in.
Sirius watches him go in fascination, wishing for just a moment that he’s in a different universe, one where his best friend since childhood stands next to him, curbing Sirius’s bright excitement with wry amusement as he explains the physics behind every single movement the Spider-themed hero makes.
He shakes his head as he walks back over to the crime scene, internally chastising himself for the moment of weakness.
Really, he should know better than to wish for his brother, but the night hasn’t been great and the day has been even worse, enough for his hatred of his entire family to curb slightly into a small ache.
Reaching his car, he waves at a passing officer as he opens the driver’s side door and slips in, twisting to apologize to Remus for taking so long.
One of the backseat doors is open and Remus is nowhere to be seen.
Regulus can practically feel his heart in his chest as he swings away from the scene, arm throbbing as he pulls himself through the streets.
It’s nights like these that make him wonder if he ever does anything good at all.
Blinking away tears in his eyes, he swings far enough that he can’t see the bank anymore before landing harshly on a rooftop, pulling his mask off to wipe stray tears from his face.
“Kreacher,” he gasps, reaching for his mask to shove it on, “The guys, were they caught?”
A blue line appears at the corner of his HUD and he watches it wiggle as Kreacher searches for records and probably break into the police’s security feeds again, “No, there is no record of any of the men from tonight that-”
He continues droning on but Regulus can’t hear past the rushing in his ears as he stumbles dazedly towards the edge of the building, barely seeing what’s in front of him as his world tilts forward and he steps onto the wall of the brick building.
There’s a siren two streets over, and a woman screaming at her husband two apartments down, in the alleyway next to him a kid is playing with a dog and in the house across the street a baby is crying.
He can’t take it, spinning quickly as he shoots off another web and slings away.
Webs can only take him so far, but he moves until he’s halfway across the city, unable to see the giant Black Industries skyscraper even with his enhanced eyesight as he sits atop the cabling for a bridge, watching the cars steadily trickle on from below.
It’s almost methodical, how life keeps moving even through the crushing weight of Regulus’s failure, an invisible hand on his back that’s stronger than him, pushing him down into murky water, making him see the world through a film of glass.
He’s separated from it all, mind whirling with corrections to his actions as he watches the cars below, completely detached.
As always, his biggest mistake is engaging. If he had been less prideful and simply webbed them up while he still had the element of surprise, there never would have been a fight in the first place. That man never would have been caught in the crossfire of a fight Regulus had been stupid and naive to start.
He’s too talkative, and he knows that, but he can’t help it, it’s like all the words that he carefully tucks away during the day spill out of him like vomit at night, like his deliberate thought before each syllable during the day makes him say whole phrases without even realizing. Binge and restrict, rinse and repeat.
As a child, he had often gone entire days without speaking, bottling up every thought inside him until his parents had retired for the night so he could sneak into his brother’s room and tell him every sarcastic comment he had thought of during the day just to watch him laugh.
Sirius had always made a point to make him feel heard, make him feel safe.
In every universe, he thinks, he will always have a soft spot for his brother.
In every universe, his brother will choose everything else over him.
Universal constant theory and all that, pure science, and yet it still sends a sharp jab into the side of his ribs.
At some point, he catches sight of the guy who always sleeps under this bridge on Thursdays and shoots a web up, lowering himself down in an arc to the underside of the bridge and clinging to the roof of it.
The guy glances up, tense but relaxing when he recognises him.
“Hey Spidey,” he says with a sigh, releasing a tired smile as he lowers himself onto his portable cot with a grimace at his sore bones.
Regulus checks his HUD again in confirmation he didn’t need, “It’s Tuesday.”
He hums in acknowledgement, stretching out below Regulus and tucking his hands behind his head.
“You’re never here on Tuesdays.”
Another hum of acknowledgement.
“Remus, please, I’m not stupid.”
The man in question cracks an eye open, “Suppose not,” he says as he stares at him like he’s trying to judge whether or not Regulus is going to jump at him and shiv him before taking all of his belongings.
Regulus would be offended if he didn’t know Remus Lupin.
The guy had joined the military right out of highschool, joining the college program that promised four years of paid college tuition for four years of admirable service. Remus had been bright his whole life, put in every gifted program known to man, but there’s only so far you can go when you don’t have funding.
He’d been born to a struggling single mom who’d gotten knocked up by some raging tweaker that had been on the run from some major gang, dropping Remus and his teen mother straight into an all out gang war.
Hope Lupin, just nineteen and barely scraping by with a Gen-Ed as a secretary for some small town big league had dreams of writing, often documented for hours trying to sell her novels.
Not a single company picked them up.
Though she is a dead woman, Regulus had gotten ahold of the manuscripts she had written as a young woman, devouring them with a viscosity that slightly scared even him as he holed himself up in the lab for days to get through it all.
They’re literary masterpieces, but so laughably far ahead of their time that it’s despairing, a single woman in the late eighties trying to get published professionally is more than a pipe dream, it’s a plot worth writing about.
Add in the gang war and you might even have a blockbuster on your hands.
So Hope had nothing, and she began fixing up members of a different gang after big fights, which offered her protection, she sent her son off to school, never worrying about him walking through the dirty crime ridden streets with the knowledge that she had the blessing and immunity of the town’s gang on her side, and though Remus had been a sickly child, he became a fine young military man.
A fine young military man that got dropped straight into a war.
Though Remus had been lucky to get out of service with his life, his discharge had not been on time, a stray bomb had gone off around him and the shrapnel had pierced his body, leaving him with a permanent limp, slight hearing problems, and missing a hand.
When Regulus had found him on the streets as Spider-man and consequently done a deep dive on the Lupins with every bit of information he could find in any records everywhere, he went on a week long lab binge and came out of it with a new prosthetics division for Black Industries.
His first polished and perfect prototype went straight to Remus, gifted to him as Spider-man, a friend of a friend.
Regulus usually visits him on Thursdays, bringing along a few sandwiches and a good book to talk about with him. He knows better than to offer to house Remus, or even pay for it, Remus wouldn’t accept, and Regulus would be murdered for bringing a homeless man into the Black house.
Much less the problem of his secret identity, namely it preferably staying a secret.
“My usual spot got busy.”
Reading between the lines, Regulus scowls, flipping to the floor and landing in a crouch, “The cops got on you again?”
He’d never understand it, how a human could look at another human obviously worse off and suffering and decide to add to that pain, kick them out of the only semi safe place they could find for the night and slap them on the wrist for it.
Remus grins crookedly, “Good people.”
Though he knows Remus can’t see it, his nose crinkles in disgust that shines heavily through the disdain in his voice, “Please tell me you didn’t hook up with the hot cop again.”
“Naw,” Remus says, waving him away as Regulus’s shoulder’s relax, “He got called away for a scene before we could do anything more than kiss.”
Ignoring the obvious intent behind the meeting in the first place, Regulus goes quiet for a moment, thinking about how to phrase his suggestion.
“You know…he’d help you in a heartbeat.”
This only elicits a tired sigh.
“Really Rem, honestly.”
Remus rolls over on the roll out cot, putting his back to Regulus as he steps forward.
“I’m sure he cares, I just know it.”
“M’ relationship with Rus, it isn’t like that,” Remus explains quietly, still not looking at Regulus.
It’s dangerous ground, and Regulus treads lightly (he has plenty of experience), “It could be.”
It’s silent for a short while before Remus speaks again, “‘M tired Spidey, can we talk later.”
“Yeah Rem,” Regulus says, his voice breaking off as his lungs shrivel up into his chest, curling up around his tiny flaming heart, the failure of the evening falling back onto his shoulders like the weight of the sky, his knees buckling under the weight as he shoots a web out, “See you on Thursday I suppose?”
Remus grunts out agreement as Regulus flings himself away, the chains around his lungs both loosening and tightening with each swing, pushing away from his bones, trying to outrun the beating of his stolen heart.
He doesn’t have Sirius’s courage, or charisma, but if one were to take an ax to his chest and crack open his ribs, they’d find Sirius’s heart nestled between the lungs that once only breathed for him.
It’s exhausting.
That exhaustion catches up with him eventually, the lightheadedness that comes after pushing yourself in a workout making him walk lighter as his worries catch up to him, latching around his ankles like chains to drag around as his arms and shoulders shake from exertion, the burn on his left arm eating up all his energy.
He plops down unceremoniously to rest for a moment before getting home and recognises the fire hydrant across the street, grimacing in annoyance at himself as he leans over the ledge of the building he sits on to catch a glimpse of a familiar fire hydrant.
Somehow, without noticing his destination, his panicking mind led him to somewhere it felt safe.
The problem arose when that safe place became synonymous with James’s apartment.