ashes & aftercare
The station is quieter now, the chaos of the rescue call long behind us. The flashing lights of the fire trucks are gone, replaced by the steady hum of the old station’s air conditioning and the sounds of boots shuffling, tired voices, and the occasional clang of metal against metal. I take a deep breath, trying to shake off the tension in my shoulders, but it lingers. It always does after calls like that.
Sirius, James, and Marlene are off doing their own things—probably decompressing in their usual, loud way. But I know where to find Remus.
He's sitting in the corner by the lockers, looking more worn out than usual. His face is pale, and his left arm is held slightly at an awkward angle—probably a bruise from the wreck. I watch him for a moment before walking over, slipping into the seat next to him.
"How’re you feeling?" I ask, my voice soft, but not coddling. I know Remus too well for that. He hates being treated like he’s fragile, even when he’s clearly not okay.
Remus glances at me, offering a small smile, but I see the exhaustion behind it. "Fine. Just tired. It’s nothing."
I raise an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms. I’m not buying it. "You’re always ‘fine,’ Remus. You say that like it’s supposed to make me believe it." I reach for his arm, my fingers brushing over the fabric of his sleeve, where the faintest hint of bruising is already starting to show. "This is not ‘nothing.’"
He shifts uncomfortably, but I don’t pull away. He’s not going to get out of this that easily.
"I’m not made of glass, Lily," he mutters, like he’s trying to convince himself more than me. "It’ll heal."
"It will heal, but you need to take care of yourself," I reply firmly. "You’re running yourself ragged, Remus. You push yourself too hard."
For a moment, he looks at me with that familiar, haunted expression—the one he tries so hard to hide when he thinks no one’s watching. It’s the one that always breaks my heart, even after all these years of knowing him.
"Maybe I’m just... used to it," he says quietly, almost to himself.
Before I can respond, there’s movement from the door. I turn to see Sirius standing there, his face tight with tension. He’s been hovering all day, and it’s clear that he’s not okay, either. His eyes dart over to Remus, then back to me, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m giving him the space to handle this or if I’m about to intervene.
"Everything okay?" Sirius asks, though I can hear the edge in his voice. His usual bravado is gone, replaced by something softer—something a little more protective, and maybe a bit frustrated.
Remus, ever the master of downplaying things, shrugs again, this time with a wince. "I’m fine, Padfoot. Just a little banged up."
Sirius doesn’t seem to buy it. He steps further into the room, his eyes scanning Remus’s arm, then flicking to his face, which is pale in the harsh fluorescent light. There’s a shift in his demeanor, something I can’t quite place. He’s been like this for a while now—hovering a little too closely, looking at Remus with a kind of intensity I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing.
"I’m not letting you off the hook so easily, Moony," Sirius says, his voice a little more firm than usual. "You should get checked out, at least. Let someone official tell you you’re fine."
Remus looks at him, but it’s not the usual teasing gaze he might offer. There’s something heavier there, like he’s not quite sure how to react to Sirius’s concern.
“I said I’m fine,” Remus mutters, and I can feel the tension between them thickening. It’s like I’m watching a silent argument play out in slow motion. I know how stubborn Remus can be—how much he hates admitting weakness. But Sirius’s irritation is a little different than I’m used to seeing. It’s like he can’t stand the thought of something happening to Remus. I catch a glimpse of that vulnerability in his eyes, and it’s unsettling in a way I don’t fully understand.
But it’s Remus who breaks the silence, his voice quieter now. “I’ll go to the clinic later,” he promises, though it’s clearly not his first choice.
Sirius doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands there, his jaw clenching like he’s holding something back. The air between them feels charged, and I can’t tell if it’s just because of the intensity of the situation or something else, something deeper that neither of them has fully acknowledged yet.
Sirius looks at me, then back at Remus, and nods, though he doesn’t seem completely convinced. "Fine. But you’re not doing this alone. Got it?"
I watch as Remus finally nods, but there’s a moment where they both just stand there, staring at each other, like there’s more left unsaid. There’s something I’m not catching, something unspoken.
I let out a slow breath and stand up, walking toward the door. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Remus, let me know if you change your mind about going to the clinic.” I glance back at Sirius before stepping out, seeing the concern still written all over his face.
(pov change)
The clock reads nearly midnight when I finally walk through the door, the weight of the day crashing down on me. My muscles ache from the adrenaline, and my mind won’t stop replaying the crash scene. But none of that matters when I see Regulus sitting in the living room, the faint light of the television casting shadows over his face.
He doesn’t ask right away. He just looks at me, his eyes narrow but full of concern. I’m not sure why, but I feel something heavy settle in my chest at the sight of him. Regulus is always the one to see right through me, always the one who notices when I’m pretending everything’s okay.
“You’re late,” he says, his voice cutting through the silence. It’s not an accusation, but there’s something almost… worried in it. Regulus never worries. Not about me. Not about anyone.
“I’m fine, Reg,” I say, my voice too sharp for my liking. He doesn’t buy it.
“Yeah, you look fine.” His tone is flat, and he stands up from the couch, walking toward me. “How bad was it?”
I glance down at the floor for a second, then back at him. There’s no point in lying. "It was close," I admit. "Too close."
Regulus looks at me for a long beat, his eyes searching mine like he’s looking for something—something he doesn’t expect to find. “I don’t want you doing this forever, Sirius,” he says quietly. “You’re not invincible.”
I freeze. I don’t know how to answer him. I want to tell him I’m fine. I want to tell him that nothing happened, that I’m going to be okay. But that’s a lie. Because today—today I almost lost someone I care about. And that’s a weight I can’t shake.
“I’m not invincible,” I finally whisper. And for the first time in a long while, I wonder if Regulus is right.