Chapter 2
November 6, 1993
If it isn’t obvious, when you try to kill yourself, it’s supposed to stick. Percy’s not really the kind to do that kind of thing as a “cry for help.” A cry for help doesn’t do fuckall when everybody around you is falling apart. Everybody has their own shit to deal with. They can’t help another person when they’re barely keeping themselves from drowning under their own issues. Maybe that’s why Mum turned out the way she did. Maybe they fucked her. All those babies running around, depending on you, screaming at you, swearing and crying and magicking, and then there’s bills and groceries and healers… Yeah. He can’t blame her.
Maybe he thought this would be a nice thing for her. The best thing he ever did for her would be dying. Bill and Charlie were out of the house and providing for themselves, but Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny still needed fresh supplies every year. His dad wasn’t going to be able to retire. Ron hadn’t owned anything new in his life. Percy would be one less person to worry about, to get a Christmas present for- one less person for his little brothers and sister to compare themselves to and feel hopelessly inadequate to in comparison. It’d be sad. People would stop giving them shit. Nobody could be mean to a woman whose child died. Maybe this would protect Ginny from the relentless bullying he’d dealt with until Oliver started standing up for him. Fred and George wouldn’t have to share a room anymore. And besides, what would they really be missing out on if Percy died? His mood-swings? Slammed doors? Backtalk and a piss-poor attitude?
He’d left a note and everything. It was brief. Mum didn’t care for tears and complaining all that much, and he’d tried to honor that. Mostly he addressed the letter to Ron and Oliver. They’d be the most affected. Maybe that was why it was kind of a gut punch for the first face he saw to be Bill’s.
It was dark, and his vision was blurry, but the figure in the chair beside him was unmistakable. He’d followed after that figure all through his childhood. The long hair and thin, freckleless face had been something more solid and dependable than either of his parents. Something stirred in his stomach at the sight of his brother. He was obviously exhausted, passed out in a hard hospital chair that Percy knew would aggravate his bad back. Even without his glasses, Percy could recognize the tired and puffy bags under Bill’s eyes. His face was wan, his chin resting on his chest. A feeling simmered in his stomach. Sat like a rock. Guilt, he distantly recognized. It was hardly a foreign emotion to him.
Quickly it became overpowering. Painful. Percy had to close his eyes again. Stop looking at Bill.
He’d done that.
He’d fucked up.
He’d failed, and now he and his family would have to live with the consequences. When he’d eventually manage to succeed, it was going to be all the more difficult for his family to process. Get over. Because Percy had tried, really tried, to keep them from having to deal with his shit up to this point. He’d learned pretty early on that everybody had their own problems. Learned from experience how much harder it was when you had to deal with others’ issues on top of your own. Had it screamed and beaten into him on Moms’ bad days. But now they knew. And they’d feel obligated to help, and when he slipped away and did it for good this time, they’d blame themselves more because this time, they’d known, and that was going to make it all the harder for them. For Bill especially. Percy knew how he was. Fuck. He berated himself in his head. Fucking piece of shit can’t even kill yourself right.
Something wet started to pool in his eyes, and he angrily tried to bring a hand up to wipe away the tear before it fully formed, only to be met with resistance. Startled, he looked down toward his hands, squinting in the dark to find what had kept them pinned. Tied down, he registered bitterly. Of course. Why was he surprised? He’d tried to kill himself. Of course he was tied down. Something angry and devastated rose up through his stomach and into his throat. A fullness. He closed his eyes and swallowed to try and keep a sound from escaping. He couldn’t deal with Bill right now. He didn’t want Bill to have to deal with him.
Bill left. He was out of it. He’d done his time. And here Percy was, dragging him back into the lion’s nest. He’d seen the pictures of Bill since he’d graduated, seen the differences in Bill’s eyes when he was at Hogwarts and at home. His fucking failure had brought him back, and knowing Bill, he wasn't going to leave, no matter how much he should. No matter how much Percy begged and promised. Maybe it was unfair, but Percy couldn’t help but seethe at that. He wanted to let out a sob or scream just so he could get this over with and get Bill out. Away. Say something that would make him hate himself even more, but that would protect Bill from the pain of dealing with Percy. Give him justification to leave. Again.
And there was the anger.
What right did Bill have to sit there, next to him, when he’d been gone? When he’d left. Four years, he and Charlie had been gone. Leaving them. Leaving him. Leaving Percy to pick up the slack. The babysitter. The one who went into town because Mum was too drunk to be bothered. The one to needle Dad into doing his taxes on time. The one to make sure Ron didn’t break an arm playing Quidditch and to stop Fred and George from planning another vindictive prank on Mum that’d end with stitches for all parties involved. All while keeping up with studying and being top of the class even though Penelope Clearwater was effortlessly beating him out in charms and herbology, and it wasn’t fair because this wasn’t easy for Percy. He wasn’t the natural that Bill and Charlie had been in academics. He had to work . He couldn’t just show up to class and be perfect, articulate himself well, get along with others or hit a bludger or catch a Quaffle, or even ride a bloody broomstick. He wasn’t naturally gifted like all his brothers seemed to be. He hadn’t made friends with a child celebrity like Ron or become king of the school with quick wit and easy charisma like Bill, Fred, or George. Even Charlie, the black sheep of the family, had managed to leave a mark on Hogwarts with his prowess in Quidditch. Percy had had one friend during his time at Hogwarts, and even their relationship was rocky. Night after night, Percy could find himself lying in bed, berating himself over the things he’d said to Oliver. He’d know what he was doing wrong afterward and sometimes even in the moment, but it’d spill out anyways. His brothers spoke with silver tongues, but somehow, all he could ever seem to spout was poison. When he spoke, he hurt, and he hated it, and he hated himself, and he hated Oliver and Penelope and Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie and Fred and George and Dumbledore and McGonagall and Harry and-
The tears were freely spilling now, and he couldn’t find it in himself to stop them. Fuck this. Fuck life. Fuck Bill. Fuck him.
Then there was a creaking and a wincing, and suddenly everything hurt more because it wasn’t just Bill asleep at his bedside 4,000 kilometers away from home. Now it was Charlie. Even just seeing him made Percy hurt. Charlie had even less license to be here than Bill, considering how Percy had treated him. Nobody should be here, really, with how Percy was. But Charlie especially shouldn’t. Something full was in his throat again, and the pit of guilt in his stomach somehow dropped even more, twisting until he felt close to nauseous.
Charlie still hadn’t noticed he was awake. Judging by his bloodshot eyes and the cup of coffee in his lightly shaking hand, Percy didn’t expect his brothers’ instincts to be at their best. He let himself take note of the changes in Charlie’s appearance. He’d bulked up considerably. Grown his hair out like Bill. An earring on his right ear. He was tan. Healthy and strong looking apart from the bags under his eyes and the redness of his sclera. Time away from England had done him good.
Time away from Percy had done him good.
As Charlie came closer to the empty chair beside Bill, quietly cursing as the door creaked closed behind him, Percy had the vague feeling he should fake sleep. That’d be the easy thing to do. But the thought was quiet, a whisper really, and by the time his sluggish mind fully registered it, Charlie was easing himself back into his chair, careful not to jostle Bill. Percy kept looking unabashedly. He felt somewhat disconnected. Almost like he was still unconscious. Observing what was going on from an outside perspective.
Charlie fiddled with something on the back of his seat. A jacket Percy belatedly realized. The jacket that had been part of Charlie since 5th year, when it’d been gifted to him by Tonks. It’d been too large for him, the sleeves falling halfway down his fingertips, but he’d rolled up the sleeves and worn it without fail anyways, slinging it over his shoulder during the warmer months. Percy realized it probably fit him at last with how much he’d filled out. Somewhere, distant from his sense of detachment, Percy registered that he kind of wanted to scream but also cry but also hug Charlie because it’d been years but-
Two startled blue orbs met his, eyes wide. For a second, the only audible sound was Bill’s deep, steady breaths. Blue warily regarded blue.
He wondered how he looked compared to Charlie.
He wondered how he looked: pale from lack of blood and sun, bags under his eyes, bandaged arms, and restraints pinning him to a hospital bed. His hair was greasy and stuck to his forehead. Hot shame and anger mixed in his stomach.
Charlie readjusted himself in his seat, except it was a lot slower and more alert and more… fuck - more careful than he’d been doing before. He was on the edge of his chair now, leaning hunched over his knees to be physically closer to Percy. He hesitated before taking Percy’s hand in his own, struggling to meet Percy’s eyes as he did so, something gentle and terrified warring in them. “Is this okay?” he asked, almost too quietly for Percy to hear. Percy stayed silent but kept looking back at Charlie, feeling too distant from emotion or logic to justify looking away. Warm, calloused hands closed around his right hand. He didn’t pull away. He listened to Bill’s breathing.
He hated it, but the gentle action and Charlie’s rough hands - there was a comfort in his calluses that washed over Percy, and he could feel the love and protectiveness and guilt oozing out of his brother so strongly that it was sickening. He hated it.
Because he’d treated Charlie like such shit, and he didn’t deserve the fucking look Charlie was giving him - gentle and kind and fuck... even from Charlie Percy didn't deserve that. Merlin he didn’t want to deal with this. He hated himself for the slimy feeling that came with Charlies hand in his own. That disgust he's never been able to shake or get past despite his love for his brother.
Charlie glanced at Bill, still sound asleep in the chair in a way that would probably fuck his back when he woke up.
Please wake up
Charlie hadn’t spoken to Percy in four years because Percy didn’t want to talk to him. He was the last person that should be the first that Percy talks to after...
Wake the fuck up Bill
But he had to be.
He needed to suck it up and do whatever he could to be there for his baby brother. So he held Percy’s hand and stared back at his brothers’ flat eyes, no matter how much it hurt. It was scary how much his little brother looked like a corpse. Pale and gaunt, it was obvious to him that Percy had been struggling. How could anyone not see that?
“Perce,” Charlie finally said, something strained in his voice. His brother continued to stare at him, something hauntingly empty in his eyes. He didn’t know what to say. What the fuck do you say when your little brother-
There was something in his throat, but he forced it down. He tried to sort through his emotions and make his dumb fucking brain work on 5 cups of coffee and 36 hours without sleep, because this was important. He couldn’t- he needed to suck it up and fucking-
He rasped out, “I’m really glad you’re okay.” But it was so obvious he wasn’t. That this wasn’t. That everything was fucked and-. He bit back a sob. Fuck he couldn’t do this. Why was he- fuck.
He held Percy’s hand tighter. “I really love you,” he said, “I really, really love you.” He bit his lip, cowardly looking down because he couldn’t keep looking at Percy, whose hand remained tense under his. “And I’m so sorry that this happened and I’ll do anything- whatever you want from me to make this better.”
And he had to stop talking then because if he kept going, he wasn’t going to be able to keep himself from crying. So he just kept holding Percy’s hand and kept feeling hopelessly inadequate and like a fucking failure, and Percy didn’t say anything, but eventually, he looked away. Eventually, his breathing slowed. Charlie didn’t change his position, continuing to lean forward and hold his brother’s hand.
November 6, 1993
When Percy woke again, it was light out. It was also notably busier. He could tell the world had been well awake for a while now. While the hospital had been nearly silent the night before, quiet enough for Percy to hear Bills’ breathing and Charlie’s whispered words, now the audible hustle and bustle of hospital life was almost overwhelming. It was a stark reminder that even when your life is falling apart, the rest of the world keeps going on. Percy wasn’t sure if that was comforting or invalidating.
The white of the room was still cruel.
It took a lot for him to tear his eyes away from the ceiling. It was raised voices that made him. He turned his head to the right. Bill’s chair was empty. Ginny was in Charlie’s former seat, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce with her nose in the Quidditch section of the Daily Prophet. It would almost be amusing if not for the bags under her eyes. He noted Charlie’s jacket on her shoulders. He didn’t know if he was relieved or upset at the confirmation that Charlie was still in the area. He let his eyes sweep the rest of the room before anybody noticed he was awake.
With daylight streaming through the window and his mind slightly less frazzled than earlier, Percy was better able to see the room. It was still blurred, without his glasses, but he could make out the important aspects. He felt his stomach drop when he realized they were in a private room. Shit. They were probably using the money that’d been saved for Ron’s birthday. Guilt sat like a rock in his stomach. Money was always difficult for them, but there’d been a bit extra from the Daily Prophet contest Dad had won over the summer. They’d spent most of it on the trip to visit Bill this summer. Mum had taken the remainder and spent most of it on alcohol before Percy had stolen it back and socked it away in the family funds jar he and Dad had hidden away. How much had been left? Twenty galleons? How much did a room cost a day?
“-my son!”
Percy set his attention back on the raised voices that had taken his eyes away from the ceiling in the first place. That was Mum’s voice. Ginny hunched in her seat a bit more, burying her nose more firmly in the Prophet.
He tried to trace the sound and was frustrated when he realized most of his vision was obscured by a curtain. They were close to the doorway. Fraying combat boots, trousers with a chain, long red hair that had been hurriedly put into a ponytail- Bill. And his body language was aggressive. His voice was low, though, and as much as Percy strained, he couldn’t hear it. Somebody tried to step past Bill. Percy could turn his neck at an angle that let him barely note a yellow patterned dress with frills- Mum. Bill sidestepped, holding his arm out to the side, forcefully keeping her from entering. She tried again. “Mum!” Bill said gruffly, before lowering his voice again.
“-talk to me that way!”
Ginny was chewing a nail.
“-your mother!”
“Molly-” Oh, and there was Dad. He sounded even more exhausted than usual.
“Oh don’t you start!”
But then a quiet, timid voice whispers, “Percy?”. It’s so surprising he flinches. He feels rather than consciously acts as his head snaps toward the voice. Ginny. She’s uncharacteristically small and apprehensive as she looks at him. You did that.
It’s silent. Percy wondered briefly if time had frozen, but then everything was moving. Ron was up and coming over, Fred not far behind where did they even come from? and then Bill with Mum and a put-out-looking Dad following close behind. Suddenly he felt very overwhelmed.
“Percy-”
“...okay?”
“...scare-”
“...St. Mungo’s-”
“...sorry-”
“...love you and it’s-”
“...Pompfrey-”
So many faces, and everybody was talking , and he started to lose himself a bit. Sweating. His ears were ringing, and his breathing picked up. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck- get away - . Oh, Merlin , he’d really fucked it, hadn’t he? He’d failed so fucking badly. He was still here, still trapped, and somebody was yelling, and he couldn’t move, and he couldn’t breathe-
He was too out of it to notice much, but suddenly somebody was holding his hand again, and he thought it was Charlie at first, just by instinct, but slowly he realized it wasn’t calloused enough to be, and then he heard a voice. Slowly, with exhausting concentration, he focused on it. He started to hear what the voice was saying and whose saying it. It was Bill.
“...in for two, out for four-”
Just Bill.
With difficulty, he tried to match his breaths to Bill’s counting. Still slowly, he came back. Something brushed his face, and he flinched, almost going back into a panic.
“Sorry! Sorry-” and the hands were gone, but something- he blinked a few times. Oh. His glasses. The anxious, tired face of his oldest brother was suddenly a crystal clear picture. The close-up of Bill’s red, puffy eyes was almost enough to make him wish for blurriness again.
Bill let go of Percy’s hand, and he resented the loss of contact for a short moment before shaking himself. What’s wrong with you? You think you deserve-
“Are you back?” Bill quietly asked.
I’m never fucking back. But that wasn’t what Bill was asking. He licked his lips, “Yeah.” He was surprised by the level of raspiness in his voice. He cleared his throat and said more clearly, “Yes.” Bill’s face did a panicked thing, and he said, “You must be thirsty,” and suddenly, he was gone. Just as Percy registered that, though, Bill was back, and there was a cup at his lips. He reeled back in surprise but stopped himself mid-flinch and put his lips back to the cup. He let Bill’s steady hand guide him through drinking the whole cup. “There you go,” Bill muttered, and Percy felt that deep shame come up again. This was humiliating. They couldn’t even trust him to drink water, and he’d had a fucking panic attack in front of everybody. What was Mum thinking? What was Ginny thinking? He finished drinking, and Bill put the cup on a side table.
Bill turned back toward him and let his eyes flit across Percy’s body. Percy hated how pained and genuine and searching they were. He felt like Bill could see everything. Like he was tearing back every layer and examining and judging them right in front of Percy as he laid helpless, voiceless, and strapped down on a fucking hospital cot. Bill backed off a bit, sitting back in his chair so he wasn’t hovering over Percy anymore. He looked antsy.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, probing.
And Percy couldn’t help it. He laughed.
It wasn’t really a funny laugh. It was tired and raw and pained.
There was something sad in Bill’s eyes now, but he tried, “That’s probably not the question to ask, huh?”. Percy continued to chuckle and let his eyes wander back to the ceiling. Get away from his brother’s eyes.
He studied the tiles and eventually said, “No. It’s not”.
Bill’s mouth was doing something in the corner of his eye, but Percy was resolute in not looking. Bill was quiet for a bit. Percy looked at the ceiling. Then: “Perce.”
He kept looking at the ceiling.
“Perce will you look at me? Please?”. And fuck his brother, but there was a thing in his voice that made Percy force himself to turn.
There wasn’t anything harsh about Bill’s eyes. They were gentle. Caring. Full of compassion and endless, endless love and understanding, but it was too much. Looking back at Bill was so painful he almost went right back to the ceiling.
Bill was smiling, but his eyes were watery. He was hunched over and as close as he could be to Percy without touching him. It looks like it physically pained him not to. But then Bill, like he couldn’t stop himself any longer, ran a hand through Percy’s hair, and Percy knew how greasy and disgusting it was, how dirty and gross he was. And he wanted Bill to stop, but he also wanted Bill to never stop; to always hold onto him and his hand and card his hand through his hair and tell him everything was going to be okay even if it never ever fucking would be.
Bill kept smiling; his eyes were getting wetter and wetter, and his other hand was holding Percy’s now. “You’re going to be okay,” he said, and Percy felt so fucking uncomfortable and vulnerable, and he hated being tied down like this, and he hated the look in his brothers’ eyes, and he hated that he did this.
That he failed, and now his brother had to feel this guilt and responsibility for him and deal with his shit, and Percy wasn’t going to be able to try again for- fuck.
Bill kissed his forehead. “You’re going to be okay,” he repeated. “We’re going to get you a good mind healer and some medication and I’m going to be here and we’re going to make sure you get better,” and the guilt was really hitting Percy now. Bill, here? A mind healer? “But your job-” he started, and Bill shook his head and said, “Fuck my job,” and Percy hated himself because Bill had worked tooth and nail to get where he was. A head curse breaker at Gringotts at 22 was no easy feat, and in Egypt, no less.
Bill was finally making a name for himself, pulling himself up and away from his roots and for him to throw that away to help Percy, who was just going to kill himself again in three months or keep trying, progressively making everybody around him sadder and madder and fucking-
“Bill-” he said, and he was still raspy.
“Fuck it, Percy,” Bill said in that tone he only got when he was certain, “I can get a job whenever I want. You matter more to me then a 9-5,” and Percy tried desperately to stop the watering in his eyes, blinking furiously.
He tried again, “We can’t afford-” Bill tightened his grip on his hand, “We can afford whatever you need,” he said tautly. “But we can’t-” Bill kissed his forehead again and looked him dead in the eye. “We can afford whatever you need,” he said again. And Percy was frustrated because Bill wasn’t listening, and he was too fucking good and kind to see how much of a waste of space Percy was. Too fucking naive and optimistic to realize how much of a waste of funds it would be. He would always believe he could fix it.
“I’m not-.” He stopped himself. I’m not worth it . Bill wasn’t going to listen. It didn’t matter what he said. No matter how true it was, Bill wouldn’t listen, and Percy loved and hated him for it.
He looked away again, and Bill kept holding his hand. A deep sense of self-loathing rose in Percy. He couldn’t even get killing himself right and now -. He let a few tears fall; his head turned away from Bill. He thinks Bill noticed anyway, but his oldest brother didn’t say a word. Fuck him.
Eventually, Bill started talking again, “The others want to see you,” he said quietly. Probingly. Percy made a noise. Bill was quiet a little longer. Then, “Mum-”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” Percy said, harshly enough to shock both Bill and himself.
Silence. Bill was figuring something out in his head. Finally: “Okay.”
Percy was confused.
“Okay?”
He turned back to look at Bill. He wondered if his eyes were red.
“If you don’t want to talk to her, you don’t have to,” Bill said like it was simple. Easy.
“But-” Percy began.
“Whatever you need, Percy,” Bill said, and it was so sincere that it hurt. There was a protective edge there too, and Percy sometimes forgot that Bill knew . Bill left because Bill knew . And now he was back and dealing with this fucking- and it was all Percy’s fault. But he couldn’t-.
A whisper: “Please.”
And Bill just nodded. Squeezed his hand. “Okay,” he said. Then again, as if to reassure himself, “Okay.” And that was that.
Then - and it was a long hesitation - Bill asked, quietly, carefully, “Charlie?” and Percy stared at the ceiling again.
There was something else in the air with that question. Because Charlie- Percy exhaled.
In.
Out.
He thought. Stared.
“Percy?” Bill asked. He realized he’d been quiet for a long time. Out again . Then, still staring at the ceiling, he said, “Whatever he wants to do.”
Bill asked, “Are you sure?” and there was something in his tone Percy didn’t have the emotional capacity to unravel, and Percy wasn’t sure, and he kind of hated himself, but he nodded anyway.
“Okay,” Bill said.
And that was that.