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Sirius finds Regulus smoking a cigarette not long after the first time Walburga used the cruciatus curse on him.
It’s the early hours of the day, in that confusing limbo of way too early to still be considered night, and way too late to even be considered morning. Regulus leans there against the cracked open window, taking slow, methodic drags from a cigarette, and Sirius doesn’t know when he missed out on this development. Can’t fathom how he could’ve possibly missed his baby brother becoming overwhelmingly familiar with this disgusting habit.
And he is. Familiar, that is. Sirius remembers when James almost coughed up a lung the first (and only) time he stole one of Monty’s pipes. Sirius had refused, unwilling to risk being caught, worried about being kicked out of the Potter household and forced to spend the last few days of his summer back at Grimmauld. But Reggie seems to be inhaling the damned thing like it’s pure oxygen, like it’s the cleanest thing he’s breathed in all year.
As Sirius stalks closer, he can see Reggie’s hands shaking. He’s tense in the way they always are when they return home for the summer. Sirius is positive that if it were anyone else finding him, they wouldn’t be able to recognize the stiff way Regulus holds his jaw, the frizzed out curls that are normally so uniform, the oh so distant look in his eyes as he gazes out at the stars.
Sirius knows him like the back of his hand, like the way only an older brother can know his baby brother, the way one knows the other through years and years of tragedy. Sirius has spent his whole entire life trying to protect this boy. He has spent a decade trying — and failing — to keep him away from pain.
So it’s with this that Sirius knows that Regulus is terrified. And it’s with this that his chest aches more for him than his joints do. Than his muscles and his bones and his skin combined.
“I remember when you were a child, swearing up and down to Cissy that you would never be caught dead with those things.”
Regulus startles and whips his head around to look at Sirius, his gaze quickly coming into focus, and there is something behind his eyes that is both so completely foreign and so completely familiar at the same time. It’s such a shock to Sirius that he can’t place this look, and it feels as if his entire world has taken one step to the left, leaving him utterly off kilter.
Sirius thinks it must say something to how gone Reggie must be to not have heard him over the dragging of his limbs. It’s not exactly like Sirius was trying to be quiet, body aching so much that it’s lost any sense of subtlety. Every step feels like quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. It exhausted him terribly to rise up from his bed (he genuinely has no idea how he got there), but he needed to see Regulus. He needed to be sure that his mother didn’t focus her attention on Reggie the second Sirius passed out from the pain. He needed to be sure that his baby brother was safe.
Regulus huffs out a bitter laugh. “Yes, well, what can I say? I guess you were right about Bella being a bad influence.”
They study each other for a long moment and Sirius tries to straighten his back without grimacing. It’s the biggest struggle in the world, but he can’t let Regulus know how absolutely horrendous he feels.
Finally, after what feels like days and months and years and decades, Regulus reaches into his back pocket and holds out a smoke to Sirius.
He’s never had any desire to smoke. Just the smell alone honestly makes him a little nauseous, but Sirius carefully makes his way towards the outstretched hand, grabs the cigarette, and allows Regulus to light it for him.
He tries to take a puff nonchalantly, refusing to have his little brother upstage him, and is rewarded with a sharp stab to his lungs and a cacophony of rasping coughs that just make his body feel even worse. Regulus makes a move as if to pat him on the back but then seems to think better of it and drops his hand.
“Try inhaling smaller. You’ll just end up gagging if you take puffs that are too big with virgin lungs.”
“Nothing about me is virginal, Reginald.” And oh, there it is. That bitchy little look that Regulus gives that delights Sirius to no end.
“One, do not ever call me Reginald again. And two, gross.”
Sirius barks out a laugh and then tries again, taking care to only breathe in a small amount. When his lungs don’t protest like before, he grows a little braver and takes in a little more. And then more. And then a little more even still.
And whoa. He’s starting to feel floaty, like gravity turned off for a second, like he’s weightless, like every atom of his being is buzzing.
It… It actually feels kind of amazing.
“Merlin.”
“Quite nice, right?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Turns out Bella was right about something, after all.”
They fall silent again, and Regulus turns back to look at the stars. Sirius takes this moment to look at him again, searching for any signs of bruising or scratches or pain, relieved beyond belief when he doesn’t find any.
“It’s rude to stare.”
Sirius swallows deeply before saying, “Listen, Reggie, I’m sorry —“ Regulus opens his mouth to interrupt, but Sirius plows through. “No, let me say this, please. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry that she forced you to watch. It must’ve been terrible for you. I would do anything to take that memory away from you. I didn’t want… I just wanted to keep you safe. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Regulus is so tense that Sirius thinks he might actually crush the cigarette in between his fingers, and wow, that would be a waste.
His voice is tight when he replies, “I don’t know why you even stepped in at all. We both know Mother’s punishments are less severe when it comes to me. She wouldn’t have… I probably wouldn’t have even been scarred this time.” As he says this, he rubs the ghost of a wound on the back of his neck, one that would easily be covered by any plain old shirt. “You just had to play the hero, once again. You and your bloody Gryffindor bravery.”
Sirius ashes his cigarette out the window and brings it back up to his lips, inhaling deeper than before, already missing the high he felt before starting this conversation. It’s truly devastating, how quickly the ache engulfing his body had set back in. Just another pain Walburga Black has left for him.
“This has nothing to do with fucking Gryffindor bravery, Regulus. I couldn’t just stand by and let her hurt you — not if I could do something about it.”
With this, Regulus snaps, and Sirius can’t ever seem to remember seeing him blow up like this before. It’s a far cry from the closed off resentment he’s used to seeing from his brother, normally so reserved and polite in his fury. Where Sirius has always been punching limbs and raised voices and foolhardy indignation, Regulus has always been calculated remarks and frigid stares and silent seething. Sirius actually has to stop himself from flinching backwards, like his already frazzled instincts are begging him to.
“I never asked you to!” Regulus bites out, moving closer to him, shaking with unrestrained emotion. Sirius finally clocks that look in his eyes he had seen earlier. It’s the same look he sees every time he looks in the mirror. Hatred and fear. Fear and hatred. An agonizing combination. “You’re such a fucking idiot! I never asked you to take a beating for me! I never asked you to piss her off and demand the pain that was meant for me! Are you seriously insane? You could’ve been fucking murdered! She was going to keep going and there was absolutely nothing I could do! The only thing that stopped her was a fucking floo call. I was forced to watch you lay on the floor like a pathetic rag doll, and I was so sure you were dead and you — you just. You weren’t fucking brea—“
Regulus’ voice stutters and he begins to crumble in on himself, but before he can fall, Sirius catches him in his arms and brings him in close. He’s sobbing, and the weight is so heavy on Sirius’ tired body and he struggles to keep them standing but somehow he does. For Regulus, he does.
For Regulus, he always will.
It’s been so long since Sirius has seen his little brother break down, not since before Sirius left for Hogwarts, back when they were two young kids, too young to truly understand how utterly wrong their upbringing was. And Merlin’s fucking balls, this is terrifying. He wasn’t ready for this, hasn’t fully come to terms with the torture he just endured, the torture his baby brother was forced to witness.
Sirius knew logically that it was wrong. It’s called an unforgivable for a reason. But it wasn’t until this moment that he truly understood the impact it would have. How close he came to death. How close he came to losing his brother, his friends, his life. It should honestly scare him more than it does. He thinks that maybe his disregard for his own life is more unforgivable than some curse.
“Reggie, whoa, Reg, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here. I’m alive and I’m… I’m fine, I’m still here. I’m sorry. I love you so much and I’m so sorry.”
“You weren’t fine,” Regulus gasps. “You were dying, Sirius. Please, you can’t… Promise me you won’t ever step in for me ever again. I can take whatever Mother gives to me, but I can’t watch that again. I can’t lose you. If you die, there will be nothing left for me here. If you die, I die… If you die, Siri, I will never recover.”
And oh, hearing the truth behind those words hurts more than the torture he experienced mere hours ago. It cuts him somewhere so deep, knowing he’s the one that caused this.
“Reggie, I—“
“—Promise me—“
“—I can’t—“
“—Sirius—“
“—Alright! Alright, okay, fine, I… I promise.”
And with those two words, Regulus’ breathing finally evens out.
With those two words, Sirius’ heart shatters.
With those two words, they join the scattered cigarette ash on the ground.
Sirius isn’t sure how long they sit there, breathing each other in, taking comfort in the weight of the other. All he knows is that when he wakes up, he’s back in his bed, bones heavy and chest aching.
Sirius has always been selfish, so quick to lie for his own comfort, but he knows that this was the most unforgivable lie he’s ever told.