Chapter Text
Regulus Black sucked back the fiery liquid, hoping he looked sober enough for another bartender not to cut him off. He was still much too sober for his liking and still very on edge. Regulus was still getting over being sentimental, but there was something about days like today, where he couldn’t help himself. He tried to avoid drinking, but today marked a celebration, and he felt like he deserved to celebrate in whatever self-destructive method he wanted to indulge in.
He couldn’t help but think of his father, who was drunk on most occasions. He wondered—not for the first time—if his father had keeled over and died by now. When Regulus left six years ago, age was clearly gripping at the man, and he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his absence, the old decrepit man had finally died. If it wasn’t his organs turning to dust, it would have been the stress of the Black name falling so low and being forgotten by the masses. He hated the name enough to scrape it off his own, but that didn’t mean the thought of the Black family name dying with his parents didn’t make him sick to think about.
Regulus was tired of feeling sick. Being mindlessly drunk was much better than drowning in his own sorrows in tears. He gave the Black name a lifetime worth of them, and he didn’t want to give it any more of his time and energy.
Three more drinks and forty-five minutes later, he was sufficiently drunk and couldn’t stand up straight without assistance. As far as he was concerned, there were worse things to be than a drunk who was kicked out of a shitty bar on a Friday night. He landed on the curb hard enough to send a sick shock up his spine, but the pain only added to the many things competing for his attention. Pain was a familiar comfort, but his back throbbed unceremoniously. He was drunk enough to forget why he needed to bury his problems in a pint of vodka, but he still felt a sinking feeling in his stomach that left him spinning. But that could have been all the alcohol. Regulus was never much of a drinker, but when he drank, he drank enough for a frat party.
He pushed himself off the curb and stumbled toward the closest telephone booth. Standing on the corner of a street lit up by neon signs and crowded with people put a pit in his stomach he was familiar with. All the bars were buzzing with an energy he once craved but couldn’t get away from fast enough. He knew better than to stumble through the streets of California so drunk. If he wasn’t arrested for being drunk in public, he would certainly be held at knifepoint for some of his valuables.
He dialed the only number he knew from memory, hoping that in the years since their estrangement, Sirius had the foresight to change it to something else. The twill of the phone line didn’t instill much confidence. Sirius was smart but often let sentiment get the better of him. The phone line clicked open, and Regulus pressed the phone to his ear with bated breath, unsure of what he wanted to hear on the other line—his brother or a stranger. When a familiar voice flooded his ear, his stomach roiled violently in his abdomen.
“Hello?”
Regulus waited with his phone pressed to his ear, panting hard into the phone. If stumbling in the streets wasn’t immediately sobering, the sound of his brother's voice on the phone shifted the world into shocking clarity. He pulled the phone away from his ear and tried to regain a conscious thought. It wasn’t too late to hang up the phone; Sirius would dismiss it as a wrong number and go about his life. Tomorrow, when he woke up, this misbegotten phone call would be nothing but a drunken memory that he would forget about in days' time. But Regulus couldn’t bring himself to stay quiet, and the word slipped out before he could fully quantify the consequences of his actions.
“Hello?” Sirius tried again.
“Hi,” Regulus squeaked.
“Reggie?” Sirius said suddenly. “Reg, is that you?”
Regulus wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but being instantly recognized cut deeper than it had any right to. He could only think about the feeling of seeing his brother in person. Regulus pressed the phone to his ear and sank to his knees.
“It’s me,” he said.
“Oh my god! Oh my—how did you get a phone? How did—are you alright?”
“I—” Regulus slurred.
“Are you drunk?”
Regulus knew better than to lie to his brother, nor did he feel the need to. They had more important things to deal with, and Regulus’s sobriety—or lack thereof—was not at the top of the list.
“Very,” he said. “I was drowning my sorrows and I lost my phone,” he said. “I don’t want to be alone,” he admitted. He put his hand up, like he could reach for the words and snatch them back, but what was said could not be unsaid. And Regulus knew better than anyone what was done could not be undone, and no amount of wishing would make it otherwise. Sirius spoke with radical certainty. “Your number is the only one I can remember.”
“Say the word, and I will get you out of that house right now. I will get on a plane, and I will come and get you. You know I never would have left you behind if I thought you would have come with me—”
“Sirius!”
“You have to know that. You have to understand that—”
“Sirius—”
“I need you to understand that I would have taken you with me, but it’s not too late—”
“Sirius,” Regulus shouted loud enough to gain the attention of passersby. Not that he cared. Let them gawk at the freak show dissolving over a phone call for a man he knew better than to care about. “I don’t need saving, certainly not from you.”
“Regulus, they will kill you.”
“They can try, but I doubt they’ll make the trek across the ocean,” Regulus bit back with more malice than he intended. His silent sadness turned into a rage that bubbled in his throat. Years had passed since, and Regulus was still that pathetic boy sitting on the stairs waiting for someone to save him when nobody would. He never blamed his brother for leaving, not the day of and the miserable year after. But in the years since, Regulus learned that there were some things a person could never get over, and being left behind after a promise was one of them. “I’m in California,” he explained. “I left after you did. I don’t know why I called you, but I’m glad—” he paused, unable to quantify his thoughts. Hearing his brother's voice was revolting and comforting at once. “I don’t know—”
“Where in California?” Sirius interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Regulus slurred, letting sobriety slip from him and settling in the feeling of drunkenness settling over him. “None of this fucking matters.”
“Tell me where you are, so I can come and get you. I’m not leaving you—”
“Again?” he snarled. “Why don’t you do it again? We know you’re good at it. You gonna get on a plane and fly all the way to Glendale from whatever stupid little house on the prairie you have? You’ve finally come to rescue me—well, you’re about four years too fucking late. I don’t need you now. Do what you do best and leave me alone to rot,” he slurred. His words were laced with an anger that reminded him of his father. He panted at the exertion of energy.
“You’re in Glendale?” Sirius asked. “You’re at the bar, so probably on Silla Street?”
“How—” he started before he could stop himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m coming to get you. Please don’t go anywhere,” Sirius said promptly. Regulus opened his mouth to reply but was silenced by the static of a dead phone line. One click and his brother was gone once more. All it took was a click, and Regulus sat with the phone still pressed to his ear, unwilling and unable to move it.