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Chapter Text

The screech of a hungry hawk jerked him awake, his first instinct to gasp for air. Light from the sun above burned his eyes, blinding and painful to look at. Throat and nose gritty and dry with sand, he coughed, rolling stiffly to his feet. He spat out sand that had managed to find its way past his lips, making him unbearably thirsty.

Where the hell am I?

The blistering heat of the sun radiated off the wide expanse of sand dunes, the thick, hot air suffocating him slowly. Within moments, his clothes, regardless of how light and loose they fit, were immediately sticking to his skin in an overwhelming, horrible sensation, sweat traveling down the expanse of his spine. Scraping sand particles out of his eyes and mouth, the best that he could do with sweat dripping from his face, he began trudging in a direction. He knew that he needed to find some sort of shelter to be able to survive the harsh conditions of the desert around him.

Seconds turned to minutes turned to hours, walking barefoot up and down ever-growing mountains of sand. Up and down. Up and down. For what felt like forever and forever. One dune, two dune, three dune, four, five dune, six dune, seven dune, maybe more. On and on and on and on he went, walking forever, time seemingly stretching and condensing within the same moment. It all blurred together, feeling forever long and impossibly short, walking on and on into an unreachable point in the distance. There was nothing except for the long stretch of footprints tracking behind him, the wind moving the sand to erase the short-lived proof of his existence in this barren landscape.

The monotony of the parched wilderness dragged down at his heart, the heaviness of hopelessness tugging his bones further and further into the depths of the desert. No, that’s wrong. Even a desert has something living in it. This, this was empty, a desolate hell that he had been deposited in, the immensity of it burning into his brain.  It was a crucible of death, a bone-dry basin of vastness and death where nothing could exist. There was no mercy from the sun, no respite of a shadow or slight breeze. Only the vast, mournful swathe of emptiness, stretching on and on.

Heat rippled on the horizon line, suffocating. He kept walking, one lone figure in the wide expanse of the desert. Wet pants of air gasped out of his lungs, growing more labored with each heavy step. The shifting sand beneath his feet burned numbly, already grown so accustomed to the sheer amount of heat absorbed into the blistering surface. Moving sluggishly, dehydrated and exhausted from stumbling up and down infinite sand dunes, searching for something – anything – other than mounds and mounds of sand, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep moving forward.

Where the hell am I?

Making it to the top of a sand dune, he glanced around, shielding his eyes from the blazing sun. Nothing. There was nothing. For miles and miles, just burning, golden sand as far as the eye could see, stretching into the horizon no matter where he turned. Defeat coursed through his veins, exhaustion threatening to take over.

“You need to wake up.” 

The man whirled around, the shifting grains of sand beneath his feet nearly toppling his balance. Nothing. For miles and miles, absolutely nothing. There was nowhere for someone to hide, nothing that could shield them from his view. “What the fuck,” he whispered to himself, fear coursing through his veins. Great, now I’m hearing voices. Just what this situation needed.

The screech of a falcon echoed from above, looking up to see the black outline of the bird flying past the sun. Just me, a bird, and the voices inside my head. Great. A bloody lovely experience.

“Remus, you need to wake up.”

He froze, hearing the voice for a second time. …Remus?

That cold and somehow strangely familiar voice, deep and echoing like the brush of a mirage on the horizon. It reeked of power, but felt unnatural, like it was actually real. And yet, his brain was racing to figure out where he had heard that distinct tone before, racking the dust-covered memories that refused to release any information. Hearing something once is just plain crazy; twice is not a coincidence. But this time it sounded more urgent, more demanding, like it was…important.

Feeling the cool brush of the shade of a shade on his back, he turned slowly, fear freezing in his veins regardless of the blistering heat around him. His eyes widened as he was met face to face with an enormous being, abnormally tall, at least eight feet tall if not more. He gazed upward, falling back as he realized that there was no head where there should have been one – just a huge hollowed-out and picked-clean bird skull. He let out a scream, shielding himself as the bird skull man leaned down, reaching out with a giant, mummified hand.

“Remus, you need to wake up.”

Everything went black.

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

Remus gasped awake, heart pounding in his ears. No sand, no sun, no desert. He was back in his room, staring up at the familiar swirls and knots in the wooden ceiling. He let out a long breath, trying to force his body to relax.

It was just another dream. Just a dream. Just a crazy, weird,…terrifying dream.

It was alright. He was back in his apartment. It was alright.

Remus focused on the texture of the mossy green blanket his mother had knitted for him years ago, fingers playing with the soft bumps and dips of the worn yarn, attempting to ground himself in the motion. The first dim rays of the rising sun peeked through the window pane, casting long shadows toward Remus. Outside, he could faintly hear the songbirds chirping cheerfully as they flitted from tree to tree, finding food for their young.

With his heartbeat slowed down and finally calm enough, he sat up, body aching with stiff joints. Stretching out everything with a couple of satisfying pops as the built-up tension was released, Remus glanced around for his phone among the twisted sheets and blankets. Mutely, as if from a distance, he could hear it buzz as his alarm rang; the quiet lyrics of Engelbert Humperdinck’s “A Man Without Love” began playing. His mother’s favorite song, something that had been played so religiously, he craved the sound of it for comfort now, setting it up as his ringtone and alarm. Identifying where the sound came from, Remus peered down into the crack between the bed and the wall, sighing in annoyance. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to himself as he tossed back the covers.

Remus rolled to his feet, only for something to grab at his leg, sending him sprawling to the floor with a thud. Flashes of dull pain spread throughout his already sore body, the song still playing tauntingly from beneath his bed as if laughing at him.

A knock sounded on the closed door. “Hey, Rem? You ok in there?” a concerned voice asked, calling from the hallway outside his room.

“Fine, James. I tripped on something, that’s all,” Remus answered with a groan, glancing back at his leg. He glared at the harness belt wrapped around his right ankle, the other end strapped tightly to the bed frame. The fucking stupid harness. He had been so disoriented from the strange dream that he had completely forgotten about it. Again.

“Alright. Be careful next time, dude. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like falling on your face,” James teased, Remus practically able to hear the smile and shrug of his friend’s shoulders in the sentence as he walked away, footsteps becoming quieter.

Remus groaned, rolling over as he dug for his phone, fingers struggling to grab it from the far depths of his bed. Careful not to knock any of his books that were precariously stacked and leaning against each other, he was able to spin the phone closer within reach. Success. Banging his head on the bed frame as he scootched back out with a muttered, “Ow”, as he turned off the alarm. Instantly, the song cut out, returning to the silence that had previously occupied his bedroom.

Everything hurt.

For as long as he could remember, Remus had been falling asleep sore and waking up sore, the discomfort in his body never really fading away. And even if it did fade, it would eventually be replaced by another.

Undoing the harness strap around his leg, he pulled himself to his feet with a quiet groan, everything sore and aching. Another fucking wonderful morning. Only Tuesday, and he was already wishing that the week was over. The weekends truly felt too short, slipping away too fast. Half limping in an awkward gait, his right leg acting up again, Remus turned on the flickering bathroom light, meeting the tired and dead-eyed stare of his reflection in the mirror. “Goddamn mate, you look worse for wear,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

Tanned from time in the sun, his features were dotted with freckles and scars. Dark bags hung heavy under his eyes, earned from countless sleepless nights spent at the library studying manuscript after manuscript or thanks to his insomnia swings. Remus nearly snorted at his appearance in the mirror, his hair sticking straight up on one side, no doubt a result of the dream as he tossed and turned throughout the night.

A cold shower helped clear his thoughts, the water running over his body. Remus regarded a long, pink scar down the length of his hip, still in the healing process. He frowned, not sure when and how that had appeared. It was concerning just how many scars he was truly covered in, not remembering a good majority of how he gained them. Sure, he was clumsy at times, but enough to scar? And this often? It was strange.

With the water turning off, his thoughts spiraled down the drain with it. He didn’t have time for this. It was too early in the morning to have an existential crisis.

Dried off and hair still sticking up in random directions, but not as bad as before, Remus tugged on a band tee and a pair of jeans. Worn nearly to the bone, having it for years, he insisted on calling his shirt “well-loved,” much to James’ dismay. But he refused to get rid of it until it was falling apart and disintegrating off his body. Besides, it still wasn’t cold enough to wear sweaters, a staple in his wardrobe and certainly what one might call an unhealthy attachment. And James did, in fact, tell him often, usually in a repeated manner.

The comfort of delicious smells and sounds of cooking immediately hit Remus’ senses as he opened his bedroom door, smelling like home. Soft music played quietly from a speaker stationed on top of their fridge, filling the common area. James stood at the stove, head bopping to the beat as he twirled a spatula in his hands.

“Morning sunshine,” he greeted cheerfully, catching a glimpse of Remus in his peripheral vision. “You want any breakfast? I’m making omelettes and toast.” His round glasses sat crooked on his nose, a bright smile stretching across his face. James was almost the complete opposite of Remus: sarcastic, loud, always laughing, spontaneous, and always up for anything, an adrenaline junkie with a heart condition, incredibly smart without even trying, and constantly optimistic to the point where it was almost annoying. James had easily made it into college, almost immediately accepted. If not for his famous surname, then definitely for his brains.

James was the heir and son of Fleamont Potter, owner and CEO of what was known as the Stark Industries. Related to the same famous Anthony Stark who had supplied weapons, scientific knowledge, and resources to the Allied Forces during World War 2, then going on to become the lead company for scientific developments after the war. Stark Industries was the main company for technology and scientific advancements, researching anything from cures to cancer, sustainable energy, public transportation, security systems, and robotics. Basically, James came from money.

Why James was here now, Remus couldn’t say. But to him, college felt like such a waste of time for someone who had a mind like his friend and roommate. A genius mind, but also a great friend. James put nothing less than a hundred and ten percent into everything he did.

Remus shook his head, “I got class soon, I’ll take some toast though,” grabbing a slice of buttered bread and taking a bite.

“Yay, toast,” a weak cheer came from the couch. “I love toast.”

“Please, actually go to your classes today, Pete, hangover or not,” Remus called, grabbing his keys off the hook in the hallway and shoving them into his pocket. He tugged his scuffed Converse on, lacing them up quickly. “You’re paying for them, remember, so you might as well go.”

From his spot on the couch, Peter let out a low groan of complaint, shoving his face into a pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I will,” he answered, voice slightly muffled from the fabric. His hand flopped around in the air in what Remus took as a wave goodbye, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

The door swung closed, locking it behind him. “Hey Frank,” Remus said, greeting the older student who was leaving his apartment just another door down, dressed in a neatly pressed suit like always.

“I don’t want to know,” Frank replied out of default, interrupting anything that Remus would have said. He glanced up, locking eyes with Remus before looking around cautiously. “Oh, just you?”

Remus shrugged with a knowing smile, stuffing his keys into his backpack and zipping it closed. “Yeah, mate. Don’t worry, the two fools are inside for now, so you’re safe.”

Only a couple of years older than all of them, Frank acted and carried himself in ways that reflected that, sometimes seeming even older. He had a confidence that Remus envied, wishing he could have even just a small sliver of it. The political science student had put up with all of their antics over the years, seeing the craziest shit ever in just this small strip of narrow hallway. Any time he saw the three of them together, Frank did his best not to get involved. One time, that even meant jumping completely over a bench while walking on campus. Remus honestly didn’t blame him. If he had to be one of the head security and event planners for the apartment complex living next door to the three of them, he would go crazy, too. There’d be an insane amount of paperwork just about James, no doubt. And Peter, poor Pete, who was always throwing up and causing a racket at horrible times in the morning, drunk and high off his ass.

“Try to keep it that way,” Frank spoke in a teasing manner. His amicable smile dropped for a second as he stared sternly at Remus. “I am serious, though. Alright, I’ve got to run to class.”

Remus nodded, watching him walk down the hallway. He glanced down at his watch, heart dropping in panic. Shit, I spent too long talking.

He took out his phone, dialing it as he raced down the stairs, grabbing the banister to keep himself from tripping. It dialed a couple of times before the answering machine beeped. “Hey, mum,” Remus said, shoving his arm through the other backpack strap, walking out of the apartment complex. “School’s going great so far. My flatmates are a great pair of lads, although our fourth dropped. No clue where he went, but now there’s a free room, I guess. Peter’s been talking about wanting to use it for parties as if we would ever actually host one.”

He glanced down the street for any oncoming cars, walking out onto the crosswalk as he finished his piece of toast. “Love Pete, but I swear his drinking problem has gotten worse. Mate spent all night vomiting in the bathroom.” Remus let out a low chuckle, lip tugging into a crooked smile, “And he’s been trying to drag me and James out with him. Don’t know how he finds the time or how he even knows about these parties. He apparently crashed three in one night a week back. I know, crazy, right? As if I’m that insane to get myself blackout drunk. With my luck, I’d end up spiked and wake up on the side of the road.”

He hesitated, the words getting stuck, as if he didn’t say them out loud, then they wouldn’t exist. “I had another one of those strange dreams again. Although this one might be called more of a nightmare,” Remus swallowed, his throat getting dry. “I was in a desert this time. I know, I know. It’s absolutely bonkers. Means nothing; they never do. This one just seemed….oh well, never mind. It was just a bonkers dream.”

He shook it off with a quiet laugh, paved roads turned to cobblestone brick as Remus made it onto campus, a soft smile rising to his face. He loved Mar-Vell University with its gorgeous brick old-architecture buildings, wide swathes of open green space, and the ancient trees that gave shade as they stretched over the twisting and winding walking paths. It was a beautiful sight in autumn, all of the vibrant colors decorating the campus during the changing of the seasons. Although Remus would never call himself social, he did secretly enjoy the community of university life.

He took a deep breath, relaxed, and was at home. “Call me sentimental, but I truly love it here, mum. I wish you could see it. I know you’re busy, but call me whenever you get the time and I’ll see if I can pen something into my schedule,” Remus suggested, “Get you a flight “over the pond,” as they all say.”

The silence on the other side of the phone was suddenly heavy, even though it was only an answering machine, some robot listening as it recorded his words. “Well, I have to get to class. Cheers, mum, I’ll talk soon.” With a quiet beep, he hung up, shoving his phone into his jeans pocket.

After moving away from home, Remus had limited, sporadic communication with his mom. With a five-hour time difference between where they both lived, it was difficult to align a time to ever talk. And if it worked, their calls were often short, interrupted by something else. A couple of years ago, it had gotten more and more difficult to stay connected, Remus often having to leave voice messages instead, recounting his days to her.

He found a seat in the crowded lecture hall, sitting higher up in the tiered section. Unpacking his notebook and pens, Remus’ phone buzzed, the screen lighting up to reveal a message. He glanced over, unlocking his phone to read it.

I’ll be home around seven, James had texted. I have a late lab tonight. Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.

He let out a quiet snort, rolling his eyes. If there was ever an opportunity to have fun, James never wanted to miss out. How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you, Remus texted back, hitting send before adding. Aye, aye, captain. I’ll make sure to keep my stupidity contained until then.

He shoved his phone out of sight, returning his focus to the class. Or at least he tried. Remus tried to pay attention to the lecture, watching the professor scratch words across the blackboard. His eyes took it all in, but his brain was distracted. His thoughts kept circling back to the strange dream he had. Over and over. The desert, how real the heat and sand felt, the massive bird-human mashup freak show. It was all strange…

“Stupid fucking bus, made me late,” a girl huffed, far too loud in the quiet, dropping into the seat next to him, depositing her bag and iced coffee cup on the table, interrupting his thoughts. Dressed in a bleached dyed crop top, skirt, and tall boots with an insane amount of jewelry layering her neck and arms, she looked stunning, like out of a fashion magazine, and anyone could see it. Obviously pissed, though, her curly blonde hair was half askew in a messy bun, which she ripped out and started redoing, looping it around her hand in sharp movements. “Please tell me I didn’t miss anything.”

“Well, good morning to you too, Marlene,” Remus spoke quietly, flipping open his notebook as he casually slipped a piece of chocolate onto her desk. “Considering you’ve only come in halfway through the class, so yeah, I think you’ve missed some stuff.”

By now, he was used to her strange, usually loud, outbursts. From an outward perspective, one would assume that they were too different to be friends. Sharing the same major, but with different concentrations, they spent too much time together not to become friends. Remus hardly knew anyone else who was pursuing the same major as him, the study of anthropology and ancient religions with a specialization in mythology. But while Remus had a focus on Egyptian mythology, Marlene was much more interested in Norse and Viking mythology.

“Har de fucking har,” she snapped, popping the chocolate into her mouth. With just the small gesture of that, he could see the tension visibly relax from her shoulders. Marlene let out an annoyed sigh, flashing a suspicious glance towards him, stormy eyes narrowing. “You can’t fix everything with chocolate, I’ll have you know.”

He shrugged, muttering, “It works well enough for me.”

Marlene relented, letting out a laugh. “Hey, I’ll take it,” she said, propping her chin on her hand, eyes shining bright. “Now, tell me, how was your study abroad program? It’s been two whole weeks and I’m dying for some tidbits of your wild summer. Fill me in on all the details. I want to know absolutely everything.”

Remus fixed her with a look, dropping his voice. “Later, okay?”

From the front of the room, the professor glared at the two of them, clearing his throat in a ‘shut up or get out of here’ manner. Marlene rolled her eyes, relenting. “Fine,” she sighed, opening her laptop to begin taking notes.

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

“I swear, my classes feel longer and longer,” Marlene complained, setting down her bag, tucking it underneath a chair. She placed her tray of food on the table, sitting across from Remus.

The dining hall, crowded as always, was a bustling mess of people going to and from classes. Nearly every seat was filled, even with the multiple levels of tables and seating. The stairs were a clogged hellhole that Remus vowed to avoid if he could help it. The volume was constantly overstimulating, louder than the majority of the concerts and festivals he had been to back home, which, considering Europe’s usual concert culture, was insane. He often didn’t eat in the dining halls, opting instead for either the restaurants on campus or bringing food from home. And since he spent a good chunk of time in either the library or at his internship, Remus typically brought his own food, having a stash in his bag.

“Now, you were supposed to be telling me about your summer program,” Marlene stated, pulling Remus out of his thoughts, a teasing grin dancing across her lips.

“And what about you?” he asked with a laugh. “You’re the one who just got back. Come on, while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

She groaned, stabbing a piece of her pasta. “It was great. Why they had to drag it out for an entire two weeks, I couldn’t say. Made me miss all of move-in, and now I’m already behind. Lily had to brag about all the parties I missed, love her, but that was fucking annoying.” She shrugged, chewing bitterly as if still pissed about it. Highly unlikely, though, Marlene and Lily were inseparable and could never stay mad at each other for long. “But summer was great, Norway was a blast. Our room was tiny as fuck, but at least I had a wonderful roommate. You should really meet her sometime. Anyways, they had us working at the Ministry of Nordic History for the majority of the time, although we did plenty of fieldwork and daytrips too. We even took the train to Stockholm a couple of times for museum visits, you won’t believe the amount of shit they have in some of those backrooms and all the archives. I got lost in it at least five times. You should go sometime, I think you’d like it. Has just the right amount of mustiness, dust, and spiderwebs that you enjoy.”

Remus laughed. “It sounds just like my internship now.” Taking a bite of his sandwich, he chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. “Did they let you go to that island you were telling me about? What was its name? Asberg or something?”

“Asgard and no, they didn’t,” Marlene corrected with a shrug of her fork. A mischievous grin rose to her features. “But a group of us stole a boat and snuck over one night.”

“Marlene!”

“What? You think I’m going to miss out on the biggest archaeological find of the century just because they think the island is haunted? Come on, Remy, you know you would do it too.”

Remus flashed a glare at her, but it was short-lived, softening into a smile. “Yeah, I would,” he admitted. “You’re just lucky you didn’t get caught by the police or some shit.”

She shrugged casually, brushing it off. “Alright, alright, now it’s your turn. What did you do during the summer?” Marlene inquired, leaning expectantly on her elbows, eyes bright with curiosity.

He hesitated, remembering back to the events over the course of the summer and his study abroad work. Egypt had been a wonderful experience, a place that he had always wanted to travel to, although the heat had been unbearable, and he had no doubt received quite a few sunburns during the warmer months. “It was wonderful,” Remus replied. “We were doing hands-on work for most of the time. They brought in pieces for us to practice on, showed us the archival database in the Cairo museum, and had us do a rough translation of several pieces of hieroglyphics. Took history daytrips to the Great Pyramids and the Sphinx, which was amazing. They even took us to the Valley of the Dead and the Nile Basin a couple of times. You won’t believe the amount of sand that can get stuck in everything. Now, I don’t recommend it.”

Her nose wrinkled at that before her eyes lit up. “Did you find any mummies?” Marlene asked with a teasing grin. “Did you let them bite you?”

Remus rolled his eyes at her comment, used to her antics. “Har de har, you know those are just in horror movies, and besides,  they aren’t vampires,” he shot back. “But actually, while we were there, the guides had recently discovered a tomb based on some geographical readings, backed up with hieroglyphical translations from wall writings in another nearby tomb. They thought it was a family relation because the markings were so similar. They had us working on the dig sites for the last month or so. They actually got it open before we had to leave. I only wish I could have seen the inside.”

He wished he could have touched the smooth, cool stone of the tomb. Exploring the maze of hallways that all tombs were designed with, a tactic to confuse tomb raiders who would try to steal the treasures of pharaohs and those buried on their way to the afterlife. If he tried to picture it, Remus could feel the grittiness of sand underneath his shoes, the cool air on his sunburnt face, the thrill and excitement of discovery, even in the darkness of it all. It was so real, so tangible, so familiar, like he had actually been there, instead of just in his mind.

“Alright, Indiana Jones, don’t go getting lost on me,” Marlene laughed, breaking Remus out of his thoughts. Already standing and holding her plates, she looked at him expectantly.  “Come on, we have homework to do. Usual library spot?”

Remus nodded, grabbing his things. “Yeah,” he agreed, his mind still stuck in the tombs of old Egyptians as if he had never truly left. 

Chapter Text

“Sirius!” With a pit in his stomach steadily growing deeper, six-year-old Regulus buried his head deeper into Sirius’s shoulder, throat closing and eyes watering, as he poured his heart onto his brother. His other half, Sirius, shook as his eyes filled with tears and his arms tightened around his baby brother.

 “Sirius!” With a final, heartbreaking squeeze, the older boy scrambled to stand and attempt to compose himself, dusting himself off and wiping his eyes with a skill that seemed older than his tender age of seven.

 “SIRIUS”  The boy stumbled down the winding, ornate staircase, nearly tripping and hurtling down headfirst. Handing his knapsack to the driver, he plodded towards the doorway. As his left hand reached out to touch the doorway, he slowed and turned. 

Regulus, who was standing at the bottom of the staircase and attempting to hold a stiff upper lip and to make his brother proud, didn’t realize that Sirius was charging back at him for a final embrace. As the children hit the floor, giggles danced in the air as brothers found comfort in each other's presence, all worries and knots in Regulus’s system unraveled and floated away.

He should’ve known better.

Ten days later, shrouded in black and with a newfound hatred towards, fear of, and longing for water, Regulus stood next to his mother in a room filled with photos of a brother that Regulus couldn’t recognize. Photos of the Black family – a wealthy family well known across all of Russia as those with a stake in almost every venture, government, and field – sitting pretty and proper, posed like puppets for the picture. Photos of Sirius and Regulus around Moscow with blank, regal faces. Nothing like the Sirius that Regulus knew. The Sirius that he knew was as bright as the star that he was named after. 

People whose faces were blurry and whose voices Regulus didn’t know passed by in clothes as dark as Regulus’s world had gone. Words passed over him, and condolences that held no feeling were murmured. All Regulus could focus on was how cold and empty his right hand felt, the hand Sirius would always hold. About how dark the house felt. About how broken yet numb his soul felt. About how his world had ended in a few simple phrases.

“{The car went over a cliff. Sirius drowned. There was no body to be found.}”
 
~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

Long, delicate fingers fiddled with the loose button on the sleeve of an ebony button-up, neatly ironed and pressed from the night before. The starchiness of the fabric scratched at his skin, both comforting and irritating. Sitting in the back of a taxi cab as it tore down the New York streets, care and caution thrown to the wind, Regulus tried to ignore the overpowering stench of old leather, body odor, and cigarette smoke and the familiar way that it clung to his eyes, throat, and lungs. This one felt more – synthetic, chemical, unnatural – than what he was used to, like bleach in the air, contaminating everything. A different enough brand from what his father preferred – probably the cheapest shit this guy could buy to get a good enough high– compared to the ridiculously expensive and imported cigars and cigarettes from who knows where in the world.

He held himself impossibly still, his skin crawling at the mere thought of the likely numerous diseases and bacteria crawling around on the cab seat alone. His stomach rolled,  thankfully empty,  a sickening combination of nerves and the nauseating smoke that clogged the tightly compressed air of the taxi cab.

The radio chattered from the front seat in a garbled mess of words that Regulus couldn’t understand, able to catch only a few words here and there. The driver huffed a laugh, presumably at something the radio announcer said. Who fucking knows, Regulus couldn’t have given any less of a shit than he did now. Every so often, a grainy crackle would gasp from the scratchy speakers like a dying breath before they were able to reconnect to another one of the towers scattered throughout the city. He didn’t know what was more annoying: listening to the radio or having no radio.

At least the taxi driver didn’t attempt to fill the void of silence with unnecessary chatter of small talk. Good. There was nothing more that he hated than pointless words that people used only to fill in the awkwardness.

Regulus glanced down at the polished, silver face of his watch again, lips turning downward into an annoyed frown. Late. I hate being late. He was supposed to be there already and moving in. The letter he received from Mar-Vell University had detailed the instructions for his move-in process, a special circumstance made just for him. Lucky me. If he had been normal, Regulus would have already been settled into the college lifestyle, already accustomed to his schedule and routine, and already a top student in his class.

But yet he was here, moving in two weeks after everyone else. Moving across the world from Russia would do that, or so he kept reminding himself. Deep down, he knew that it would become just another distinction between him and others, already behind.

With a long, tired exhale, wishing that he could will the driver to arrive at the university spontaneously, Regulus turned his gaze to look out the dirt-stained window. Buildings zipped past in a blur of brown, bricks, muted earthy tones of that classic New York style. Colors Regulus felt comfort from, something about them telling him it was safe. Brown was the earth, and the earth was solid, always the same. Never changing, or at least, not without some warning. Unlike people.

People were unpredictable, able to change within mere seconds. They could be calm like an ocean tidal pool in one moment or raging like a hurricane warring with the weather in the next. And he hated it. He hated that he wasn’t able to predict what could happen, each individual different from the next, and each able to react differently from even the same situation.

 
Regulus craved control. He was independent and alone, just how he preferred. He couldn’t stand not knowing the details of plans or what was happening. He needed strict and thoroughly detailed plans of action; anything less scared him. Those empty holes of his knowledge terrified him, too easy to slip up, too easy to make a mess, too easy to fail. And failure was unacceptable. Drilled into him from birth, Regulus grew up knowing that he had to be perfect and nothing below that merciless standard because he knew exactly what happened to those who were anything less than perfect.
He frowned, hardened eyes staring out the window, but seeing nothing. The colors blurred, but he was lost in his own thoughts. Ever since Regulus was a child, he had been known as the quiet one, doted on so lovingly by his parents.

“A perfect angel.”
“Such a lovely child.”
“Causes no problems.”
“Sweetest thing.” “Dearest.”
“Petite.” “Fragile.” “Sickly.”
“Not good enough.” “Soft.”
“Weak.” “Useless.”
“The Spare” 

That’s what he was called, their words echoing in his ears, reverberating in his skull. Over and over and over and ov–“We’re here,” the taxi driver said gruffly, the clipped sentence the only words he had said to Regulus within the past hour of travel. He shook himself out of his thoughts, stunned that he could be dragged down so deeply within his inner self. How much time had passed since he had been dissociating, distracted by his own morbid and depressing thoughts? He met the gaze of the driver, who simply held out his hand, staring expectantly at the younger man.

Regulus blinked, thrown off by the sudden abruptness and change of the interaction. He dug out crisp bills from his pocket, handing them over. The taxi cab driver counted them, thumbing over the newly printed bills with greasy fingers. Seemingly satisfied, he opened his door, moving to throw open the trunk.

Regulus swung open the car door, climbing awkwardly out of the ugly yellow cab. With so many brown spots, it looked like a rotting banana, his stomach twisting at the thought of it. With no more than another gruff mumbling of words, the driver dumped his luggage at Regulus’ feet, tipping his cap before driving off.

“Regulus Black, I presume?” a voice sounded behind him, both gentle and stern in a strange mix. A Scottish lilt making the words dance musically.  “I believe you are quite late.”

He turned, meeting the sharp grey eyes of a tall woman with a pinched face, drenched in a classic grey pencil skirt, cream blouse, and pair of polished black shoes. Mousy brown hair, filled with streaks of grey, was spun into a bun, not a single strand loose. Even though he stood at eye level with her, Regulus felt so much smaller, his brain whispering that he was insignificant compared to her in every way. Wrinkles pinched at the corners of the sharp angles of her mouth, her steely grey eyes watching him intently.

Next to her, an equally, if not older, bearded man stood. He stared at Regulus with an intense eye; the other was covered with an eye patch, scarred tissue peeking out from the edges of the eye patch. Dressed in a long, light trenchcoat over a spotless suit despite the heat, an uneasy feeling rose in Regulus’ chest. He couldn’t understand why, only that he was on edge. There was something about him that was…off, like he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Headmaster McGonagall,” Regulus answered in greeting, his lightly accented words barely more than a nervous gasp. He quickly smoothed down the front of his shirt, silently hoping that his hair wasn’t too much of a mess of curls and that the smell from the taxi hadn’t lingered on his clothes. “I apologize for my tardiness. Traffic was horrendous, and it took us an hour just to get through the city.”

“Well, you’re here now,” McGonagall said, waving it away dismissively with a hand. “This is my associate and the dean of the university, Dumbledore. He deals mostly with student affairs, but he wished to welcome you to Mar-Vell University. Come, there is much to do.”

“Wha…what about my bags?” Regulus asked, having to lengthen his stride to keep pace with the president of the university as she set off in a brisk walk. He gripped the strap of his shoulder bag tightly, glancing back to where the taxi cab driver had dumped them on the sidewalk. Behind him, he could sense Dumbledore falling silently into step. The man’s quietness was unnerving, for someone who had wanted to meet him, he hadn’t said a single thing, not even introducing himself. 

“Jarvis will deliver them to your dorm. You are a special exception, Regulus Black. You’re lucky your family was able to pull some strings. However, from your records, you are an exceptional student with a brilliant mind,” McGonagall stated, turning her hawk-like gaze down towards him. “You shall be a good fit here.”

His chest tightened at the mention of his family, nodding slightly. “Yes,” he murmured in noncommittal agreement. Lucky me.

“However, I will admit, since you are arriving late, you will have missed the traditional move-in week. It will be harder for you to adapt and catch up on what you missed.” McGonagall held open a door, gesturing him inside, having reached one of the dorm halls. The metal words stamped and nailed into the warm brick read ‘Godric’s Hollow’. An interesting name. “Although I’m certain you don’t mind missing the chaos of it all.”

“Not at all,” Regulus replied, dipping his head in thanks.

For a moment, he was confused, somehow having stepped into one of those vintage films he loved simply by walking through the door, his shoes clicking against the pristine tiled floor. Damn. He craned his neck upward to see a giant skylight centered in the ceiling cast a square of light down to the lobby floor. Ornate banisters and columns of dark wood stretched up six floors, open to the center lobby with hallways running down in either direction. Quiet murmurs of students could be heard even with no one in sight, as if there were secret gatherings within the dorm hall that appeared like they should belong in a different century and not at this university. Regulus swore that he caught a glimpse of two men; one with scruffy black hair, dark eyeliner ringed around narrowed eyes, while the other had well-kept curls of soft gold, elbows leaning against the railing. But he blinked and they were gone, as if they had never been there.

His attention whirled, wanting to take everything in, analyzing all that was within his sight. Couches and chairs filled available spaces, tables scattered around for social meetings and studying into the long nights. Everything was covered in warm tones of maroon, the warmth of the wood tones, and sunlight that funneled through windows – some of them painted in a rainbow of stained glass, whereas some were normal.

It was beautiful. So similar but so different from his childhood home, this place was soft and welcoming, creating an overwhelming sense of comfort just by stepping through the doorway.

Regulus could have spent all day standing there, soaking it all in, but McGonagall was already walking again. He fell back into step, Dumbledore as always, silent behind him.

“I will leave you here then,” McGonagall stated curtly, stopping in front of a wooden door. After handing off a small key to Regulus, she smoothed away an invisible wrinkle on her skirt. “There are many resources within our university; don’t be afraid to utilize them. We are here to help, after all. Unfortunately, I will likely be unavailable to you throughout the school year. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Black.”

Regulus nodded stiffly, returning the gesture to her, noting the hidden words that lay in between the lines, said unspoken in the air: Don’t bother me with your problems. The key sat cold and burning in his palm, biting into his skin as he closed his fist around it.

The only words he had spoken since meeting Regulus, the other man held out his hand, which Regulus took instinctively. The firm grip surprised him for such an old man, bordering on the line of painful. “We will be keeping close contact with you,” Dumbledore whispered, his eyes studying Regulus in an unnerving manner. “You will go on to do great things, Regulus Black. Of that I am certain of.”

And with that, he was left alone. Staring after the pair, wholly confused by what just happened. He shook himself out of his thoughts. I don’t have time for this right now. With a quiet click, the door unlocked, swinging open on complaining hinges. The room – his room – was a plain, grey-bricked room with the same dark-wooded floors as from the hallway. A window covered in dusty blinds let in some dim light, casting a golden glow that stretched to touch the edges of his boots. It was boring and plain and empty, but it was his.

Just as McGonagall had promised, his bags had been brought up, no doubt by Jarvis. They positioned neatly next to the bed, standing at attention as if waiting for him to arrive.

Regulus shook himself out of his thoughts. He had already missed two of his classes; no point in missing another one. Already, he had his schedule and the map of the campus memorized, drilling the information into his brain. If there was one thing he could keep constant, he would go to great lengths to have that sliver of control.

Digging his skateboard out of one of the few packaged boxes, he ran his eyes over it, double-checking that nothing was out of place and everything was oriented correctly. Satisfied, Regulus stood and locked the door behind him, and the emptiness of the room was left waiting once again.

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

The slight ting of a pen hitting against the table repeatedly was really beginning to get on his nerves, the staccato rhythm breaking his concentration from the lesson in front of him. I don’t have time for this bullshit. Already two weeks behind in classes and now this asshole is interrupting his attention from fucking thermodynamics, in which he was already several lessons behind and semi-clueless, having to learn based on the slivers of information he understood from the topic. His writings of notes scratched across the page, looking like a serial killer’s handwriting as he jotted down rough notes, knowing that he would go back later and revise them, especially once he gained access to the previous class notes. 

But yet here Regulus was, forcing himself to pay attention to the lecture more intently as he gritted his teeth, wanting to tear out his eardrums. His grip tightened on his own pen, knuckles turning white with how hard he was holding it, bones aching with the tension. But it didn’t do anything; the noise was still there at the edge of his mind, grating on his ears. Who the fuck is the imbecile? Someone who clearly has a death wish today.

He could strangle whoever was making that noise, eyes glancing around to try to pinpoint the culprit. There, in the same row, only a couple of seats down from Regulus. It was that man, the one with glasses and the mass of curly hair not unlike Regulus, except much more unkempt and unruly, as if it had a mind of its own and would not cooperate. The man’s whole body seemed to vibrate as if he couldn’t stay still, legs bouncing, and that awful pen still hitting the table. His fingers twitched, itching to curl around the other man’s throat, slowly tightening until he suffocated in a painful death. 

The lecture went completely forgotten about, his irritation much more pressing. Apologies, Dr. Selvig, but his mind couldn’t focus. Regulus didn’t want to waste his time, thoughts, and energy on the asshole. He couldn’t afford to waste his time. Not when he was already weeks behind.

Pen still going a million miles per minute, the man glanced over, no doubt feeling a pair of eyes watching him. And then he waved. He fucking waved. As if there was some sort of inside joke, the annoying pen boy grinned at him. Regulus tore his gaze away from the other man, seething.

For the next hour, Regulus forced himself to stare directly ahead, his eyes glued to a single spot on the wall. He refused to look away from the marker he imposed on himself, not wanting to give the other man the satisfaction of knowing that he got under his skin.

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

Was James potentially stalking the new student because he thought he was handsome? No, absolutely not. Was it a perk? Of course. If Remus could see him now, a book would already be flying at James’ head, a lecture on his stupidity no doubt following it.

He had noticed the new face; how could he possibly miss it? James’ mind always worked overtime, analyzing every detail around him, taking in his entire environment. He had noticed the new student the minute he had stepped through the door. 

And so here he was, walking into the library purely on the comment that he had overheard the new student mention to their professor after the majority of the people had filed out of the lecture hall. There were three official libraries at Mar-Vell University, plus a couple of areas that had research materials and books for students to use. James had come here with some sort of twisted hope of running into the other man, hoping to find him. For some strange reason, he felt drawn to the other, like there was a magnetic pull. James was curious, always curious, and sometimes that led to his own downfall.

But there he was. The new student, sitting at the help desk within the first couple of feet into the library, his head down and extremely focused on something undoubtedly important. He recognized those gorgeous curls, impulsively wanting to run his fingers through them; no doubt they were softer than clouds, black threads of hair growing in a dark halo around his head. Sharp cheekbones peeked out from underneath the curls, bony and dangerous, as if a single touch could leave a bleeding cut. Behind him, a skateboard was propped up against the wall next to a plain black shoulder bag.

 James cleared his throat, cutting through the silence. “Hey,...Regulus, right?”
 The other glanced up briefly from his notes and textbook sprawled across the library counter. From what he could glimpse, elegant script flowed perfectly across the pages, not a single flaw to be seen. Those dark eyes regarded James for a single moment in disdain before returning back to his task, pen dancing across the paper. “Annoying pen boy. What can I help you with?” he asked, sounding like he wanted to do literally anything else in the world than talk to the person in front of him.

 James blinked at the sharpness of his reply, thrown off. I guess I was kind of annoying during class. He coughed, clearing his throat, a burning sensation rising to his ears at the mention of it. “Well, we’re in the same class…as you already know. Thermodynamics, remember? With Dr. Selvig?” he offered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Anyways, since you’re new and missed a couple of weeks of class, I can give you my notes if you want them.”

 Regulus looked up, eyes slightly narrowed as he looked James up and down, a stubborn curl falling in front of his face. Those eyes, like obsidian knives, stripped to see right through him, stripping him down, suddenly feeling insecure. “I’m not stupid. I don’t need any handouts,” Regulus bit out, voice sharp. “I can do the work myself.”

 “It’s not a handout, it’s just an offer. And I don’t think you’re stupid.”
 He stared at James, assessing the older student. “Why?”
 “Why what?”
 “Why are you trying to help me? You don’t even know me.”

James shrugged, struck by the strange apprehension within the man in front of him. Those endless black eyes pinned him in place with a watchful gaze. He fiddled with the edge of his sleeve, having to shift his weight to his other leg to release some discomfort. “Why not? Isn’t it good to help other people out just because?”

Unblinking, he stared up at James. “You are…strange,” Regulus stated bluntly, not beating around the bush with his words.

He laughed loudly, not taking offense, “So I’ve been told.” Many people had, in fact, told him that over the years, ranging from complete strangers to his friends and family, sometimes in a teasing manner and sometimes as an insult. Even though he didn’t know Regulus and had formally met him only a couple of minutes ago, James felt like it wasn’t an insult, more of a statement than anything else.

Regulus regarded James with a strange look, tilting his head slightly to the side. James could have died from that simple gesture, a new patch of skin at the dark-haired boy’s throat now exposed. “What’s in it for you?”

He cleared his throat, feeling his ears warm as no doubt blood was rushing to them. “Here, just take my notebook, you can give it back to me in class when you’re done with it,” he insisted, adding it to the stack of books on the counter, fully aware of Regulus’ eyes watching him. “No strings. I just want to help. I know how difficult it is to play catch-up.”

James walked out of the library before Regulus could argue against it, ultimately giving him no choice, feeling the other man’s dark eyes following his every step. The intensity of his gaze continued to bore into his back, a sensation that followed him all the way home. James told himself that the racing of his heart was due to the social anxiety of talking to someone new; no other reason.

Chapter Text

Remus loved the museum. The musty smells of history, the endless chaos of boxes and boxes of artifacts that resided in the cluttered backrooms of what workers called the archives, the ability to explore the exhibitions on his breaks, uncovering history one translation at a time,  and that feeling he always chased, telling him that he was doing something important. It was wonderful. He truly didn’t know how he had been so lucky to get this internship, somehow beating out countless other students from Mar-Vell’s archaeology and anthropology departments to get the position.

And he would die for it too, fighting tooth and nail.

Sure, would any normal college student want their weekends open for parties and clubbing, football games, and for any shenanigans that people could get up to? No doubt. Hell, even just for more time to sleep or work on homework. But Remus couldn’t care less. For two whole days every week, from noon to closing, he got to pretend that he was a real archeologist rather than just a college student, letting himself be lost in the history that he was currently surrounded by.

“Hey, Lupin?” a voice asked, the head archival manager calling from somewhere else in the massive room of shelving that filled every available space.

Remus glanced up from his work, where he was completely surrounded by boxes, tugging off his headphones, faint music now playing out in the open air. With the changing around of exhibits, the past couple of weeks within the museum had been more chaotic than usual, and the archives had become a mess once again, something that he had now been tasked with sorting out. The two of them, plus a couple of other individuals here and there, had been primarily tasked with sorting and organizing the artifacts, pulling what was required to be in the new setups for the upcoming exhibition, while also putting back the displays that had just been taken down. So here he was, five hours later, covered in dust and still not finished. “Yeah, Maria?” he answered back, wiping his dust-covered hands on his pants.

“We had Darcy call out sick earlier. Would you be able to cover some of her inventory?”
 Remus held back a groan, his work interrupted just when he had gotten into a comfortable groove. This was the third time this week Darcy had excused herself from work, each time having a wilder excuse than the last. “What is it this time?” he asked, glancing down at his watch. Just his luck, this would take up the remainder of his shift, the museum only an hour away from closing. Thanks, Darcy...

Maria Hill, a truly brilliant woman, honestly Remus would  love to pick her mind, let out a snort from somewhere within the stacks upon stacks of boxes, a quiet shuffling on fabric. “Apparently, she has bronchitis.”

“Adorable.” Remus let out a sigh, finishing the last remnants of his current box before shoving it back onto the shelf. He stripped off his gloves, tossing them into the trash. “Alright, I’ll take over.”

“Thanks, man,” the head archivist said, throwing him a light-hearted salute. “I owe you.”

He waved it off, stretching out his joints, not having moved for several hours. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll take a large iced chai for my next shift.”

“Will do.” Maria nodded dutifully, turning back to her work as she continued sorting papyrus scrolls tucked carefully between layers of plastic to keep them sterile.

The faint music from his headphones filled the silent archives as he traveled through the twisting hallways that ran underneath the museum, a giant catacombs filled to the brim with history. Now, if he could just remember where the overstock of merchandise was placed. Aha, perfect. Tucked between one of the employee breakrooms and a janitor’s closet, there were shelves marked as inventory. Double-checking the chart of what needed to be filled, Remus grabbed a box, hefting it off the wire racks.

The upstairs of the museum was like a shock to his system after being in the archives for so long, a rush of noise that hit him all at once. There weren’t many people walking about, being so late in the night and almost reaching closing. But still, the difference between the two levels was a stark contrast from each other.

“Hey sailor, got a kiss for me?” a familiar but alarming loud voice said, breaking him out of his thoughts like the shock of icy water.

He whirled around, fear spiking his heart rate at her words. “Marlene, what the hell are you doing here?” Remus asked in a hissed whisper, glancing around the exhibit floor. His ears heated, no doubt turning red as he flushed. Thankfully, the other employees were busy with customers, and none had seemed to overhear her. He flashed her a warning glare, scowling darkly. “If my boss sees you distracting me, he’ll be pissed. I’m not even supposed to be up here.”

Marlene cocked her head to the side, distracted momentarily by his last statement. “What? Can’t I come visit you at your work?” she replied with that “oh-so-innocent” bat of her eyelashes, clearly here for something.

“No,” he shot back, hefting another one of the boxes of overstock inventory.

“I thought you said you worked in the archives.”

Remus froze, her words hitting too close to his insecurities. “...I do,” he insisted after a moment of hesitation, scowling to himself. “I’m just filling in for someone else right now.”

“Mhm.” He didn’t dare look towards her, where, no doubt, a suspicious glare would be waiting for him. Marlene knew how to read him like an open book, somehow understanding Remus more than he even understood himself. She was too observant for her own good.

“What do you want, Lena?” Best to change the subject of conversation. Surprisingly, her short attention span came in handy.

“Well,” she drawled, leaning on the counter, her signature grin present on her face. “I was wondering if you wanted to go clubbing tonight. After your shift lets out, obviously. There’s supposed to be a killer party at Knockturn tonight, or so insider knowledge tells me.”

Remus let out a scoff of laughter, rolling his eyes. “Insider knowledge? I find that incredibly shocking.” With a clean sweep of a knife, he slit open the box of inventory, beginning to place the “marble-looking” pyramid paperweights where there were empty spots on the display. “And you know I don’t like the clubbing scene."

“But it’s the first month of classes, it’s the perfect time to let off a little bit of steam,” Marlene insisted, her voice drawling in a high whine. “Besides, you’ve missed it, be honest.”

He shrugged in dismissal, tucking the overstock of merchandise into the cabinets under the cash register. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on. It’ll be fine. You’ll have me, James, and Peter all there.” Marlene met his gaze with a wide grin, in a way that he knew was supposed to be comforting despite the unsettling weight that settled at the base of his stomach. “Nothing will happen, trust me.”

Remus frowned, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?” Once her mind was set on something, there was very little that anyone could do to dissuade her from the idea. Marlene was more stubborn than James, a shocking revelation.

“Nope!” Marlene replied with a shake of her head, a satisfying pop of her lips as she enunciated the ‘p’. And there was that damning grin, the one she always wore when involving herself in mischief.

He sighed, relenting. “Alright. I get off at 7:30.”

“You’re not going to regret it!” Marlene whooped with a cheer, drawing many people’s attention to her. But she didn’t care – never cared – about how she appeared to others. Always jealous of her confidence and lack of social anxiety, Remus flushed as his boss glanced over from where they were leading a tour group.

“If you say so,” he muttered under his breath, watching her bound away cheerfully. Remus glanced at the clock, letting out a sigh as time slowly ticked by, each second moving the tiny hands of the clock closer and closer. He turned back to his work, letting himself be absorbed by the mundane boredom of it, trying to distract his mind from what plans Marlene no doubt had in store.

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

Remus held back a sneeze as he fished his apartment keys out of his scuffed dark leather satchel. The dust at work must really be getting to me. Need to pick up more Benadryl or something. He finally recognized a familiar shape inside the mess of his bag and pulled out the carved scarab charm, bought during his internship in Egypt over the summer, that now had a permanent place on his keychain along with other little trinkets collected over the years. He unlocked the door, having to put extra pressure on the aged surface; otherwise, the lock wouldn’t click open.

Upon entering the apartment, he was greeted by Peter and James’s identical cries of “Remus!” and almost turned around and walked straight out. It was an absolute mess. Almost every surface had at least one piece of clothing on it. Very obviously, the two boys had heard of the party being held at Knockturn and, as they’ve done in the recent past, were going insane.

Remus groaned internally, hands coming up to cover his face from the two muppets who had just ruined his planned evening of research and reading. Guess Marlene will be happy, cause there’s no way I’m getting out of this now. Mustering the courage to peel back his pathetic excuse of hiding himself from his roommates, he’s faced with James holding up two hangers as if to ask him which one, while Peter, whose pupils were already slightly dilated and the whites of his eyes red, was lounging on the couch.

"Ok,” Remus sighed, seamlessly easing into his “mom friend” mode, “James, the red one, obviously. And Peter, please drink some water and cut back before you green out again. And can we please tidy up a bit? There’s no need for it to look like a typhoon went through our living room.”

James pumped his fist in the air and Peter gave a lazy thumbs up in reply, slowly making his way to the kitchen, presumably to get a glass of water. Unsurprisingly, neither of them made a move to clean up either.

Remus sighed, a move that was becoming increasingly common for him since meeting the two numbskulls he was sure would give him an aneurysm in the near future. Why he put up with their shenanigans, who knows? But he loved them all the same. What he didn’t love was picking up after them. He slung his messenger bag onto the armchair that he had claimed within the first week, also known as the only absolutely untouched surface in the sea of James’s and Peter’s mess, and would’ve begun to grab at the randomly strewed-around clothes when the doorbell rang. What the hell? Are we expecting anyone?

Before he could turn around, the whirlwind that James was had already run past, leaping over the coffee table and opening the door. “What the fuck, James, you can’t do that! You literally have a heart condition,” He scolded in a half-yell, feeling more and more like retreating to his room. Remus didn’t have the energy to deal with all of this after such a long day of work at his internship, gaining a headache just from walking in. “Oh, hello, Lily.”

Lily, who was standing in the open doorway, had an impeccable eyebrow raised in James’s direction. James shrugged, and, with a glint in his eyes as if daring Remus to step in, swept Lily up in his arms and spun her around. She laughed, used to his antics. “Alright, put me down.”

“You guys aren’t together again, right? Cause that would be a turn I would not have been expecting.” Peter questioned, looking surprisingly closer to Earth as he walked out into the common area. “Also, Remus, you’re running out of eye drops.” So that’s where they’ve been going.

“Y’know, Peter, despite my devilish good looks and charismatic manner. I have, in fact, grown as a person since high school.” James drawled in Peter’s direction.

“That’s weird, seeing as, even though I’m shorter than you, I know you haven't grown an inch,” Peter snipped, a mischievous grin rising to his features. With a banshee yell of “I’m going to get you for that one!” James tackled Peter, both of them going sprawling on the carpet between the kitchen and living area. Remus sighed, turning to Lily, who had a familiar look in her eye, obviously bearing witness to many of these scenes before.

Having met Lily only twice briefly so far – both times in the past two weeks of the semester – Remus didn’t know much about her backstory, only that she came from a Russian-run boarding school that had been shut down because of various abuse allegations and had spent the majority of her high school years with Peter and James. He did know that James, although being a bit of a wild child, had pined for Lily all of high school until they finally got together in senior year. What had followed, though, was an amicable break-up after they realized they were better off as friends. Many times to Remus, Peter had recounted the story where James and Lily threw a get-together to announce their break-up and then immediately came out as bisexual togethers, although most of those recountings  were slightly slurred.

Remus and Lily shared an exasperated look and then, at the same time, held out fists. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” Yes! His measly paper trapped her silly rock. Her eyes hardened towards him briefly before her regular twinkle returned, all in good faith.

“Children,” She uttered, and like magic, the hooligans who had been wrestling on the floor had stopped and their heads were perked up like meerkats just from that single word. Remus felt his jaw drop slightly, in shock, amazed at how well that worked. He knew Lily was powerful, but she had to have some type of telepathic powers to get both of their attention, especially when they were fighting like wild dogs on the floor; something that happened more often than one would think.

“Yeah?” Peter blinked, hair sticking straight up where James had messed it up. James himself lay slightly panting on the floor, shirt rucked up slightly and face reddened from exertion.

“Come on boys, are we going to this party or not? Up and at them.” Lily exclaimed. James, who had lifted his head slightly to pay attention to Lily, let his head drop and thunk against the floor with a groan.

Forty-five minutes later, Remus could cry with joy. The clothes strewn everywhere had been cleared by Peter and James. James had finally decided on a shirt to wear. After being tattled on by James,  Peter had finished whatever assignment he had been procrastinating on all day before changing.

All the while, Remus had enjoyed a nice cup of tea with Lily, finding out she was majoring in computer science and dance, which was a combination he had never even known was possible. Apparently, she had some vague connections to Dumbledore, the dean of the school. Even with his seemingly short conversation with her, he could completely understand why James had fallen head over heels for her. She had a spirit as fiery as her hair and a wit as sharp as the army knife that she carried in her shoe. ‘Just in case,’ she had told Remus.

Even Remus was in something party-appropriate, having forcefully borrowed a shirt from James, who had deemed his wardrobe entirely ‘unacceptable’ and thrown a rather sheer black shirt at Remus. He had then promptly grabbed the only black overshirt he had – in an attempt to not feel completely exposed – all the while James cackled in response to his appalled expression. Now, Remus was no prudish, sensitive soul, but he did want to feel at least somewhat clothed when stepping out of the house.

All-in-all, he was locking the door within an hour of when Lily had arrived, which Remus considered a miracle in itself. James was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, like an overexcited golden retriever, while Peter was simply leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Pocketing his keys, he turned to his hooligans, baring Lily who Remus held only a bit of hero worship for her.  His phone screen diverted his attention with a flash, indicating a text from Marlene.

“Ok, gang, Marelene says she’s there already and just to find her when we get there.” He announced, receiving various affirmatives from the three in front of him.

Knockturn, one of the various clubs on Diagon Alley, affectionately nicknamed ‘The Alley’, was the type of place you went to have a good time. The music was loud and the drinks were strong, exactly what you wanted to get crazy. The Alley was just off campus and since the boys were lucky enough to have gotten an apartment right next to campus on the opposite side, they decided to just walk and potentially Uber back.

The walk there was enjoyable, the moonlight mixing with the street lamps to create a lively light gently streaming down on the pavement. Other people milled about on campus, walking off campus, or back to dorms. Remus had loved the dorm during his freshman and sophomore years but he also loved his current living situation and he for sure did not miss the dusty air vents that had caused him intense sneezing fits. A double-edged sword, if you would. James and Peter were chattering about some new movie that had just come out. Something about banana-obsessed yellow creatures and how they represented society and its need to blindly follow a leader. He stopped paying attention shortly after that.

As they got closer and closer to Knockturn, the streetlights slowly became overtaken by neon overlights and glow-stick necklaces worn by the masses celebrating one last semi-free weekend before professors really started throwing homework at them. Getting to the actual entrance of Knockturn was a bit more of a struggle as people were packed around the doorway, the line stretching the entire street. Pulling out their IDs, they handed them to the platinum-haired bouncer, who promptly slapped a neon green band around their wrists, signifying they were 21 and could legally drink.  As he waved them in, Remus caught sight of an embroidered name tag reading ‘Evan’.

Entering, almost immediately, the smell of strong alcohol, the sweat of packed bodies, and cigarette smoke hit his nose in a pungent mix. The dance floor was nowhere in sight; the club was filled wall-to-wall with people dancing and trying to talk over the booming music. There was no room for any more bodies, but somehow, when Remus entered, space magically appeared. Music pulsed through the room, controlling students like puppets on a wire. The crowd cheered and whooped loudly as another song came on, the lyrics to Lady Gaga’s “Applause” being belted out at the top of the masses’ lungs.

Remus collected orders from the group and promptly headed to the bar as the others tried to find some sort of table. As the bartender, a tall, lithe boy with black hair with green tips, ears covered in silver metal, and a labret ring, handed off a drink to another person, arms covered in scrawling tattoos, Remus glanced at the nametag, embroidered with an identical font as Evan’s in the front of the house, that read ‘Barty.’ And I thought Remus was an interesting name.

“What can I get you?” Barty smiled, black lined eyes crinkling as he did so.

“Hi, yeah, I’ll take a Long Island iced tea, a vodka cranberry, whatever beer you've got on tap, and a Shirley Temple with as many cherries as you’ll give me, thanks. Oh, and I’m opening a tab, name’s Remus Lupin.” Remus rattled off, handing over his card, eager to have some type of alcohol in his system to quell the rising anxiety in his chest.

“Coming your way, just give me a second,” Barty replied with an easy tone as ring-covered hands jingled slightly as he typed in the computer, swiped Remus’s card, handed it back to him, before moving to start pouring into various shakers. The bartender moved with ease, juggling different bottles of liqueurs and syrups, obviously knowing his way around the trade.

Remus turned, his aching back resting against the cool edge of the bar. His eyes scanned over the throngs of people on the dance floor as his hands moved to put his wallet back into his pocket. Familiar blonde hair almost instantaneously caught his attention. But Marlene was wholly preoccupied with something else.

Her hands were fully buried in dark braids. Lips were locked with another’s. Bodies were pressed up together, moving to the pulsing music. Remus wasn’t surprised. That was Marlene after all.  It was funny when her eyes finally opened and they happened to make eye contact. Stormy eyes widened in surprise. Glancing at Barty, Remus strolled over to them, carefully dodging tipsy patrons.

“When did this happen?” Remus asked, a smirking tugging at the edge of his lips.

Marlene broke away from the kiss; her face was flushed, and it was evident that alcohol was already coursing through her veins. She hurriedly smoothed down her skirt as if that could lengthen the bottom of the painfully short dress, tucking her mussed hair behind her ear. “Over the summer. I told you about my roommate, didn’t I?”

“Vaguely.”

The other girl, her hair done up in intricate braids, pinned Marlene with a sharp gaze behind dark eyeliner and glittery eyeshadow. “Vaguely?” she echoed his words with a scoff, as if in disbelief. “Marls?”

“Marls,” Remus mouthed to himself. That’s definitely new.

“Well, a lot of things were happening, Dorcus, and it’s not like Remus had loads of free time, babe,” Marlene whined to, presumably, Dorcus. Remus sensed a slight twinge of jealousy in Dorcus’s eyes as she sent him a look up and down. Slow down, I’m not trying to take your girl. No interest here.

“Nice to meet you, I’d better go get the drinks to the others before Peter comes hunting for me like a bloodhound.” He laughed, walking away. Barty sent him a smile as he reached under the bar and lifted four glasses filled with various colors onto the bartop, nodding towards them. Remus laughed under his breath as he noticed the glass with nearly seven cherries in it.

“Cheers, mate!” Slapping a five on the counter, which Barty swiped up with a smirk and a nod in Remus’s direction. Walking back to the table where he had spied Lily’s vibrant hair, he did his best to avoid the masses of stumbling bodies. Despite his best efforts, he felt sticky-sweet drops spill on his hand. Setting them down on the table, he was grateful to wipe his hands on his pants, despite the grimace of knowledge of the sticky residue now seeping into his pants. Whelp, I needed to do laundry anyway.

James whooped at the sight of the cherries in his glass, the sound instantly being swallowed by the noise of the club. Remus smiled into his glass, relieved to finally relax. Tart citrus exploded across his tongue, the bitter taste of liquor a mere whisper.

It wasn’t long before Remus had downed a few drinks, an easy, carefree smile rising to his lips. As time passed, his glass turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into more, able to finally relax from the stressful beginning of the semester. Drinks burned as it went down, but it was a welcome feeling. All his worries from the day seemed to melt away, leaving Remus with a fuzzy, numbing sensation, which he was surprised to find that he didn’t mind. In fact, he gladly accepted the blank inner void within himself. The world seemed to float in and out of reach as if his conscious form was being dragged in and out of control.

“Going to the bathroom, be right back.” He muttered to whoever was sitting next to him and, without waiting for an affirmative, left. Faintly, he heard someone call his name from within the chaos of the club, but didn’t have the energy to turn back. Dodging stumbling peers like it was an arcade game, Remus was enveloped in the crowd as it swallowed him up.

The world then went dark. 

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

“Great, it’s the idiot again,” a voice spoke, a near growl, sounding irritated and…somewhat disappointed? It was a familiar sound, but Remus couldn’t place where he had heard it before; the answer was just out of reach. Heavy, thudding footsteps faded away, disappearing from his senses. “Regain control of the body or I’ll have to intervene."

Remus’ eyes shot open, his heart kick-starting into a run. Flat on his back, he stared up at the sky filled with glimmering stars, alone in the brisk night air. The clear, full moon shone brightly above in the inky folds of the night, the air twinged with lingering moisture and humidity that clung to his hair and skin. Beneath him, he could feel the tickle of grass against his skin, particularly at the nape of his neck, slightly damp from the brief rain earlier in the night. Crickets and cicadas sounded in a droning symphony around him, echoing and morphing into other sounds of the animals that occupied the life of the night. A fog misted over everything, curling and licking up his limbs, covering the ground in a thin film that swirled in the slight air currents.

What the fuck?

Dimly, the last thing he could remember was being in Knockturn, the nightclub with James and Peter, dragged there semi-against his will. At the mere thought of it, a headache throbbed against his skull, pounding behind his eyes. Remus groaned, rolling to his side. His stomach rolled and heaved at the sudden movement, threatening to upturn his last meal and no doubt all the drinks he had previously consumed. Why had no one stopped him?

Not again. I really need to stop drinking. Shit, where the hell am I this time?

Somehow, Remus had ended up on the side of a road that stretched in one straight line for as far as he could see. Not yet conscious of whether he was injured or not, a dull ache coursed through his system. Every once in a while, a streetlight stood at attention, casting a warm glow over the road in alternating circles of golden light. Hugging the side of the road, a dense line of trees and brush swayed in the gentle wind, the leaves whispering amongst themselves as if saying, “Look at this crazed idiot. Passed out in a ditch like the drunk he is,” laughing in the breeze.

Remus patted his pockets, digging out his phone. “Come on, come on,” he muttered to himself, the dialing of his phone looping. “James, please pick up.”

The phone clicked as it received the call, Remus opening his mouth to speak. Before he even had the chance to say anything, James was already barreling ahead, his worry pouring through the speaker of the phone. “Remus, thank fucking goddamnit, you’re so stupid! Where the fuck are you, you fucking idiot, you’re so lucky you’re not dead. Pete told me you went home, but you’re not here, and I’ve been calling you for hours,” James rambled, his words fumbling together in a mixed burst of concern and relief. His voice faded slightly as if he had moved away from the phone, although he was no less quiet, most likely shouting across the apartment. “Pete! Stop dialing, I found him!”

Shit. How long had he been out? Now looking at it, James was right. There were twenty missed calls from James and around nine from Peter. Even Marlene – who absolutely despised talking over the phone – had called him four times. Shit.

“Remus, can you hear me? Where are you?” James asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Can you tell where you are?”

Remus glanced around the deserted road; nothing of interest for miles. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the words choking him.

James’ voice was calm and composed, but Remus knew that his friend was freaking out, only putting up a front to show strength and not to scare him any further. “Alright, just stay on the line. I’m going to track your signal and come find you, okay?”

He nodded, his voice sounding small in the emptiness, “Okay.”

He could faintly hear noises on the other side. A door slam. A car unlocking and engine kicking to a roar. “Alright, give me 20 minutes. 30 tops, I’ll drive as fast as I can,” James said with a slight laugh, no doubt a cover-up for how anxious he was, trying to keep his voice steady. “I might break a couple of laws, but–”

His friend’s voice cut off as his phone beeped a couple of times before going dark, battery dead. “Shit, shit, shit.” Remus groaned, hands grasping at his hair, tugging harshly. The pain, however slight, surprisingly kept him grounded when all the rest of the world seemed to tip beneath his feet. What couldn’t go wrong tonight? How could it possibly get worse?

Remus staggered to his feet, taking off into a stumbling, picking a random direction down the road. He let out a yell, everything falling apart. What was supposed to be a normal, fun night had gone so wrong, his control slipping away. Lungs burning and limbs aching, he slowed to a stop.

“You interrupted me. You broke the agreement,” a voice growled, breaking the silence of the strange, desolate road. Remus whirled around, searching for the speaker. But there was no one, still that same nothingness for miles and miles. “Down here, asshole.”

He was met with his own eyes, staring back from the reflection of a puddle left from the rain, nothing disturbing the smooth surface. The reflection was him, but also…not him. And the way he spoke, a completely different voice coming out of his mouth, sounded older. Rougher. Angrier. In an American accent?

“I’m going fucking insane,” Remus let out a choked laugh, raking a hand through his hair. That was the only explanation for this. He kept hearing voices; what other explanation could there possibly be? “That’s it, I’ve finally cracked.”

“You’re not going insane,” the reflection of himself replied, speaking on its own accord. Other-him, puddle him, let out a sigh, sounding pissed, annoyed, and tired all in one noise. “But I am  going to need that body.”

“The hell you mean, ‘I’m going to need that body.’ This is mine, mate. Go get your own,” Remus snapped, defensive, taking a step back.

“Remus, listen to me. This is all new to you, right? I know this may seem weird, but you have to listen to me. I need you to give up the body; you interrupted something very important.”

He hesitated. “How do you know my name?”

The reflection self gestured to himself, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘seriously?’.

“Oh. But aren’t you me?”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” The puddle Remus let out a string of muttered curses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking full moon. Fucking booze. Ok, look, this isn’t normally how it happens, but I need the body now. I don’t want him to intervene.”

Him?

The fog thickened, the cooling air and humidity dropping the temperature. Remus shook his head, stepping back from the puddle version of himself, away from those dark eyes that bore into his. The streetlights flickered, the mood of the emptiness shifting. It suddenly felt darker, his instincts yelling at him to get away as fast as he could, his mind moving too slowly in comparison, a headache pounding at his temples.

“Give up the body,” that all-too-familiar voice growled from behind him, filled with scorn. Remus whirled around, nearly falling over at the sudden movement, a scream caught in his throat at the sight. Icy fear flooded his veins, rooting him to the spot.

With each of the lights turning back off and on, the looming figure moved closer. It was the same figure as in his dreams, the unnaturally tall man clothed in tattered wraps that fluttered in the nonexistent wind. And instead of a head, it was that hollowed-out skull of a bird, long and pointed, sharp and deadly. A staff in hand, headed with a curved blade and shaped in the form of the crescent moon, could easily skewer Remus with a single swing.

Car headlights blinded him, breaking the spell of the night. Remus blinked; the giant bird-headed man disappeared, gone as if it had never existed.

The engine slowed to a purr as it slowed to a stop, the door slamming as someone got out. “Remus! Thank god, I lost your signal a while back, and I thought I was fucked.” He rambled on, Remus’ attention slipping away, frozen in place. “You ok, man?” James asked, his eyes wide and concerned, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Remus nodded, swallowing thickly. He turned away from the road, from where the towering bird-man had been standing before. “Yeah, I’m fine. Mind’s just going a little crazy. I think I drank too much.”

James placed his hand on his back, guiding the taller man towards the car. “Yeah, Pete went a little crazy with the shots — sorry mate. I knew I should have been keeping a better track of everything. I…I got too distracted.”

Numbly, he let James lead him into the car, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of the night, bones heavy. He barely noticed as James turned the car back on. Remus glanced at the sideview mirror, glancing back at the road behind them. There he was, the bird-man again. Moving further and further away as they drove off. The tight pressure in his chest released as he slipped into the empty darkness of unconscious sleep.

Chapter Text

05.08.01”

Sirius despised leaving his brother each semester with a burning passion. But at least he got to go to school, escaping the confines of their house for the equally long and painfully short period of the spring semester. Poor Regulus, younger by only a year, would join next fall, having to be left behind once again. Sirius couldn't wait to show him all the amazing hiding spots he had found at Privet Academy. The best part, though, would be seeing James and Peter again at Privet Academy. They were the first people not to poke fun at his Russian accent, quickly accepting him as a friend, and they had been a merry trio ever since. 

While the long and twisty car ride was boring, the seven-year-old adored being in the plane flying high above everything else and being able to see the clouds and sky. 

“{When are we going to get there?}” Sirius asked, peering over the seat at the driver. 

“{Sit down. Soon}” Barked the driver. Sirius flopped back against the backrest, annoyed and dissatisfied with the driver’s answer as any seven-year-old would be.

A loud sound broke Sirius out of sleep and it seemed to him that all hell had broken loose. Smoke was pouring out of the front of the car as it sped down an incline next to a span of cliffs.

{What is happening? What’s going on? Are we going to die?}” he shouted, panic setting in. Ignoring Sirius, the driver frantically slammed on the brakes as the car approached a sharp turn.

But it wasn’t enough.

The next five minutes felt both like time had slowed to the viscosity of syrup but became the quickest moment of his life.  Sirius felt like he was watching events unfold outside of his body as the car went tumbling over the cliff. Seconds passed like drops of honey as Sirius felt his body smack into the side of the car and go around and around. He heard the loud crack of the windshield slamming into the water. As water filled the car, time sped with it. Seconds slipped away as it poured in through the cracks, quickly filling the car at a dizzying rate. The icy touch inched up his body, clothes soaking up the liquid and chilling him to the bone. Sirius felt a rising dread as he pounded against the window, shocks of pain shooting up his arms as his blood mixed with the dark water below.

When he finally went under, his last thought was of Regulus and how he thought he could feel his arms around his waist once more, like when he left, not even four hours ago. Darkness enveloped everything, drowning out his senses.

Sirius woke up in a room.  A dark room with a musty cot that he lay on, and a slightly flickering light that was by the door that held a strange emblem of snakes in the middle. The first thing he noticed was the thick bandage wrapped around the lower half of his left arm and hand, and how simultaneously hot yet cold he felt. He knew that familiar feeling from last summer when he was bedridden for a week from sickness and Regulus had snuck him treats from dessert.

However, this felt heavier and deeper. Under the oddly damp bandage, the skin of his hand felt tight over the blisteringly heated flesh.

It hurt. It hurt, and Sirius couldn’t handle it. Everything was hot, and he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't- 

The first thing Sirius was aware of next was a low, constant buzzing that pounded through his head. The next was the intense, sharp yet burning pain shooting up his left arm that seemed to be shorter than it was supposed to be, the limb heavy yet light. There was a phantom weight, as if mourning the loss of something. It felt like there were fire ants crawling up and down his arm, biting relentlessly. He tried scratching through the thick, heavy bandages wrapped around the lower half of his arm. But the ties were too secure for his drugged body to undo, clawing at the wrappings.

Again and again and again he tried, nail beds bleeding and raw at the struggle, but to no avail. Red started seeping through the stark white bandages, darker than he would have expected. Much darker than in the movies. Sirius went spastic. An alarm went off in the distance, its blaring muffled by the panic overwhelming him. 

People swarmed into the room, a rush of shouting and stimuli that was too overwhelming for his brain to process. Sirius scrambled into the corner, not knowing what to do with all the new sights and sounds and bright lights in the room. Someone grabbed him and, as Sirius cried out, he felt a sharp prick in his thigh and the world faded out like the buzzing bulb that had burned out in the corner of the room. 

12.08. 01”
Subject combative; put under for future examinations at this time

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

The next time someone walked into the room, Sirius was huddled in the corner. Clutching his left arm, which still held the stitches where the arm ended. The technician bent down. 

“I’m here to take out your stitches. Do you understand?” Sirius only huddled into himself further. Like a dog bracing to be hit. 

“It won't hurt. I promise. It’ll help. Do you understand?” Sirius looked up and solemnly nodded, his silver eyes wide and tearstained. 

“You're going to have let me see your arm, though? Ok?” She smiled. As if on instinct, Sirius began to stretch out his right hand before correcting and gingerly reaching out with the remainder of his left arm. Her eyes crinkled as she gently yet surgically grasped the limb. 

“My name’s Andy. What’s yours?”

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

16.09.03”

The initial prosthesis was fitted to the subject 

Wired nerve bundles implanted 

Trigger Protocol Initiated

The first prosthetic was clumsy. The mechanical fingers were primitive, not quite catching every impulse from the cluster of wires Sirius could feel trailing down the back of his neck. The metal barbs digging into his skin, keeping the mechanical bits temporarily attached, hurt.

The technicians weren’t satisfied with his performance during evaluations. Sirius could tell. Their eyes held the same disapproval and disdain he was used to seeing in Mother’s eyes.

He was going to get out, though. Get out and see Regulus, James, and Peter. So he bared his teeth through language and mobility assessments. Still, not good enough. Everyday, he went back to a dark room. The light was off. Constantly. The burned out bulb taunting him. Whispers that he could never trace constantly bounced around the room, always out of reach when he tried to make out the words. 

19.06.06”

Flesh stripped back to the elbow joint with bone remnants retained 

Bone cased in synthetic nerves and musculature

Additional nerve bundles and leads implanted in the spine 

Trial #1 of the Trigger Protocol 

The second arm was rudimentary.

Metal fused to bone. Wire intertwined with flesh. Movement came naturally at first, with the unreal fingers catching the electrical currents sent from the brain to the mechanics. As flesh began to heal around, through, under, and over the metal plates, the problems slowly arose.

 The light was on now. Constantly buzzing with a sterile, white-hot type of light. Brief bouts of cool darkness just long enough for him to close his eyes before his corneas burned once again. Murmurs still bounced around his four walls. The ocean, the fall, the crash, his brother, his brother, his brother, brotherbrotherbrotherbrotherbrotherbrotherbroth- His fingers dung into the seam where metal met still tender flesh. Blood pool and seeped under his fingernails. As pain overtook his overstimulated mind and lab coats rushed into the room he grinned as darkness finally took over his mind. 

28.04.08”

Signs of rejection noted 

Implants show irritation- potential rejection if not reversed 

Signs of osteoporosis in the residual limb were noted

Further amputation may be required

Trial #60 of the Trigger Protocol-Unsuccessful

Overwhelming heat fogged Sirius’s mind. Pus oozed continually from between the metal of the prosthetic and the torn flesh of the upper arm. It felt like the metal inside the flesh was corroding as the flesh rejected it. Sirius was trapped in his mind as agony swirled throughout his body.

The only comfort he had as the fever raced through his body and as scientists rushed to keep him alive – for reasons still unknown to him – was Andy’s gentle demeanor and cool touch that

soothed him. Despite every effort, the arm was dead as sparks began to flash and as flesh would turn rancid. In order to keep the subject alive, the arm was removed, and the flesh and bone were further discarded up to the mid-upper arm. It was then left to heal as engineers, technicians, and doctors played God. Words bounced around his mind, as he lay limp. Indecipherable mutterings that felt like needles in his eardrums. Leaving behind the scars of his faults.

01.01.11”

Amputation to the mid-upper arm was necessary; surgery complete

Artificial mechanical muscle fibers attached

Additional muscle-mechanical connections were made

Trial #102 of the Trigger Protocol-Unsuccessful

At 16, the third arm was heavy and small.

Sirius could feel himself outgrowing it. Could feel as lengthening bones pressed against warping metal and as ever-healing – too quickly healing – flesh tore over and over and over, rejecting the limb.

They tried to fix the issue. Needle after needle was pressed into his skin. Test after test after painful test. Without prevail, as the arm simply became smaller, his body was growing too quickly for the scientists to keep up. However fast they worked to develop a new limb from hewn metal, Sirius’ body would already be outpacing it. Test after test.

If functioning irregularly, they would lose more time. If something was miscalculated, they would lose time. Time, time, time. Always worried about time as if they were obsessed with some unforeseen deadline that loomed over their shoulders, forever motivating the team of scientists to push themselves harder.

Every day, it felt as if the wires going from arm to brain would pop and cripple the asset for weeks. As seizure after seizure would leave technicians furiously frustrated and Sirus’s mind more frazzled. It was clear: the reinforced titanium simply grew to be too heavy for the growing body to accommodate.

It all came to a tipping point during an evaluation where, as the asset raised the arm, an unholy cacophony of sinew tearing and wires popping filled the room. The arm, the pride and joy of those who created it, cleanly tore off an unhealed body and hit the floor with a dull thud.

The body fell with a wet smack soon after. Voices finally gone. A faint curl of his lips appeared on gaunt skin.

02.28.11” 

Serum 045 administered

Trial #134 of the Trigger Protocol-Unsuccessful

03.28.11”

Serum 045 successful

Trial #140 of the Trigger Protocol-Unuccessful  

04.03.11”

Pituitary gland partially removed 

Hormone pumps are placed in muscle and tissue 

Wireless implants for continued machine function placed 

Full left clavicle and scapular replacement and reconstruction (combined adamantium) 

Left and right rib structures reinforcement and partial replacement (combined adamantium) 

14.07.12” 

Reconstruction confirmed to be integrating into the asset’s physiology, 

Pumps confirmed successful 

Final arm implanted- Successful

Trial #256 of the Trigger Protocol-Unsuccessful

The asset was perfect. Finally, adamantium, titanium, and flesh meshed cohesively as if developed in utero. Every system, musculoskeletal, neurological, cardiovascular, and respiratory, had been made efficient and precise. In eleven short years, the subject had gone from a sniveling little boy to a methodical and effective weapon that was extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. There was simply one issue that had been left unaddressed for far too long.  

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

At eighteen, after years of physical, emotional, and mental captivity, Sirius was used to the cold and disinterested attitude of those who held power over him. He was familiar with feeling their eyes on him as he went through the multitude of tests that technicians would supervise. He was used to seeing people in suits mumbling in the rafters as he went through a table of weapons, disassembling and reassembling, becoming one with the arm. 

What he wasn't used to was routine being broken, veering from the strict schedule. Going from the little room he’d grown used to and missing turns into rooms he was accustomed to, even if he hated them, his mind whirled to keep up. Instead, he was marched down a corridor and through double doors into a large empty room with a balcony viewing area, reminiscent somewhat of an auditorium. Like a gladiator being marched into a lion’s arena.

Looking up, three people stood inside the viewing area. One was a shorter, portly, and balding man, wearing a slightly worn, fitted suit, who was very animatedly talking very loudly about some type of experiments involving spiders and their potential. Sirius very quickly deemed the man not a threat and moved on to the next.

That happened to be the man looking unwholly uninterested in what the shorter man was saying, as if he already was an expert on the topic at hand. He held himself as if he were the smartest person in the room. He was tall, with a crooked nose, and flecks of gray ran through hair that was slightly greasy, as if he had been running his hands through it for far too long. He was wearing a suit that was slightly crumpled with his tie pulled out, as if he had just come from a very important yet stifling meeting. Sirius was intrigued, but wholly unfazed.

The third and most noticeable person up on the balcony was a short woman with a pursed, polite smile that was pointedly directed at the two men. She was wearing a violently pink, ruffled dress. The pink stood out like a warning beacon against the drab walls of her surroundings. Somehow, as he walked further into the room, Sirius felt his stomach twist more at the sight of her than at the sight of the two men, who most people would consider more physically threatening. 

Sirius almost smacked into the back of the soldier who had abruptly stopped walking in front of him. The servos in the arm, that still felt foreign to Sirius’s system, whirred gently as if bracing for some sort of impact. The soldier stepped to the side and, replacing him in Sirius’s field of vision, stood a small table holding a single, simple handgun. Across the room, a set of doors slowly slid open. Sirius's heart stuttered as bits and pieces started weaving together in his mind, unfolding to form a horrible image. 

“Mission: remove the target.” A sickly sweet voice echoed around the chamber. Goosebumps raised as Sirius felt an icy chill spread through his whole body. His heart was beating too fast and altogether too slow. Muscles tensed and servos whirred as sweat began to bead at his temple. 

“Pick up the gun and shoot.” The voice reverberated as if admonishing a young child. He felt like a child with sweaty palms and fluttering breath. 

“It’s ok.” Steely silver eyes locked with warm brown ones. “It’s ok.” 

“Complete the mission. This is your last warning.” Twinges of pain sparked up and down the metal arm as motivation protocols, which he was all too familiar with experiencing, were set off. Sirius thought of Regulus, his friends, and even of his parents. How he wished for them all. As the weight of the gun pressed against unforgiving metal representing flesh, he wished to be seven again. To be seven and innocent to the feeling of infected, rotting flesh. Deep brown eyes full of warmth and light met wavering, tear-filled silver ones once more.

But something snapped just then, deep inside his already fractured mind. He would see Regulus again. He had promised. The gun went up. Without ceremony, a body hit the floor with a thud.

“Mission completed,” A voice, devoid of any emotion, echoed from his lips. Up on the balcony, the woman smiled, a tyrannical giddiness dancing behind her eyes. The little boy of seven was no longer. He had swiftly and effectively ended that part of himself, just as intended and just as taught. 

 A swift numbness settled through his body as if the flesh was catching up to his actions. Eyes darted to where red now stained the cold, grey floors, slowly spreading over the concrete. Hands that had once held him through fever now lay limp, slowly stiffening as nature took its course. Eyes that once shone a wide light in darkness for him now lay half-lidded and dull; that light burned out.

He did that. He killed her.

And as technicians came to dispose of the body, he offered up a childish, selfish thought in tentative hope that her spirit still lingered in the air around his undeserving self. 

Sleep well, Andy. I’m…sorry.

As soon as the body was removed, dragged off to where he couldn’t see, he was brought back to his room. The incessant flickering and buzzing from the old little lamp next to the door filled the room to the point where he felt like he was drowning in the cacophony of noise. Metal and flesh beat brick as if the roles could be reversed. Agony spilled out like a kettle screaming.

He ended up in the same corner as that scared little boy of seven had. Legs curled and back bent as if to offer protection to the fragile bits and pieces held inside. It wasn’t comforting anymore, though. He didn’t feel like he could protect any longer. They had carved all the softness out of him and replaced it with cold, unforgiving metal. He could no longer be a shield. He was just a weapon. Just a piece of metal being hammered into shape.

He could do better. He would do better. He just needed to get out and get to Regulus. All he needed to do was find Regulus. If he could just remember and hold on to the memory of his brother, he would be fine. Even though he hadn’t seen him in nearly ten years, he would know him. Regulus was a part of him. Part of his very soul. He could never forget Regulus. 

He couldn’t tell how long they had left him there. He just sat. Sat, impossible still, staring at the little flashing light on the camera in the corner of the ceiling. He knew they would come for him at some point. He just had to wait.

Just as he was about to nod off into another fitful sleep, the door swung open and hit the wall with a loud bang. Two soldiers stood outside. Sirius was used to having an armed escort. He knew he was dangerously valuable to these people. However, something felt different this time. While the soldiers didn’t say anything or seem any different, Sirius knew that was something off. The tension was so thick, he could cut and serve it up like a piece of cake.

As they walked down the maze of tunnels that the compound was comprised of, there was the nagging feeling that every step brought him closer and closer to his demise. Eventually, they ended up in the auditorium-like space again, but it was wildly different this time; nothing was the same. Machines were placed everywhere with wires so dense in places you couldn’t see the floor, like thick vines choking out the concrete fortress. Technicians were scampering all over, like rats. And in the middle of it all, there was a chair. It was large, with restraints on the arm and leg rests. By the headrest, odd mechanics hovered over where his head would be.

What is it for? Is it just another test? What else are they going to do?

What else can they do?

“Sirius Black.” The same sickly sweet voice that now permeated Sirius’s mind came from behind the chair, and the woman with an ugly, nauseatingly bright magenta dress sauntered out from behind it. Now at level with her, Sirius could tell she was shorter, having to look slightly down to lock eyes with her, despite the heels she wore. 

Over the years, Sirius had seen evil, seen immorality in some of its worst forms. But he had never seen something so treacherous as the glimmer behind her eyes. It made his stomach sink to his toes. She looked at him with a certain hungry curiosity, like she wanted to take him apart, see what made him tick, and then reassemble him to her liking, tossing out whatever she deemed “unnecessary”. 

“Sirius Black, the boy who, beyond all doubt and every tribulation, risen.” 

 What the fuck? 

“You have been formed into the perfect asset. You will go down in history as the one who helped mold the passage of time. You will be granted a fresh beginning, with nothing to weigh you down. A clean slate, if you will. Your sole purpose is to be the one who will clear the way for a new era.” 

A clean slate? What does she mean by that? What are they going to do?  

“What are you waiting for? Wipe him.” 

Soldiers grabbed Sirius’s arms and started to drag him towards the chair. 

“No, no, no, no, no, what are you doing to me? What are you doing? Stop, please!” Weak from intense hunger, a consequence of a heightened metabolism left to its own devices, Sirius ultimately couldn’t fight his way out of the soldier’s arms. As thick metal cuffs trapped him in the wretched contraption, he still tried, struggling with an animalistic instinct. He had to try. But, as parts of his face were covered by pieces of sparking metal, he knew he wasn’t getting out. 

A scientist's voice spoke, holding no emotion or remorse, almost machine-like: “Initial memory wipe initiating, machine warming up.” 

“What do you mean by memory wipe? What do you mean by memory wipe?” His voice broke, pleading as if it would change anything. Sirius thrashed against the restraints, not caring that they dug into his skin and nearly cut off the circulation in his one good hand. Trapped. Icy fear flooded his veins. He couldn’t let them take away the one thing that kept him sane all these years. He needed Regulus. Trapped. He was trapped. “You can’t take him, you’ve taken everything else. Please just not him. I’ll be good, I promise. Please, I’ll do anything, please just don't take him.” A loud buzzing – similar to the very same airplane engines Sirius used to love as a kid – filled his ears, silencing his pleas.

“Machine primed, wipe commencing.” 

Pain. Pain like Sirius had never known filled his entire body, white hot and burning. Lighting coursed through his body. It felt like his brain was splitting in two. He wanted Regulus. He couldn’t forget Regulus. Nausea coursed up and vomit spilled out of his mouth, throat convulsing at the acidic taste of bile. Then the lightning stopped as quickly as it had started, and he could breathe once again as it slowly died down. 

He was sitting in a chair, the material and cuffs trapping him there, biting deep into his skin. There were people around him: soldiers, scientists, and her. He didn’t know them. A lady in a pink dress was staring at him almost expectantly, as if waiting for something. What the hell was this? He wanted his family. He wanted Regulus. If he was here, where was Regulus? Where was he? Where was Regulus?

“I want my brother. What have you done to him?” He demanded, the smell of vomit burning his nostrils as he inhaled, getting gulping breaths of air into his lungs. I have to get to Regulus.

“Do it again,” She commanded, her eyes never leaving his, watching intently.

“I want my brother!” Eyes flared back as lightning stripped his nerves bare. Nausea surged again as he could smell flesh on his face burning. He felt as if his bones were melting with the intense heat streaming through his body. And it stopped.

His face sagged, everything aching, his breathing heavy. “Where is Regulus?” he gasped out.

“Oh, for God’s sake– Do it again. And do it right this time.” 

He almost expected it this time, body tensing in preparation. His spine arched as fire rushed through his nervous system. As his eyes reached up, as if asking for deliverance from some higher power that he wasn’t for sure he believed in anymore, he met a pair of steely silver eyes, eyes he was sure he knew. They were so familiar. As his eyes pleaded with hers, cracked lips opening as if to yell, she turned. The last he saw of her was a tightly coiled bun of deep black hair. White painted over his vision and he blanked. 

“Well, do you still want Regulus?” She snarled.

“Who the hell is Regulus?” 

~ ☽ ✪ ☾ ~

30.09.12”

Memory wipe confirmed successful 

The asset placed in cryosleep to stabilize 

25.12.12”

Trial #346 of the Trigger Protocol-Successful

15.03.15” 

-Three years and countless targets later,

The asset woke up shivering, icicles still present in parts of its hair. Barely allowed time to adjust, two guards led it to a room containing only a metal table bolted to the ground and two chairs. 

“Sit.” One of them spoke. And, like a dog, the asset obeyed. Silent, eyes pinned forward in an intense stare that could burn through anything with emotionless silver. The presence of the two soldiers settled behind the asset, one on either side, hands placed on their guns. The threat hung heavy in the air.

An unpleasantly familiar woman in a disgustingly pink dress marched into the room, her kitten heels echoing on the cold concrete. A blank manila folder was tossed carelessly onto the table, sliding to a stop in front of the asset. A small red notebook gently placed onto the table in front of her.

“Your next mission.” The folder was opened to reveal a photo of a laughing, curly-haired boy, “James Potter.”