Disclaimer: JK Rowling I believe, has never written Sirius and Remus making out and if I was her, that situation would be rapidly rectified.
You don't wake up this morning. After all, how can you wake up if you never slept in the first place? You can't. Obviously. You grimace and tell yourself that you're not really that tired anyway. It's a lie, these sleepless nights are catching up with you. The only time you find yourself capable of sleep anymore is when Remus stays the night - or when you pass out from drinking too much. And you've promised Remus you'll stop that now.
You don't wake up because instead of sleeping, you spent the night lying on your side, staring at the clock on your bedside locker, watching the hands move agonisingly slowly towards a time acceptable to get up at.
Remus has been gone for two weeks, off to god only knows where, and in those fourteen days you've only slept for five hours in total. And then you woke up panting, in a cold sweat. You wonder vaguely if you could die from insomnia. Maybe. It would probably be a relief, you think. You'd never intentionally kill yourself though - your years in Azkaban proved that much - but you can't help but think that death would be easier than this. At least Kreacher wouldn't be there, you reason, and maybe you'd get to see James and Lily again.
You quickly shake your head to rid your mind of these thoughts. Poison. You won't kill yourself while there's still something left to live for. Those - ever rarer - nights with Remus. Talking to Harry through the fire. Small things maybe, but they're keeping you sane.
Insanity.
You danced on the edge of it for twelve long years. And yet you managed to avoid it. Or so you think…what if that's some sort of illusion your mind is playing on you? You've heard somewhere that the mad are always convinced they're perfectly normal. What if you really did lose your mind in Azkaban? Or maybe you were fine after Azkaban and you're losing it now? Can you go insane from insomnia? Is that possible? You feel very close to it. With every sleepless hour, you feel your sanity splintering, until you're sure there'll be nothing left but a madman, laughing hysterically until you can't laugh any longer. And then you'll cry. And swear to every god you've ever heard of that you didn't mean it. And beg for forgiveness from two dead people. And apologise without end to Harry for killing his parents.
You should probably be doing that now, though Remus has told repeatedly that it wasn't your fault and Harry doesn't want to hear it. You find that very difficult to believe. You find it very difficult to believe that Harry doesn't hate you with every fibre of his body. You find it very difficult to believe that Remus hasn't slept with Tonks and continues to come to your bed instead.
But mostly you find it very difficult to believe that you were once sixteen, and relatively carefree and that you laughed and hexed Snape by the lake in June and slagged off James because Evans refused him again and stared with jealousy at the girl Remus fancied.
It seems a ridiculously long time ago and you wish fervently you had it back. But it's gone now. Far beyond reach. You close your eyes and begin to nod off but jolt awake just at the approach of sleep. Your face scrunches up in frustration and you feel like screaming. Firewhiskey or Remus. You need one of them. You're desperate for sleep.
You grimace. You can feel your body tensed up like a spring, you're incapable of relaxing. There're a million and one thoughts clamouring for attention in your head and you need sleep so badly but you just can't get it. Since Remus's ultimatum, you've tried four potions, a sleeping charm and chamomile fucking tea in the place of Firewhiskey. None have worked.
Even in Azkaban, you were too weak to be so on edge. You slept better in the company of Dementors than you do now. It's bloody ridiculous. Now, you feel like a child again. Terrified of nightmares and the memories of your family and torn apart by guilt and completely unable to put it all behind you.
You try to reign in this mess of thoughts. Your mind is working a hundred a miles an hour and with the twisted internal monologue it's coming up with, you wonder yet again if this is what madness is.
You glance at the clock. Half past seven. A little early maybe but you may as well be up doing something, even if it is only cleaning. You fling back the suffocating bed covers and shiver involuntarily at the early morning cold. Among the messy pile of clothes on the armchair near your bed, you pick out something half decent and slowly get dressed. You pass by a mirror without sparing a glance. You know you'll look like shit anyway - or death warmed up, as Molly told you the other day. Charming woman. The thought is laced with sarcasm and venom, though some of it is doubtless brought on by desperate insomnia. At least, that's your excuse.
You trudge slowly down the stairs, your movements far more sluggish than your thoughts. As you pass the twins' bedroom and Molly and Arthur's, you remember vaguely that you should attempt to keep the noise down but you don't really care enough to actually do that. You eventually reach the kitchen, intent on finding coffee, and shove open the stiff door. Sitting at the table is a brightly haired Tonks.
'Oh, hi Sirius!' she says chirpily, grinning at you. You groan inwardly. If you thought the night was long…
AN: god, the angst just kept going there, didn't it? Too much? Tell me through that little button down there *points to 'review' button*