A/N I'm usually not into song fics… Oh alright I admit I am, but usually I don't like posting them, but I thought 'Don't Cry Out' by Shiny Toy Guns was perfect for my little excuse for an idea.
Summary: Sirius reflects on the task at hand. Appearances from unknown female. Some swearing and adult themes... Not sure about the T rating on this one but what the hell...
Disclaimer: I wish I could say I created all of the Harry Potter characters and then turned around and created a song as cool as 'Don't Cry Out' but... if I could I wouldn't be writing fan-fiction. So everything belongs to J.K and Shiny Toy Guns. :)
Counting
I don't get you.
I can't forget what you've forgotten,
all along,
I've never been so alone.
One tequila, two tequila, three tequila… Floor. I laugh at that. Laugh. Because every time I think of it I've just had a drink, and every time I have a drink I remember all the things that have ever happened to me that caused me pain but taught me something substantial at the same time.
I'm downing some substance I don't know the name of and my legs feel like jelly.
And I remember,
I remember watching my mother torturing a muggle girl just because she couldn't wave a wand, I remember meeting James and befriending him, I remember becoming an Animagus, I remember being a best man, I remember being a God Father, I remember fighting…
And I think, if I'm the only one who's going to remember these things then so be it. Because these aren't things I want to forget. I don't care if it hurts to look back and long for what I had, because at least if I look back I know I had it, once upon a time.
And so when she yells my name again, trying to grab my attention over the roar of the crowd. I ignore her and down whatever the bar tender puts down in front of me, because ultimately, it doesn't matter what it is, just what it does to me and fails to do to her.
Don't Cry Out
Cease Fire
I'm not into the whole sharing thing. Because let's face it, nobody wants to hear about anybody else's problems, because they don't know how to deal with them .
She says she wants to know what I'm thinking; he says he wants to know if I'm okay with what he's asked me to do.
'I'm living in irony,' I want to say, 'Because on the outside I seem to be calling death but on the inside I'm pushing it away so hard.'
'Fuck no,' I want to say, 'I'm twenty. I'm not made for this. Come back in thirty years or so when I'm wise and reliable and I know how to handle this without freaking out, come back when I've lived and deserve to die.'
Instead I say; "I'm fine. I'll just be bloody glad when this is all over."
Instead I say, "Of course I am mate. You'd die for me."
It doesn't stop the problem or stop this fucking war, but for the time being, it keeps the peace, and you need all the peace you can get when you're fighting a war.
I was pretending,
your secret kiss of confidence,
was my escape.
The perfect game to play..
I know why she's here. I know why she's with me. It's because she loves me. And while I want so desperately to love her back I know the real reason why I'm with her – it's because she's here with me but isn't there in the thick of the shit. And I need someone to distract me. Who doesn't know what the hell is happening – someone who doesn't know just how bad things are, so that when I come home having fought off death for just one more day I can be in the company of someone who's so far away from death she's practically immortal.
It's kind of perfect in a way, like being with her is hiding from death.
And that's kind of what the game is about, isn't it?
Ten nine eight and I'm breaking away
I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play
Seven six five four and I'm all over you
So I'm counting down in a way. Counting to what I'm not sure. Hell, heaven, nothingness… Whatever the hell, heaven. Nothing-bloody-ness it is, I'm petrified of it, so I try to make everything in between last so long. The memories that sting but make life so raw and the distractions keeping me sane… It's like I'm counting and I'm saying three, two and a half, two and a quarter, two and a twelfth…
And I'm drawing out all the syllables.
That's the problem with time though. It doesn't stop. And you can't keep drawing out all the syllables forever. Maybe in theory you can, because in theory you can do anything…
But I'll be honest (because I don't have time for anything much else) theory is a load of shit.
Counting three two one and I'm having fun...
Your fascination
with naked walls of silk and skin
With no conditions
I needed you to notice...
I get it you know. I think everyone gets it. He's not okay with everything and hell I can understand why he wouldn't be.
I just wish he'd notice why I'm here. I know he thinks I'm here because I love him. But all I really want to do is give him a distraction, because hell we all need one, and I just wish he'd give me one. Because I'm suffering too. I don't let on but I am. Fuck I'm not naïve.
Ten nine eight and I'm breaking away
I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play
Seven six five four and I'm all over you
Counting three two one and I'm having fun...
And I make myself promise for what seems like the fiftieth time that I'm going to leave tomorrow. That I'm not into being something unless I get something back and I'm walking away from him, into the sea of sweat and sick and colours and sounds, but then I think if being a distraction yet not being noticed is the worst thing that I get out of this war then I can handle it. Just to make someone who has a much worse part feel much better.
I'm counting the steps I take back. Backwards. I'm walking backwards. Backwards to him… Again. Even though I need him to notice I'm hurting too. Even though all I am is this distraction. Even though…
I guess when we're kids we think we'll always get our way. But in the end, we always make these compromises. I guess, we all give up on what we want.
Ten nine eight and I'm breaking away
I'm all dressed up and I'm ready to play
Seven six five four and I'm all over you
My head is spinning. The memories are gone. Somebody is supporting me and pulling me outside, into the cool air where there are no bright colours and nobody is screaming and yelling along to rock and roll.
I'm shoved into a car - or maybe I'm shoved onto a broom? - and nothing really is running through my head except numbers. Each of them representing something else. Distraction and memories. Not that I can recognise either but the numbers are there.
There are stars in front of my eyes and someone's clutching onto my arm saying, 'It's okay, we're almost home. You can sleep it all off.'
Everything's going black, and suddenly the numbers mean nothing but I'm saying them anyway.
Counting three, two, one and I'm having fun…
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