A little after sunrise the next morning, Remus cowered behind Buckbeak's shed, shivering and desperate. He hadn't seen Sirius since the night before, and he couldn't see anyone moving around in the cottage. He had never felt so wretched and scared in his life. Blood ran into his eyes, and he tried to wipe it away with the back his hand. His hand, however, was so scratched and mangled that all he accomplished was smearing the blood farther into his hair.

What a colossal fuck-up it had been. He shook uncontrollably, and the mud around the shed oozed between his bare feet. He hurt everywhere and resigned himself to many new scars. He looked back towards the house, craning his neck to peer into the windows. No movement. Nothing. He had to do something, but his brain was still muzzy from the transformation, and he couldn't think of what. Merlin, if he was in this bad a shape, what had he done to Sirius?

Eventually, the not knowing became a worse agony, and he pulled himself up and wrenched open the door to the shed. Buckbeak awoke, alarmed, and nodded to Remus sympathetically. The need for all the bowing and formality between the hippogriff and the two men had long since passed. Remus grabbed a rough, dusty blanket from a pile on the floor to cover himself and made his unsteady way back into the house.

He winced as he passed the gaping hole where the door had been, the splintered table and chairs in the kitchen, and the shredded settee cushions on the floor, looking like a slumber party from hell. He threaded his way through the debris in the sitting room to the bedrooms in the back. No Sirius. He retraced his steps back through the house with an unspeakable dread freezing his insides. Dogs did that, he thought. Crawled off somewhere alone to d—

"Sirius!" he shouted, his voice harsh and ripped from his raw throat. There, in the sitting room, he found him, still curled up near the now cold hearth, behind his favorite chair. Remus threw off the blanket and flung himself onto the floor towards Sirius. "Dear God, Sirius," he croaked, "oh, dear God."

Driven by his fear and guilt, Remus was insensible of his own pain and nakedness. Feeling undeserving even to touch him, Remus placed his hand gingerly on Sirius' chest, hoping and praying that he was still alive. Sirius' chest was slick and sticky with blood. Remus slid his hand through the gore and was relieved to feel the steady rising and falling of his breath and his strong heartbeat. But the blood. Dear heaven, there was so much of it. Sirius' blood, Remus' blood, mingled together in some sort of unholy sacrament. The iron tang of it seemed to coat his tongue, and the ammonia stench of urine assaulted his nostrils, gagging him. Sometime in the early morning, unable to move, Padfoot had pissed himself.

Remus recoiled mentally, and the memory of the night before came flooding back. What were the chances that all this blood congealing on Sirius' body was from scratches? Practically nil. Tears ran down Remus' face at the thought that he had condemned the person he loved more than life itself to such a fate, and not for the first time, he hated himself.

He curled up on the floor, pressing his body to Sirius', slipping a scratched and bleeding hand behind his neck, cradling his head in his arms, willing him to be all right. Remus' tears mingled with the feverish sweat soaking Sirius' hair, and he could taste the salt as he kissed him again and again. Sirius stirred.

"Moony," he choked out weakly, "I'm so sorry."

"Dear heavens, what have you got to be sorry about? I've done worse than kill you," Remus sobbed. Remus' face was a mess of tears and snot as he buried his face in Sirius hair.

"I really fucked it up, didn't I, Moony?"

"Hush, it was my fault. I'll never be able to forgive myself," Remus countered.

"Not your fault," Sirius whispered, "None of it's your fault, Remus."

"I shouldn't have forced to you make the potion. You said you didn't want—"

"I should've insisted." In spite of his pain, Sirius smiled. "Listen to us, would you?"

"Oh, Padfoot. What the bloody hell are we going to do now?" Remus held him close to stop them both from trembling.

"Find our wands, patch ourselves up, and get on with things, Moony. Just like we always do."

Remus closed his eyes. Sirius didn't understand, and he hated saying it out loud. "I mean about you, love. We've got a hell of a mess on our hands here."

"What are you on about, Remus?"

Remus held Sirius so tightly he winced from the pain, but he couldn't let go of him. Finally, he spoke the dreaded words, "I bit you, Sirius. There's no way I couldn't have. You know what that means."

Sirius' eyes grew wide, and he looked up at Remus. The utter desolation he saw there brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"We need to get you patched up and away from here, Padfoot. Dumbledore will know what to do. I'll go . . . I don't know . . . somewhere. I'm just not safe. I'm a menace. First Hogwarts, and now this."

Sirius grabbed Remus by the hair and pulled his face down to meet his. "Shut up, Moony. Don't talk like that."

"You don't know what you're saying, do you? Sirius, I just—"

"Didn't bite me," Sirius finished.

Remus shook his head. "Sirius, just look at yourself. These are bites. I'm so sorry, Sirius, but they're bites."

"Padfoot, Remus. You bit Padfoot. You didn't bite me."

Remus rocked back and forth with Sirius in his arms. Still disbeliving after a moment, he asked, "You're sure?"

"Not even a nibble. I swear it. Merlin, is that what you were thinking?" Sirius buried his face in Remus' neck. "Poor Moony."

Remus shuddered violently from the trauma and the cold. "Still," he said, "it's not worth the risk. I'm not safe to be around. Maybe people have been right all along."

"Stop it. Just stop it," Sirius interjected. He put his hands on either side of Remus' face and looked into his golden eyes. "Merlin, would you look at us, love? We're a right mess. But we have to stick together. Strange as it seems right now, it's safer that way for both of us. And even if it weren't, I will not lose you again." He smiled before continuing. "Besides, who else would have us?"

Sirius was satisfied to see Remus' mouth twitch at the corners. "Promise me, Moony. Swear to me that you'll go straight to London when I head north."

Remus fell silent. Sirius pressed home the advantage he had in Remus' guilt. "Swear to me, Remus."

"I swear it, Sirius," he whispered.

Sirius nodded his head, satisfied. Then, he pulled Remus closer to him, and amidst the tears, the sweat, the piss, the snot, and the blood, they bound themselves even closer to each other with a kiss.