Chapter Nine

'A ghaoil,' Lyall Lupin murmured, eyes roving over Remus, and the broken form of Sirius in his arms, 'Bring him in.'

The grey stone cottage was just as Remus remembered, and he stooped under the lintel and turned right into the lounge. The rug that covered the stone floor was more worn that it had been the last time he had visited, after Hope's wake. His father looked worn as well, as though he too were fraying at the edges since his wife's death.

Fabian ducked in behind him, but Remus heard his footsteps faulter and stop in the hall behind him. He didn't need to look to know Lyall had pulled his wand, hearing his soft Gaelic accent harden, the Scots he spoke rougher in concern.

'And who are ye?'

Remus barely registered switching to Welsh, 'Arhoswch, Tad.' He shook his head and turned, Sirius still held tight against him, 'Stop, it's fine.' He said again in English, 'This is Fabian Prewett. He's with me.'

Lyall took a steading breath and lowered, but did not put away, his wand.

He sighed, 'You can put him on the sofa, Remus-lad.'

Remus shook his head, 'He's filthy…'

That made his father's lip twitch, 'When is he anything else?'

Sirius had not been conscious after they apparated, and Remus felt slightly less bad about gently lowering him to the well-worn sofa. He straightened, dragging his eyes away from the terrifying thinness and the grime coating Sirius' skin.

Fabian took the initiative, 'I'll put the kettle on? Kitchen is this way, right?' And he stomped off in his dragonhide boots towards the back of the house.

Lyall took in his son, even now Remus felt like Lyall could see straight through him. From the way his hands were balled at his side, to the slight turn of his body, protective over Sirius' unconscious form.

'I've not got much, but I reckon I can scrape some galleons, pounds and francs together and a portkey. Get you out to wherever you want to go.'

The warm rush of love that belted through Remus' chest was like ecstasy. He actually laughed, though he couldn't remember the last time he had, and the surprised look on his father's face made it worse. He had to fight for air and not to just collapse with it on the carpet.

He crossed the small room in two steps and flung his arms around his dad. They were about the same height, and it was less than a second before Lyall was hugging him back hard.

'It's okay. We didn't stage a prison break.'

Lyall was laughing too then, he let go of Remus and held him at arm's length, 'Thank Rowena!'

His father's gaze drifted back to Sirius. 'He's been in Azkaban this whole time?'

Remus nodded, his voice cracked as he spoke, 'It wasn't him. It was Peter. We need Sirius to testify, and he couldn't… not straight from that place. Dadi…' He shook his head, the childish name bubbling out as the memory of the place filled him, 'It's beyond words.'

'Aye, I know that well enough.'

Remus frowned, 'You've been there?'

'Oh aye. For research on the bloody things.' His father sat in his patchy armchair, and Remus folded onto the floor next to the sofa. It was his favourite spot next to the fireplace at the best of times, but he couldn't bear to be further than necessary from Sirius.

'I reckon he's quite effected by them at the best of times?'

Remus nodded, 'Yes. For all the reasons you can think.' He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, 'We needed somewhere to put on record as taking him. I thought, what with it being your job… well and the Aurors weren't happy about his flat.'

Fabian appeared then, carrying the tea tray. He had found a packed of bourbons and put them on a plate. He had even brought a fourth cup, just in case.

'I'll say. Me and Gid – my brother, Mr. Lupin – were there. Sirius' knows his wards.'

Lyall smirked, 'Wouldn't expect any less of him. But aye, if the Ministry ask, I can produce all manner of paperwork to prove he's safe here.'

'Ta Tad.'

He shook his head, 'Well, you'd better tell me all of it.'

It took about an hour. By then end Lyall was pacing the rug, his famous temper loosened.

'I've a fucking mind to have words with Albus, what's the old cunt thinking?'

Fabian flinched, but Remus just grinned, 'Da spent quite some time in Glasgow, it's a term of affection there.'

Lyall pushed a hand through his greying hair, a gesture Remus' knew he had inherited, 'So, the most important thing here is Sirius, isn't that right lad?'

He was looking over Remus' shoulder, but Remus jumped all the same as the croaked voice from behind him.

'Can't say I know what the fuss is about myself, fy annwyl Lyall.'

Remus spun on the spot. Sirius' eyes were cracked open slightly, still a little glazed.

'Fy annwyl?! When did your Welsh get good enough to 'my dear Lyall' anything?'

Sirius cracked a grin, 'Your mum taught me.'

Remus squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, leaning forward so his head butted against Sirius' forehead. You utter fucking eejit.

Sirius' hand brushed his shoulder, and Remus could hear in his breathing how much the movement cost him. He sat back, watching Sirius' face so carefully, trying to assess what damage had been done.

'Right, Fabian?' Lyall sounded business like, 'Can you nip upstairs and put the shower on? It takes a while to heat up.'

Fabian bounded off, eager to be out of the way of family.

Lyall stood next to his son and crouched down, Remus winced as his knees clicked.

'How are you doing in there, Sirius?'

Sirius did not look at Remus, his eyes were locked on Lyall's face, 'I've had better hangovers, to be honest.'

It hurt. But that was why Remus had brought Sirius here above all else. Lyall was an expert in all Magical Creatures, but the Spirit division was his calling. Boggarts, poltergeists. And Dementors. If there was anyone who had any idea how to put Sirius back together, it was his father.

Lyall nodded, 'We'll get you through the bathroom, into some clean clothes. That's a start eh?'

Sirius went to nod, and then winced, 'Reckon I've got concussion.' He muttered.

'Aye. We'll see about that too.' He used Remus' shoulder to leaver himself up, 'Can you stand?'

Sirius gave it a good try, he really did. But Remus saw the blanch and pressed a hand to his shoulder. He tried to ignore the way Sirius flinched. 'Don't throw up in my da's nice lounge. I can help.'

The staircase was too narrow for Remus to carry Sirius in his arms, so in the end Lyall went up backwards, holding Sirius' arms, and Remus went behind, hands on Sirius' back to support him. Fabian ducked out of the bathroom into the landing so they could help him in.

Sirius sat on the edge of the bath, swaying slightly and out of breath. He shot a panicked look at Remus, then glanced at Lyall.

Remus felt the tiniest brush like moth wings at the edge of consciousness, … I can't…

It hurt, as much as the flinch downstairs. But Remus could understand it. They had lived together for a year before Remus had truly felt comfortable taking his clothes off in front of Sirius, and scars aside, he had never looked as bad as Sirius did now.

He spoke before Lyall could, 'Da, can you help Sirius? I'll dig out some clothes and make up the bed.'

Thankfully Lyall nodded, 'Of course, you know where everything is.'

Lyall had vanished the robes before he helped Sirius roll backwards into the bathtub. He had propped him up against the side under the water, rolling up his sleeves to wash Sirius himself.

If he had any shame left, it would have burnt him up as he watched the water run black from his body. But what little he could have felt had left when he had been too weak to let Remus stay, to let Remus help.

Sirius was not entirely sure any of this was actually happening. Not even when Lyall had half carried him into the room he knew so, so well. He managed to towel himself off, and struggle into the clothes left out for him. Remus' soft flannel pyjama bottoms, and an old t-shirt. His shoulders were, once, broader than Remus' and he got into trouble for borrowing shirts and jumpers.

He had to swallow a lump the size of Gryffindor tower when he pulled the jumper over his head though. He recognised the blue knit at once, right down to the hole his thumb slid through in the cuff. Hope had knitted it for him, for a birthday. He hadn't seen it since Remus had… obviously Remus had taken it with him. Remus wore it all the time anyway.

His breath was shaky as he brought his eyes up to Lyall's face again. The man he had thought of as a father-in-law was watching him carefully. It was almost as though he could hear the screaming in Sirius' head, see the shadows moving at the edges of his vision. Maybe he could. Or, if he was a hallucination maybe he knew anyway.

'Hungry?'

Sirius fought the urge to retch, 'No.'

'Mmm. You always were as bad as Remus.'

Sirius couldn't help rolling his eyes. He didn't speak though, his throat was so raw.

'You should talk about it.' Lyall was calm, but firm, 'I know you won't want to. But you need to process. We need to see about healing…' He waved a hand in Sirius' general direction, and Sirius barked a laugh. He came out as a croak.

'I don't like the look of some of those tattoos.'

Sirius felt his lip curl into something between a smirk and a sneer, 'How they look or what they are?'

'Both.' He sighed and leant against Remus' old desk, 'Are you hallucinating?'

Sirius considered this, 'Yes.'

'Do you know which is hallucination and which isn't?'

He shook his head and the room spun, 'Not a clue. Haven't had anything this nice, or this long before.'

Lyall nodded, 'Well, you really are in Wales, in my house. Remus and…' He frowned, 'Fabian. They brought you here from Azkaban.'

Sirius' lip twitched, 'You'd say that if I was mental.'

'Probably. It will get easier to tell, and the hallucinations will stop.'

'They will?'

'They'll be less vivid. People have survived longer stints in Azkaban, with minimal long term…' Lyall sighed, 'Fuck, Sirius I'm so sorry.'

Sirius swallowed, 'It's fine. If this –' He had to clear his throat, 'If it's real, thank you. I should be the one apologising.'

The floorboard outside creaked, and they both whipped around to look at it. Sirius nearly toppled off the bed, but then they heard Remus' muffled curse.

Lyall glanced at Sirius, but he looked away. He couldn't bear Lyall looking at him for permission. This was all too much.

'Won't you come in Remus?' Lyall called out.

Sirius studied the rug. It was a nice rug, made of all different colours and types of fabric. Hope had bought it from a market, and it had always smelt of joss sticks. And wasn't as soft on knees and backs as it looked, he thought as memories trickled in – Remus' hands in his hair, on his mouth, Sirius digging his nails into the rug for purchase swallowing the moans.

He shook his head to try to clear it and the room swam again. He must have swayed because then Remus' hands were right there. On his knee, on his shoulder. Holding him in place.

Sirius tried to grin, but his voice was so rough, and his head was pounding, 'Alright Lupin?' Lupin was right, wasn't it? They were fighting. They broke up. He wasn't Moony when they were broken up.

Remus' smiled tightly, 'Yeah Pads, I'm alright. Let's get you lying down, and I can have a look at that concussion.'

His hands were firm as he steered Sirius backwards to lie with his head on the pillow. He wanted to fight back, to push Remus away. He didn't deserve this. But everything hurt and the world would not stop spinning. He could hear Lyall speaking quietly from where he still leant against the desk. Gàidhlig, his scrambled brains provided, Remus' dad spoke Scottish Gaelic at home. Remus spoke Welsh back, but any ability to follow along had left him. He heard his name a few times and turned his face to the wall as Remus' waved his wand over Sirius.

'Oh Pads.' Remus was so quiet now, Sirius couldn't look at him. 'What did you do to your hands?'

Those he could look at. He lifted his left so he could see it, 'Runes.' He croaked.

'What runes?' Remus was rummaging in the healer's kit from under the Lupin's kitchen sink. Sirius new it of old.

'Bind runes…' He wasn't actually certain. They were, well, utterly terrible. But that might just be his vision.

'I see.' Remus' voice was flat. There was silence for a moment, and then he said, 'Show me the rest.'

Sirius could have argued, could have pointed out Remus had no rights to his body, his skin, anymore. He could have said his head hurt, and the room span when he was upright. But…

Biting back the nausea, the insistent feeling that this was all a hallucination anyway, he pushed himself up. He bit the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood, as he managed to rise to kneeling.

The jumper and t-shirt – James', he now realised, an old Quidditch shirt – came off as one. He could feel his skin pulling over the bones of his ribs as he stretched. He waved a hand towards his legs, but taking off the pyjamas was too much like effort.

Remus said nothing. The moments stretched between them. Had he been even an ounce more well he would have rolled away, said something snappy. Had he done that, Remus' hand wouldn't have come to rest just below his diaphragm. Remus wouldn't be getting onto the bed and wrapping them both in the thick woollen blanket, as he pulled Sirius into his arms.

'Fuck it.' Sirius wasn't sure if he had said it aloud. If this was a hallucination, then there was one thing he needed to do before it inevitably turned dark and bad. He wrapped his arms around Remus. One hand sliding up under his jumper at the back to feel Remus' skin.

He was warm, the smoothness of his skin broken by the ragged scars Sirius' knew better than his own. He let his fingers trace them as far under Remus' clothes as he could reach. It was only when Remus' arms, wrapped tightly around his bare back and shoulders began to tremor that he froze. It was coming now, whatever awful route this hallucination was going to take.

Nothing happened.

He could feel Remus' breath on his hair. Remus' heart racing against his cheek.

He waited.

He knew he was shaking. Sirius' hand had frozen on his back, and it was only because he could feel the rise and fall of his shallow breath, he knew Sirius was still alive.

It wasn't fair, he knew, to be angry with Sirius. He had been when he had finally seen the mess that was his hands. The half-healed teeth marks that spread down his wrists and forearms. They must be where the blood in the cell had come from.

Sirius' body was… were there even words for this? The tattoos had been growing in number since they first met. He knew the ring on his right thigh, the death run on his left hip, and a handful of others he had arrived at Hogwarts with. The clock they had designed together, the dog made of Viking knotwork on his shoulder blade, these he knew. He had gathered more and more. Though after Remus made him promise in fourth year not to do them himself anymore, they had all been professional. Or at least, not carved into his skin with a knife.

He could smell the infection spreading through Sirius skin. It wasn't even that. It was the prison number scored into his neck, as though Azkaban had marked him for its own. That was what was making his arms shake, making his heart thunder in his chest. The past few months, no. The past eighteen months without Sirius had been torture, and now he was back in his arms and terrified, waiting for Remus to strike.

He tried to take a shuddering breath, but all it did was fill his head with the scent of Sirius, cleaner now, but still wrong from that place. From the fear that had frozen him in place.

He was distinctly aware that Sirius was shirtless. That wasn't quite what Remus had meant, he tried to convince himself. Except, the wolf growled, and Remus growled too. He had needed to see, needed to know. Even if Sirius never wanted him back.

Except… Sirius hand was under his shirt, calloused fingers pressed against his hip.

He forced his hands to move, trying to let go of Sirius.

'Please.' It was a rasp more than a word. Remus lent back slightly to look at Sirius.

'What?'

'Please… don't go.' He wasn't meeting Remus' eye, his patchy beard looked awful compared to his normal film-star stubble.

Remus felt like his ribs were bubbling, nervous energy eating away at him.

'Let me get my wand.'

The tiny nod Sirius gave made him want to scream. He knew that look, the kicked-puppy-expecting-to-be-kicked-again look. He reached off the low bed to scoop it from the floor. Sirius didn't move, didn't look up. His hand didn't leave Remus' hip either.

He pressed it to Sirius temple, murmuring the healing charm for a concussion. There were certain things that had to be done first.

Sirius blinked. The awful stabbing in his head slipped away, taking the worst of the nausea with it.

'That bad?' He croaked.

'Mmm.' Remus voice was at least half an octave down, and Sirius was almost certain he wasn't imagining the growl under his words. It made his hackles rise, and he pressed his face into Remus' shoulder.

But then Remus' arms were around him again. The tremors in his arms where still there, even as his hands moved over Sirius' skin, fingers seeking the ragged rise and fall of scars and tattoos. Sirius had always wondered why some of his ink had raised scarring, and others didn't. His older, hand-made ones mostly, so it was probably his fault.

He hissed and flinched away from Remus' hand as it brushed the new marks on his ribs. He didn't have many directions to move in and pressed himself closer to Remus in the moment. That was enough though.

Suddenly Remus' hands were in his hair and pressing against his back, pinning him to Remus' chest and the only thing Sirius wanted, the only thing he could do was to turn his face and press his lips against Remus' neck.

Then Remus' mouth was hunting for his and Sirius had never been gladder that Lyall had given him some mouth wash in the bathroom. Everything melted away in that moment, there was nothing left in the world, past or future, but them.

A.N.: Sorry! I know I said we'd go see the Potters, but this chapter got away from me a bit. But, you know, Remus and Sirius seem to be making up, so that's good right?