Because the world is no fairy tale, there's no warning and Sirius doesn't really remember much of what happens before. He's laughing, he knows that, at some stupid joke James told. Remus is sighing at them as he pulls the bread out of the toaster to lay on plates. Still sleepy-looking, Lily is rolling her eyes at all of them.
And Sirius is laughing. He's still laughing when his phone rings, some cursed ringtone that makes his friends fall into cackles themselves. He picks up his phone, making threatening gestures at them, when a voice he hasn't heard in years comes through the phone speaker.
"Is this Sirius Black?"
Sirius freezes, air turned to ice in his chest. His lungs seize, struggling, and suddenly he has to force himself to breathe. He knows this voice, had heard it throughout his entire childhood, but then he left and his little brother stayed—and what could Regulus possibly want with him?
"Yes," Sirius says, laughter long gone and only coldness remaining in his voice. His friends, clever people that they are, turn sharp at his tone, their attention centred solely on him. "What do you want Regulus?"
There's some kind of sound from Regulus' side, though Sirius can't make out what. "Mother died," Regulus says, a heartbeat late. There's no regret in his voice, at least none that Sirius can tell, nor is there any sadness either. The only thing he hears is exhaustion, bone-deep. "We need to go home."
Sirius blinks. "We?" He says, bypassing the rest of what Regulus had said. When he left, sixteen to Regulus' fourteen, his younger brother had stayed with their parents, a pale imitation of their vitriol and hate. Sirius had never thought his brother would leave, especially with the group he fell into and became friends with. To be honest, Sirius had thought it more likely that Regulus would die young.
But no, they're now both in their twenties and Regulus isn't dead but their mother is.
"Yes," Regulus says, and he sounds impatient now. "I meant we. I can't stay out in goddamn Boddam when our mother is off in London, can I? The funeral will be there, and so that's where the will will be read too. We both have to go down there."
That's… Boddam isn't far from Dufftown, which is where Sirius ended up settling with all of his friends, near the boarding school where they'd all met. He can't believe that Regulus is nearby—and so far from London and the house they'd both called home, once.
"When is it?" Sirius asks, mentally flicking through his calendar. He doesn't know what he's thinking. He's always hated Walburga, and it's not like he cares for any of his biological family either. And yet, he's planning to go. He knows he is.
It's ridiculous, entirely insane, and yet…
"This Sunday," Regulus says. "I know it's short notice, but no one bothered to reach out to me."
Or to you.
The words go unsaid, but Sirius hears them anyway—and he's pleased by it, even though he's now very curious as to why Regulus is on the no-communication list. Sirius knows why he's there, but he would have thought it impossible for perfect little Regulus to end up on there. What happened?
"How are you getting down there?" Sirius asks as he thinks. He'll need to call his boss and get leave, which shouldn't be too hard. He likes his boss, and it's not like they'll be a mechanic down if he takes a weekend off or whatever.
Regulus sighs, the phone only just catching it. "I imagine I'll drive down." There's a pause, in which Sirius doesn't speak, and then, cautiously, Regulus offers, "I can drive you down as well, if needed."
It's an awful decision. The last time that Sirius and Regulus had seen each other face to face, they'd had an argument fit to break the ceiling. Then, afterwards, Sirius had left and he'd never seen Regulus again, didn't even know what was happening in the other's life.
God, the last time Sirius had seen Regulus he'd told his brother that he hated him—and he had. It's not something that Sirius had ever regretted saying, because it'd been true even if his brother had only been a child.
"That would be… good," Sirius says at last, jolted into action by the frown James sends his way. "Text me the details? I'll… send you my address, I suppose."
"Yes," Regulus says, curt and familiar and a stranger all at once, "that would be useful." Then, without further ado, he hangs up and Sirius is holding his phone, his mother is dead, and he will be seeing for the first time in years in the next few days.
Needless to say, he's not entirely sure what he's gotten himself into, but it'll certainly be something.
"This is an awful idea," James says, hovering at Sirius' shoulder as he does his best to shove the final shirt in. He probably shouldn't have left packing to the morning of but, well, Sirius has never learnt to plan ahead very well. That's what his friends are for.
Shrugging, Sirius manages to finally get the shirt in the bag and zip it shut. "Well, too late to change anything," he says, before turning to grin at James. "Besides, I'll be fine. It's only Regulus."
"Yeah, and that's precisely what I'm worried about! Your brother was an absolute- Well, he was pretty awful as a child, you must remember. The two of you never got along! Name one time when you were on good terms with one another."
Sirius pauses in thought and the silence stretches. He tries to remember a time when he and Regulus had gotten along, properly, and not just because of Walburga's domineering eye watching them.
"Exactly!" James' satisfaction is clear, as is his worry, but it's far too late to change anything even if Sirius wanted to.
Besides, it's not like Sirius is unaware just how bad of an idea this all is. After all, it's his brother—even if Sirius did get disowned and Regulus… Well, Sirius still doesn't know what happened there, and he's eager to find out.
Perhaps Remus was onto something when he said that curiosity would see Sirius killed.
On the countertop in the kitchen, Sirius' phone buzzes. He picks it up as he goes pass. "Well," he says, "Regulus is here. I should get going."
There's no going back from here, and that knowledge sends a thrill through Sirius' body. He mightn't be a teenager any longer, but that doesn't mean he no longer loves seeking thrills.
"This is a bad idea," James says, hesitating like a mother hen at the doorstep.
Rolling his eyes, Sirius turns to face him. "Yeah," he agrees, "it is. But I'm curious and the old hag's dead. Worst case scenario, I'll find my own way home. Won't be the first time I've gone backpacking across the UK. I'll be fine."
At long last, James finally looks appeased. "Well, I suppose out of all of us you'll probably manage the best. Look after yourself, yeah?"
"Of course," Sirius manages to say, just before James tugs him forward into a hug. Sirius grips him back, tight, before stepping away. "Look after everyone for me. I'll be in touch."
"Remus wants you to send us a message each night with your location and let us know that no one's shanked you yet," James says, as Sirius turns to go.
A laugh bursts out of him, surprising both he and James. "I'm sure Remus was the one who wanted to know," he says. Remus knows perfectly well that Sirius can look after himself and was, in fact, one of the first to willingly tell Sirius to go.
"You're right," James almost-shouts as Sirius continues down the hall. "It was Lily!"
The smile on Sirius' face takes him down from their apartment and out onto the street, where the world is grey and cold as it all too often is in the early morning.
Near where he is, there's a dark grey car parked, engine still running. Dust lines the bottom half and mud has splattered near the wheels. It's the kind of car that Sirius would hate to come into the mechanic shop for repairs—they always have to wash cars that dirty to get to anything without covering themselves with mud. There's no external damage as far as he can tell, though the car's at least a decade old based on the model and make.
Silently, the window winds down and Sirius steps forward, glancing inside and there sits the person who must be his brother. Regulus.
Regulus looks at him and Sirius looks back, and they're both frozen, fourteen and sixteen, one running away and one staying. Then, the moment is broken as Regulus looks away. "Well?" He demands, every inch the bitter unhappy teen Sirius had left behind. "Are you getting in? Your bag can go in the backseat."
"Right," Sirius says, teeth already gritted. He's beginning to regret saying yes. He opens the back door and tosses in his bag. There's another bag already there, dark blue. He shuts the door before getting into the passenger seat.
"Careful," Regulus complains when the door slams shut. "Don't slam the doors."
Sirius breathes, slow, and tells himself not to bite back. Regulus will chill out, surely, and things will get easier. The ten-hour drive won't be like this the whole time.
If it does, Sirius is definitely going to abandon ship at the first petrol station and head back home. He forgot how irritating his brother was. Is.
"Hello to you too," Sirius says as Regulus pulls out onto the street, and his brother grunts in response. Sirius watches him, drinking in his new appearance, seeing all the things that have changed, trying to find what hasn't.
Regulus is focussed on the road and doesn't look at him, which is probably for the best. The most obvious thing to Sirius is that Regulus no longer keeps his hair short, as he did for the first fourteen years of his life. Instead, his hair is long, reaching past his shoulders, curls forming a mess that's not quite worth being called curly but isn't straight enough to be called waves either.
His hair isn't the only thing that's changed, either. He's wearing a massive hoody, some pale purple thing that their parents would have hated, and ripped jeans that Sirius wouldn't be surprised to see in his own wardrobe. The only other remarkable thing is that his ears—at least the one that Sirius can see—are pierced; firsts, seconds, and helix.
God, their parents would have hated him. What caused so much change? What life does Regulus now live?
The silence gets on Sirius' nerves and the radio isn't playing anything worth listening to either. "So," Sirius says, drawing the word out. "Dear old mother's dead, how do you feel?"
That causes Regulus to look at him, a quick movement that allows Sirius to spot the makeup his brother now sports. He's irrationally annoyed that Regulus somehow manages to make it look good, as opposed to when Sirius wears it—it looks like a five-year-old tried to put it on whenever Sirius tries.
"How do you think I feel about it?" Regulus says, and his tone is aggravating. He's spoiling for a fight, Sirius imagines. He's the same. "She's dead."
"And good riddance!" Sirius says with a grin.
For all that the words sound like a joke, they're not—and both occupants of the car know it. This is the only olive branch that Sirius can extend, the only thing he imagines that they have in common.
But he receives no response from Regulus who, instead, just turns up the volume dial on the radio. The music is still shit.
The drive continues on in silence.
At some point, between some patch of green paddocks and another patch of green paddocks, Sirius falls asleep. He's pushed his seat right back and shoved his feet up on the dash, and Regulus didn't say a word, so he just tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
He only wakes up when the car rumbles to a stop out the front of a service station. The sudden silence has him jerking awake, though the awakening is smoother than it had been in his childhood; lacks the fear those awakenings usually had.
"We stopping for lunch?" Sirius asks, stretching his arms. He yawns, doesn't cover his mouth, and Regulus doesn't say a word about his manners. It's strange. New. Sirius doesn't know what to think about it all.
His brother opens the car door and stands. His hoody turns out to be even bigger than Sirius had thought. "Need to top up the tank," Regulus says, then inclines his head. "And we'll also get some lunch here. We've got a while ahead of us still."
It's a ten-hour trip to London, split into two days, but they're planning to get there early afternoon Saturday with any luck. God forbid Sirius sees any of his actual family though, or he might just take someone's head off. He doesn't even know why he's coming except to celebrate that Walburga is dead, which is definitely worthy of a grand party.
A party that Sirius could have cajoled his friends into throwing, rather than going to a funeral with his brother, driving there cross-country, and basically not saying a single world.
God, Sirius really shouldn't have come. It was insane to think that any of this would work. That he could get along with his brother. That things would, somehow, impossibly, work out okay now. He would've been better just-
Regulus gets back into the car and throws something at him, that he only just catches. He holds the brown paper bag, confused, as Regulus shoves drinks in the middle console with a scowl that seems somewhat forced.
"What's this?" Sirius asks, unfolding the top to take a peek inside.
The car grumbles to life as Regulus' scowl grows. "What do you think?" He says, words sharp, "Lunch. Hope you still like toasted sandwiches."
Sirius blinks, caught off-balance. It's not that he doesn't like toasted sandwiches, he does, but… He'd mentioned it once, from memory, at home. Their parents had gone off and shouted about food made for the poor and some kind of bullshit—but Regulus had remembered, had kept it in mind, had thought of it now.
And, in fact, not only is there a toasted sandwich in the bag, there's also a muffin in a separate bag to go along with it. Blueberry, because Sirius has a dislike of chocolate that has most people asking if he's ever been traumatised by it and insisting that he has to try this new thing with chocolate pieces sprinkled within. It's insane to think that Regulus remembered such small things, that he's carried them with him for years.
Perhaps… Perhaps things won't be so bad.
"Thanks," Sirius says, belated, still feeling strange. Regulus doesn't respond but, when Sirius glances at him, he looks more at peace. Settled.
They drive off, again, but it feels better this time. Sirius muses over this as he eats, more than willing to take his time. The food isn't great, which isn't surprising considering that it's only service station food, but it's free food and that makes it more than good enough.
About an hour down the road, when the food and drinks are all gone, Sirius finally asks Regulus the question that's been on his mind this entire time. "What happened?"
Regulus' eyebrows furrow together. "With what?" He asks, and impatient with it.
Waving his hand, Sirius expands, "With the whole family. Why did you get told so late about the funeral? Why don't you care for her? Why aren't you-"
"Myself?" The word snaps out of Regulus, anger clear, and exactly what Sirius means. He just nods.
Silence rings in the car for a moment or two before Regulus sighs, fingers drumming along the steering wheel once, twice, before stilling. "Andromeda told me," he says. "She heard from Narcissa."
Sirius wrinkles his nose. "Didn't Cissy marry Lucius?"
"Correct," Regulus says with a hum. "They're in love and it's no longer the scandal it had been, once. Still, she can't contact me without being… Well, it'd be a bit like contacting you, I imagine."
"A big no," Sirius says, amused. "Seems like we're more alike than we thought little brother, huh?"
"I'm nothing like you," Regulus spits out, shoulders up near his ears, and Sirius is surprised by the utter vitriol in his voice. He blinks, falls silent, and waits Regulus out. There's something here that he doesn't know, a story he hasn't yet been told.
The silence is uncomfortable but, eventually, Regulus breaks it. "I fought. Left. No one's on good terms with me anymore, except Andromeda. I don't get to speak to Narcissa much either, but we manage to talk through Andromeda."
For a second, Sirius considers pushing the topic. He wants to know. It's a burning desire deep in his chest. Then, however, he sees how tight Regulus is gripping the steering wheel, how white his knuckles are, and decides to leave it. Sirius does, after all, have plenty more time to get to the bottom of this. They're not even halfway there yet. The road awaits.
"We'll stop in the next town," Regulus says, when the sun has all but disappeared and they only have a few wobbling overhead streetlights. The tension from their conversation after lunch has long since drained from the car now, and Sirius has spent much of his time napping. There's not much else to do, after all, and his phone battery is near dead already.
"Alright," Sirius says. He glances at the GPS system, which tells them there's another six hours to their destination—and that there's a town only ten minutes down the road.
It is, of course, at that moment that the tyre pops with a sound that seems like an explosion, sending the car wobbling, steering changed drastically. Sirius grips the door handle as Regulus curses, forcing the car to straighten as they drastically lose speed.
They come to a standstill on the road somehow and still in the right lane. "Shit," Sirius says. The town isn't close enough that he can see any proper streetlights and the only company they currently have—besides each other—are the grazing sheep on either side of them in the paddocks. It is, perhaps, one of the worst places to have a tyre pop.
"Shit," Regulus agrees with something of a sigh. He gets out of the car, and Sirius follows a heartbeat later.
"Do you have a spare?" Sirius asks, stepping around to take a look at the wheel. It's definitely gone, though luckily the rim hasn't been damaged at all.
Regulus opens the trunk of the car. "I've got a spare," he says. "Though I don't know if it'll last us the whole way back at high speeds. Getting there though? We can do that."
Humming, Sirius watches as Regulus manages to get the tyre out of the back. "Want me to change it over?" He offers. "I'm a mechanic by trade."
The smile he gets surprises him. It's the first one he's gotten all day. "That'd be good," Regulus says. He runs a hand through his hair, looking strangely young, and says, "Being a teacher doesn't help much for these kinds of things. I can do it, maybe, but I'm sure you're a good bit faster than me."
With a laugh, Sirius replies, "Probably."
As he jacks the car up, it occurs to him that this is probably the first proper conversation that the pair of them have had all day—the best they've had in years. "So you're a teacher now?"
"Mm." The smile is audible in Regulus' voice and Sirius wonders how it must be—he never thought Regulus would grow up to be a teacher, though sometimes he never thought his brother would manage to grow up at all. "It's at a senior school. I teach history, and sometimes languages if I'm ever needed to. I volunteer down at the community centre, too. It's good."
Sirius remembers the teachers and tutors they had when they were both younger. People dressed up and all prim and proper. Sirius had hated it and all the rules those people had come with it. Most of the time, Regulus had appeared to thrive. He wonders how much of that had shaped who they are as people—Sirius never made it into university. Did Regulus?
Changing the tyre is easy as Sirius has done it a thousand times before, even if it wasn't this car, wasn't under these distant streetlights, wasn't with Regulus as a companion.
"What about yourself?" Regulus asks, and his voice seems softer now, kinder. "You said you were a mechanic?"
"Yeah," Sirius tightens the last bolt, and then lowers the car. "Been working there for about five years now, I think. I got an apprenticeship at a tattoo place, but then I had my motorbike and was enjoying putting it back together a bit more than actually tattooing people. Drawing is more up James' alley, anyway."
Together, he and Regulus stand beneath the stars, surrounded by the night sky and sheep. It's a lonely existence, Sirius thinks, and yet he can't bring himself to mind it. Right now, it's perfect.
"You still hang out with them, then? Your school friends?"
Sirius breathes out, slow. They'd had an argument about this once, back when he'd started boarding school at eleven and Regulus had been left behind. They'd fought about it again, the following year, as the distance grew between them. They hadn't fought about it again before Sirius had left, that final time, but they hadn't needed to say the words aloud. It'd been clear even in the silence.
"Yes," Sirius says, doing his best to keep himself from snapping. He doesn't know whether or not he does a good job of it. "I live with James and Lily and Remus. We share an apartment."
Then, Regulus does something that surprises him. "I'm glad," he says, and Sirius looks at him, catches an expression he doesn't quite know how to read. "You loved them. It's good to hear you're still friends with them."
Off-balance, once again, Sirius can only nod. "Yeah," he says. "Me too."
Suddenly, he's struck by the urge that he doesn't want to get back in the car, go back to the awful silence, back to heading towards London and their mother's funeral. He doesn't care for any of it—only wants to go to the funeral to see that she's actually dead, to burn down his childhood home in a fit of arson that may or may not see him arrested.
This moment with his brother, the peacefulness of it… This is what Sirius wants to last the whole trip, though he knows it won't. They've been stewing in their own irritability and anger the entire way down, two seconds away from a new fight breaking out every time one of them dares breathe.
They've never really been good at being brothers to each other, even in the face of their own parents. The few times they came together, worked together, was rare enough that Sirius barely remembers them now.
Still, the world doesn't wait for Sirius and moments can't last forever. Regulus gets in the car and Sirius can only follow, sitting back in the passenger seat and wondering just how this trip will end.
Ahead, their stop for the night waits for them. The streetlights beckon, and no one watches them except the grazing sheep as they continue down the road.
Sirius isn't a morning person, which is why he finds himself surprised to wake up at eight in the morning. He grumbles, but can hear the sound of the shower from the bathroom connected to the room he's sharing with his brother.
The bathroom door is clearly not soundproof, considering how loud the clatter is as Regulus clearly knocks or drops something to the ground. With one more groan, Sirius finally gets out of bed, flinging the cover off of him and stumbling over to his bag.
"When are we leaving?" Sirius manages, though the words are almost all slurred together.
There's a beat when Regulus should respond, but doesn't, which has Sirius turning to frown at his brother. "Soon," Regulus says, belatedly, around a yawn. The bags under his eyes look darker than they did yesterday, but perhaps that's just Sirius' imagination.
Still, he can't help but to ask, "Are you alright?"
Regulus rubs his arm, shifting his sleeve up enough that Sirius catches sight of a sunflower tattoo that looks slightly… off. Even though Sirius might have left his tattoo apprenticeship behind him, he still remembers what it looks like for a tattoo to cover up a scar.
He doesn't mention it.
"Bad night," Regulus grunts. He runs a hand through his hair. "I'll be alright after coffee."
Sirius hums before ducking into the bathroom. After that, it doesn't take long to get ready and soon enough, they're out the door. Regulus is still… not quite right. A bit quieter, more withdrawn—though he'd already been both those things, Sirius supposes. It's clear enough that something isn't right, but he won't push. He likes to think he's learnt since childhood.
His friends would be proud of him.
They end up getting breakfast further down the road, a small cafe with a sign outside that manages to make even Sirius feel cheerful, despite the dark clouds hanging overhead. The inside of the café is all warm colours, and the barista at the register somehow looks awake despite the hour.
Within seconds they're led to a table in the corner, and Regulus quickly takes the couch seat with his back to the wall. The waitress smiles at them and tells them she'll give them a few minutes to decide on their drinks.
In silence, they flick through the menu. Sirius can't help but to glance up at Regulus whenever he doesn't think his brother's looking. It doesn't take long before he's certain that Regulus is paler than he was the other day, more tired. If Regulus had been any of Sirius' friends, he would have asked what the problem was—but Regulus isn't one of Sirius' friends and he has no idea how to talk to his brother at all.
And so the silence remains as they wait, the menu pages sticking to their fingers. "So," Sirius says, drawing the word out, "what are you thinking?"
Regulus jerks, blinking. "Yeah," he says. "I was, uh, thinking an omelette, I guess."
"Mmhmm," Sirius says in response, not making any mention of how Regulus seems to have picked the option at random. "I'm thinking the pancakes sound good."
There's no response from Regulus. Rather, he seems to be lost in his own thoughts, looking beyond the menu, beyond Sirius.
Time trickles past. They order, and silence falls once again. Sirius checks his phone, fidgets with his pockets, locates an old receipt in his pocket that has somehow made it through the wash. And still, Regulus remains a ghost of himself. It's like Sirius is having breakfast with a wraith.
By the time they get their food, Sirius is well and truly sick of it. He's never been good with silence—though whether that's a remnant of his childhood or just some aspect of who he is, he's never been sure—and Regulus may be his brother, but they owe nothing to one another and haven't spoken in years.
"What is it?" Sirius snaps, before trying to make his tone softer by adding, "Are you okay?"
For a second, he doubts Regulus will answers the question. But then, against all of his expectations, Regulus' whole frame deflates as he sighs. He leans forward, over his food, and his hair swings in front of his eyes before he shoves it back with an irritated gesture. "No," he says, short; the word half a joke asking Sirius to laugh with him. Leaning back, Regulus continues, "I'm tired and frustrated and—I don't want to go back, but I do. I have nightmares about, well, everything. I left all that behind me when I got my first tattoo."
Sirius blinks, mind jumping from the point about nightmares—he understands trauma all too well—to tattoos, and what other tattoos does his brother have?
Whatever expression is on his face makes Regulus crack a smile, and he laughs for the first time today that Sirius has seen.
"Ask your questions," Regulus says, picking up his cutlery, apparently now remembering that he does have food in front of him to eat. "I'll either answer or I won't."
Snorting, Sirius dumps all the maple syrup he's been given on top of his stack of pancakes. "Helpful," he draws, even as he shifts through the different questions on his mind. He wants to ask about the tattoos, but also about the whole funeral—and also about the nightmares. The kindest thing, Sirius imagines, would be to ask about the tattoos, because tattoos are easy and less likely to be driven by trauma.
But Sirius has always been nosy. He was like this as a child, and that hasn't changed, not even in all the years he hasn't seen Regulus. And so he asks, "Why did you leave home?"
Surprisingly, Regulus doesn't freeze and an amused smile crosses his face instead. "I was wondering when you'd properly ask." There's a second where he pauses, face morphing into something out of Sirius' childhood that speaks of the kind of casual cruelty that all Blacks are capable of; but then, the expression fades and Regulus continues, ghosts left abandoned to the past. "After you left, things didn't change… much. They still changed, of course, but these changes were smaller and unimportant. Things were fine for a while, until Riddle."
Riddle. It's a name that Sirius knows—a student older than him by a few years in school; someone his parents admired and spoke well of. The society his parents had been part of, all those snobbish upper-class people, had all been keeping their eye on Riddle too.
What had happened to him, though? There's a reason why Sirius remembers all of this. He just can't remember why…
"Oh!" Sirius says, remembering with a click of his fingers. "He was sent to prison, wasn't he?"
Regulus hums and there's a sharp, pleased smile on his face. "Yes," he agrees, "but that was later—much later. To condense a long and largely boring story, I'll surmise what happened: Riddle began what was, essentially, a gang that a number of others joined. They called it a club but, well, history shows how these things are remembered."
The sardonic smirk on Regulus' face has Sirius grinning back, sharp-toothed. It's not to say that Sirius delights in knowing people getting their just dessert—but he definitely does. "Indeed," he agrees, leaning forward, eager to hear the end of this tale.
"Riddle invited me into his club, and our parents urged me to join, wanting an in like so many other families. I'm sure you remember Malfoy, Narcissa's husband? He was in it, as was Bella of course; and then there are a few other prominent families who joined—the Lestranges, the Carrows, the Goyles, and so on. Anyway, I was inducted into the club, made our parents ecstatic by doing so. Then, however, Riddle asked me to do something that I wasn't inclined to doing, to put it bluntly."
Regulus' face turns dark and Sirius bites back the question resting on his tongue. This is something that it doesn't feel right to push; some kind of trauma that isn't his to ask over. This is no family history, no familial betrayal, this is something else, something Regulus has no desire to relive, not even in the cheery café they're currently in.
When Sirius doesn't say anything, his brother slowly continues, face once again far too pale, "I said no. Our parents were rather unhappy; our mother even more so. And, well, you know what our mother is like when she doesn't get her way. You might have run away from everything, but I'm sure that stuck with you."
Tension infiltrates the air between them and Sirius finds himself posed for an argument, but then Regulus sighs, waving his hand and the tension away at the same time. "She did what she always does, I decided that I had better places to be, and so I left."
"I'm sure it wasn't that easy," Sirius can't help but to say.
Regulus rubs his upper arm—where Sirius had seen his sunflower tattoo only that morning—and says, "It wasn't."
Pressing his lips together, Sirius doesn't ask another question, doesn't ask to see anything, but he's fairly certain he knows what happened, or knows enough to figure out what happened. Their parents, after all, have always believed that abuse laws never applied to them.
With a shake of his head, Regulus continues, "So I left and made our parents very unhappy. I moved out of London entirely and made my own living while being happy—a concept I'm sure our parents have never heard of." Sirius snorts and Regulus manages a smile. "My parents decided to never contact me again, not something I was displeased with at all, and most of our relatives followed their lead—sans a small minority."
"And now you're here," Sirius says, leaning back in his seat.
"And now I'm here," Regulus agrees.
Silence falls between them, but lacking the tension from before. Soon enough, their plates are both scraped clean and they're back into Regulus' car, and on the road.
Sirius stares out the window and thinks about how things have changed, how they've grown apart, how they've become more alike in separation. Somehow, it's a nice thought; one that Sirius quite likes. It's to that thought that he falls asleep, lulled by the rumbling of the car engine and the soft music from the radio.
He wakes up to silence. Blinking in confusion, Sirius looks around. The radio and car engine are both off, and the driver's seat is empty too. There's no sign of Regulus.
Glancing out the window, Sirius takes in the empty countryside; green rolling hills with nothing else to look at. It takes a moment for him to spot Regulus, who is sitting on a wooden bench, curled over himself. For a long second, Sirius doesn't move, just watches—and he can't help but to wonder, what is it that haunts Regulus?
Is it the same thing that haunts Sirius? Those long daunting hallways, the overly serious portraits of long dead ancestors who stared down at them? Or is it the people who once walked those halls, shoes clacking, uncaring for the noise they made?
Sirius likes to imagine that he's dealt with his demons, that they never come back to haunt him these days, all these years later after he left and found his own life, his own happiness. It's not so easy as that, however, and it's something that he's all too aware of. And Sirius is more than willing to bet that Regulus' demons have taken to revisiting him. The signs are there, after all. Regulus had been slightly off that morning, and then had mainly brushed over topics at breakfast—and while he mightn't have said them aloud in detail, but he'd dredged them up all the same.
Yeah, Sirius isn't too surprised that this has happened, though he can't help but to wonder whether it'd been avoidable.
Getting out of the car, Sirius stretches. The sky overhead is, at last, blue, which seems rather at odd with everything else. Then again, that's how it always goes, isn't it? The weather never truly reflects anyone's mood.
Regulus' head rises as Sirius approaches, and he looks even more tired than he did this morning, if that's even possible. "We'll continue soon," Regulus says, wiping a hand over his face. "I just needed—a moment."
Sirius considers the seat next to Regulus before plonking himself down on the grass instead, thankful that it's dry. "Take all the time you need," he says, leaning back onto his hands.
Silence stretches as Regulus eyes him warily, before taking him at his word and tilting his head backward. It makes Sirius smile, just a little, to see him relax. The tension doesn't quite drain out of his little brother's body, but things seem to settle just a little.
Somewhere nearby, a bird chirps. It's not a birdcall that Sirius knows, and he tilts his head as he listens.
"You don't have to tell me anything," Sirius says a few minutes later, finally breaking the silence. Once Regulus is look at him, he continues, "But you don't have to suffer on your own, you know."
An amused smile breaks out on Regulus' face and he huffs. "Yeah, I know Siri," he says, not even noticing the childhood name that falls from his lips—though Sirius certainly does. "And I've got a therapist I go see. I always knew this was going to be hard, I just didn't think it'd be this hard."
"You can rest," Sirius says. "I do know how to drive, you know. I am a mechanic."
For a split second, he thinks Regulus will say no, will push on even though he doesn't have to, even though he shouldn't, but then Regulus sighs. "Yeah, okay," he says, and any amusement has disappeared in the face of his exhaustion. "Thanks."
Sirius thinks about all the things he failed to do as a child—because he was a child; thinks about leaving Regulus behind in an unkind house and a cruel family. He thinks about how they've both grown and left their childhood behind. Somehow, he manages to smile. "You're welcome."
As Sirius drives, Regulus quickly falls asleep. Sirius glances at him, from time to time, as he drives, watches the way Regulus curls into himself, how his face eases for the most part. Like this, his brother doesn't look too different from the one Sirius left behind, all those years ago.
But then, the changes are numerous and obvious. It's not just the overly large lilac hoody—which their parents would never have allowed—or his hairstyle or even his piercings. It's the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, his entire demeanour has changed. He's become someone Sirius could grow to like, just maybe.
And- And they're brothers, by blood, and that doesn't have to mean anything. It hasn't meant anything for so long. Sirius knows that what happens here, what they decide, what becomes of them is important. It might—will—change their future, because what they had before… Well, needless to say that Sirius mightn't have been changed by their drive to London, but their relationship has definitely changed from what it was before. He doesn't regret it, is grateful for it really. It's just…
Well, the only question that now remains is whether Regulus will want their relationship to exist—in a greater capacity than it did before. Now that Sirius knows that they don't live too far away from one another, it seems impossible to imagine a life where he never speaks to his brother again—even if that's what their relationship had been for so long.
Breathing out slowly, Sirius finds himself wondering what waits for them in London. Logically, he knows what waits, the funeral and their family, but… but what of he and Regulus?
Still, there's nothing Sirius can do, though, as the scenery around him begins to turn urban; country giving way to cityscape. Soon, the sounds of the radio give way to the loud traffic with all of its rumbling engines and honking horns. Sirius can't help but feel a little sad, like something has ended and he didn't even notice what it was.
Shortly after hitting London traffic, Regulus wakes. He's silent as he yawns and stretches, before reaching out to turn the volume dial up. Although still looking somewhat tired, he looks miles better than he did before. Not just more awake, but more alive even. He looks… at ease. It's strange because Sirius is feeling more and more anxious as they get closer to where the funeral is taking place. He regrets coming, regrets deciding to go. He doesn't care for their mother or anything, so why is he here in the first place?
However, there's no point wondering such things. Sirius is here, and so the least he can do is see this out—and he will.
There's no going back now.
What waits for him at the funeral though? What waits for Regulus?
Sirius parks the car. It's time to find out.
The funeral is shit. They never should have gone. The people there are awful and even Narcissa couldn't have saved them. Sirius wears his best leather jacket and his best fuck-off expression and still almost storms out of there three times in the first five minutes.
At the very least, people expected him to be who he is. He got thrown out of his family years ago for being a rebel. It's not like he changed.
Regulus, on the other hand, gets a different kind of treatment entirely. People turn away from him and turn to him in equal measure, though disgust and distrust are the main expressions they wear.
Some of it, Sirius imagines, is because of the clothes Regulus is wearing—because Regulus may have braided his hair back, but he's still wearing a massive hoody that's about as far from the high-end fashion as you can possibly get.
However, the most interesting thing is how Regulus doesn't glance away, doesn't shuffle his feet, doesn't drop a single gaze. Instead, the brother that Sirius has watched grow up trying to make himself smaller… he makes himself stand straighter, lifts his chin, and doesn't look away. Rather, Regulus dares them to keep looking—and this is the man who dared say no to their parents, who dared walk away, who dared find happiness and keep it.
Sirius is unbelievably proud, and he grins, wolfish, at anyone who comes up to him to talk and takes delight in how their gazes skitter away from him.
Of course, the funeral is objectively awful despite any of this, but somehow Sirius gets through it with Regulus at his side. They get through it together, and then they make it through the will reading, and then everything is over.
"I'm sorry," Sirius says, blinking in astonishment as everyone files out, only now computing the words that have been read aloud. He turns to Regulus, wondering whether he heard everything correctly.
Regulus, though, looks just as shocked as Sirius feels. Soon enough, they're the only ones left, and it's only then that Sirius manages to kick his brain back into gear and get some actual words out. "She left the house? To us?" His voice goes rather high-pitched—the kind of thing his friends would laugh themselves into hysterics over—but Sirius can't quite find it within himself to smile. His mind is like a scratched record, unable to think past the fact that Walburga, who both of them left behind and gratefully at that, left the house to them.
Their childhood house, the one that Walburga had been oh-so-very proud of.
"Well," Regulus says as Sirius considers calling James just to make sure he doesn't have a house-related breakdown because he's still not certain he hasn't just gone insane and hallucinated the whole thing, "I guess this makes the trip here worth it."
Finally twisting his mind away from the whole house… thing, Sirius says, "Does it?" In a tone that implies it very much doesn't. It's enough to make Regulus crack the a tiny grin and Sirius somehow manages to relax his shoulders at long last.
He shakes his head. "God, what made her think this was a good idea? We should just sell the old thing and be done with it."
Regulus hums, fingers tapping against his leg. "Shall we go take a look at it anyway?" He asks. "We're here, after all."
"Regrettably," Sirius says, even as he turns in the direction of the car, Regulus keeping an easy pace next to him. "Any idea why she left it to us? I mean, Narcissa might have the Malfoy Manor now, but surely she could find some use for Grimmauld Place."
"You'd think so." There's a pause as Regulus unlocks the car, but then he says, "Regardless of the reason mother had for this, I have my doubts that it was a good one."
Sirius barks an ugly laugh as he gets in. He leans against the passenger seat, stretching his legs as much as possible. "Yeah, you're probably right."
"I usually am."
The reserved answer has Sirius smiling, and properly too. He watches as the scenery around them as Regulus takes them out onto the road, GPS giving them somewhat vague directions on how to get through the London traffic without suffering too many delays.
With a low rumble of thunder, the grey clouds suddenly give way to rain and then everyone is darting everywhere in order to avoid the pouring water. Regulus curses as he turns on the windscreen wipers, which turn out to be rather excessive squeakers, and Sirius turns up the volume for the GPS.
At first, Sirius assumes that with the rain he won't notice anything familiar, largely because he can't really see that far ahead thanks to the rain. However, just as quickly as the rain comes, it goes—and the world only looks mildly wet, and unhappily so.
"London weather," Regulus mutters, a complaint that Sirius is one hundred percent behind. He hasn't missed this, nor the fog, but as he looks out the window, he spies familiar street corners, but all stores have changed and now the only familiar thing is the visages of their rooftops. As they pass by a rather unmarked alley, he remembers the graffiti he'd once done there. By now, it's undoubtably been covered up, but still, he wonders who saw it and what they thought of it.
When Regulus comes to a stop, the clouds overhead are still a dark grey but no longer looming as much as they had been before the rain, and the area around them is familiar as any area can be after so many years spent away.
Together, they sit in silence, the car engine and radio both off. Off to the side, Grimmauld Place sits, slightly leaning, very dark, and distinctively unhappy. All in all, it hasn't changed at all from Sirius' memories and he still hates it.
They get out of the car.
There's no gate or fence leading up to Grimmauld Place, and there never has been. The house looms, as it always has, and the dark curl of the plants are more than enough to keep people at bay. And, if that wasn't enough, the overly large sign near the front that says 'Visitors must be invited or will be prosecuted' is more than intimidating enough to keep people out.
To be honest, Sirius is somewhat surprised that they didn't receive kids dared onto their property back when they'd still been children, it's the kind of thing he would have done when he was younger if he stumbled across such a house. Then again, maybe the foreboding air that always flooded Grimmauld Place's hallways isn't just limited to inside the building. Maybe standing outside is enough to sense it.
He can certainly sense it now, as he stands on the edge of the property; Regulus a silent figure by his side.
"It really hasn't changed at all, has it?" The house remains the same as it appears in Sirius' nightmares, right down to its lack of peeling paint and the dark shadows of the curtains.
And yet, it's different too. It must be. There are no longer two kids running through its halls, not that they ever did much running. Did Walburga keep throwing parties right up until her death? Or have the adornments and various ornaments been put away, the tea sets and their best plates all hidden in the top cupboards? There's no way of knowing until they go in and find out, and yet…
"It hasn't," Regulus says. He takes a step forward and the grass crunches under his foot. He doesn't go any further, and Sirius doesn't take a step. Doesn't want to. "What do we want to do?"
Reaching into his pocket, Sirius pulls out the key that they'd been given. It's a rather boring key, all in all; one of those simple plain silver ones. Yet, it leads into the house of their childhood, the home of their nightmares, the place that both of them ran from.
"We could sell it," Sirius says. "I certainly don't need a place in London. I'd never come out this way."
Regulus hums. "Neither," he says. "So, we do that then—sell it? Go through everything and throw out what must be thrown out? Clear it up for the sale?"
"I suppose so," Sirius responds. He peers a bit more at the dark paint, and spots the place where he'd knocked a board loose when he'd been seven. His parents hadn't been happy, to say the least, because the damage had shown a clear flaw in the façade to those walking down the street.
Still, neither of them move forward. Sirius feels rather stuck in place, to be honest. His feet have become glued to the ground, and nothing makes him want to take a single step forward.
Then, slowly, Regulus says, "You know… I don't really need the money. I mean. It'd be nice to have it but, well, I don't really care to go through everything of our parents."
"I don't even care for the house," Sirius says, without thinking. "It can burn down for all I care."
He means it as a joke—and yet, it's what makes Regulus turn to him; his back to the house. A grin crawls onto his face and his eyes are alight with glee. "You know," he says, joy clear, "we could burn it down. It's our house and we're not doing it for insurance, so it's not illegal."
Sirius laughs, but Regulus doesn't join in, and only then does he realise that Regulus is serious. "Oh, you mean it," he says. He pauses, considers it, and then says, "Fuck it, let's do it."
The laugh he gets from Regulus is wild, and completely his own; free. It brings a wide grin to Sirius' own face.
So they burn the house down. Sirius watches it burn, the firefighters standing nearby, ready for if the blaze turns out of control. There's something frantic beating in his chest; a bird about to escape its cage.
Beside him, Regulus is grinning; the flames cast shadows against his face that make him look like something out of a nightmare. And yet, Sirius hasn't flinched away, can't even look away from the house as it burns down to embers. This feels like a release, like every freedom Sirius has ever dreamed of. Leaving the house, leaving behind his parents and his childhood, had been everything he'd ever wanted in life, a breath of a fresh air he'd never otherwise get. But this… This is something else entirely.
Sirius is glad he came.
"No one will really want a burnt down plot of land," someone says next to them. Sirius glances sideways; they're an agent of some kind—the property manager, Sirius thinks though he's not too sure.
Shrugging, Regulus replies, "Neither of us care for it. We're not trying to make money off of it."
Just chase their demons away, Sirius can't help but add mentally.
"Well, if you're sure," the agent says, sounding hesitant but unwilling to push. They probably don't care so long as they get paid.
Sirius ignores them, and watches the house burn down to nothing. Beside him, Regulus is just as silent—but he's calm, smiling but softly.
Like this, Sirius feels like everything might just be okay, like this entire trip has been building just for this one moment of peace. It's a good feeling, and one he hopes sticks with him.
However—this is an ending. This entire trip, every part of it beginning when Regulus picked him up, it's all coming to an end now, and what is Sirius meant to do now that it's in sight?
Somehow, between long boring stretches of road and overhead streetlights, Sirius has come to realise he likes the person his little brother has turned into, maybe even loves him. It shouldn't be a strange realisation, but their biological family has never seen eye to eye—or really been the kind of family that people want to be part of.
Only what does he do with that knowledge? How does he prevent them from falling into the nonexistence they'd had prior to everything? Regulus and he… they've never really been able to speak, no walls between them, though this trip is proving that maybe one day that can change.
Turning to his brother, Sirius chews on his lip as he thinks. "Hey," he says, nudging Regulus' foot with his own. "We should go get something to eat."
Regulus hums, before shaking his head, turning away from the house. "Nah. There's enough food in the car—we've still got those packaged sandwiches from when we last filled up the car."
"Oh," Sirius says, and a pointless feeling of defeat forms in his chest, "Well, I guess we can do that."
Regulus pauses, having begun to walk back to the car, clearly eager to leave the house behind him. He half-turns, tilting his head, "You wanted to get something to eat from some actual café? You do know that's going to be ridiculously expensive. We're in London after all."
"I know where we are," Sirius snaps. "I'm not an idiot." It's an argument they've had before, a sentence Sirius has shouted time and time again—it'd been Regulus' tone that had set him off, he knows, and he's angry enough to not feel bad about snapping. He's not dumb, no matter what his parents or Regulus might have said about him. He's not dumb and he refuses to let Regulus talk to him like that anymore. He's got nothing to lose.
The look Regulus turns on him is chilling, for a heartbeat, before it gentles, concern tracing furrows in his brow. "I'm sorry," Regulus says—too late, not late at all. "I'm just… Being here is like an itch you can't scratch, you know? I just want to be gone."
That, if nothing else, is a feeling that Sirius can get behind. "Yeah," he says, eyes glancing to the burning wreck, which is now little more than scorched earth and smoke. "But… I don't want this to end, either."
Regulus is still, silent, and then he smiles, and it's like the sun breaking through the morning London fog. At the sight of it, Sirius' heart eases. His little brother begins to walk and, when they reach the car, he pauses.
"You know," Regulus says, thoughtful, and his eyes glint with mischief, "no one said we had to go straight home." He opens the door and gets in before Sirius can even reply.
For a second, Sirius considers everything waiting for him at home. He's got his friends to get back to, bills to pay, a job that has its leave running out very soon. There's a shift he has to work in two days.
Getting in the car, he glances over at Regulus, whose hands are steady on the wheel and is wearing a smile. Any anxiety has been drawn away from his body, leaving him relaxed and loose.
"Fuck it," Sirius says, getting his phone out to text his friends, "let's just drive. Go anywhere. Let's go on a road trip."
Regulus laughs, grinning. He turns the engine on. "Let's go," he agrees.
Title is from Drive by Ben Rector
I want you all to know that this started out as a prompt response to "repairing a broken relationship" and was meant to be 1-2k. Anyway, we hit over 9k and it quickly became clear that this was never going to be something overly short. Still, we somehow got to the end and that is the win we're going with.
Anyway, I'm always a fan of road trip fics-hence why I've got some long one in planning-and this one was especially fun to play with because it wasn't long, and also Sirius and Regulus trying to know each other with so much history between them, so much conflict and twisted love.
Regulus and Sirius here are both in awful mental states-their mother is dead, which is cause for celebration, but she's also dead and they left that part of their life long behind them, or so they thought. The last time they were together, they fought and bitterly so. They disliked each other, had been turned against each other, and they always resented one another for different things. Their relationship here, at the beginning, is the accumulation of all these things with the addition of time passing and not being in one another's lives.
Also, Regulus' appearance was just a lot of fun to change heaps of things around. I absolutely went with Regulus-finding-his-own-taste but also vaguely similar to Sirius, because that amuses me. ALso, drowning in a hoody. Best vibe. Great when things are shit and I hate everything. So Regulus gets the same love here, because why not.
I think Narcissa and Lucius initial relationship being a scandal is the funniest headcanon ever, and I have no idea where I originally picked it up from. Regardless, I very much appreciate it and have fun playing around with it. I also think the Black children would keep in touch more with one another, having faced their parents before them.
Road trips and late nights are about having heart-to-heart with your companion. It's about being vulnerable and daring to reach out to the person you're with. Is it not?
Also, how could this not end with arson and burning Grimmauld Place down? Regulus and Sirius absolutely deserve it, and we both know it.
Anyway, that's all from me. If you want, you can find me over on AO3 under the same username, or on tumblr as silent-silver-slip.
