Ripping. Tearing. Howling. There were screams, and splatters of blood. Death, carnage. Everywhere. The wolf ran, the wolf killed.

Sirius watched his friend claw at the covers with sweat covered hands. Remus trembled and cried out. The nightmares ensnared him. They had grown more frequent and violent. Sirius climbed out of bed and neared the writhing boy. He took Remus' hand.

Remus stilled slightly, the whimpering subsiding. His hand was clammy and cold and limp.

"Moony, it's okay. It's just a dream," Sirius murmured, certain that he wasn't heard but knowing there was nothing else he could do. Remus continued shaking, sobbing, dreaming. Sirius stayed, stroking a warm hand over the boy's head, trying to soothe the troubled thoughts and fears of the beast.

Parents wailed. Their children bled. Teeth shredding flesh. The beast stalked and pounded. Out of control. Not a trace of humanity within it.

Sirius was woken by a yelp.

Remus was sat up, with wide eyes and a rigid back, tears dropping onto the bedsheets. Sirius was beside him within seconds, whispering meaningless words of comfort that could never take away the visions but maybe take away the loneliness. Cold, thin hand held by sturdy fingers that knew just when to squeeze. Remus' breathing slowed.

Eventually, Sirius crawled under the covers beside him. Their bodies, one tall and defined and one lanky and awkward, curled around each other. Neither boy spoke but no words were needed nor wanted. Soon, both were still and asleep and together.

Three terror-stricken boys in bloody robes. Betrayed and beaten. Their friend, the beast, glared at them with red eyes. It growled. It launched. Soon, the boy with a black mane and stormy eyes lay dead. He'd tasted as beautiful as he looked.

Sirius woke to find Remus standing beside him with an earthquake tearing him apart inside. Sirius took his arms with loving force and pulled him onto the mattress.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive..." Remus' voice broke and shook and Sirius wrapped muscular arms around the skinny shoulders of his friend.

"Moony. I'm here. I'm okay. You're okay. We're okay. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.", Sirius repeated this mantra until the tears stopped falling and the tired green eyes peered into grey. And Sirius tightened his hold and chewed his lip, and Remus shuddered with both nightmare aftershock and feelings he could not recognise.

Then their lips collided.

The cottage fills with screams, the sounds of twelve years of torture, releasing with a volatile strength that forces Remus to his feet. He stumbles downstairs and finds Sirius curled in a ball, breaths shallow and short.

"Sirius, it's me," Remus whispers as he approaches. The man on the floor responds with a hand reaching weakly for him. Remus takes the hand and their narrow fingers lace awkwardly together. There's no rush of comfort like there had been those years ago when Remus dreamt of death. There is only cold against cold. It's as if they are two identical pieces of a puzzle trying to fit together.

"I keep seeing them, Remus," Sirius whispers. "Their cloaks. Their faces – or the lack of, I suppose. Sometimes I hear the rattling but it's only the wind."

Remus doesn't know how to respond. He recalls the only time Sirius had had a nightmare in Sixth Year, an event that had only resulted in the merciless laughter of Remus and their two other friends, James and Peter. Now, however, their friends are gone, and the only other companions are the dark and the silent passage of time.

"Shall we, uh, sit down?" Remus gestures to the sofa with his free hand. Sirius flops down in response, pulling the other man down with him. They sit for a while until Sirius barks out a laugh.

"Merlin's beard, Moony, look at us," his voice is strained behind the humour. Remus' childhood nickname hangs in the air, teasing him with memories of a better time. "Pair of old men cuddling up on this moth-eaten chair."
"We're not that old, Sirius." Remus can't bring himself to use nicknames.

"Bloody well feel it," Sirius mutters, bitterness starting to show through.

"Well... I suppose I do have a bad knee. I'm going a bit grey too. Definitely decrepit," Remus says, trying lighten the mood. It appears to work as Sirius lets out a snort. Minutes later, the man beside Remus falls asleep, the slither of moonlight falling on his face making him look ghostly.

The grip on each other's hands doesn't slacken until many sleep filled hours later.

The following days pass with little physical contact beyond accidental knocking in the hallways and brushing of fingertips as plates and cups are passed. Sirius begins to gain weight thanks to the vigorous feeding regime enforced by Remus. His hair is cut and combed, new clothes are bought, and beards are shaven. Yet behind the improvements are troubled eyes.

Every night, Sirius attempts to muffle cries of terror to no avail. Every night, Remus appears to offer his hand and half hearted jokes. Every night, the men fall asleep together holding each other with entangled limbs.

Remus often finds himself longing for the days when their embraces had felt so natural, when they had fit so perfectly together. They had been an ideal balance. Padfoot, a wild and handsome boy who went through life carefree with wide eyes and cunning smiles. Moony, a quiet and damaged boy who tamed the other boy's heart with shy kisses and mock stern sighs. Now, they both hurt. Both have gone through years of struggling and come out shaken and lost.

"I miss being seventeen," Sirius announces over dinner one evening.

Me too, Remus thinks.