A/N: This is crossposted to AO3 under the same username. Updates will be weekly (at least for the first twenty or so chapters).

TWs for entire fic: Substance abuse, drug overdose, recreational drug use, suicidal thoughts, depression, internalised homophobia (including a few slurs), referenced child abuse (non-sexual), smut

Some quick notes before we begin:

1) For plot reasons, Fabian and Gideon Prewett are part of The Marauders instead of Remus and Peter (The Blasphemy, I know!).

2) The Marauders are a metal band in this fic, but the lyrics I'm quoting are from all sorts of musical genres, so if you go and listen to the original songs (which I highly recommend you do, see credits in the end notes), this is NOT what I envision for the Marauders' sound - I simply chose some of my favourite lyrics that fit the story.

3) There will be a few, short lines of foreign language use (I head-canon Sirius as speaking multiple languages) - it is not necessary to understand it for the story, but I shall be providing translations in the end notes for those interested.

Hope you enjoy :)

PROLOGUE

München, October 25, 2018

So you say, darling wind
Blow my sails and pilot me ashore
I'm there as soon as I reach the bottom
I'm far from land when the waves begin
My song is rusty, and my throat is sore
I'm there as soon as I reach the bottom

Please fly home with a message
Promise you'll deliver it, no matter what happens
Say I'm happy here on my sea
But I don't know where I've gone
Say I'm singing my song
Holding my breath under water
Say I sank
But I'm there as soon as I reach the bottom

"You hear that?" James's face split into a grin as he looked up at the ceiling. Heavy stomping and feverish shouting from the hall upstairs made the lights of the greenroom flicker, and he felt the vibrations to his very core.

Gideon paused in his push-ups and grinned. "They definitely don't make them like this at home."

James bounced up and down, unable to contain himself. He shook out his arms and did a quick slide down his register, ending with a roar. "God, let's just go already!"

"Do we want 'ruins' or 'solutions' for the encore?" Fabian asked, glancing up from the setlist he was writing on the back of a pizza box.

"I vote 'solutions'. Higher moshability factor." Gideon grunted and switched to doing crunches.

"That would give Sirius an extra guitar change, I don't think—"

"Well, he's not here right now, so he doesn't get a vote, does he," Fabian said and wrote 'FUCK YOUR SOLUTIONS' in capital letters at the bottom of the list with his sharpie.

"Whatever." James waved and checked his hair in the mirror. The stomping had increased, and he could hear chanting now between the whistles and the screams. He couldn't wait to go up there. He agreed with Gideon; the German crowds were next level, and he was hungry for that energy. He never felt as alive as he did onstage. The intimate connection with thousands of strangers, that only existed within a few glorious hours was what he lived for, and he wouldn't let anything stand in his way.

His fantasies were interrupted, however, when Caradoc stuck his head through the door at the other end of the room. "James, did Kristoffer talk to you yet? They had to move the pyro lines, due to the—"

"Yup, no crossing the yellow tape, if I value my handsome, flawless skin, got it," James said, caressing said skin and winking at his own reflection.

Caradoc raised an eyebrow, letting James know just how unimpressed he was by his blasé attitude towards safety.

James couldn't be arsed arguing. He couldn't risk losing this electricity that was coursing through his body—the familiar pre-show buzz: adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin (and perhaps a few select 'vitamins'). It was a fickle thing and he needed to be focused. He didn't want to hear about any more snags. It was going to be a killer show tonight, he could just feel it.

"Here you go, Doc, can you give a copy of this to lighting?" Fabian said, getting up and handing the pizza box setlist to Caradoc.

"No. Uh-uh. You can't change the fucking setlist at this point."

"But we just did." Fabian shrugged.

Caradoc threw his head back, sending a muttered prayer to the heavens before he sighed. "And how am I supposed to copy this?" he said, waiving the greasy piece of cardboard at the bassist.

"You'll figure it out." Fabian clapped his shoulder before going over to the cooler and grabbing himself a beer.

Caradoc heaved another sigh and checked his watch. "Alright, twenty minutes, lads. I don't want anyone leaving this room from now on." He looked around, just realising they were missing a member. "Where's Sirius?"

James shrugged and rubbed a stray smear off the red stripe that was painted across his eyes. "Still sleeping it off in the dressing room, I think."

The idiot had tumbled in an hour ago, completely wankered, knocking stuff over left and right, and nearly falling on his arse, so James had forced a big glass of water down his throat and ordered him to kip on the sofa.

"Bloody Christ almighty—again?! You said you'd talk to him!"

"I'll do it after, I promise," James said weakly and turned away from the mirror. They both knew this was an empty promise.

"Well, at least go get him, then!" Caradoc said and unclipped his walkie-talkie, which was making buzzing noises from his belt.

"But you just said—"

"Be happy you're so pretty, James Potter," Caradoc said and turned on his heel, pressed the talk-button, and began barking orders at the stage crew.

"Did you hear that, lads? I'm pretty," James said and batted his eyelids at the twins before following Caradoc out the door.

"Yeah, pretty delusional…!" Fabian called after him.

James's grin quickly disappeared, however, as he made his way down the long hall and the thunder from the exuberant crowd faded into the distance. Caradoc was right. This was becoming too regular a thing; their guitarist would drag himself in before a gig, totally spaced out, several hours late and looking like shite. How he managed to still deliver a show every night was a mystery, but it couldn't go on like this. He was hardly eating and achieved his signature dark look without the aid of kohl these days. The way his leather trousers looked like they could slip off his hips at any moment had become quite the sensation with their female fans, but James knew he wasn't making a fashion statement.

Reaching the dressing room, he threw the door open and turned the lights on. Sirius was lying where he left him, still fast asleep, face down on the sofa. The room smelt like vomit and James cringed when he saw the puddle on the floor where it had run down the side of the sofa.

"Disgusting mutt…" he grumbled. "Oi, Padfoot, rise and shine, we're on in twenty!" Sirius didn't move, so James went over to shake his shoulder. "Sirius, mate, come on," he tried again but still didn't get a response. Grunting, he rolled him over and onto the floor, thinking that would shake him out of it. Sirius fell like a sack of potatoes, not reacting in the slightest. That was when James noticed the sickly translucent quality of his skin and the blue tint to his lips.

"Shit, Sirius!" He shook him harder. "Wake up!" He slapped his cheek, trying to get a reaction. "Come on, mate!"

No luck.

"Fuck!" He looked frantically around, panic overtaking him, but they were alone. He sprang up and ran into the hall. "I need a medic, NOW!" He didn't know if anyone heard him, but he couldn't leave Sirius alone any longer. He ran back into the room and put his ear to his chest.

He wasn't breathing.

Shit, fuck, bollocks, he wasn't breathing!

James checked his mouth to see that he wasn't choking on more vomit, but it didn't seem to be the case. Acting on pure instinct, he bent over his friend and started chest compressions. His old football coach had made the whole team do a course once a year, but this was nothing like bending over a dummy while your mates are sniggering and making lewd jokes behind you. The way Sirius's ribs yielded under his weight felt sickeningly real, and James had to swallow the bile rising in his throat and force himself to keep going. He had counted to twenty-one when someone came running into the room behind him.

"Mein Gott, what happened?" a female voice said.

"He's not breathing, call an ambulance, RIGHT NOW!" James said and blew two lungfuls of air into Sirius's mouth.

"J-ja, klar," he heard the woman say, and a quick glance told him she was getting out her walkie talkie. He started the compressions again. When he heard her getting through to the paramedics, he blocked everything out and focused on keeping the rhythm and keeping count. Sirius's lips were even more blue now, and it was all James could see as everything else was starting to swim before his eyes.

"Come on, Padfoot, don't you dare leave me here," he pleaded, his voice cracking. A warm tear ran down his cheek, but he let it fall onto the leather of Sirius's jacket as he continued pumping the heel of his hand into his chest. Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty—or was it only twenty? How many were you even supposed to do? Fuck— two breaths, then one… two… three… four—

He lost all track of time and didn't sense his surroundings until strong arms were suddenly pulling him away. "No...!" He tried to wrench himself free. "Sirius!"

"Sir, you need to step away and let us do our work now," a man said in a thick German accent. James blinked and saw his orange, reflective uniform.

"You did good, son," the man told James and started unpacking his gear, while his colleague took over the chest compressions. James watched in horror as they cut open Sirius's shirt and attached electrodes to his torso. He couldn't understand what they were saying, but they switched to English to tell everyone to stand back before the shock.

That was when James realised how many people that had piled into the room. He spotted Caradoc among the horror-stricken faces and grabbed his arm, shaking him out of his apparent trance.

"Doc…! These people shouldn't be here."

"On it." Caradoc gave him a grim nod and sprang into action, adopting his manager voice to shout for the on-lookers to leave the room and let the paramedics do their job. James began shepherding people out and was glad to have an excuse not to look at the way Sirius's body convulsed each time they shocked him. What if it didn't work? What if it was too late? If only he'd come to check on him sooner…. He should have known not to leave him alone, the state he was in.

Damn you, Sirius.

Damn you to hell!

He had probably taken something to counteract the sluggishness of the weed and the alcohol and the god-knows-what-else he had filled his body with today and had overshot it…. Or maybe he simply hadn't cared…? James ran his hands through his hair and down his face. He was sweaty, and his cheeks were wet, but he barely registered it. All that mattered was that his best friend in the whole world was lying on the floor right now, fighting for his life—at least, James hoped he was fighting. It had been a long time since Sirius had been the carefree young man he was when they formed The Marauders, back in the rat-infested backroom of their local pub. James had hoped his relationship with Gwen would turn things around, but it had just got worse these last months.

A lot worse.

In fact, he couldn't remember when he had last seen Sirius sober. He had promised to clean up his act after their lawyers got him out of jail in March, and it had seemed to work for a while. But then they'd started their tour. The European rock scene had proved a temptation for all of them, and James hadn't been paying as close attention to his friend as he should have.

A few more paramedics shoved past him, a stretcher between them, and began asking a rapid series of questions of the first responders. Dread filled James when he saw them stop the compressions.

"Wir haben Tätigkeit," one of them said and pulled the electrodes off Sirius's chest.

"What does that mean?" James said, his throat constricting with panic. "Why are you stopping?!" He shook the shoulder of the nearest man in uniform.

"It means they've got a heartbeat," Caradoc said, pulling James off the poor EMT, who went to inject something into Sirius's arm.

"Wir taking him to the hospital," he said, lifting Sirius onto the stretcher with the help of one of his colleagues while another was fitting an oxygen mask over his face. They hoisted the stretcher up and marched out of the room with such stunning efficiency that James had to run to keep up with them. He didn't register much about the route they were taking, but he was vaguely aware of Caradoc running beside him. They left the building through a fire exit and emerged into the car park where an ambulance was waiting at the ready. The flashing blue lights blinded James momentarily, but he pressed forward as they loaded Sirius into the back of the vehicle.

"Nein," one of the paramedics said, putting a hand on his chest.

"I need to go with him!"

"Are you family?"

"I'm all he has," James said, swallowing. He's all I have….

"Okay, you go in the front with me," the man said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

As James opened the door, Caradoc took his arm. "Here, take this," he said and shoved his mobile into James's hand. "Keep me posted, yeah?"

"Thanks, I will," James said, intending a grateful smile, but not quite managing it. He stuffed the phone in his pocket and quickly climbed in beside the driver. They sped off, siren blaring, into the traffic.

James twitched in his seat, hating having Sirius out of his sight, but the driver had drawn the blind over the small window to the back, and shot him a glare when he tried to open it. While he didn't say anything because he was busy speaking German into the radio, James got the message and resigned himself to wringing his hands and running them through his hair in almost compulsory sequence. He really hoped the hospital wasn't far. His mind was going crazy imagining what was happening in the back at this moment, and he strained to catch any words from the driver to indicate that something had happened. But for all James knew, the man was discussing the weather; his tone was calm and detached, and James mentally cursed himself for not paying more attention to his German lessons in school, but he had been too busy fooling around with Sirius in the back row or passing notes to Peter at the table in front of them. Sirius would know what was being said, though; he always had a knack for languages, and was fluent in German before he even started school. But James was on his own now, so he listened carefully, praying he didn't hear the one word he knew for sure would be bad: tot.


A/N:

Lyric credits:
Kaizers Orchestra - Med en gong eg når bånn (Author's translation from Norwegian)

German translations:
Mein Gott: My God
Ja, klar: Yes, of course
Wir haben Tätigkeit: We have activity
Nein: No
Tot: Dead