Chapter Text
"Oh, Bloody Hell."
🩺☤♡ St. Mungo’s Teaching Hospital, 6:00 A.M. 🩺☤♡
The surgical board buzzed with fresh names, red scribbles, and barely-rewritten consults. The staff lounge still smelled faintly of overnight curry and antiseptic. The vending machine was blinking OUT OF ORDER, and that—naturally—was what pushed Remus Lupin’s patience over the edge.
He sighed into his tea. Not coffee. Tea. Earl Grey, meticulously steeped. He adjusted the cuffs of his olive sweater beneath his white coat and examined the surgical board like it had personally offended him. His round glasses fogged slightly in the steam. His expression remained bleak.
Someone behind him coughed.
No, not coughed. Announced themselves, with the kind of performative throat-clear only one person in the hospital was shameless enough to produce.
“I see ortho’s still haunting the lounge like it matters,” came the drawl of Sirius Black.
Remus didn’t turn. “I see trauma’s here early. Did your ego get tired of sleeping in?”
Sirius chuckled—a low, careless sound—and sauntered past him, all leather boots and confidence. He was wearing his coat like a cape, unbuttoned and breezy, a stethoscope looped around his neck with the kind of lazy charm most residents would be disciplined for. His ID badge swung from one jean pocket. His hair—black, shoulder-length, perfectly disheveled—made at least three interns on rotation go temporarily mute.
“Didn’t realize you all had the time to sip tea and knit sweaters between knee replacements,” Sirius said, yanking the coffee pot toward him like it owed him rent.
Remus exhaled slowly. “Didn’t realize you were still confusing recklessness with brilliance.”
Mary MacDonald, their trauma nurse and long-suffering mediator, lifted her brows behind her coffee and muttered, “Round one.”
Sirius ignored her. “Some of us are saving lives on a ticking clock.”
“Yes, and some of us are putting the bones you shattered back together when you charge into the OR like a bat out of hell.”
“I prefer ‘angel of death.’”
“I prefer competent.”
The room’s temperature dropped. Sirius grinned like it was a compliment.
Then the door swung open like the sun itself had entered the hospital.
“HELLO, MY BEAUTIFUL BABIES!” shouted James Potter.
He was radiant. Somehow already glowing with post-shower citrus shampoo energy. Scrubs perfectly fitted, coat crisp, curls shining in a way that had to defy physics. He carried a donut box in one hand, three coffees in the other, and a clipboard tucked beneath his arm like an accessory.
Remus immediately looked exhausted. “You’re loud.”
“Loud with joy, Remus.” James spun once on his heel and threw an orange at Mary. “Catch!”
She caught it. “You’re going to be the first pediatric surgeon in history to give someone a concussion with a fruit.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
“He probably does,” Remus muttered.
Sirius smirked, clapping James on the shoulder as he passed. “You’ve got a full intern squad coming in today. Don’t scare them off.”
James grinned. “I inspire.”
And that was when the interns arrived.
There were only two.
Pandora Lovegood, who twirled a pen in her hair and was already humming to herself, walked into the lounge with a soft, dreamy air like she’d floated in from a watercolor painting. And just behind her—
And then came him.
Regulus Black.
He looked like someone had carved him from marble and then told him to be miserable about it. Tall, pale, glowering—his posture was military-level rigid, and his mouth was set in a flat, angry line. He didn’t look at anyone. Not even Sirius.
James turned, just finishing a sip of his coffee.
And stopped breathing.
The cup dropped out of his hand and bounced off his sneaker.
It was like someone had pressed pause on his entire body. His limbs locked. His pupils dilated. His lips parted in pure, unfiltered shock.
Because Regulus Black—the man James had kissed, stripped, absolutely worshipped for an entire Friday night—was standing in the intern group. Holding a clipboard. Wearing an ID badge that read:
“Regulus Black – Intern – Pediatrics Rotation.”
James took a single step back. Then another.
“Right. Um. I—tea. I forgot—I don’t drink tea, I mean, I drink coffee. But I—left my stethoscope in, uh—the MRI suite.”
Nobody believed him.
Mostly because it was hanging around his neck.
He smiled—strained, jittery, painfully wide—and backed toward the door with the grace of a startled deer. “Be right back! Or not. Or yes. Depending. Just—keep doing your thing!”
He pivoted on one foot and practically ran.
The room fell into a stunned, loaded silence.
“Was that—?” Sirius began.
“Yes,” Remus said immediately, dry as sandpaper.
Across the room, Regulus was stone-faced again, but his grip on his clipboard was white-knuckle tight. Pandora hummed softly beside him and offered him a peppermint. He didn’t take it.
At that moment, four more white coats entered the lounge—seasoned, sharp, and confident. These weren’t interns. These were wolves in surgical scrubs.
Barty Crouch Jr. strutted in like he owned the fluorescent lighting. His hair was perfect, his teeth somehow glinting, and his expression oozed precision. He spotted Evan Rosier already standing at the coffee machine, and grinned.
“Evan,” Barty purred, “Tell me you didn’t start the day without me.”
Evan, cool and unreadable in his pressed navy scrubs, glanced over his shoulder with a faint smirk. “Someone had to make sure the caffeine hadn’t rebelled without your supervision.”
Barty leaned dramatically against the counter, as though posing for a magazine shoot. “I am caffeine.”
“You’re drama with a scalpel,” Evan muttered, but didn’t move when Barty poured his coffee for him.
Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon entered next, laughing at something neither of them explained. Dorcas was already halfway through tying her surgical cap at the back of her head, clean and efficient. Marlene had a pen stuck in her curls and a protein bar half-unwrapped in her mouth.
“Did James just run out of here?” Marlene asked, biting the bar.
“Tragically,” said Remus, without looking up from his tea.
“Do I even want to know?” Dorcas asked, eyeing Regulus.
“Nope,” said Sirius, now perched on the edge of the couch, legs crossed, boots still muddy.
Marlene nudged Dorcas with her elbow. “It’s not even seven, and we’ve got drama.”
Dorcas rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Just once, I’d like to start a shift without a soap opera unfolding in front of me.”
“You’re at the wrong hospital,” said Evan.
“INTERNS, CONFERENCE ROOM C,” Lily Evans barked as she strode into the lounge, already flipping through a chart. Her red hair was twisted into a braid, and her lab coat looked freshly pressed even though she'd been on the oncology ward until midnight. “NOW.”
The door to the lounge slammed shut behind the interns. A moment of silence followed.
Sirius blinked, still perched on the armrest of the couch, half-drunk coffee in hand. His gaze lingered on the now-empty spot where Regulus had been standing.
He leaned back, tilting his head toward Remus.
“Okay,” he said slowly. “What the hell was that?”
Remus, still wrapped in his cardigan and still sipping his tea like he was resigned to humanity’s stupidity, didn’t look up. “What was what?”
“You saw it! Regulus was... he was twitching. And James dropped his coffee and ran off like someone told him Moana was based on a true story. What did I miss?”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You truly don’t get it?”
“I mean,” Sirius gestured vaguely, “I get that Regulus is being more of a black hole than usual and James looked like he’d seen a ghost, but—”
“God, you’re so stupid.”
Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“They shagged, Dr. Trauma.”
Sirius opened his mouth. Closed it. Blinked twice.
“...WHAT?”
Remus raised his eyebrows.
Sirius dropped his coffee. “My brother—my little brother—and James?! Potter?!”
Remus didn’t even flinch. “Apparently on Friday night. Somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘pantsless worship.’”
Sirius clutched the edge of the couch. “I need to sit down.”
“You are sitting.”
“Then I need to lie down. I need oxygen. I need bleach. I need—therapy.”
“You probably needed that before this.”
Sirius buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Why does this hospital feel like an opera?”
“Because it is,” Remus muttered, finishing his tea.
Down in the surgical ward hallway, just outside of a patient board, two junior nurses were leaning on a filing cart and whispering between themselves.
“I swear, Evan and Marlene are perfect.” One said, eyes dreamy. “Have you seen how he brings her coffee every morning?”
“And how she leaves him little notes in his locker? They don’t even have to try—it’s like they just know how to love each other.”
“They’re goals.”
The other nodded wistfully. “They’re what I want.”
Down two halls, inside an empty consult room, Evan Rosier leaned against the wall and stared out the window.
“I think we need to get ahead of it,” he said quietly.
Marlene McKinnon sat on the little wheeled stool, spinning in a slow circle, arms crossed. “You mean the rumors?”
“Yeah.”
She stopped spinning. “People think we’re perfect.”
He didn’t smile. “People are stupid.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The hospital noise hummed outside the door—monitors beeping, pagers buzzing, someone yelling about a missed scan.
Marlene uncrossed her arms and looked at him, really looked at him. “Do you regret it?”
“Being your fake boyfriend?”
She nodded.
Evan shook his head. “Not for a second.”
Marlene’s voice was softer than usual. “It’s just... every time someone says we’re lucky, or that we’re the best couple on staff, I want to scream.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Because your dad wouldn’t come to your wedding unless it was to a man.”
“Because your mom said if you ever brought home a boyfriend, she’d disown you.”
Evan leaned forward, rested his forehead against hers. “Because they don’t see us. They just see a story they like.”
Marlene swallowed. “Is it bad that I sometimes wish it was real?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. It’s not bad.”
They stayed there a moment longer. The only people in the hospital who knew what this really was: a shield. A pact. A shared pain wrapped in affection.
And a truth neither of them could say aloud yet.
Regulus Black sat rigidly at the conference table, spine straight, arms crossed, expression set into stone. If anyone had bothered to glance his way, they’d have thought he was absorbing every detail of the slideshow being projected at the front of the room.
He wasn’t.
“Interns will rotate through specialties in two-week blocks,” the chief resident was saying. “You’ll be evaluated by your attendings—Dr. Potter for Pediatrics, Dr. Meadowes for Neonatal, Dr. Rosier for Cardiothoracic—”
A name.
A pulse through his chest like a siren.
Potter.
Regulus didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Just stared forward as if focus alone could drown out the pounding in his skull.
He hadn’t known James’s last name.
Hadn’t needed it.
Friday night.
The bar had been too warm. The floor sticky with spilled drinks. The music a low thrum beneath the pulse in his ears. He hadn’t even wanted to go. He never did.
But Pandora had wrapped a gauzy scarf around her head and whispered, “A new moon calls for spontaneous energy, darling. We’re going.”
And he’d followed. Because he always followed her.
He hadn’t expected to catch someone’s eye across the room.
He hadn’t expected him.
James had been golden even in the dim light—shirt open at the collar, hair a mess, and smile like something out of a sun-drenched dream.
And James had looked at him like he was the most interesting thing in the room.
Not a single person had ever looked at Regulus Black like that.
One drink turned into three.
Three drinks turned into a kiss. A whispered, “Is this okay?” and Regulus nodding.
Hands pressed into the small of his back. Fingertips brushing up under his shirt.
James had been warm, chaotic, open.
Regulus had felt like the world was burning and he hadn’t even cared.
The next morning had been worse.
Not because it had been awful—because it hadn’t.
Because it had been nice.
Because James had made tea in a chipped mug and sat with him on the floor and asked questions like he actually wanted answers.
Because James had kissed his temple before he left.
Because Regulus had let himself imagine, just for a second, that maybe—
"Dr. Potter is known for being hands-on with his interns," the chief continued cheerfully, clicking to the next slide.
Regulus flinched.
He felt a hand lightly touch his arm. “You're going to snap your pen,” Pandora murmured beside him.
He glanced down. His fingers were clamped so tight around the barrel of his pen it was bowing. He loosened his grip, exhaling slowly through his nose.
Pandora leaned in, her voice soft and tilted with concern. “What happened?”
Regulus shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” she replied calmly, already doodling a moon in the corner of her schedule. “You only get that look when something actually matters.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
The slideshow blurred.
“Maintain professionalism with staff at all times,” the chief droned on. “And remember—personal relationships must not interfere with patient care.”
James’s lips on his throat. James saying, “God, I can’t stop touching you.”
Regulus stared down at the agenda. Pediatrics rotation: Dr. J. Potter.
He couldn’t breathe.
James had dropped his coffee when he saw him this morning. Ran from the room like a child. Didn’t even say his name.
It wasn’t that Regulus cared. He didn’t. Not really.
It was just—he thought maybe—maybe there was something.
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat too long.
“I don’t need a crystal for this,” he said under his breath.
Pandora slid a small rose quartz across the table anyway.
James was mid-way through updating a patient's chart when he heard the soft, almost hesitant, "Dr. Potter?"
He turned to see Regulus standing there, his usual stern expression softening slightly as he looked at James. That voice, however, sparked a flash of memory so intense it was like a punch to the gut. He remembered Regulus's breathless whispers, the way his voice had hitched as James had trailed kisses down his neck, the way he had moaned James's name when—
James shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the image of Regulus's flushed skin, his parted lips, and the way his body had moved against James's.
"Regulus," he acknowledged, his voice steady despite the storm of memories threatening to overwhelm him. "What can I do for you?"
Regulus held up a file, his expression returning to its usual cool composure. "I just needed to clarify the details for the upcoming procedure. The notes are a bit vague."
James took the file, his fingers brushing against Regulus's. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of memory through him. He remembered the feel of Regulus's skin beneath his fingertips, the way his body had responded to James's touch, the way he had arched into him, desperate and needy.
He cleared his throat, focusing on the file rather than the memories. "It's all standard procedure. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."
Regulus nodded, taking the file back. "Thank you, Dr. Potter."
As Regulus turned to leave, James let his eyes linger on the younger man's form, remembering the way their bodies had fit together, the way Regulus had moved against him, the way his body had felt beneath James's hands. He remembered the taste of his skin, the way his muscles had tensed and relaxed under James's touch, the way he had cried out James's name as—
James turned away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He needed to focus. He needed to push these memories aside and get back to work.
Later, as he was lecturing a group of interns, Regulus stood at the back of the room, taking notes. James could feel his presence like a tangible force, drawing his attention. He tried to focus on his lecture, but every time he looked up, there was Regulus, pen poised, eyes on him, and all James could think about was the way those eyes had looked at him that night, filled with raw, unfiltered desire.
He paused mid-sentence, realizing he had lost his train of thought. The interns looked at him expectantly, but all he could see was Regulus, standing there, his expression unreadable. James took a deep breath and tried to push the memories aside, to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. The images kept coming, one after another, each one more intense than the last.
He remembered the way Regulus had looked at him, eyes dark with want, as James had slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his pale, smooth skin. He remembered the way Regulus's breath had hitched, the way his chest had risen and fallen rapidly as James had leaned in to kiss him, soft and gentle at first, then deeper, more urgent.
He remembered the way Regulus's body had felt against his, the way their hearts had pounded in sync as James had explored every inch of him, memorizing the contours of his body, the way he had responded to James's touch, the way he had moaned and arched into him, begging for more.
James excused himself abruptly, leaving the interns to stare after him in confusion. He hurried down the hall, his heart pounding in his chest, and ducked into the first empty room he could find. He leaned against the door, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Get it together, James."
But the memories kept assaulting him, each one more vivid and intense than the last. He could feel Regulus's hands on his body, could taste his kiss, could hear his moans. He could see the way his eyes had looked at him, filled with something he couldn't quite name. He remembered the way Regulus had wrapped his legs around James's waist, urging him deeper, harder, faster, the way he had clung to James, nails digging into his back, marking him, claiming him. He still had marks down his back.
He took a deep breath and pushed off from the door, determined to regain control of himself. He splashed some water on his face in the sink, taking a moment to compose himself. When he emerged from the room, he was once again the picture of calm and confidence, ready to face whatever the day threw at him.
Chapter Text
The corridor was too bright, too sterile, too quiet.
Remus didn’t even glance up when he heard the footsteps. He could already tell who it was from the rhythm of them alone. Sirius always walked like the world owed him space. Too fast, too hard, like his heels could strike sparks off tile.
“You forgot to sign out of radiology,” Sirius said as he brushed past, voice clipped, unreadable.
Remus didn’t look at him. “You’re welcome.”
Sirius stopped. “Sorry?”
“For fixing your consult,” Remus said, still not turning. “The radius wasn’t fractured. Maybe if you read imaging like a surgeon instead of a frat boy with a god complex—”
“You smug bastard,” Sirius snapped.
Remus exhaled slowly. The kind of breath he took before pushing in a screw during a closed reduction. Measured. Focused.
“Maybe if you’d stop trying to impress people and actually pay attention,” he said coolly, “you wouldn’t misdiagnose simple injuries like a first-year.”
Sirius stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Say that again.”
Remus looked up finally. Their eyes locked. “You heard me.”
“I save lives,” Sirius hissed. “I run into chaos while you’re drinking tea in a lounge and calling it medicine.”
Remus’s jaw tightened. “You’re not special because you bleed for this place, Sirius.”
“You think I want this?” Sirius bit back. “You think I like waking up every day trying to outpace how much I hate it here?”
“Don’t act like you’re a victim,” Remus said, quiet and cutting. “It’s pathetic.”
“Oh, fuck you, Remus.”
Remus took a step forward, then another. They were toe to toe now. Close enough to see the fury brewing in Sirius’s eyes, close enough to smell the sharp scent of antiseptic still clinging to his collar.
“Face it,” Remus said, voice almost a whisper. “You’re just like your father.”
Sirius snapped.
The punch was fast but not clean. Sirius was too angry to aim properly. His fist struck Remus’s jaw, and Remus’s head jerked slightly to the side—but he didn’t move otherwise. His feet stayed planted. His shoulders square.
Another punch came, slamming into his chest.
Then another.
Remus didn’t block them. He just took it. Not because he couldn’t fight back—he could’ve ended this in seconds—but because something in Sirius’s face made him freeze. Sirius wasn’t fighting to win. He was breaking apart in real time.
The fourth punch came with a broken sob under it.
Remus stepped forward, caught Sirius’s wrists, and in one fluid movement, spun him around and shoved him backward until they crashed to the ground. Sirius’s back hit the tile hard, arms pinned above his head, legs trapped under Remus’s weight.
He squirmed violently for a second—still pushing, still trying to punch—but Remus didn’t let go.
“Sirius,” he said lowly.
“I hate you,” Sirius choked, his voice splintering. “I hate you—”
And then the fight stopped.
Just like that.
Sirius crumpled beneath him, breath hitching, fists clenched. His shoulders shook, his head turned to the side as he tried to breathe through it, to stop it, to hide it—but it was too late.
His whole body caved in.
And Sirius Black, the infuriating, unbearable, reckless trauma surgeon—started to cry.
Remus let go of his wrists.
He shifted slightly, bracing a hand on the ground beside Sirius’s head. For a second, he just looked at him. The same man who made his blood boil every day. The same man who screamed in the OR and never apologized for anything.
The same man who now looked small.
Without a word, Remus leaned down, scooped an arm under Sirius’s back, and lifted him effortlessly.
Sirius didn’t fight it.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even move, except to curl faintly into Remus’s shoulder as he was hauled down the corridor, limp and shaking.
Remus didn’t say anything, either. Not when he shouldered open the on-call room door. Not when he lowered Sirius gently onto the bed. Not when Sirius turned away and pressed his face into the pillow, still trembling, still trying to pretend this wasn’t happening.
Remus just sat in the chair by the bed, elbows on knees, fingers templed together.
And waited.
Sirius curled tighter into the pillow, face turned toward the wall, his breath hitching again and again like he couldn’t get enough air in. His fists were tangled in the scratchy on-call room blanket, and his whole body shook with the effort of keeping himself quiet, of hiding it—still, even now.
Remus sat there. Still. Steady.
He didn’t say anything. Not yet.
The fluorescent light above them flickered, buzzing faintly. Someone’s pager beeped far down the hallway. The room was small—just a bed, one chair, a side table with a half-dead plant. But in that moment, it was its own universe. Sirius’s pain filled every corner of it.
“I literally…” Sirius’s voice cracked, barely audible.
Remus looked up.
“I literally try to save people from dying,” Sirius said, voice shaking. “Every goddamn day.”
He didn’t lift his head. He just pulled his arms tighter around himself, like that could keep the sobs in. Like he could contain it somehow.
“But I see so many people die.”
It came out in a broken whisper, like something shattering inside his chest.
Remus stood slowly, crossing the small space to the bed.
“I try so hard,” Sirius whispered. “I push and I run and I cut and I scream, and I never stop, and I can’t stop—because the second I do—” He let out a gasping sob. “They die anyway.”
Remus sat on the edge of the bed. Careful. Quiet.
Sirius was still facing the wall, shaking so hard his voice kept breaking in the middle of syllables.
“There was this kid—twelve—last week. Car crash. I held pressure on his liver for twenty minutes while his mom screamed outside the OR and then—then he coded. Right in front of me. After everything.”
He covered his eyes with one arm.
“I can still feel the blood on my hands,” he whispered. “It doesn’t come off.”
Remus didn’t speak. Just reached forward, slow and deliberate, and placed a hand on Sirius’s back. His palm settled between Sirius’s shoulder blades—where he was tense and trembling and still somehow trying to hold himself together.
“You’re not supposed to cry,” Sirius choked. “You’re not supposed to feel anything. You just keep going.”
“You’re human,” Remus said, finally.
Sirius laughed, broken and bitter. “That’s the problem.”
The words sat heavy between them.
Remus kept his hand there, grounding. Present.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” he said softly.
Sirius finally turned to look at him. His eyes were red, lashes soaked, nose pink. He looked young. Too young to carry this much weight.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he whispered.
Remus didn’t look away. “Then let me help you.”
Sirius stared at him for a long time. His lower lip trembled. He looked like he might say something—but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, he reached out, almost uncertain, and curled his fingers into Remus’s sleeve.
And Remus stayed. Just stayed. Until Sirius stopped shaking.
Until his breathing evened.
Until the hallway outside stopped buzzing.
Until the world outside the on-call room felt a little less loud.
Sirius’s fingers were still curled in Remus’s sleeve, but his voice—though hoarse, cracked, and soaked with everything he’d just let loose—was laced with that old, sharp-edged defiance.
“This doesn’t mean I like you,” he muttered, not looking at him. “You’re still a pompous, cardigan-wearing, ortho bastard.”
Remus blinked slowly, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. “Of course.”
Sirius sniffed hard, dragging his wrist across his nose. “Seriously. Don’t get soft on me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Or think this is going to be a thing. Or that we’re going to talk. Or bond.” He cleared his throat. “God, I can’t believe I cried in front of you.”
“You also punched me four times,” Remus said. “Let’s call it even.”
Sirius gave a tiny, wheezy laugh that was more breath than sound. He didn’t let go of Remus’s sleeve, though. Not yet.
And Remus didn’t make him.
🩺☤♡
Regulus stuck close behind James as they wound their way through the pediatric ward. The morning sunlight poured through the windows, but the sterile hospital corridors felt cold against Regulus’s nerves. Every step with James was a reminder of the strange knot tying them together — in the hospital hierarchy, in the aftermath of last night, and in everything unspoken.
James moved with effortless energy, a stark contrast to Regulus’s rigid, guarded posture. His bright smile was already infectious to the nurses and patients alike.
“Morning, Lily,” James said cheerfully as they passed the oncology station. Lily Evans looked up from her stack of charts, her red hair pulled back into a neat braid, eyes sharp but tired.
“Morning, Potter,” she replied with a small smile. Her tone was brisk but not unfriendly, the kind of professionalism that could hide exhaustion.
James waved a hand at her as they continued down the hall.
Their first stop was a room where a group of teenagers sat clustered around a table playing cards. One girl looked up as they entered, skeptical but curious.
“Hey, everyone,” James said, lowering his voice to sound friendly but respectful. “How’s the game going?”
The teens exchanged glances, then a boy with a bright grin said, “Better now that you’re here.”
James crouched near the table, meeting their eyes. “Got any requests? Stories, jokes, magic tricks? I’m here all day.”
One girl rolled her eyes but smiled. “Try a card trick, doc.”
James pulled a deck from his coat pocket with a flourish. As he shuffled and performed simple flourishes, Regulus noticed how naturally James drew the teens in—not just with tricks but with genuine interest.
“Who’s the toughest patient here?” James asked, nodding toward the girl with a determined look.
“That’d be me,” she said with a small, proud smile.
James grinned. “I don’t doubt it for a second. You all are fighters. Seriously.”
Regulus shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an outsider watching this display of warmth and confidence. His eyes flicked to the clipboard, where he struggled to focus on notes amid memories flickering through his mind.
They moved on to room after room, with James talking softly to toddlers, chatting playfully with older kids, and never losing that spark that made him seem like a force of nature.
At one point, in the hallway outside a room, Regulus’s gaze caught Lily’s as she passed, the faintest twitch of a smile crossing her lips. She gave a quick nod before continuing down the hall, her steps brisk and purposeful.
Regulus felt the tension in his chest tighten again. Following James was like trying to hold onto a comet—bright, impossible to catch, and full of light he didn’t know how to handle.
James stopped in front of a young boy with a cast on his leg, crouching down to look him in the eye.
“What’s the best thing you did this week, buddy?” James asked gently.
The boy hesitated, then grinned. “I scored a goal in soccer.”
James’s face lit up. “That’s incredible! You’re a champ. I bet Mr. Cast there has superpowers now.”
Regulus watched as James ruffled the boy’s hair and stood, eyes briefly meeting his. In that flicker of a glance, Regulus saw something softer, more vulnerable beneath James’s relentless energy.
The day stretched on, and Regulus felt the weight of every moment, every smile James gave away so freely, contrasting with his own silent storm of conflicted feelings.
He was an intern shadowing a star, but shadowing James Potter was turning out to be much more complicated than he ever imagined.
🩺☤♡
James pushed open the door to room 312, stepping into the quiet space that had become a familiar refuge over the years. The soft afternoon light filtered through the blinds, casting gentle stripes across the pale walls and the bed where fourteen-year-old Maya lay, propped up on pillows, her dark eyes watching the ceiling like she was waiting for the clouds to say something.
“Hey, Maya,” James said with his usual bright grin, sliding onto the chair beside her bed. “How’re we feeling today?”
Maya shifted slightly, wincing as she adjusted her arm. Her sickle cell anemia had taken its toll—pain flared unpredictably, often striking deep and sharp.
She gave him a wry smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “This disease,” she said slowly, voice low and tired, “it’s like being a lemon, used for baking.”
James blinked, intrigued despite the heaviness settling in his chest.
“You know,” she continued, “you’re skin is being shredded off and you’re cut in half and squeezed until everything good is out... and then left to rot.”
Her words hung in the air between them—bitter, raw, somehow vivid.
James swallowed, feeling the usual helplessness tug at the edges of his optimism. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. “That sounds… awful.”
Maya looked down at their joined hands and gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Yeah, it is.”
“But you’re still here,” James said, squeezing her hand lightly. “You’re still fighting. And every day you do, you’re stronger than this disease.”
Maya met his gaze then, something fierce sparking behind the fatigue. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Potter.”
He laughed softly, the sound careful but warm. “Not mushy. Just honest.”
Regulus lingered by the doorway, clipboard forgotten in his hands as he watched James with a mixture of admiration and something he wasn’t ready to name. This wasn’t just a doctor doing his rounds — it was someone who somehow made hope feel real in a place that so often felt heavy with despair.
The conversation between James and Maya stretched on, lightened with jokes and stories, weaving through the quiet struggles and small victories of life with chronic illness.
And for a moment, Regulus felt that maybe, just maybe, he was learning what it really meant to be a doctor.
🩺☤♡
Lily stood by the oncology ward’s nurses’ station, her arms crossed tightly as she watched Pandora hover over a small cart scattered with crystals, herbs, and a few colorful feathers.
“Pandora,” Lily said sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the ward. “These are cancer patients. They need chemo and serious medical care, not crystals and… whatever this is.”
Pandora looked up, her expression a mixture of surprise and mild defiance. “But Lily, these patients—sometimes they need more than just medicine. They need hope, comfort. Energy healing can help with that.”
Lily’s eyes narrowed. “Hope and comfort don’t come from fairy tales. They come from science, from treatments we know work. If you want to help, focus on the chemotherapy schedules, the symptoms, the side effects. Leave the mysticism for your off hours.”
Pandora’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue further. Instead, she carefully packed away her crystals, though her fingers lingered on them a moment longer than necessary.
Lily turned away, shaking her head slightly but not without a trace of pity. She knew Pandora meant well, but this was a hospital — not a spiritual retreat.
Behind them, the steady beep of monitors and the quiet shuffle of nurses’ shoes reminded them both of the stakes at hand.
🩺☤♡
The pediatric oncology ward was quiet in the late morning lull, sunlight filtering softly through the tall windows. The faint hum of machines and the distant murmur of nurses passing through the hallways formed a steady background. It was a place where hope and fear tangled tightly, where every breath was a delicate balance.
In one of the patient rooms, a girl of about twelve sat propped up in bed, her frail frame swallowed by the hospital sheets. Her eyes, large and rimmed with fatigue, followed the gentle movements of the woman standing beside her — Pandora Lovegood, an intern known for her whimsical nature and unusual bedside manner.
Pandora knelt beside the bed, a small pouch of crystals and herbs clutched loosely in her hands. Her voice was low but steady, almost reverent, as she began to speak.
“You know, My mother always says that crystals can help shift the energy around us,” Pandora said, her fingers brushing a pale amethyst. “This one, amethyst, is supposed to help calm fears and bring peace.”
The girl blinked slowly, her thin lips parting with a faint, uncertain smile. “Do they… really work?”
Pandora’s eyes softened. “Sometimes. It’s not magic — it’s about focus, and belief. It can help you feel better inside, even when things are scary.”
The child’s mother, standing quietly by the door, exchanged a glance with Pandora. There was a moment of fragile hope, but it was quickly broken.
The girl coughed harshly, her body trembling slightly. “I don’t want to just feel better inside. I want the pain to stop.”
Pandora nodded, but didn’t have a reply. The moment hung heavy in the sterile air.
Across the hall, in the hospital’s small lounge area where the staff often gathered between shifts, Lily Evans paced briskly, holding a thick chart against her chest. Her red braid bounced with every step, her expression tight with frustration.
She didn’t want to lose her temper, not here, not now — but Pandora’s “methods” had crossed a line once again.
The rest of the group was scattered about the lounge, a mixture of attending physicians and interns. Marlene and Dorcas sat close, quietly discussing a complex neurology case. Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier leaned against the counter, sharing a quiet joke about a recent surgical mishap. Mary, the trauma nurse, stood nearby, arms folded but alert to every conversation.
Regulus Black stood off to the side, clipboard in hand, trying his best to stay absorbed in his notes, though his sharp eyes flickered toward James Potter and Sirius Black, who were engaged in their usual verbal sparring.
Lily’s gaze swept the room, finally landing on Pandora, who was standing just inside the doorway, seemingly oblivious to the tension radiating from Lily.
With a swift, purposeful step, Lily approached her.
“Pandora,” Lily said, voice low but firm, “come with me. Now.”
Pandora blinked, looking startled, then followed without protest, her steps hesitant.
The door closed softly behind them, and the lounge fell into an uneasy silence.
Lily turned on Pandora, her patience snapping like a brittle twig.
“What were you thinking?” Lily demanded, voice sharper now.
Pandora opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I was just trying to help.”
“Help?” Lily scoffed, hands on her hips. “You were telling a terrified child that crystals would heal her. That’s not help. That’s cruel. That’s dangerous.”
Pandora’s face flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to give her hope.”
Lily’s eyes narrowed. “Hope is not lies, Lovegood. Hope is the treatments we provide. Hope is the science behind this hospital. You’re not a fairy godmother. You’re an intern, and you have a responsibility.”
Pandora looked down, biting her lip.
Lily’s voice dropped low, but every word struck like a hammer.
“Get the fuck off my rotation, Lovegood.”
The bluntness stunned Pandora into silence.
Lily turned sharply and marched back into the lounge, leaving Pandora standing just outside the door, her hands trembling slightly.
The room was dead quiet. Everyone’s eyes were on Pandora, who looked suddenly smaller, more vulnerable than the whimsical intern they all knew.
Sirius broke the silence with a sarcastic snort, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed amusement. “Well, that was… unexpected.”
James gave a tight smile but said nothing, while Regulus’s gaze flicked between Pandora and Lily, his expression unreadable.
Marlene exchanged a glance with Dorcas, who gave a subtle nod. Even Barty and Evan’s lighthearted banter died down.
Mary shifted in place, finally speaking quietly. “Lily’s right. We’re here to save lives. Sometimes that means being harsh.”
Pandora swallowed hard, then nodded, her voice barely audible. “I understand.”
The tension lingered as the group began to quietly disperse, the day moving forward but something unspoken hanging heavy in the air.
🩺☤♡
Barty and Evan sat side by side at the small hospital café table, the clatter of trays and muted conversations surrounding them but somehow failing to penetrate their bubble of calm. Barty stirred his coffee absently, the steam curling up like wisps of quiet comfort. Evan was scrolling through his phone, but every so often his eyes flicked up to meet Barty’s, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You ready for that conference next week?” Barty asked, voice low and steady. “I’m still tweaking the presentation slides on reconstructive techniques.”
Evan chuckled softly, a rare, genuine sound that filled the space between them. “You know I’m going to steal half your data. I’ll give you credit—maybe.”
Barty shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You better. Otherwise I’ll make sure the whole hospital knows.”
The ease between them was effortless, years of shared jokes, late-night shifts, and quiet support woven into the comfortable silence they often settled into. They had become each other’s anchors in a world that demanded so much precision and strength.
“I don’t know how I’d get through some days without you,” Evan said suddenly, looking down at his hands.
Barty glanced over, his expression softening. “Same here. We’ve been through the worst and come out the other side, yeah?”
Evan nodded, and for a moment the weight they carried lifted just enough to breathe easier.
Down the corridor, Marlene and Dorcas were huddled in a corner of the nurses’ station, papers and charts spread between them. The air around them was filled with the quiet urgency of neuro and neonatal wards — complex, delicate, demanding.
Marlene brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, her glasses catching the harsh fluorescent light. “You think the new protocols will make a difference with the post-op cognitive recovery times?”
Dorcas tapped her pen thoughtfully. “It has potential. But with neonates, it’s always a gamble. Their brains are so delicate. Every day is a step.”
Marlene nodded, eyes sharp. “At least we have each other. It helps, knowing someone’s got your back when things get overwhelming.”
Dorcas smiled faintly, warmth flickering in her tired eyes. “Yeah, and we fight hard for our little patients. That’s what keeps me going.”
Their friendship was forged in long hours and shared worries, a quiet strength that bolstered each of them through the emotional storms of their specialties.
Later that evening, Evan and Marlene found themselves alone in the staff lounge, away from the usual hustle. The dim light softened the harsh edges of the hospital, and the quiet hum of the HVAC was the only sound besides their breaths.
Evan sat back in his chair, eyes distant. “You ever feel like… we’re just pretending?”
Marlene raised an eyebrow. “Pretending? How do you mean?”
He hesitated. “Like this whole ‘perfect professional’ thing. We smile, joke, support each other, but underneath… it’s a mask. A performance.”
Marlene’s gaze softened, and she shifted closer. “I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a role just to keep everyone comfortable.”
Evan exhaled slowly, the tension easing with the confession. “And I think I have a crush on Barty. But it’s complicated. We’re best friends, and I don’t want to risk ruining that.”
Marlene smiled ruefully. “I’ve been crushing on Dorcas forever, but I don’t think she knows. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t say anything.”
Their laughter was quiet, shared between two people carrying the same secret weight — the ache of feelings unspoken and the fear of change.
“We’re both stuck,” Evan said softly.
“But maybe,” Marlene replied, “being stuck together isn’t the worst place to be.”
They sat in companionable silence, the hospital walls closing in but also holding them safe, at least for now.
🩺☤♡
Remus paced the corridor outside the on-call room, his sweater sleeves pushed up, fingers twitching with restless energy. The sharp scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, but it was nothing compared to the knot tightening in his chest. He still hadn’t expected the way things spiraled with Sirius.
The fight. The sudden release of years of tension, frustration, and unspoken grudges crashing together in a flurry of fists and accusations. Remus hadn’t meant to hurt Sirius — not really. But when the words slipped out, "You're just like your father," he’d seen something shatter behind Sirius’s usual cocky mask.
Now Sirius was inside, silent but shaken. The kind of broken that didn’t fit the man who could usually charm or cut down a room in equal measure.
The door clicked, and Sirius emerged, eyes red-rimmed but fierce. “I’m fine,” he said, voice low but raw.
Remus didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped aside, letting Sirius pass.
They walked in silence for a few steps, the tension thick but quieter now.
Sirius broke it, voice rough. “You think you’re better than me because you drink tea and wear cardigans.”
Remus gave a humorless laugh. “No, I think you’re too blinded by your own ego to see the damage you cause.”
“You don’t get it,” Sirius said, voice breaking just a little. “I literally try to save people from dying. But I see so many die. Every day. You think that doesn’t hurt? You think it’s easy? I watch kids lose their fights, adults crushed by time or accident or genetics. And I’m just supposed to keep going like it’s nothing?”
Remus’s expression softened, just enough. “I know it hurts.”
Sirius shook his head, voice cracking with emotion. “Then why does it feel like no one sees it? Like I’m just the arrogant trauma surgeon who throws himself into chaos because he doesn’t care? I care. God, I care so much.”
Remus moved closer, voice gentle but firm. “I don’t think you don’t care. I just think you don’t let yourself be vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable?” Sirius laughed bitterly. “I don’t have the luxury.”
Remus reached out, resting a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “We all have that luxury. You just have to take it.”
Sirius looked down, struggling to hold himself together. For a long moment, Remus said nothing, letting the silence settle between them.
Finally, Sirius wiped at his eyes roughly, voice still quiet but with a hint of something like surrender. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”
Remus smiled softly. “You’re still a pompous, cardigan-wearing ortho bastard. Don’t worry.”
Sirius snorted, the tension breaking a little more.
They stood side by side in the hallway — two stubborn souls tangled in the impossible work of saving lives and, maybe, starting to save themselves.
🩺☤♡
The hospital corridors hummed with the quiet, relentless rhythm of the day, the steady pulse of life and struggle intertwined. Somewhere, the soft clatter of footsteps and whispered conversations carried on, but for Remus and Sirius, the world had narrowed to this fragile moment of understanding.
They moved forward, both knowing the battles inside and outside the operating rooms were far from over — but maybe, just maybe, they weren’t alone anymore.
🩺☤♡
The hospital lounge was unusually quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. A group of doctors, nurses, and interns gathered around the small break room television, murmurs spreading through the room like wildfire.
The screen flickered with a social media post that had somehow made its way into the hospital’s network—an audio clip, brief but explosive. It was a recording of Evan and Marlene, talking in hushed tones. The words were unmistakable.
“I have feelings for Barty,” Evan said quietly. “But he only sees me as a friend. I think he’s always been... the one I looked up to. It’s like I was in awe of him since I was a kid, and maybe that’s all I ever really cared about.”
Marlene’s voice followed, equally soft but tinged with sadness. “And I have feelings for Dorcas. But it’s complicated. We don’t even say it out loud.”
The room went still. The intimate conversation, obviously recorded without their knowledge, left the group stunned.
Barty sat frozen, his face pale. He was eleven years older than Evan, had been a mentor and friend for years, but the clip revealed something deeper, something Evan had buried inside for so long.
Evan’s expression crumpled as he stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the tile floor. Tears welled in his eyes as he fled the room, moving so fast no one could stop him.
“Where’s he going?” Pandora called out, voice tight.
Mary shrugged, seemingly detached but concerned. “Bathroom, probably.”
Barty’s jaw tightened. “I have to find him.”
“Wait,” James said sharply, stepping forward, voice low but urgent. “I’ll help. Evan needs someone who gets it. He’s barely twenty-one. Passed high school at thirteen, sped through med school like a rocket, but social stuff? Not his strength.”
Barty nodded grimly. “He’s hiding in the bathroom now. I can’t reach him. He won’t talk to me.”
James pushed past the crowd and hurried down the hall. When they reached the bathroom, Evan was sitting on the cold floor, his head in his hands, shoulders shaking quietly.
James crouched beside him gently. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re not alone.”
Evan looked up, eyes red but searching. “I just... I don’t know how to be like this. How to feel this.”
James smiled softly. “Nobody expects you to have it all figured out. You’re doing great.”
Barty appeared at the door, hesitating before stepping inside. Evan’s gaze flicked to him, the raw hurt still there, but also a flicker of hope.
James stood and wrapped an arm around Evan’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
Back in the lounge, whispers buzzed, but everyone understood—Evan was young, brilliant, and vulnerable, and now it was their turn to protect him. James’s protective glare swept over the group as he led Evan away.
The hospital never stopped moving, never stopped challenging them all, but in that moment, they held space for something else: the messy, complicated humanity behind the white coats.
🩺☤♡
James never left Evan’s side the rest of the day. From the moment they left the bathroom, James had made it clear: Evan wasn’t going anywhere near surgery today. He intercepted schedules, quietly but firmly telling the chief nurse to pull Evan from any OR lists, no exceptions. Evan, fragile and silent, leaned heavily on James’s steady presence, eyes still raw from tears, jaw clenched in humiliation and confusion.
“Hey,” James whispered during a slow walk through the hallways, careful not to push too much, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Just know I’m here.”
Evan gave a small, hesitant nod but didn’t meet James’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Barty lingered awkwardly at the edges, desperate to reach out, but Evan wouldn’t even look his way. Every glance from Barty was met with averted eyes or a stiff nod, and it was clear Evan’s pride was wounded too deeply.
James noticed. It was like watching someone retreat behind an invisible wall, and that made him furious.
Later, after rounding up a few attendings for an emergency meeting—without Evan, to spare him more discomfort—James paced the sterile conference room, face flushed with a rare intensity. His usual easygoing charm was replaced by something sharp, almost volcanic.
“Whoever the fuck put that audio clip online, I will personally kill you,” he snapped, voice low but ice-cold. The room fell silent, stunned by the fury radiating off him. “And don’t think for one second I won’t bring this to the police to trace the IP address. This isn’t just a breach of privacy. It’s an attack on a kid who’s already carrying too much.”
Lily, standing near the back, exchanged a look with Marlene. Even she hadn’t seen James this angry before.
Barty shifted uncomfortably, guilt heavy in his eyes, but James cut through the room like a wildfire, “Evan is brilliant, barely twenty-one, the youngest in our hospital. He’s a prodigy in medicine but not in dealing with this—this betrayal. He doesn’t deserve this.”
Remus and Sirius exchanged glances, the tension between them momentarily forgotten in the face of James’s protective rage.
James stopped pacing, voice dropping to a quiet, fierce determination. “We need to support Evan, shield him, and make damn sure something like this never happens again.”
No one spoke for a moment. The gravity of the situation settled over them like a heavy fog. The hospital buzzed with urgency as the team prepared to rally around Evan—but no one dared challenge James’s fury, not when he was protecting someone so clearly vulnerable.
And somewhere, behind closed doors, Evan sat wrapped in the warmth of James’s care, slowly learning that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t alone in this fight.
🩺☤♡
The emergency meeting had barely settled into a tense silence when Sirius strode into the conference room, eyes burning with a mix of frustration and something else—something raw and unguarded. The murmurs ceased instantly, all attention snapping to him.
James’s glare sharpened, the protective fire in his chest blazing hotter. “Well? Who the fuck put that clip online?”
Sirius ran a hand through his unruly hair, jaw tight. His voice was rough, almost desperate. “It was me.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Lily’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Barty’s eyes narrowed sharply.
Sirius took a deep breath, looking directly at James. “I thought... I thought it would help. With the feelings, with everything. Evan’s been shutting down, and I didn’t know what else to do. I swear, I didn’t mean to humiliate him.”
James stared, disbelief and anger flashing across his face. “You thought exposing him would help? That’s not just stupid, Sirius—that’s cruel.”
Before anyone could say more, Barty’s fist connected with Sirius’s jaw in a sudden, sharp punch. The sound cracked through the room like thunder. Sirius staggered back, clutching his face.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” Barty growled, voice low but fierce. “You mess with Evan, you mess with me.”
Sirius, usually so quick with a snarky comeback, was silent, blinking as the shock settled.
James stepped forward, voice icy. “This isn’t just some prank or game. Evan’s barely twenty-one. He’s brilliant, yes, but fragile in ways some of us forget. We protect our own.”
The room hummed with heavy tension, but beneath it all was an unspoken understanding: Evan wasn’t just another colleague. He was family. And they would fight to keep him safe.
Sirius rubbed his jaw, his gaze flickering toward Evan’s name on the schedule. “I fucked up.”
James nodded slowly, the anger still burning but edged with something softer. “Yeah. You did.”
No one else spoke. The weight of it all pressed down on them.
But maybe, in that moment, the first step toward healing had begun.
🩺☤♡
Barty’s jaw was tight as he stormed out of the conference room, pushing through the halls with a purpose. He didn’t look back or speak—he only wanted to find Evan. The hospital’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as he checked room after room, until finally he spotted the familiar door marked “On-Call Room 3.”
Peeking inside, he found Evan curled up on the cot, wrapped in a thick blanket, eyes closed but face pale and tense. The soft hum of the machines was the only sound in the quiet room.
Barty hesitated a moment before stepping inside, lowering his voice. “Hey, Evan.”
Evan’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a moment the weight of the day seemed to settle on him again.
“I’m sorry,” Barty said quietly, sitting on the edge of the cot. “For everything. For not being there when you needed me most.”
Evan looked down at his hands, folding them tightly under the blanket. After a long pause, he spoke, voice small but steady.
“You always made me feel like your equal, like your best friend,” he said. “But you were always a teacher, a mentor to me, even though you’re older… a lot older.”
Barty swallowed, the truth of Evan’s words settling heavy in his chest. “I never wanted it to feel like anything else,” he murmured. “You’re more than just an intern to me.”
Evan gave a faint, tired smile. “I know. And maybe that’s what makes all this harder.”
For a moment, they sat together in silence, the tension easing just enough to remind them both that some bonds weren’t broken—they just needed time to heal.
Barty’s lips curled into a gentle, amused smile as Evan’s laughter filled the quiet on-call room, a soft sound that eased some of the tension still lingering in the air.
“I do like you, even though you’re old,” Evan said, the warmth in his voice making the words feel like a fragile admission rather than a joke.
Barty chuckled, shaking his head with a playful glint in his eyes. “Well, God forbid, I like you even though you’re young,” he teased back, the corners of his mouth turning up into a fond smile.
The air between them shifted—lighter now, charged with an unspoken understanding. Barty’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slowly, giving Evan every chance to pull away. But Evan stayed rooted, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something tender—hope, maybe?
Their lips met with a gentle, hesitant touch. Evan’s hands trembled slightly as he reached up to rest against Barty’s chest, the reality of the moment sinking in. This was new to him; a first kiss, uncharted territory. The kiss deepened cautiously, a silent conversation where every movement was careful, every breath shared.
Evan pulled back slightly, cheeks flushed a soft shade of pink. His breath hitched, and his eyes shone with a mix of vulnerability and wonder.
“You’re braver than you think,” Barty murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from Evan’s forehead.
Evan managed a shy smile, the weight on his shoulders seeming to lighten, even if just for a moment. “I’ve never… done that before,” he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
Barty’s smile grew wider, warm and reassuring. “Then you did perfectly.”
They stayed close, the fragile newness of their connection wrapping around them like a shield against the uncertainty of the world outside. In that small, quiet room, Evan found something he hadn’t expected: a place where he could just be, without fear or judgment.
And Barty, for the first time in a long while, felt hope—hope that maybe this was the beginning of something real.
Chapter Text
Evan was trying—he really was.
But it was like every hallway whispered at him now.
Too young. Too green. The prodigy. The baby doc. The hospital gossip mill churned louder by the day since the leaked audio clip.
Even without a name tied to it, everyone knew.
He could hear it in the snickers exchanged when he passed through the OR wing. In the overly polite tone of a few older nurses. In the way residents second-guessed his orders, masked as “just double-checking.”
He could feel it most of all when his own residents—especially ones older than him—looked at him like he was a clever intern who’d been given keys to the kingdom too early.
But Evan Rosier wasn’t just clever. He was a cardiothoracic attending at twenty-one. Because he was better than clever. He was brilliant. And exhausted. And cracking.
The final straw came during a high-stakes mitral valve repair. The OR was full—nurses, techs, a surgical observer group, several attendings watching from the gallery—including Barty, Remus, Marlene, even Lily, her arms crossed tightly. Evan stood at the head of the table, scrubbed in, calm on the outside.
Inside, he was buzzing like a live wire.
“Clamp,” he said, voice cool.
His resident, Dr. Pratt, hesitated just a second too long. He was thirty-two, older, bulkier, confident in that annoying, condescending way that grated on Evan’s nerves. He handed Evan the clamp but followed it with:
“Are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Evan snapped, eyes flicking up over his mask, sharp and ice-cold.
The room paused.
“I am the attending,” Evan said, louder this time. “You are the resident. That means you listen to me, you don’t question me in front of an OR full of people unless you have a medical reason. Not because you don’t like that someone younger than you is holding the scalpel.”
Dr. Pratt stiffened, clearly caught off guard. One of the nurses coughed quietly. The anesthesiologist shifted, awkward.
Evan wasn’t done.
“And since this is being observed, let me make something clear,” Evan said, voice tightening, pulse spiking. “I got here because I was better. Not faster, not younger—better. I earned this position. Every year I was dismissed because of my age, I worked harder. Every time someone like you looked down on me, I kept going. So if you want to try and embarrass me again in my OR, I suggest you try it somewhere you don’t look like the asshole.”
The silence rang.
No one dared speak.
The patient, thankfully, was stable. The procedure was progressing without complication. And yet, Evan’s hands trembled slightly when he clamped the valve.
He finished the surgery perfectly. Smooth sutures, clean closure, no bleeding complications. Textbook.
But as the final stitch went in and he pulled off his gloves, he could feel the stares from the gallery burning into him. Not scornful. Not quite admiration. Just... stunned.
Evan didn’t wait. He stripped his gown off, tossed it in the bin, and left the OR without a word.
---
Back in the staff lounge, James was mid-laugh with Marlene and Dorcas when the alert popped on his phone.
“Mitral Valve OR3 — Observed Surgery complete. Attending: Evan Rosier.”
Followed by a private message from Lily:
“He snapped. Bad. Might’ve been justified. I think someone needs to check on him.”
James stood up immediately, already moving.
---
Evan was sitting on the floor of an unused call room, his back against the cabinet, scrubs still damp with sweat, surgical cap discarded on the floor next to him. His hands were clasped around his knees. He was breathing hard, like he’d run the whole hospital loop.
The door creaked open.
“You planning to run out of every room you walk into today?” James asked gently.
Evan didn’t answer.
James sat beside him, stretching his legs out, exhaling slowly. “Everyone’s talking about the OR thing.”
“I know.” Evan’s voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t mean to lose it. It was just… the look he gave me. Like I shouldn’t be there.”
“You should be there,” James said. “You were brilliant. You saved that patient’s life.”
“I yelled in front of half the hospital,” Evan muttered. “They’re never going to let me live it down.”
“Maybe not,” James agreed. “But they’ll remember you’re not someone to underestimate.”
Evan’s head dropped onto his arms. “It’s not just that.”
“What is it then?”
“I don’t want to be that guy. The angry kid who has to scream to be taken seriously. I didn’t want to be the story.”
James was quiet for a long moment, then said softly, “You’re not a story, Evan. You’re a person. A good one. A kid, maybe—but with the heart and brain of someone twice your age. You don’t need to carry this alone.”
Evan’s voice was a whisper now. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still just the thirteen-year-old who skipped prom for a medical exam. I don’t know how to be with people. I don’t know how to belong here.”
“You do,” James said. “You belong here because you earned it. And anyone who doesn’t see that can come talk to me.”
Evan chuckled weakly. “You gonna fight Dr. Pratt for me?”
“Oh, absolutely,” James grinned. “I’m already composing the email. Subject line: ‘Shut the fuck up, he’s better than you.’”
Evan laughed again, for real this time.
And James just sat there with him, quiet, close, safe.
Eventually, Evan would have to walk back into the world. Back into the OR. Back into the murmur of judgment and awe and gossip and expectation.
But for now, he let himself rest. And James kept watch, the unwavering kind of friend who made even the hardest days feel survivable.
The door creaked open again a few minutes later. James looked up from where he sat on the floor beside Evan, his back against the wall, one knee bent. Evan didn’t move — his head was still lowered, arms wrapped around his legs, the edges of his surgical mask crumpled in one hand.
Barty stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, face unreadable but eyes heavy with something softer. Something cautious.
James gave him a long look — warning, measuring — and then stood. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he said quietly, brushing a hand over Evan’s shoulder as he left.
Evan still didn’t look up.
Barty stepped inside the call room slowly, as if afraid he might scare him off. The quiet buzz of fluorescent lights filled the silence. He closed the door softly behind him.
“I saw the surgery,” he said, voice low. “You were—”
“Was it pity?” Evan asked.
Barty froze. “What?”
Evan finally raised his head, his eyes glassy, cheeks flushed. He looked wrecked. Vulnerable in a way that made Barty’s heart clench. “When you kissed me,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Was it pity?”
The room felt suddenly too still. Too close. Too fragile.
Barty took a breath, stepped forward, and crouched in front of him. “Evan…”
Evan shook his head, looking away. “You don’t have to lie. I’m not stupid. I know I’m young and weird and a mess— I have a meltdown in the middle of an OR and now I’m the hospital joke. You kissed me the night of the leak. Everyone was staring at me like I was a child who got caught playing pretend. And then you kissed me. So tell me the truth. Was it just because you felt bad for me?”
“No,” Barty said immediately. “No, Evan. It wasn’t.”
Evan blinked fast, jaw tight. “Then why?”
Barty exhaled slowly, sitting down on the floor beside him. “Because I’ve watched you since the moment you stepped into this hospital and refused to be small. You were a kid, yeah. But you were also the sharpest mind I’d ever seen. You didn’t care what people thought. You just wanted to be great.”
“I wanted to be you,” Evan whispered.
That stopped Barty. He looked at Evan, really looked — the crack in his voice, the tremble of his hands, the truth spilling out too fast.
“I was in awe of you,” Evan said. “Even when I was a teenager and you came to lecture, I used to memorize your procedures like they were gospel. I used to pretend I could be in the same room as you and not feel like I was barely holding myself together. And then one day I was. And I still couldn’t talk to you without sounding like an idiot.”
Barty’s throat was tight. “You’re not an idiot, Evan.”
“I’m not like you. You’re composed and clever and normal. I can do heart transplants blindfolded, but I can’t get people to like me. I can’t even make a joke without sounding like I read it off a flashcard.”
Barty turned fully toward him. “You don’t need to be composed. You don’t need to be ‘normal.’ You’re you, and that’s enough.”
Evan let out a shaky breath, finally daring to glance over at him. “Then why didn’t you say anything before? Why now?”
“Because I didn’t think I was allowed to feel the way I do,” Barty said. “You were my friend. You looked up to me. And yeah, I’m older. I kept telling myself that I was protecting you. But really? I was scared. Scared that if I crossed that line, I’d lose the only person who ever looked at me like I mattered outside of a scalpel and title.”
Evan’s mouth opened, closed. “You matter to me.”
Barty’s eyes flickered down to Evan’s hand, still curled in the blanket. “When I kissed you, it wasn’t pity. It was selfish. I wanted to. I’ve wanted to for a while. I just… waited until you were hurting, and that wasn’t fair.”
Evan’s voice was quiet. “I didn’t mind. I liked it. Even if I was bad at it.”
Barty smiled, the kind that softened the lines on his face. “You weren’t bad at it.”
Evan let out a small, uncertain laugh.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Barty leaned closer, not touching, just asking without words.
And this time, Evan was the one who closed the gap, shy and hesitant but sure. Their lips met again, gentler this time. Not rushed. Not fueled by panic or comfort, but something steadier.
When they pulled apart, Evan whispered, “I’m still scared.”
Barty nodded. “Me too.”
They sat there together on the floor, both of them breathing a little easier, letting the world outside stay on pause just a little longer.
Evan exhaled shakily, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders as his head thudded gently against the cabinet behind him. Barty was still sitting beside him, knees drawn up, arms resting casually across them, watching him with the kind of concern that wasn’t too loud but was deeply present. He didn’t hover. He never hovered. That’s probably why Evan could breathe around him.
“I made a scene,” Evan mumbled, half into the blanket. “In front of the gallery. In front of the entire cardio department. Probably some neuros too. God, I think Marlene was there.”
“You didn’t make a scene,” Barty said evenly. “You stood up for yourself.”
Evan laughed, sharp and bitter. “Yeah, and now they’ll all talk about how the baby genius finally cracked.”
There was a pause, then Barty muttered under his breath, “Pratt’s a douche.”
Evan startled a little—then snorted. “He is.”
“Always has been,” Barty added, eyes narrowing like just the thought of the resident made his blood pressure spike. “Walks around like he invented the stethoscope. Talks over everyone under forty. Keeps calling Remus ‘ortho boy’ to his face.”
Evan huffed a weak laugh. “He really does. Even when Remus has a scalpel in hand.”
“Exactly,” Barty said. “He’s the guy who tries to bond with the surgical fellows by mocking interns in group chat threads.”
Evan blinked, looking at him. “There’s a group chat?”
“There’s always a group chat,” Barty deadpanned. “And half the people in it are terrified of Lily, so you’re safe.”
Evan shook his head, sinking a little deeper into the blanket burrito he’d created. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back tomorrow.”
Barty leaned his head back against the wall, voice quieter now. “You go back because you’re the one who belongs there. And Pratt’s just mad he can’t outrun you in the OR even with ten extra years of experience.”
Evan was silent for a moment, then said, “You think James will actually fight him?”
Barty grinned. “James was already halfway to drafting an email with bullet points and legal references. If he had the clearance, he’d challenge him to a duel.”
Evan cracked a smile. “We don’t deserve him.”
“Nope,” Barty said. “But he chose us anyway.”
They sat together in the fading quiet, tension draining with every beat of silence.
“I’m not done being scared,” Evan said eventually.
“I’m not done liking you,” Barty replied.
And Evan let the tiniest smile curl at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”
Chapter 4
Notes:
CW - puke, lots of it, you can't escape it
Chapter Text
The fallout was swift. And brutal.
Word spread like wildfire across the hospital—anonymously at first, until Sirius, in one final act of guilt, admitted to it himself.
He had leaked the clip.
He thought it would help.
He was wrong.
In the two days that followed, no one spoke to him. Not *really*. Not unless they had to. People walked past him in the corridors without meeting his eyes. Residents who usually clung to his every word suddenly found excuses to work with other attendings. Even the nurses, who always forgave his charm and chaos, had gone quiet and clipped. Mary wouldn’t even hand him a chart—just left it on the counter and walked away.
But it wasn’t the cold silence that broke him.
It was James.
It was James, who didn’t yell. Who didn’t throw a punch or a fit or even raise his voice. James just looked at him with something so sharp and distant in his face—like Sirius was something beneath his notice now, like he was a disappointment that wasn’t even worth yelling at.
“You should have *protected* him,” James had said, so quiet it barely registered. “You had *no right*, Sirius. None. And don’t tell me you meant well.”
Sirius had opened his mouth, because that’s what he did—he talked, he deflected, he made a joke—but nothing came out. There was nothing that *could* come out that would make that look in James’s eyes disappear.
So James walked away.
And Sirius just stood there, gutted.
The worst came later, when Remus finally spoke to him.
Remus, who had been watching from the edges since the day of the leak, quiet and withdrawn but visibly, almost palpably furious. His silence had been deafening. Sirius had caught him lingering near Evan’s OR once, just watching the kid with that odd softness he reserved only for people who reminded him of himself.
Remus, who’d once been shoved into a locker in year nine for holding a boy’s hand. Who had once said, so quietly Sirius had nearly missed it, *“I didn’t come out. I was pushed.”*
So when Remus cornered him outside the elevators, Sirius felt something low and sharp twist in his stomach.
“You don’t get to play god with someone’s life like that,” Remus said flatly.
Sirius opened his mouth. “Remus—”
“No. Shut up. You don’t get to *explain* this away. Not to me.”
Remus’s voice was calm, but his eyes burned. “You don’t know what it’s like. To have something taken from you before you can even choose it. I was *twelve* when someone wrote ‘faggot’ on my locker. You think Evan’s going to forget this? That it won’t shape every single thing he does from now on?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him—”
“You didn’t think,” Remus snapped, stepping closer, his voice rising for the first time. “You just wanted something *clean*. Something that *felt* like it fixed things. You didn’t even think about him. You thought about *you.*”
Sirius swallowed hard, the words sticking like glass in his throat.
Remus looked at him for a long moment, the anger burning into something colder. “You don’t get to be around him anymore.”
“Remus…”
“You don’t *deserve* him.”
The elevator dinged. Remus didn’t get in.
He turned and walked away, leaving Sirius alone, the hallway suddenly feeling impossibly long and impossibly empty.
🩺☤♡
Sirius sat in the trauma lounge later that night, lights low, pretending to read a chart he wasn’t really seeing. Outside, the wind was howling against the windows. The hospital never slept, but it did quiet.
He heard footsteps.
He looked up, half-hoping it was James. Or Remus. Or anyone who’d say something other than what was already echoing in his skull.
But no one came in.
No one had all day.
He’d hurt someone he didn’t mean to hurt. Not just Evan, but *everyone* around him. He’d taken something small and sacred—something private—and shattered it under the false guise of helping.
And now all he had left was the wreckage.
And himself.
The trauma bay had finally gone quiet. The chaos, the shouting, the alarms—all of it had bled away like the color from the boy’s face on the table.
Sirius didn’t remember how long he’d been in there. Hours, probably. A blur of shouted orders, trembling hands, blood—so much blood—and a kid no older than six who came in with his ribs shattered and his liver bruised and a boot print on his back.
They’d saved him. Technically. Barely.
But Sirius couldn’t shake the image. Not just of the injuries—but of the *look*. That hollow, numb silence in the child’s eyes. The look of someone who had long ago stopped expecting to be saved.
His shift ended, finally. There was no applause, no nod of approval. Just a nurse with tired eyes patting his shoulder and a flurry of residents rushing to clean the room for the next trauma. Life moved on. It always did.
But Sirius couldn’t.
He wandered the halls like a ghost, the bright fluorescents glaring too sharp for his eyes. He didn’t even notice where he was going until he found himself at the end of a quiet corridor, a place mostly reserved for late-night storage runs and broken vending machines.
He slid down against the wall slowly, his back hitting cold concrete, and finally—*finally*—let his hands tremble.
His mask hung loose around his neck, streaked with sweat. His scrubs were soaked in someone else’s blood. His arms were tacky with it, dried in places, still damp in others. It smelled like iron and trauma and something darker that no soap would ever scrub away.
Sirius bent forward, hands over his face. He tried to breathe. He couldn’t.
All he could see was that kid’s tiny body.
All he could hear was his own voice shouting, “We’re losing him!” over and over.
And underneath it, like a dull echo:
**“You don’t deserve him.”**
**“You should’ve protected him.”**
**“You didn’t think.”**
He broke. Right there in the hallway, where no one could see him. Or maybe where everyone could. He didn’t care anymore.
Sobs racked through him, sudden and ungraceful. He tried to muffle them into the crook of his elbow, but it didn’t help. The weight of it all—the guilt, the shame, the fear, the helplessness—it cracked his chest wide open.
He remembered what it felt like, being that boy. Bruised and afraid and too small to fight back.
And he remembered how his father would say, “Don’t cry. You’re weak when you cry.”
Sirius cried anyway. For the boy on the table. For Evan. For himself. For all the things he couldn’t fix.
A quiet voice eventually broke the silence.
“Dr. Black?”
Sirius flinched. Looked up. It was Dorcas, in her dark blue neonatal scrubs, holding a stack of files.
Her eyes softened the moment she saw his face.
“I’m not—” he started, voice shredded.
She crouched beside him. “You don’t have to talk.”
And he didn’t.
She just sat with him. Not touching. Not asking. Just *there*. Letting him be broken, just for a minute.
Because even the strongest trauma surgeon couldn’t save everyone.
Especially not himself.
Sirius’s voice cracked through the stillness, low and raw like a wound split open.
“Everyone hates me,” he rasped, eyes bloodshot, mouth trembling. “Why are you here?”
Dorcas didn’t speak for a moment. She just looked at him—really *looked* at him, eyes flickering over his soaked scrubs, the blood dried on his forearms, the dark shadows under his eyes, the tremor in his hands. He looked wrecked. Not in the charming, just-off-a-24-hour-shift way Sirius usually carried himself, but *gutted*. Shattered from the inside out.
“I don’t hate you,” she said simply.
Sirius gave a bitter, broken laugh, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his palm. “You should.”
Dorcas tilted her head. “That kid you operated on… he lived.”
“That doesn’t mean I saved him.” Sirius swallowed hard. “He’s going to wake up and go back to hell. I can fix the bleeding, but I can’t fix *that.* I can’t stop him from being scared of the people who are supposed to love him.”
Silence stretched, heavy and frayed.
“And Evan,” Sirius whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t think. I just—I felt like everything was boiling over, and I thought—” He broke off, breath hitching, choking back a sob. “God, I don’t even know what I thought. I just made it worse. For everyone.”
Dorcas leaned back against the wall beside him, folding her arms over her knees. “People are angry. That doesn’t mean they hate you forever.”
Sirius didn’t look at her. “Remus does.”
Dorcas’s eyes softened again, almost sadly. “Remus is allowed to be angry. But he’s angry because he *trusted* you.”
“And James?” Sirius asked, voice splintered.
“James would’ve thrown himself in front of a train for Evan,” she said bluntly. “He thinks of him like a little brother. So yeah—he’s furious. But furious doesn’t mean gone.”
Sirius let out a sharp, quiet breath. “So what, I just wait for everyone to stop hating me?”
“No,” Dorcas said. “You do the work to earn back the space you lost. You apologize. Not with words. With time. With consistency. With not making excuses.”
He nodded slowly, pressing his head back against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You can,” Dorcas said softly. “But first, you need to let someone sit with you when it’s awful. That’s why I’m here.”
Sirius blinked, and for the first time in hours, his eyes filled again—not with rage or guilt, but with quiet disbelief. Gratitude, even.
He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to.
They just sat together in silence—blood-stained, exhausted, and worn thin—and for the first time since everything had come crashing down, Sirius didn’t feel completely alone.
Sirius was already rising unsteadily to his feet when he heard the familiar, measured cadence of footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Remus.
Of course it was Remus. Because life had a sick sense of humor and Sirius was apparently doomed to face his worst moments in front of the one person who would dissect him with calm, clinical disapproval.
Sirius swiped hastily at his face, trying to erase the evidence of his breakdown, trying to stand a little straighter despite the weight of the blood-soaked scrubs, the tear-stained cheeks, the exhaustion that clung to every inch of him. He didn’t *want* pity from Remus Lupin. He wanted—hell, he didn’t even know what he wanted. But he didn’t want *this*.
Remus approached, his face unreadable, as always. His posture was stiff, his eyes guarded behind square glasses. His orthopedic badge caught the light. His arms were crossed over his chest like he was already preparing for whatever Sirius might say.
Sirius opened his mouth.
“Remus, I—”
The pain struck like a lightning bolt, sharp and sudden and gutting.
He doubled over instantly, a strangled, involuntary noise torn from his throat as he clutched at his lower right abdomen. His vision blurred. His knees nearly gave out beneath him.
“Sirius?” Remus’s voice cut in, sharp with concern, dropping an octave from cold distance to alarm.
Sirius couldn’t speak. He was too busy gasping through the burning pain that tore through his side like a serrated knife. And then—
He vomited. Right onto Remus’s shoes.
Remus froze.
There was a long, stunned silence.
“Oh my *god*,” Remus muttered, more shocked than angry, taking an instinctive step back as bile splashed across his clogs. “Seriously?”
But Sirius was already retching again, barely making it to the nearby trash can before emptying the contents of his stomach with another violent heave. His arms trembled as he held himself upright against the wall. His face was clammy, slick with sweat, the blood gone from his lips.
Dorcas, who had been lingering nearby, was at his side in seconds.
“Sirius?” she said, more gently than Remus, her voice calm but urgent. “Can you hear me?”
He tried to speak, but instead groaned low in his throat, leaning hard against her. She went to grab his arm to stabilize him—but the second her hand made contact, she froze.
“He’s burning up,” she muttered. “He’s got a fever. Bad.”
Remus was already kneeling beside them, glove half on, his earlier disgust forgotten. His doctor brain had taken over, despite everything. “He’s guarding the right side—look at how tight his abdomen is. Did this just start?”
“No,” Sirius managed, voice hoarse and broken. “Been hurting. Couple days.”
Remus's eyebrows flew up. “*Couple days?* You’ve had lower right abdominal pain for *days* and didn’t *mention* it?”
Sirius gave him a half-dazed glare, still hunched over the trash can. “Was busy saving dying people.”
Then he vomited *again*—this time directly onto Dorcas.
She didn’t flinch. She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like *“neonates don’t do this shit”* and threw his arm around her shoulder. “Okay. Exam room. Now.”
Remus was already moving, grabbing his phone. “It’s classic appendicitis. High fever, pain localized, vomiting, clearly septic—”
“We’re not the right team,” Dorcas said quickly. “You’re ortho. I’m neonatal. This is surgical, but not ours.”
“James,” they said at the same time.
Dorcas was already paging. “Peds gets appys all the time. He’ll know what to do. Tell him it’s urgent.”
“Tell him it’s *Sirius*,” Remus added, already unwrapping a saline IV as they half-carried, half-dragged Sirius down the hall.
Sirius groaned, still semi-coherent, eyes rolling back slightly as he leaned fully into Dorcas. “I hate everyone.”
“I’m aware,” she muttered.
“I *especially* hate James.”
“Great,” Remus said. “That’ll go well when he has to cut into you.”
They got him into a side exam room, and as soon as they laid him on the bed, Sirius groaned again, curling on his side, hands clenched into the thin blanket beneath him.
“I’m fine,” he slurred.
“You are *very much not fine,*” Remus snapped.
“Bleeding internally. Little boy. Saw his ribs—”
“That was hours ago,” Dorcas said gently, checking his pulse. “And now you’re the trauma patient.”
Remus placed a thermometer strip across his forehead and swore under his breath when it lit up. “103.8.”
Dorcas looked grim. “If it’s ruptured, he’s already septic.”
The pager on Remus’s hip buzzed.
He didn’t even need to look. “James is on his way.”
Sirius barely heard them. His thoughts were drifting, swamped by pain and nausea and the overwhelming need to throw up again. He didn’t feel like a surgeon or a man or anything coherent at all. Just a shaking, feverish body, small and helpless and wrecked, lying in a room surrounded by people who hated him. People he’d *hurt*.
And yet—
Remus hadn’t left.
Dorcas hadn’t left.
James was coming.
Maybe hate wasn’t the word.
Maybe they were still doctors first.
But Sirius still curled tighter in on himself, and thought, *God, what the hell is wrong with me?*
Then he vomited into the nearest basin again, and everything went white.
The sound echoed sharp and awful through the small exam room—*wet*, sudden, violent.
Sirius, half-curled on the narrow hospital cot, lurched forward with a guttural noise, eyes wide and unfocused, and vomited *again*—this time in a full, uncontrolled *projectile* arc straight into the bin at Remus’s feet.
Dorcas jumped back just in time.
“Oh my *god*,” she muttered, grabbing the extra chux pad and practically throwing it toward the bed as Remus caught the bin and slid it closer under Sirius's shaking arms. “That’s *not* normal nausea. That’s full-on exorcist.”
Sirius didn’t respond—just gagged again, shoulders heaving violently. His hands clutched the edges of the bin like it was the only solid thing left in the world. His face was soaked with sweat, pale enough to match the hospital walls, mouth parted in that slack, awful look of someone who wasn’t even aware of how thoroughly their body had turned against them.
“Okay,” Dorcas said, quickly adjusting the pulse ox on his finger, “I’m officially voting for ruptured appendix and early septic shock.”
“Yeah,” Remus said grimly, guiding Sirius gently back from his slumped-forward position, already adjusting the blood pressure cuff. “He’s clammy, confused, febrile, vomiting like a possessed goat—”
Sirius’s head lolled sideways. “I *heard* that,” he mumbled, barely audible.
“Good. That means you’re still with us,” Remus snapped, but his hands were gentle as he wiped Sirius’s mouth with a towel and tossed the reeking bin aside.
Sirius groaned weakly. “Gonna die.”
“Not on my watch,” Dorcas said, already spiking a second IV bag and prepping a bolus. “Though if you puke *on* me again, we’ll be reevaluating.”
Sirius’s reply was another bout of retching, entirely nonverbal and completely miserable. Another stream of vomit hit the fresh bin Remus had grabbed, this one tinted with bile, and his whole body spasmed from the effort.
“Oh *god*,” Remus muttered. “His abs are going to hate him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Dorcas shot him a look. “You’re optimistic. He’s gonna need a full surgical scrub and at least two bags of antiemetics just to *look* functional.”
And just then—
The door slammed open, and James Potter stood in the doorway, wild-haired and wide-eyed, a juice box in one hand and a chart in the other.
“I got paged for—” He stopped cold at the sight of Sirius doubled over the bed, heaving violently into a bin, Dorcas with vomit on her pants, Remus holding a cooling towel to Sirius’s neck like a frazzled nursemaid.
James blinked. “Oh,” he said flatly. “It’s *you.*”
Then, with practiced calm, he tossed his juice box into the trash, set down the chart, rolled up his sleeves, and added, “Alright. Let’s cut the drama and get this bastard to CT.”
James didn’t waste a second. He strode over to Sirius’s side, his usual buoyant energy tempered by the gravity of the situation. Kneeling beside the bed, he gently but firmly grasped Sirius’s clammy hand. “Hey, mate. I’m here now. We’re gonna figure this out.”
Sirius gave a weak, humorless laugh that turned into a coughing fit, shaking violently as another wave of nausea swept over him. James squeezed his hand tighter, steadying him.
Remus and Dorcas moved quickly—Dorcas prepping an IV line while Remus checked vital signs with precise, practiced motions. The beeping monitors seemed to echo the chaos inside Sirius’s body.
“You’ve been ignoring this pain for days,” James said quietly, eyes sharp as he studied Sirius’s face. “Why?”
Sirius gave a hollow shrug. “Thought it’d pass. Too much on my plate.”
James shook his head, frustration and something softer flickering behind his eyes. “You’re not invincible. You’re not superhuman. You need to take care of yourself, or you won’t be able to take care of anyone else.”
Sirius met his gaze, raw and exhausted. “I know.”
“Good,” James replied firmly. “Because if you keep doing this to yourself, I’m going to ground you in the hospital until you learn some sense.”
Remus smirked slightly, the tension easing just a fraction. Dorcas gave a small nod of approval.
“Alright,” James said, standing and pulling out his phone. “I’m ordering a CT stat. We need to see if this appendix has gone rogue.”
Dorcas adjusted the IV fluids, and Remus secured a cooling pack to Sirius’s forehead. Sirius closed his eyes, the pain still simmering but slightly subdued by the care around him.
James glanced back once more, voice softer now. “We’ve got your back. No more hiding, yeah?”
Sirius gave a weak nod. “Yeah.”
The door clicked shut behind them as they moved Sirius toward imaging, the storm inside him slowly beginning to calm—at least for now.
They wheeled Sirius down the gleaming hallways toward the CT scanner, his body swaying slightly with the rhythm of the gurney’s wheels. The flood of pain meds was doing its work—softening the edges of the agony and sending his mind drifting into a hazy, disoriented buzz.
His eyes fluttered open and closed, and suddenly he lifted a shaky hand, waving wildly at anyone within view.
“Hi! Hello!” he called out, voice light and sing-songy, like a tipsy socialite making an entrance. “Princess Sirius has arrived!”
Dorcas rolled her eyes but smiled, steadying the gurney as she guided him down the corridor.
Remus, pushing alongside her, tried to suppress a grin. “You’re not a princess.”
Sirius grinned back, all charm and mischief. “Well, I puked on Remus, so you’re welcome, peasants.”
The nurses passing by exchanged amused glances but said nothing—most of them knew exactly who they were dealing with.
“I’m *sick*,” Sirius added dramatically, raising one arm and making a theatrical gesture. “Like, my insides are *lava*. Fiery, molten, the whole works!”
James, walking ahead with the chart in hand, shook his head with a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
Sirius giggled, eyes half-lidded, clearly enjoying the attention as the gurney rounded the corner toward the CT suite. “Can I have a crown? Or a scepter? Maybe a throne?”
Dorcas smirked. “Only if you promise to stop being a drama queen.”
Sirius gave a mock curtsey. “Only for you, my lady.”
Remus sighed, but there was warmth behind his eyes as he followed the procession, ready to support Sirius through whatever came next. Despite everything, the small moments like this—the laughter, the fragile camaraderie—were what kept them all going.
“Alright, Your Highness,” James said, opening the door to the CT room. “Let’s see what kind of lava we’re dealing with.”
The CT scan was grim. The images confirmed the worst: Sirius’s appendix had ruptured, and infection had begun to spread aggressively through his abdominal cavity. The signs of early sepsis were unmistakable.
James stood over the monitor, lips pressed tight as he took in the images. “This isn’t good,” he said quietly. “We need to get him to surgery immediately.”
Dorcas nodded, already signaling for the transport team to prepare the OR. Remus and Barty arrived just as the urgency in the room escalated. The sterile corridors felt colder, more oppressive now.
As they wheeled Sirius back toward the OR, his pain meds began to wear off. His body shuddered violently, and then—without warning—he convulsed.
A sharp gasp escaped his lips as his muscles tensed uncontrollably. His eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy, before rolling back.
“Code! Code in the CT suite!” Dorcas shouted, pressing the emergency button.
Remus caught Sirius mid-fall, his face draining of color. “He’s seizing!”
James immediately dropped to Sirius’s side, pulling out his airway tools. “Protect the airway! Secure him!”
Nurses and techs flooded in, rushing to help. The air filled with sharp commands—oxygen, suction, IV push of anticonvulsants.
Sirius’s body jerked and spasmed, his breathing ragged, shallow.
“Administer lorazepam!” James ordered.
Dorcas injected the medication swiftly into the IV line.
Minutes felt like hours as the seizure finally began to subside. Sirius lay limp, his chest rising and falling unevenly.
“Get him stabilized. We’re taking him now,” James said, voice tight.
Remus leaned close, brushing damp hair from Sirius’s forehead. “You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, though his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying to hide.
As the team prepared for emergency surgery, the tension was suffocating.
Sirius’s battle had only just begun.
The OR was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Machines beeped rhythmically, monitors flashed vital signs in glaring red and green, and the sterile air was heavy with the scent of antiseptic and urgency. James scrubbed in quickly, his hands steady despite the storm raging in his chest.
Dorcas was already at the head of the table, assisting with intubation while Remus adjusted the ventilator settings. Barty hovered near the surgical prep station, glancing between monitors and the team, his normally composed face tight with concern.
Sirius lay pale and motionless beneath the surgical drapes, tubes and wires connecting him to life-support machines. His skin was cool to the touch, mottled with sweat despite the fever that had wracked his body for days.
James took a deep breath and looked to the team. “This rupture has caused widespread peritonitis. We need to do a thorough washout, remove any necrotic tissue, and start broad-spectrum antibiotics immediately.”
Remus nodded, gripping James’s shoulder with quiet solidarity. “We’ve got this.”
The incision was made swiftly but carefully. As James worked, his mind focused on every detail—the inflamed tissues, the pockets of pus, the fragile, damaged organs. He moved with practiced precision, despite the weight of knowing Sirius’s life hung in the balance.
Outside the sterile bubble of the OR, tension hummed through the hospital halls. Nurses whispered prayers; interns paced nervously; the rest of the staff waited, hoping for the best but bracing for the worst.
Hours later, the surgery was complete. Sirius was transferred to the ICU, sedated and hooked to a ventilator, his body fighting the infection with every breath.
James stood by the bedside, exhausted but vigilant. Remus and Dorcas flanked him, their faces a mixture of relief and lingering worry.
“We did what we could,” James said softly. “Now it’s up to him.”
Remus exhaled slowly. “He’s stubborn. That’s something.”
Dorcas gave a small, tired smile. “Let’s hope that stubbornness wins this fight.”
In the quiet hum of the ICU, beneath the steady beep of machines and the soft glow of monitors, Sirius’s body battled on—fragile but alive.
🩺☤♡
Days stretched on like endless shadows in the ICU. The sterile walls held their breath as Sirius lay unconscious beneath layers of tubes and monitors, his body fighting a fierce, silent battle against infection and exhaustion.
James stayed close, pacing the room when he wasn’t sitting by Sirius’s bedside, running through every possible scenario, every detail of the surgery replaying in his mind. Remus and Dorcas took shifts, their faces drawn and tired but unyielding.
The nurses whispered about Sirius’s stubbornness — not just as a personality trait, but as a lifeline holding him suspended between life and something darker.
Lily stopped by occasionally, her sharp gaze softened by concern. Barty checked in too, offering quiet words of encouragement even as the weight of helplessness pressed down on them all.
No matter how much they hoped, no matter how many tests and scans came back showing slight improvement, Sirius didn’t wake.
His chest rose and fell with the mechanical rhythm of the ventilator, his eyes sealed beneath closed lids, the vibrant, reckless energy he’d always carried nowhere to be found.
The hospital seemed to slow around him, the world pausing in grim vigil, waiting for the man who had been a storm to come back from the silence.
And in that silence, James whispered once, just barely audible:
“Come back to us, Sirius. We’re still here.”
🩺☤♡
Days passed in a haze of quiet tension. The ICU lights stayed dim, and the hum of machines became a constant backdrop to the slow passage of time. Nurses moved softly around Sirius’s bed, adjusting tubes and checking vitals with practiced care. The beeping monitors were the only sign of life, steady and unwavering.
James never left the room for long. He sat in the hard plastic chair by Sirius’s bedside, rubbing his knuckles when his hands cramped, eyes never straying far from the pale face beneath the ventilator. The usually vibrant man was reduced to fragile stillness, and it twisted something deep inside James’s chest.
Remus and Dorcas rotated in and out, sharing updates in hushed tones, faces taut with worry. Remus’s usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity that made James want to reach out and shake him, remind him they weren’t helpless.
Lily came by every day, clipboard in hand, her expression tight but concerned. She didn’t say much, but the way her eyes softened when they met James’s told him she felt it too—the weight of watching someone fight and not knowing if they’d win.
Barty hovered on the edge of the circle, quietly supportive but careful not to crowd the fragile space around Sirius.
Each day passed with small signs—a slightly stronger heartbeat, a more stable temperature—but no real change. No flicker of recognition, no stir beneath the sedation.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and cast long shadows across the room, James whispered, voice raw and trembling, “Come back to us, Sirius. We’re still here. We’re not giving up on you.”
The machines beeped steadily, the quiet response to a silent plea. And somewhere beyond the haze of pain and medication, deep inside, a tiny spark flickered, waiting for the moment to ignite.
The room was quiet, thick with exhaustion and unspoken hope. James sat close to Sirius’s bedside, his fingers lightly brushing the back of his hand. The steady beep of the monitors was a fragile comfort.
Then, almost imperceptibly, Sirius’s eyelids fluttered.
James blinked, leaning in closer. The lids lifted slowly, revealing tired, glassy eyes that struggled to focus.
“You’re such a dork,” Sirius croaked, voice raw and weak, but unmistakably his.
James’s breath caught, a smile breaking through the tension. “Finally,” he whispered, voice thick with relief. “We were starting to think you were never coming back.”
Sirius managed a faint, crooked smile, his eyes still heavy but alive.
Remus and Dorcas, who had just entered, paused at the doorway, exchanging looks that balanced disbelief with hope.
For the first time in days, the sterile ICU felt a little less cold.
Sirius was back.
Sirius’s voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, but the familiar spark of his usual sarcasm flickered in his tired eyes. He blinked up at James, a crooked smirk teasing the edges of his cracked lips.
“Do people still hate me because of Evan,” he asked, voice dry, “or can I play the seizure, coded, appendicitis, peritonitis guilt card now?”
James chuckled softly, relief washing through him like a warm wave. He squeezed Sirius’s hand gently. “Trust me, mate, nobody’s keeping score right now. You just focus on getting better. We’ll deal with the rest later.”
Sirius let out a tired laugh that turned into a weak cough. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m gonna milk this as long as I can.”
James grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
Remus stepped inside then, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still on thin ice.”
Sirius’s eyes flicked to him, still smirking despite the weariness. “Yeah, yeah. Still a pompous, cardigan-wearing ortho bastard. Got it.”
For the first time in days, the tension in the room lightened—fragile, but real. Sirius was back, and maybe, just maybe, the hardest battles were starting to turn.
James laughed, the sound filling the quiet room with a much-needed warmth. “You always were good at making light of things, even when the world was falling apart.”
Sirius gave a weak shrug, exhaustion still weighing heavy in his limbs. “Well, someone’s got to keep things entertaining around here.”
Remus stepped closer, shaking his head but with a smile that softened the sharp edges of his usual scowl. “Don’t push it too far, or I might just have to put you back under.”
Dorcas hovered nearby, checking Sirius’s monitors with a steady gaze. “We’ve got a long road ahead, but this is a damn good start.”
Sirius looked between them, a flicker of gratitude breaking through the haze of pain and medication. “Thanks,” he whispered. “For not giving up on me.”
James squeezed his hand again. “Never. You’re one of us. That doesn’t stop just because things get messy.”
Remus nodded in agreement. “Besides, who else would I have to bicker with?”
Sirius chuckled softly. “God, you’re so annoying.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who puked on my shoes.”
A genuine smile stretched across Sirius’s face. For the first time in a long while, there was something lightness to his eyes. The fight wasn’t over, but they were in it together—flaws, grudges, and all.
Chapter Text
Sirius let out a breathy laugh that clearly hurt—his hand instinctively moved toward his abdomen—but the smile stayed.
“Puking on your shoes was an artistic choice,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Symbolic. Like, ‘Hey Remus, I’m emotionally repressed and dying, but I still hate your shoes.’”
Remus rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. “They’re orthopedic clogs, Sirius.”
“Exactly,” Sirius croaked, and then grimaced in pain, hissing. “Ow, fuck. Laughing hurts.”
“That’s because your insides just got pressure-washed,” Dorcas said as she adjusted one of his IV lines. “So maybe don’t try to be a stand-up comic for at least 48 hours.”
“Fine,” Sirius muttered, blinking slowly, starting to fade again. His voice was softer when he added, “But seriously. Thanks. For staying.”
James’s grin softened. “You’d do the same. Well, you'd do it with less grace and more swearing, but you’d still be there.”
“Obviously,” Sirius mumbled, eyes fluttering. “I’m charming like that.”
They let him drift again, slipping back into a hazy half-sleep. He was still pale, still feverish and fragile and surrounded by a tangle of machines—but he was talking. He was fighting.
Outside the ICU room, the hospital moved on—babies were born, trauma patients rolled in, rounds were conducted. Life didn’t stop just because Sirius Black had almost died. But for the small circle of people who had waited and watched, everything had shifted.
Word of Sirius’s wake-up spread slowly. Lily showed up not long after, lips tight and eyes fierce. She didn’t enter, but she stood in the hallway, arms crossed, watching through the window like she was ready to kill anyone who upset the fragile peace. Even Regulus passed by once—walking behind Pandora in silence, his eyes flickering to the room with a strange, unreadable expression. He didn’t stop, but he slowed, just for a second.
And James stayed.
James stayed until visiting hours ended, until Dorcas forced him to go eat something and Remus all but shoved a sandwich into his hands. James gave one last glance at Sirius—now sleeping deeply again—and let himself exhale.
He didn’t forgive Sirius for everything. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But he was alive.
And that was enough.
Sirius didn’t wake again that night.
After the brief spark of lucidity, his fever rose again, not as dangerously as before, but enough to drape him back in heavy, dreamless sleep. The ICU quieted, fluorescent lights dimmed to an artificial dusk. Outside his glass room, the world kept turning.
James came back around 2 a.m. despite being sent home hours earlier. Remus had known he would.
The peds surgeon pushed open the ICU door with his elbow, balancing a takeaway container in one hand and two giant coffees in the other. His hair was a disaster and his scrub top was wrinkled and spotted with pen ink, but his eyes were clear and alert.
“Still out?” James asked quietly, setting the food and drinks on the counter.
Remus, seated in the same position he’d been in hours ago—book open, legs crossed at the ankle, glasses slightly askew—nodded. “Stable. Fever’s fluctuating, but within a tolerable range.”
James passed him a coffee. “Dorcas said you didn’t eat.”
Remus took the cup. “You didn’t either.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one who sat here for fourteen hours.”
Remus gave him a tired, sidelong glance. “You left for thirty-five minutes.”
James didn’t argue. Instead, he moved over to the side of Sirius’s bed, resting a hand lightly against the blanket near Sirius’s arm.
His voice was soft when he spoke again. “He didn’t think anyone would care, you know. He just—he internalizes everything until it burns him alive.”
Remus exhaled slowly through his nose, closing the book on his lap. “He’s been like that since med school. Always pushing himself too hard, refusing to admit he needed help.”
“And then he pulled that stunt with Evan.” James’s jaw tensed. “Part of me was ready to never speak to him again. I swear, if he hadn’t coded—”
“You’d have come around eventually,” Remus murmured, watching Sirius's face.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” James sighed and looked back at Remus. “Do you think he knows how bad it was?”
“No.” Remus took a sip of the coffee and grimaced at the bitterness. “He will, though. Eventually.”
A long pause settled between them. Sirius shifted once in his sleep—barely a twitch—and then went still again.
Remus stood, his knees stiff. He stepped to the bed and gently adjusted the cooling blanket, checking the IV lines, movements habitual and careful.
James was watching him. “You care.”
Remus’s fingers paused briefly. “I’m a doctor. I care about all my patients.”
“Remus.”
He didn’t look up. “He’s still an asshole, James.”
“Yeah, but he’s our asshole,” James said softly, smiling faintly.
Remus’s jaw tightened for a moment. Then he said, just above a whisper, “I know.”
They stood together for a while, side by side, staring down at the stubborn, unconscious figure who somehow managed to look infuriating even in critical condition.
🩺☤♡
The next morning,
Sirius woke again.
Only slightly—eyes fluttering, muscles twitching, a breath catching awkwardly in his throat. It wasn’t the grand, triumphant reawakening Hollywood would’ve promised. He blinked like he wasn’t sure where he was, eyes glazed and unfocused.
But then his gaze landed on Remus, who had drifted into a half-doze in the corner again, and he managed to croak:
“Still with the cardigans, huh?”
Remus startled, eyes snapping open. He turned slowly toward the bed, brows drawn tight. “Sirius?”
Sirius blinked blearily. “Mmh.”
“You’re awake.”
Sirius made a vague gesture toward the tangle of IVs and machines. “Tragically.”
Remus stood up so fast the chair nearly fell backward.
James had been mid-rounds when he got the page from Dorcas: He's talking.
He bolted straight to the ICU, barely taking the time to sanitize before pushing through the doors. When he saw Sirius propped slightly against the pillows—ghost-pale, trembling, but alive—he nearly choked on relief.
“You absolute dumbass,” James said, voice shaking. “You really tried to die just to avoid apologizing, huh?”
Sirius tilted his head toward him, blinking slowly. “Depends. Did it work?”
“No,” Remus and James said at once.
Sirius groaned and closed his eyes again. “Ugh. Worth a shot.”
James stepped closer, leaned over, and gently squeezed Sirius’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s going to suck, but we’ve got you.”
Sirius opened one eye again, sluggish but with the same old glint. “Do people still hate me… or can I, like, fully cash in on the coded-sepsis card?”
James smirked. “Play it very carefully, Black. You’re on thin ice with everyone but the janitor at this point.”
Remus added dryly, “And only because you haven’t vomited on him yet.”
Sirius groaned dramatically, trying to sink lower into the bed. “I’m literally on death’s door and you’re both bullying me.”
James grinned. “Would you prefer we cried?”
Sirius paused. “No. But maybe cookies.”
“We’ll work on it,” Remus muttered, but there was something light in his tone. The three of them stood in that room together again—not healed, not yet, but stitched back together by grief, guilt, and something that still resembled loyalty.
And for the first time in weeks, there was laughter behind the closed ICU door.
🩺☤♡
Evan stood just outside the ICU door for a good two minutes before he worked up the nerve to go inside.
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe Sirius still unconscious, maybe pale and silent and completely unaware that Evan was standing next to his bed with trembling fingers and a soft knock of guilt in his chest.
But what he walked into instead… was chaos of a different kind.
Sirius Black was awake.
Barely.
And very, very high on pain medication.
“—and I told them,” Sirius was muttering as Evan stepped in, “I said, I said, I said I wasn’t mean on purpose! I was born like this. My brain’s just—twisted. Like a spiral. Like a—what’s that thing? A drain!”
Remus, sitting in the visitor’s chair beside the bed with his face buried in one hand, didn’t even glance up. “Don’t try to help. He’s at the talking-to-imaginary-cats stage.”
James, leaning against the far wall with a protein bar half-eaten in one hand, said, “Actually, he’s been sobbing off and on for twenty minutes. Mostly about Evan. Brace yourself.”
Evan opened his mouth to say something, but then Sirius blinked, his gaze sliding lazily over to him, and the mood changed in a heartbeat.
Sirius’s face crumpled. His bottom lip wobbled.
“Evan,” he breathed. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”
Evan froze. “Uh. Hi?”
Sirius made a strangled little noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a whimper, and then he was full-on crying. Fat tears rolled down his pale cheeks as he looked at Evan like he was a saint or a ghost or maybe both.
“I ruined your life,” Sirius moaned, trying to sit up and immediately flopping back down with a pathetic ugh. “I’m the worst. The worst. I leaked the audio, and I didn’t mean it to be bad, I thought—I thought it would help! I thought if people knew you liked Barty, they’d stop being mean to you for being young, or they’d see you as a real adult, or something, but it just—it made everything worse and I suck, and I puked on Remus but emotionally I puked on you—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Remus muttered.
“No, let him go,” James said, arms crossed and utterly entertained. “This is character growth. This is healing.”
“I’m sorry,” Sirius wailed, grabbing at the blanket like it was a tissue. “You were just a baby, and everyone was so mean, and I was part of it, and you were so smart, and I was jealous, and you liked Barty and he liked you and I didn’t even mean to record you, it just—I was trying to get Pandora singing to her crystals again, and my phone was in my locker and it picked up everything, and I—I’m a monster!”
Evan stood frozen at the foot of the bed, mouth parted, completely overwhelmed.
He hadn’t expected this.
Not the tears. Not the rambling. Not the sincerity—messy and raw and so painfully human that Evan didn’t know whether to flee or hug him.
Sirius gasped like the wind had been knocked out of him. “Do you hate me?”
Evan blinked.
Sirius was sobbing again, big ugly tears. “You should! I’m the worst person in this hospital. Worse than Pratt! I’m worse than the guy who steals everyone’s yogurt from the fridge. I’m worse than Pandora's theories about moon stones!”
Evan stepped forward and, before he even knew why, reached out and rested his hand gently on Sirius’s.
“Hey,” he said softly, almost awkwardly. “I don’t… hate you.”
Sirius’s sobbing hiccupped to a stop.
“I’m still mad,” Evan added, voice firmer. “But I don’t hate you. You made everything worse, yeah. But you didn’t do it to be cruel. And you… clearly feel like shit.”
“I do!” Sirius wailed.
James snorted.
Evan let his fingers tighten slightly on Sirius’s hand. “And… for what it’s worth? No one’s mean to me anymore.”
That made Sirius blink. He looked at Evan like he’d just given him the Holy Grail.
“Because now,” Evan continued, with a faint, almost smug glint in his eyes, “everyone’s scared of James.”
James gave a mock salute. “Damn right.”
Remus sighed, standing up. “Okay, he’s going to crash again in about ten minutes. The meds are wearing thin.”
Sirius sniffled. “Will you come back?”
“I’ll think about it,” Evan said, and left the room before he could decide to stay longer.
The door clicked softly behind him. Inside, Sirius wiped his eyes with the edge of his blanket and muttered:
“I’m still a monster. But like… a sad one.”
James patted his shoulder. “You’re a mess, Black. But you’re our mess.”
Sirius closed his eyes and sank into the pillow with a miserable groan. "Someone tell Evan I was cool before this. Just... you know. So he remembers me in a better light."
Remus snorted. “He’ll remember.”
Pause.
“He saw you cry into a heated blanket and confess to being jealous of a 21-year-old.”
Sirius groaned louder. “I’m never showing my face again.”
“Oh, you will,” James said cheerfully. “We’ll wheel you into the cafeteria and let you relive it on loop.”
Sirius muttered a stream of very un-princess-like curses as he drifted off again, but even as he did—there was a small, tentative kind of peace in the way his breathing evened out.
Maybe everything wasn’t ruined.
Maybe there was still time to fix it.
Sirius woke up groggy, blinking blearily at the ceiling as morning sunlight streamed into the ICU room in soft golden stripes. Everything ached in a distant, cottony way—his limbs heavy, his mouth dry, and his brain swimming in slow, pain-med fog.
For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. Then the throb in his gut reminded him, and the events of the last few days bled back into his brain like ink in water.
He shifted slightly in bed and peeked down under the hospital blanket. There was a fresh bandage over his lower right abdomen, surrounded by pink, irritated skin and a shocking absence of—
“Oh my god,” Sirius rasped. “They shaved off my happy trail.”
There was a rustle in the corner.
Remus, half-asleep in the visitor’s chair, blinked awake from behind his book. His cardigan was rumpled, his hair sticking up in soft curls, and his reading glasses were slightly askew.
“Good morning,” he muttered, rubbing his face. “You’re awake. Again.”
Sirius squinted at him with full dramatic offense. “They mutilated me.”
Remus sighed. “You had emergency surgery. It’s standard for—”
“My happy trail, Remus,” Sirius croaked, dramatically flopping his arm over his eyes like a Victorian maiden. “The one good thing about my body. Gone. Gone.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re fine. You’re alive. No one’s mourning your lower abdominal fuzz.”
Sirius removed the arm from his face and grinned—dopey, pain-med-induced, and wildly inappropriate. “Be honest, Lupin. Do you think happy trails are sexy? Or do you prefer your men clean-shaven and bald like a rotisserie chicken?”
Remus stared at him.
Sirius stared back, unbothered, blinking slowly like a lizard.
James chose exactly that moment to open the door, a tray of hospital-grade pancakes and coffee in hand. “I brought br—”
He paused.
Looked between Sirius’s grin, Remus’s deadpan expression, and the palpable silence.
James blinked. “What did I just walk in on.”
“He asked me if I preferred men who look like rotisserie chickens,” Remus said flatly.
Sirius waved from bed. “Hi James. They took my happy trail.”
James sighed and walked in, setting the tray down and dragging a chair to sit. “You're literally in the ICU and that’s your biggest concern?”
Sirius pouted. “It's a branding issue.”
“You need therapy.”
Sirius looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Can’t argue with that.”
James handed a coffee to Remus without looking. “You know what’s wild?”
“What?”
“That I actually missed him being like this. Meds or no meds.”
Sirius beamed, clearly proud.
Remus took a long sip of coffee and muttered, “God help us all.”
As the morning light softened, the haze from the pain meds began to fade. The fog in Sirius’s brain thinned, leaving behind a sharp, relentless ache that pulsed deep in his abdomen.
He shifted uneasily beneath the blankets, the warmth of the room contrasting painfully with the rawness inside him. Slowly, he curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around himself as if he could somehow contain the searing pain.
His eyes squeezed shut, lashes pressing against hot cheeks, breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.
The muscles in his jaw clenched, his hands trembling as they gripped the sheets beneath him. Every breath was a battle; every slight movement sent stabbing waves coursing through his body.
For a long moment, the room was still except for the quiet ragged rhythm of his breathing and the distant beeping of the monitors.
Remus, sitting nearby, noticed the change immediately. He leaned forward, voice low and steady. “Sirius? Talk to me.”
But Sirius didn’t respond. He just clenched his eyes tighter, trying to will the pain away, drawing the darkness in like a shield.
James stepped into the room quietly, a concerned look crossing his face. “We need to call the nurse. You can’t keep doing this alone.”
Dorcas was there moments later, checking his vitals, gently adjusting the medications to try and ease the agony without knocking him out completely.
Slowly, the tension in Sirius’s body began to ease, just enough for him to breathe more evenly, though the pain didn’t fully retreat.
Remus settled closer, resting a hand lightly on Sirius’s arm. “You’re not alone,” he said softly. “We’re here.”
Sirius finally cracked one eye open, a faint, weary look crossing his face. For all the stubbornness and biting sarcasm, in that moment, the walls around him dropped, and all that was left was raw vulnerability.
And those who cared were right there beside him.
The soft beeping of the monitors was a familiar soundtrack as Sirius drifted back into sleep, the exhaustion from the day settling over him like a heavy cloak. When he opened his eyes again, the room was bright—sunlight pouring in through the window—and, unexpectedly, the faces of nearly everyone he knew surrounded his bed.
Remus sat close by, looking tired but relieved. James was perched on the edge of a chair, an amused grin playing on his lips. Mary stood quietly near the door, arms folded but attentive. Lily’s sharp eyes softened as she caught Sirius’s gaze. Pandora leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, while Regulus stood a little apart, his expression unreadable but unmistakably present. Barty and Evan exchanged glances near the foot of the bed, both trying to look casual but clearly concerned.
Sirius blinked, a lazy grin spreading across his face despite the haze of pain meds thick in his system. “Well, this is cozy,” he murmured.
He shifted slightly, the room swaying just enough to remind him of the medication’s hold.
Then, with a mischievous twinkle, he muttered, “So… Regulus and James, huh? That was… before James knew Regulus was an intern?”
Pandora’s eyes widened, and Regulus’s mouth twitched—a reaction somewhere between shock and something unspoken.
James nearly choked on a breath, shooting Sirius a pointed look. “Oi, you’re high as hell. Shut up.”
Sirius just laughed softly, the sound airy and amused. “Just saying. That’s gonna make staff meetings… interesting.”
Remus shook his head but smiled. “You really never stop, do you?”
Lily stepped forward, offering Sirius a gentle smile. “Glad to see you awake. We all were worried.”
Sirius nodded, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Thanks for coming. Means more than I can say.”
Barty cleared his throat, catching Sirius’s eye. “Take it easy, Black. No more surprises today.”
Evan gave a small nod. “You’ve got a whole team behind you.”
Sirius glanced around the room, feeling the weight of their concern. Despite everything, despite the chaos and mess, this was family.
And for once, he let himself believe he might actually make it through.
Sirius’s grin wavered as the medication buzzed through his system, lifting the edges of his usual sharp wit into something softer, more playful. He glanced from face to face, taking in the gathering like they were all part of some strange, chaotic support group he hadn’t quite signed up for—but was oddly grateful to see.
Regulus shifted uncomfortably near the wall, eyes flickering away when Sirius’s gaze landed on him. Pandora, ever the enigmatic presence, gave a slight smirk but said nothing.
James leaned forward, voice low but amused. “I swear, if you keep bringing this up, I’m going to make you regret it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius waved a hand dismissively, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Just pointing out that awkward staff meetings are the new hospital tradition.”
Mary, who’d been quietly observing from the corner, finally spoke up with a dry chuckle. “At least it’ll make rounds less boring.”
Lily smiled gently, stepping closer. “We all know it’s been a rough few days. But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Remus, sitting close to Sirius’s bed, gave a rare, soft smile. “You’re lucky you’ve got people who stick around, no matter how much trouble you cause.”
Sirius’s grin faded into something more vulnerable. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Barty cleared his throat, folding his arms with a steady gaze. “Just make sure you focus on getting better. We need you—less chaos, more Black charm.”
Evan gave a small nod of agreement. “And maybe less midnight escapades.”
Sirius chuckled, his eyes fluttering closed briefly before opening again. “I’ll try. No promises.”
As the group lingered, the buzz of conversation and quiet laughter filled the room. The tension that had weighed so heavily over Sirius in recent days lifted slightly, replaced by a fragile but genuine warmth.
For the first time in a long while, surrounded by friends and colleagues who cared—flaws and all—Sirius allowed himself to hope.
Chapter Text
The sterile hum of the operating room was usually James’s sanctuary—a place where focus sharpened, distractions faded, and his hands moved with practiced precision. Today, however, the usual calm was fraying at the edges.
James was deep into a delicate pediatric procedure, carefully navigating around tiny blood vessels, when a sharp, sarcastic voice cut through the steady rhythm.
“Really, James? You’re going to clamp there? Amateur move.”
James’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need this right now.
He glanced up to see Regulus standing just inside the OR doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he was enjoying every second of the disruption.
“Get the fuck out of my OR, Regulus,” James snapped without missing a beat.
Regulus shrugged, stepping further in, clearly unconcerned by the sterile environment or the scrub protocol. “I’m just making sure you don’t butcher the kid.”
James’s fingers clenched on the instruments. “I’m trying to save their life. You’re trying to be a pain in my ass. Go back to the interns’ lounge.”
Regulus just smirked wider, ignoring the sharp look James shot him.
James’s patience snapped.
He reached for his pager. “Remus—get your grumpy ass down to OR 3. Regulus is harassing me again and refuses to leave.”
Minutes later, Remus strode in, hands tucked into his cardigan pockets, eyebrows raised.
“Trouble in paradise?” he asked, glancing between the two.
James didn’t need to explain.
Remus gave Regulus a pointed look. “Time to find somewhere else to practice your sass.”
Regulus shot James a last glare but finally relented, exiting with a dramatic flourish.
James exhaled deeply, refocusing on the child on the table.
Remus leaned in slightly, whispering, “You alright?”
James nodded, though his voice was tight. “I’m fine. Just wish some people understood boundaries.”
Remus smirked. “Some people never will.”
The tension lingered, but the surgery continued—steady hands, focused minds, and a team determined to do their jobs despite the drama swirling just outside the sterile field.
🩺☤♡
After the surgery, James didn’t hold back. He cornered Regulus in a quiet hallway just outside the operating rooms, his eyes blazing with a mixture of exhaustion and fury.
“I had my hands inside a fucking child,” James snapped, voice low but fierce, “and you think it’s okay to mouth off like that in my OR? With a life on the line?”
Regulus met his glare evenly, but there was a flicker of something behind his cold exterior—unease, maybe guilt.
“This is a hospital, not a playground,” James continued, stepping closer. “You will never talk to me that way again in an OR. Understood?”
For a long moment, Regulus said nothing. Then he nodded stiffly.
James took a breath, his tone softening slightly. “Good. Because this isn’t a game. And I don’t have time for your attitude when I’m trying to save lives.”
Regulus’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue.
James turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Regulus standing alone with the weight of his words hanging in the sterile hallway air.
Regulus hesitated for a heartbeat after James’s sharp words echoed in the sterile hospital corridor. The usual icy composure he wore like armor was suddenly cracked, and behind his cool mask, a storm of conflicted feelings churned. He’d never imagined being called out like that—especially not by James Potter, who was equal parts infuriating and magnetic. But beneath the frustration, something about James’s intensity had pierced through Regulus’s own walls.
Without thinking too much—because sometimes thinking only made things worse—Regulus pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning on and took off after James. His footsteps clicked briskly on the polished floor as he called out, voice sharper and louder than he meant it to be. “James!”
James slowed but didn’t turn immediately, like he was waiting for Regulus to either catch up or give up. When Regulus finally closed the gap, he stopped a few feet behind, hands clenched loosely at his sides.
“What now?” James asked, his tone cautious but still carrying the edge of frustration.
Regulus took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Look… about the OR. About what I said—how I acted—I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make things harder for you. Or for the kid. Or anyone.”
James kept walking forward but the tension in his voice softened slightly. “Then stop. Stop acting like you’re above it all just because you’re the intern with a chip on his shoulder.”
Regulus swallowed hard, the vulnerability he’d fought so hard to bury surfacing in the quiet between them. “I’m not trying to be better than anyone. I just… I don’t really know how to be any different.”
James finally stopped and turned to face him, his expression serious but with a flicker of understanding. The hospital lights above flickered faintly, casting sharp shadows on their faces.
“Well,” James said quietly, “you’re going to have to figure it out. Because I’m not going to tolerate the attitude—especially not when lives are on the line.”
Regulus nodded slowly, feeling the weight of those words sink in. His jaw tightened, but instead of responding with a smart retort, he allowed himself to acknowledge the truth behind James’s bluntness.
James ran a hand through his tousled hair and let out a breath. “Look, this isn’t about you or me. It’s about the patients. If you want to be good at this—really good—you’ll need to drop the act and focus. That’s all.”
There was a pause, the corridor suddenly feeling too quiet, too empty without the noise of the OR.
“I get it,” Regulus said finally, the words low but sincere.
James’s face softened just a fraction. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get back before they start wondering where their surgeon went.”
The two of them fell into step together, the tension between them easing, replaced by a fragile truce built on honesty and reluctant respect. The hospital buzzed around them—the faint hum of machines, distant conversations, footsteps echoing down the halls—but in that moment, the world had narrowed to just the two of them, walking side by side toward the next challenge waiting just beyond the OR doors.
🩺☤♡
The hospital corridors hummed with their usual rhythm—footsteps clicking on polished floors, soft chatter drifting between rooms, the occasional distant beep of machines. But beneath the surface of this controlled chaos, a quiet tension lingered, almost palpable in the air.
Marlene walked down the hallway, her mind a tangled mess she couldn’t quite unravel. Since the audio leak had surfaced—exposing her private feelings, her carefully hidden cracks—she had kept her distance from Dorcas. It wasn’t that she wanted to push her away, but vulnerability wasn’t something Marlene was accustomed to sharing, especially in a place that demanded strength and control.
She rounded the corner near the neonatal wing and stopped short when she saw Dorcas leaning against the wall, arms crossed but eyes softer than usual. Dorcas’s presence felt like a lighthouse in a storm—a mix of warmth and steady calm Marlene desperately needed but wasn’t sure she deserved.
“Hey,” Dorcas said quietly, her voice breaking the silence.
Marlene hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t betray the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. “Hey.”
Dorcas took a small step forward, her gaze steady. “Look… about the audio. I know it wasn’t supposed to get out. I know it wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
Marlene’s eyes flickered away, but Dorcas gently reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Marlene’s ear. “It doesn’t change how I feel.”
Marlene swallowed hard, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down. “You still… like me? After all this?”
Dorcas nodded, her voice soft but resolute. “Yeah. I do. More than just a friend. I have for a while.”
For a moment, Marlene’s walls cracked—just enough for a flicker of hope to seep through. She looked at Dorcas, really looked, and saw someone who understood, who wasn’t afraid to be real despite the chaos around them.
“I’m scared,” Marlene admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of what this means. Scared of being… exposed.”
Dorcas smiled gently. “You’re not alone. We can figure it out—together. No matter what anyone else thinks.”
Marlene let out a shaky breath, a tentative smile breaking through. It wasn’t a solution, not yet. But it was a start.
And sometimes, that was enough.
🩺☤♡
The evening shadows stretched long through the hospital halls, the constant hum of activity dimming as the day wore on. In a quiet corner near the surgical wing, Remus sat quietly, flipping through a worn medical journal, though his mind was only half on the words. The weight of recent days—the fights, the revelations, the unspoken apologies—sat heavy in his chest.
Sirius appeared quietly, his gait unsteady but determined, pushing his IV pole alongside him. His usual swagger was tempered by exhaustion, but his eyes flickered with that familiar restless fire. He paused beside Remus, settling onto the edge of a nearby chair with a tired sigh.
“You always look like you’re hiding something in those books,” Sirius said, voice rough from the pain meds and sleepless nights.
Remus glanced up, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I am.”
Sirius laughed softly, the sound more fragile than usual. “You and your sweaters. You’re like a walking cliché. Orthopedic surgeon by day, sweater-wearing librarian by night.”
Remus shook his head, amusement flickering in his tired eyes. “Better than being the trauma surgeon who can’t stop punching walls.”
Sirius smirked, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position. “You’re the one who pinned me down earlier. You know, for a guy who drinks tea and obsesses over joint replacements, you’re surprisingly strong.”
Remus’s smile softened. “Sometimes strength is just knowing when to stop fighting.”
Sirius looked away, voice dropping. “I’m tired, Moony. Tired of pretending I don’t feel everything crashing down all at once.”
Remus reached out, resting a steady hand on Sirius’s arm. “You don’t have to pretend around me. Not here.”
Sirius met his gaze, vulnerability cracking through the usual bravado. “Funny thing is… maybe that’s the scariest part. Letting someone see the mess inside.”
Remus squeezed his arm gently. “Messes can be cleaned up. It just takes time and a little trust.”
Sirius gave a shaky laugh, leaning back with a tired sigh. “God, you’re so annoyingly optimistic.”
Remus grinned. “Someone has to be.”
They sat in companionable silence, the noise of the hospital fading away, if only for a moment, as two enemies found a fragile peace in the shared understanding of pain and the hope of something better.
Sirius leaned his head back against the cool wall behind him, letting his eyes slip shut. The corridor was dim now, lit mostly by low wall sconces and the distant gleam from the nurses’ station. For a hospital, it was strangely peaceful—only the muffled shuffle of sneakers and the occasional cough breaking the quiet.
Remus still hadn’t moved his hand.
It was light, barely there—resting against Sirius’s forearm like an anchor, grounding him in a way that nothing else had since he’d woken up in the ICU. Sirius wanted to shrug it off. To say something caustic or dramatic. But instead, he just breathed in.
“You know,” he said after a while, voice quieter, rougher, “I wasn’t always like this.”
Remus’s gaze flicked up from his journal. “Like what?”
“This.” Sirius gestured vaguely to himself. “Angry. Closed off. Ruining everything I touch.”
Remus watched him for a moment, expression unreadable, before saying simply, “I know.”
Sirius blinked at that. “Yeah?”
Remus nodded. “I remember when you were new. You were… chaotic, but charming. Loud. Funny. Everyone liked you. Including me, not that I’d admit it at the time.”
Sirius let out a quiet laugh. “And now?”
Remus hesitated. “Now… I think you’re tired. Hurt. And trying to survive by making yourself the villain before anyone else gets a chance.”
The words hit harder than Sirius expected. He looked away quickly, jaw tight.
“Sorry,” Remus added gently. “Too much?”
“No,” Sirius muttered. “Just—true.”
He shifted, curling one arm around his ribs as if trying to hold himself together. “I see so much death, Remus. I walk into ORs with kids whose ribs are in splinters, and I try to keep them alive, and sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. And when I lose them, I don’t go home and cry like I should. I stay, and I fix someone else. I skip meals, I forget to sleep, I shove it all down, and I just—keep going.”
Remus was silent, listening.
Sirius swallowed. “I thought if I stayed angry, no one would see how scared I really was.”
Remus’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And did that work?”
Sirius gave a dry, hollow laugh. “You tell me.”
A long silence stretched between them. Then Remus shifted closer, his voice firm and low. “You don’t have to keep proving you’re strong by breaking yourself apart. You don’t owe anyone that.”
Sirius looked at him, really looked, and for the first time in days, he didn’t feel like he had to smile or perform. He didn’t feel like a disappointment, or a failure, or a ticking time bomb.
He just felt… seen.
Remus stood slowly, stretching his back. “Come on. You need to lie down before your stitches decide they’re done putting up with you.”
Sirius smirked faintly. “Still bossy.”
“I’m an attending,” Remus said, his lips quirking into a crooked smile. “It’s literally my job.”
As Remus helped him to his feet, Sirius wobbled slightly, but didn’t fall. He leaned just a bit heavier than necessary against Remus, letting himself be guided toward the on-call room.
At the door, Sirius paused.
“Hey, Lupin?”
Remus turned. “Yeah?”
Sirius’s eyes were serious now, the remnants of vulnerability still clinging to him. “Thanks. For not giving up on me. Even when I made it damn easy to.”
Remus’s expression was unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly, “Don’t make a habit of it, Black.”
But he was smiling.
And Sirius, for once, didn’t feel the need to answer with a joke.
Chapter 7
Notes:
This chapter focuses on sirius' emerging eating disorder, if this is something that triggers you, please read with caution.
Chapter Text
The realization didn’t come to Remus all at once—it built slowly, like a storm gathering behind the clouds.
At first, it was small things. Sirius picking at hospital meals until the trays were taken away barely touched. The way he’d claim he “wasn’t hungry” right after vomiting from pain or meds—which Remus had chalked up to nausea, but the pattern didn’t stop even after Sirius was more stable.
Then there was the way Sirius would try to distract the nurse when she came in to check vitals, talking louder or making some joke until she forgot to log the fact that he hadn’t eaten a single bite.
It was the third morning when it clicked harder. Remus had brought him coffee—black, no sugar—because Sirius liked it that way, or at least used to. But instead of drinking it, Sirius just held it, letting the heat seep into his palms.
“You could eat the muffin, you know,” Remus had said lightly, nodding toward the one on the tray. “They’re not terrible here.”
Sirius gave a half-smile, shaking his head. “Not really a muffin guy.”
Remus frowned. “Since when? You used to practically inhale blueberry muffins in the break room.”
“Yeah, well.” Sirius shrugged. “Maybe I grew up.”
That would’ve been the end of it—except later that day, when Remus came back from rounds unexpectedly, he caught Sirius halfway through shoving the untouched muffin into the trash. Not leaving it on the tray, not saving it for later—hiding it.
The image stuck in Remus’s mind.
And then the pieces started fitting together:
The way Sirius never joined staff for lunch, even before the appendicitis.
The coffee runs where Sirius would order something just to carry it and never drink it.
The baggy scrubs, sleeves pushed up to wrists too narrow for someone who was supposed to be this active.
The way Sirius’s face would shutter and change when someone casually commented about weight, diet, or food.
By the time the week was over, Remus wasn’t guessing anymore—he knew.
He sat by Sirius’s bed one evening, watching him flip absently through a medical journal like his brain wasn’t in the room.
“You know,” Remus said finally, his tone measured, “I notice things.”
Sirius didn’t look up. “Yeah, you’re a doctor. It’s kind of your thing.”
“I notice when people are hurting. And when they’re hiding it.”
That made Sirius glance up, but his expression was wary, almost sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Remus’s eyes softened. “It means I know you’re not eating.”
Sirius froze—not in an obvious, caught-red-handed way, but in the subtle tightening of his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils, the way his fingers curled around the journal like he could use it as a shield.
“Drop it, Lupin,” he said finally, voice flat.
But Remus didn’t. Not yet.
Because now that he knew, he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t.
Remus leaned forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, refusing to let Sirius’s deflection cut the air between them.
“I’m not going to drop it,” he said quietly. “Because you’re in a hospital bed, recovering from a ruptured appendix, and you’re still finding ways to avoid eating. That’s not… normal, Sirius.”
Sirius’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, there was something almost panicked there—but then the mask slid back into place, his trademark smirk curling like a shield.
“Maybe I just don’t like hospital food. Maybe I’m more of a five-star steakhouse guy.”
Remus’s jaw clenched. “You’ve been avoiding food for as long as I’ve known you. This isn’t about bad muffins.”
Sirius huffed a laugh, but it was brittle. “God, you sound like my mother.”
That made Remus pause—not because of the insult, but because of the way Sirius said it. Not sharp. Not mocking. Just… tired.
“I’m not your mother,” Remus said softly. “And I’m not here to judge you. I just—” he hesitated, searching Sirius’s face, “—I care if you hurt yourself.”
The smirk faltered. Sirius looked away, staring at the blank hospital wall like it was more interesting than this conversation.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sirius muttered.
“Then tell me,” Remus pressed, his voice gentler now. “Help me understand.”
For a long moment, Sirius was silent. His fingers toyed with the edge of the blanket, pulling at a loose thread, twisting it until it threatened to snap.
Finally, in a voice so low Remus almost missed it, Sirius said, “I like the control.”
Remus didn’t interrupt.
Sirius’s eyes stayed fixed on his hands. “Everything else—my family, med school, the way people see me—it’s always been… too much, or too loud, or someone else’s choice. Food’s the one thing that’s just mine. I can decide what goes in, or what doesn’t. And I’m good at it.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Really good at it.”
Remus’s chest ached. “That’s not control, Pads. That’s punishment.”
Sirius’s lips twitched, like he almost wanted to argue—but instead, he muttered, “Maybe I deserve it.”
And that—that broke something in Remus.
He reached out, resting his hand over Sirius’s where it gripped the blanket. “No, you don’t.” His voice was firm now. “You don’t deserve to be in pain. Not for Evan, not for what people think of you, not for your family. Not for anything.”
Sirius finally looked up, his eyes glassy but defiant. “You can’t fix me, Lupin.”
“I’m not trying to fix you,” Remus said. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The air between them was heavy, and Sirius didn’t say anything else—but when the nurse brought his dinner later, he didn’t push the tray away.
He didn’t eat much. But he ate.
The bathroom door was cracked open just enough for Remus to hear it—the harsh, wet sound of retching followed by the violent flush of the toilet.
He froze in the hallway outside Sirius’s hospital room, the paper cup of tea in his hand suddenly feeling far too small, far too fragile.
The sound came again—softer this time, like Sirius was trying to be quieter about it. Remus’s jaw tightened, and before he could overthink it, he pushed the door open.
Sirius was crouched by the toilet, one hand braced on the rim, the other still hovering near his mouth. His dark hair clung damply to his temples, and his hospital gown hung loosely on his frame. The smell of stomach acid and antiseptic hit Remus instantly.
Sirius’s head snapped up, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, there was naked panic in his expression. Then, just as quickly, it was gone—replaced by a lazy smirk that didn’t even reach his eyes.
“Wow. Ever heard of knocking, Lupin?” His voice was hoarse, raw from both the vomiting and the attempt at sounding casual.
Remus stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Don’t.”
Sirius’s smirk faltered. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to make a joke out of this.”
Sirius pushed himself up to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, his posture nonchalant but his hands trembling slightly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Relax. I’m fine.”
Remus’s gaze dropped to the faint red marks on Sirius’s knuckles, the slight streak of bile still clinging to the edge of the sink. “You’re not fine. You just threw up dinner. On purpose.”
Sirius’s jaw tensed. “I felt sick.”
“You felt guilty,” Remus shot back, his voice sharper than he intended.
That made Sirius look away, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the tile floor. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he muttered.
“Then tell me,” Remus said, stepping closer. “Because what I do know is that you just had major surgery, your body’s already weak, and now you’re—” He stopped himself, lowering his voice. “You’re hurting yourself.”
Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “And what are you gonna do? Put me on suicide watch? Strap me down and force-feed me Jell-O until I’m a good little patient?”
Remus’s tone softened, though the tension in his body didn’t ease. “I’m going to stay. And I’m going to make it harder for you to be alone when you do this to yourself.”
For a long moment, Sirius said nothing. Then he leaned back against the wall, eyes shuttered. “You can’t watch me forever.”
“No,” Remus admitted. “But right now? I can.”
And he did—standing there, arms crossed, until Sirius finally muttered something about being tired and climbed back into bed.
Remus didn’t leave. Not that night.
It was just past three in the morning when Sirius stirred.
The ward was quiet in that strange, almost heavy way hospitals got at night—machines humming softly, the occasional shuffle of a nurse’s shoes in the hallway, the faint beep of the monitor beside his bed.
He blinked blearily, disoriented, then realized there was a shape slouched in the armchair by the window.
Remus.
His long legs were stretched out awkwardly, one arm crooked behind his head, the other resting in his lap. His head had tilted to the side, just enough that his curls fell across his face, catching the pale glow from the streetlight outside. There was a half-empty cup of tea on the windowsill beside him, the steam long gone cold.
Sirius stared for a long moment, mind still cloudy with pain meds and exhaustion.
“You stayed,” he rasped, voice breaking the silence.
Remus shifted, blinking awake instantly like someone used to sleeping lightly. He straightened, running a hand through his hair. “Of course I stayed.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the expression didn’t have much bite. “You don’t have to babysit me, you know.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Remus said quietly.
Sirius let his gaze drop to the thin blanket over his stomach, tracing the edge where it bunched near the surgical dressing. “Feels like it,” he muttered.
Remus leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “You scared me,” he admitted, voice low and almost reluctant, as if the confession had weight to it. “When you coded. When I thought—” He stopped, shaking his head. “And then this. Making yourself sick on top of everything else? I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re not going to do that again.”
Sirius gave a crooked half-smile. “You make it sound like I’m some tragic cause you’ve adopted.”
“You’re not a cause,” Remus said sharply. Then, softer: “You’re… Sirius.”
That made Sirius glance up. There was something in Remus’s tone—something that slipped past the defenses Sirius kept so well-rehearsed. His throat felt tight, though whether from the surgery or something else, he couldn’t tell.
“I don’t know how to stop,” Sirius admitted, the words so quiet they almost disappeared into the hum of the machines.
Remus didn’t say I’ll fix it. He didn’t say You have to. He just sat there, steady and solid, and replied, “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Sirius huffed a laugh that was almost a sigh, sinking back into the pillow. “You’re such a sap, Lupin.”
“And you’re still alive,” Remus said. “So I guess it’s working.”
Sirius closed his eyes, not to sleep, but because it was suddenly hard to look at him.
Morning light filtered weakly through the hospital blinds, casting long, pale stripes across the quiet room. Sirius lay back against his pillows, the dull ache in his abdomen a constant reminder of the surgery and the fragile state he was still in. He hadn’t slept much, but the exhaustion settled deep in his bones like a heavy weight.
Remus was already awake, sitting at the small table near the window, quietly preparing a tray. On it was a modest breakfast — some soft scrambled eggs, a slice of whole wheat toast, and a small cup of orange juice. Nothing fancy, but carefully chosen to be gentle on Sirius’s stomach.
As Remus set the tray down on the bedside table, Sirius’s eyes flicked open and fixed on it warily. “You’re really going to make me eat that?”
Remus smiled softly. “Yeah. Because you need to eat.”
Sirius scoffed, but didn’t say no. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably and propped himself up a little more, eyeing the food like it might explode if he reached for it.
Remus noticed the hesitation, the way Sirius’s fingers twitched nervously. “You don’t have to eat it all right now. Just take small bites. I’ll be here.”
Sirius’s jaw tightened, but after a long moment, he picked up his fork and carefully took a small bite of eggs. His face scrunched slightly — the taste was bland, but he managed to swallow without incident.
Remus’s voice was low and steady. “Good. See? Not so bad.”
Sirius grunted, then pushed the plate a little away. “I’m not some kid you have to feed.”
“I know,” Remus said. “But you’re also not out of the woods yet. This is part of healing — body and mind.”
Sirius looked at him for a beat, eyes tired but curious. “You really think this is going to work? That you can just fix all of it?”
Remus shrugged. “I don’t know if I can fix everything. But I can be here while you try.”
Sirius swallowed again, a quiet acknowledgment.
The morning settled into a fragile rhythm: small bites, quiet encouragement, and the occasional joke Sirius made to break the tension. But beneath it all was the hard truth neither of them wanted to say out loud — that this was just the beginning of a much longer battle.
As the sun climbed higher outside the window, the hospital around them woke with renewed urgency — patients, staff, emergencies — but in this small room, for this brief moment, Sirius and Remus found a fragile, tentative peace.
GG
Chapter Text
The room was quiet except for the monitor’s steady beeping. Sirius looked small in the hospital bed, pale against the white sheets, hair sticking out like he’d wrestled the pillow in his sleep. He was half-dozing, drifting in and out on the pain meds, when the door creaked open.
Evan slipped in, closing it softly behind him. For a moment he just stood there, staring at Sirius, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.
Sirius cracked one eye open. His voice was a rasp, dry and low:
“Here to watch the corpse breathe?”
Evan swallowed, jaw tight. “Here to tell you you ruined my life.”
That got Sirius’s attention. He pushed himself weakly upright, winced, hand instinctively pressing his stomach. “Evan…”
“No, don’t.” Evan’s voice shook, sharp and brittle. “Don’t give me some half-assed apology while you’re high. You—you don’t get it. You leaked that recording and walked away, like it was just a laugh, just drama. But it was me in that audio, me who had to walk down hallways with people whispering, laughing, calling me names. Me who got treated like a joke.”
Sirius’s throat bobbed. He tried for a smirk, but it faltered. “I wasn’t… thinking.”
“Yeah,” Evan snapped. “You never are. You get to be brilliant and reckless and untouchable Sirius Black, and I get to pick up the pieces. I get to be the kid everyone pities, the one they don’t take seriously. Do you even know what that felt like? To come in here every day and have people look at me like I wasn’t a doctor, I was a punchline?”
Sirius’s eyes flicked away. For once, no quick comeback. His hands twisted in the blanket. “I was… angry. At everything. At everyone. And I—fuck, Evan, I didn’t mean to make you… smaller.”
Evan blinked hard, tears burning. He’d rehearsed this confrontation a hundred times, always pictured Sirius cocky and unbothered, rolling his eyes. But the man in front of him looked broken, wrecked, and for a second it almost made him falter.
Almost.
“You don’t get to mean or not mean it,” Evan said quietly, voice thick. “You did it. And it nearly destroyed me.”
Sirius pressed his lips together, chest rising and falling shallowly. His eyes were glassy, but he didn’t look away this time. “I’m sorry. I’m so… sorry, Ev. If I could take it back—if I could cut the piece of me out that did it—I would.”
Evan let the silence stretch. The monitor beeped. His heart hammered.
Finally, he exhaled. “I don’t know if I can forgive you. Not yet.”
Sirius nodded, a tremor in his jaw. “Fair.” He swallowed, then added, voice breaking on the edges, “Just—don’t give up on being brilliant because of me. You’re already better than I ever was.”
Evan blinked at him, startled by the sincerity. For the first time since the leak, he didn’t feel like Sirius was mocking him. He didn’t feel like a kid.
He just nodded once, sharp, then turned to leave before Sirius could see the tears slip down his face.
Evan didn’t remember walking down the corridor. One minute he was in Sirius’s room, leaving behind the smell of antiseptic and the steady beep of the monitors, and the next he was standing outside the stairwell door, his fists trembling. His throat was tight, hot with all the things he hadn’t said and all the things he had.
He pushed the door open and climbed, two steps at a time, until he found the rooftop. It was quiet this time of night, the city humming low in the distance. Barty was already there, hunched on the concrete ledge with a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He glanced over when the door slammed shut.
“Jesus, Ev,” Barty muttered, flicking ash into the wind. “You look like you just fought a war.”
Evan laughed—sharp, bitter, too close to a sob. “Maybe I did.”
That got Barty’s attention. He slid down from the ledge, stomped out the cigarette, and crossed the roof in a few strides. “What happened?”
“I told him,” Evan blurted. His voice cracked. “I told Sirius. About everything. About how he ruined me, how he made me feel like—like I wasn’t anything but a joke. I said it all.”
Barty’s eyes softened. He grabbed Evan’s shoulders, steadying him like he might bolt. “And?”
“And he—” Evan’s throat closed up. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He looked so fucking broken, Barts. Not cocky. Not Sirius Black with his stupid smirk. Just… wrecked. And for a second I felt bad. For him. Like I shouldn’t have said it.”
Barty pulled him into a hug before the tears could fall, pressing Evan’s head against his chest. “Hey, no. Don’t do that. Don’t you dare feel guilty for telling the truth. He hurt you. He humiliated you. You don’t owe him softness on top of that.”
Evan clung to him, shaking. “I don’t know if I hate him or if I just—” He broke off with a ragged breath. “It would’ve been easier if he’d laughed in my face. But he didn’t. He just said sorry. And it made me feel like the asshole.”
Barty’s jaw tightened. His arms squeezed tighter around Evan. “That’s what he does, Ev. He fucks everything up and then bleeds all over the floor so everyone feels sorry for him. But not you. Not this time. You don’t carry his sins.”
Evan let out a shuddering breath, pulling back just enough to look at him. His cheeks were wet, his eyes red-rimmed, but Barty didn’t flinch from it.
“I don’t know what to do,” Evan whispered.
“You don’t have to decide anything now.” Barty’s thumb brushed a tear away, almost angrily, like he wanted to rip every hurt Sirius had caused straight off Evan’s skin. “For now, you breathe. You stay alive. You let me hate him enough for both of us.”
That got a weak, broken laugh out of Evan. He leaned back into Barty, letting himself be held as the city lights blinked below them. For the first time since the leak, he felt like maybe he wasn’t drowning alone.
James caught him by the elevators. He’d timed it—waited until Regulus came off shift, white coat slung over one arm, hair falling into his sharp, unreadable face.
“Reg,” James called, jogging up, heart already pounding. “Wait—can we—can we talk for a sec?”
Regulus didn’t even look at him. He jabbed the call button for the lift, jaw tight. “I’m tired, Potter.”
“I know,” James said quickly, crowding into his space a little, desperate. “I just—look, about that night—”
That got a reaction. Regulus’s head snapped toward him, eyes glittering like ice chips. “Don’t.”
James blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t you dare say a word about that night,” Regulus hissed, low and sharp enough to cut. “It didn’t happen. It was a mistake. I don’t want to hear your half-arsed apology, or your excuses, or your guilty conscience. Spare me.”
The elevator dinged. Regulus stepped inside, but James shoved a hand against the door before it could close. His chest was tight, like he’d been winded.
“It wasn’t a mistake,” James said, softer now, rough around the edges. “Don’t pretend it was nothing.”
Regulus let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “You kissed me like I was a ghost. Like I wasn’t even there. Don’t stand here and tell me it meant something when you spent months pretending it didn’t happen at all.”
James flinched, shoulders curling. He opened his mouth, but Regulus cut him off again, voice colder than steel.
“You had your chance, Potter. Whatever you think you’re trying to fix now—it’s too late. So kindly remove your hand from the door before I bite it off.”
For a moment, James just stared at him, throat dry, every apology and confession he’d rehearsed shriveling up.
And then, slowly, he pulled his hand back. The doors slid shut, cutting Regulus off in a seamless wall of stainless steel.
James stood there for a long time, breathing hard, feeling like the ground had dropped out from under him.
l00mity on Chapter 3 Sat 21 Jun 2025 04:09AM UTC
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idontlikebroccoli on Chapter 3 Sun 22 Jun 2025 02:46AM UTC
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alexmeg on Chapter 3 Sat 21 Jun 2025 10:46AM UTC
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idontlikebroccoli on Chapter 3 Sun 22 Jun 2025 02:46AM UTC
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