past jegulus | 550 words | graphic pain / injury
It really is just like going to sleep. The terror bleeds away, and nothingness takes over so sweetly it’s easy to give in.
What Regulus didn’t know is how much the first breath hurts.
It is searing—a deep, ragged thing that comes waterlogged. He comes to choking, then coughing; his ribs flex and grind like his chest is made of gravel.
His whole being narrows to the slurry of lakewater and poison burning its way back up, how each heave seems as if it might snap him in half. He just wants it to stop, just wants it to stop, please stop, and, finally, after an eternity, it does.
“Is that it? Can you hear me?”
Regulus startles; his entire body lights up with agony. It’s nothing like he’s ever known before. He feels as if he’s chewed and swallowed and spit up glass, and still, he cannot help the sounds coming out of him. Every howl tastes of blood.
Someone scrambles over to cradle his face, their own swimming into focus. Relief floods him.
“Hey,” Sirius says over Regulus’s sobbing, “Hey. It’s alright, Reggie. No worries, mate. You’re fine. You’re fine. We’ll have you right as—as rain, don’t you—” His voice cracks and does not continue.
“Hi, Reg,” James says simply, ripping Regulus right out of his pain and into the horror that he might actually be dead. He’s sopping wet. Stupidly, Regulus thinks to remind him that drying charms exist. His torn throat doesn’t work.
James gently, so carefully, lifts Regulus’s hand. When there’s no flinch or hiss, he smiles and—as if he’s still allowed to do such a thing—presses a kiss against scraped knuckles. Regulus forces a noise of protest.
“I know, love,” James coaxes, rubbing down his arm. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry about the ribs. I had to. But we’ll get you out of here, yeah? Just waiting on Remus and Lily. She’ll set you right. She’s a brilliant Healer.”
Regulus doesn’t have it in him to sneer. He has no qualms about relying on a muggleborn if she can stop this pain. He’d serve her for the rest of his second life. If he manages one.
James huffs a laugh. “Merlin. I can’t believe we actually found you.”
“We almost didn’t,” Sirius mutters. He sniffs. “Stupid bastard.”
Regulus has so many questions. He doesn’t know where to start, but he has to try.
Is Kreacher? The locket? Your friends? You came alone, you fools? Have you any idea what perversion has been wrought here?
“We’re taking you home,” James says. “To the Hollow.”
Fuck. Seems like he’ll get what he always wanted after all. Collecting Blacks like trading cards.
With a shaky breath, James kisses the back of his hand again. Regulus tries to withdraw, and finds, to his horror, that his body does not listen.
“You should have come to us, love. Told us you switched sides. You know we would have helped.”
The adrenaline is ebbing away. Pain swells like a tide coming in. It threatens to take him again. It already is.
Regulus lets his gaze drift back to the cave ceiling, and does not correct him.
Couldn’t if he wanted to.
