Never Cry
Title: Never Cry
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Sirius would not cry. Not for his family, not for Remus, and most certainly not for his pathetic dim-witted brother who got himself killed. No, Sirius would never cry. Implied S/R.
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong language, very depressing, and abuse.
Never Cry
Emotions were dangerous; they were a binding set of unorganized leeches that slowly sucked away your life from every different angle in your body, leaving you completely immobile and empty. Maybe that’s how he felt now, completely empty. His heart was traitorously beating wildly against his chest, willing his body to release all that pent up anger and remorse that was hidden there. But he refused to do it, he refused to show a moment of weakness. He was a Gryffindor, the only Black to be sorted into Gryffindor, HE WAS NOT WEAK.
No matter how strong the urge was to let go, he couldn’t. His vicious bitterness and his ongoing rebellion wouldn’t let him. Sirius would never cry for him. NEVER. He didn’t deserve it, none of them did. They were all the same; insane, melodramatic, sadistic, supremacy serving vultures. They did not deserve his pity, nor his emotions.
Sirius didn’t understand why he was bleeding internally, he didn’t understand the willingness he had just to disappear and never be seen again. A part of him wanted to float away into obliviousness, away from everything, Sirius wanted to be free.
Death was never an issue to him, because death is something that comes for you when the time is right. But he truly wished that death would strike him now, so suddenly, and he would disappear. James wouldn’t like that very much, neither would Pete. Sirius couldn’t care less about Remus, the filthy traitor. Why did Regulus die? Why not Remus?
Regulus, who followed his lordship Slytherin’s around like a puppy; little Regulus, who didn’t have a mind of his own; naïve Regulus, who constructed his own path for death.
As each second ticked away, it became that much harder to hold back tears. The pain was convulsing in his heart, tearing apart his insides, and shredding the last amount of self-respect he owned.
Sirius would not cry. Not for his family, not for Remus, and most certainly not for his pathetic dim-witted brother who got himself killed. No, Sirius would never cry.
Fire-whiskey was always the sedative that he needed to clear his mind, but after emptying 8 pegs, he seriously wondered how his stomach could hold anymore. His mind was still as clear as it was when he read the hastily written letter by dear Walburga. That mindless bint, who was she to ask him to come home? Home? Was it ever really his home?
Who was she to make Sirius wished he’d never left home? She was no one, but a stranger. The filthy woman deserved to die alone, without seeing neither of her sons. That would be her punishment. Stupid bint. He couldn’t explain how much he hated her, how much he hated the whole lot of him. He wished they all would just drop dead, including himself, at least the world would be a better place.
The world didn’t need people like them. The world craved for wizards like James and Dumbledore, who weren’t wrapped up in their own self turmoil to do any good in the world. Hell, the world would be a lot better with more Pete’s running around. Pete may have not been good with magic, but he was loyal to a fault. Sirius never really understood why he was a rat. Pete would have made a great dog.
He drained the 9th glass of fire-whiskey, and still had to fight to remain still. His blood was boiling, he craved to do something. Anything, than to sit here in a dingy muggle bar drinking fire-whiskey. He had the sudden urge to get into a muggle duel. He wanted to be punched, kicked, and pummeled into the ground until he remembered no more. He wanted to end up in the Hospital completely immobile as his dear old hag of a mother cried for him. He wanted to change places with Regulus, wish that he was dead instead of his younger brother. The small skinny boy who was the exact replica of Sirius. The boy who had the power to rebel just like him. The boy who Sirius could have easily molded to follow his views. The boy who he could have rescued from the awful fate that awaited him. The little boy he shunned when he ought to have helped him.
His insides exploded. A raging, burning, destructive pain tore away at him. He would rather face hours under the Cruciatus Curse than this. The pain was unbearable, he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to die, he NEEDED to die. Fuck James, fuck Pete, fuck Regulus, fuck Walburga, fuck everyone; he wanted an escape. An escape from this unwanted agony that was thrown on him. He had the urge to want to pull out all his hair, claw his own arms, clench his jaw so hard that his teeth turned to dust. HE craved for physical pain, it was much better than this emotional shit he was going though.
The world around him was spinning and he couldn’t hold anything in fast enough. Everything was blurred, there was nothing. No distinctive shapes, no noises, just him and his unbearable pain. For the first time since he left Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he wished he hadn’t. He wished he could crawl into his mother’s bed, and have her hold him until they burning pain went away. He wanted to be held by someone who loved him. And James and Pete couldn’t do that. He had no sense of comfort, nothing.
A thin hand landed on his shoulder, and he didn’t have to look up to see he it belonged to. He could smell him. He felt the hand pull at his collar, trying to lead him out of the unknown bar, and without hesitation Sirius followed the familiar scent. The scent seemed to ease the agony that was burning inside him. Without warning the man stopped, and turned to face Sirius.
His muddy brown hair was scattered across his face, his disgusting animal scars were shinning in the moonlight, and his pitiable concerned eyes were staring up at him. Sirius had the savage urge to rip him limb from limb. A monster with a face like his mother was rearing him towards Remus, it’s ugly fangs bared and ready to strike. Without knowing what made him do it, he punched his best friend in the face, and watched with satisfaction as he fell into the ground. With surprising strength he didn’t know he had, Sirius pulled him back up, only to knee him in the groin. He could actually feel the agony fading away, and in it’s place filled righteous anger. A feeling that Sirius was familiar with. Blow after blow hit Remus, his arms, his legs, his torso, his face were all dripping with blood. Sirius let out a bark of a laugh that reflected the insanity of the Blacks, a malicious grin spread across his face as he watched the man he loved like a brother, on the ground spitting out his own blood, and refusing to fight back.
Something inside him snapped as he watched the pitiable body of Remus Lupin curled up on the ground like that. He felt his heart lurch painfully as he watched the werewolf whimper in pain. Did Regulus whimper in pain as well, or was it a quick painless death? A unwanted tear slid down his eye as he kicked his best friend in the ribs again, causing another rib to break.
He didn’t know when he stopped beating on the unresponsive werewolf, but the next thing he knew was that he was sitting next to a barely stirring Remus. His hands flew to his hair, leaving on it the wetness of Remus’ blood. Tears spilled unconsciously from his eyes, and he was rocking back and forth, like a demented puppy. Sirius felt Remus’ blood covered hand grip his arm. Tears were relentlessly plummeting down his eyes, and the grip of Remus’ hand tightened. He didn’t know when or how he ended up clinging to a blood soaked Remus as if his life depended on it. All he knew was that the warm body of Remus caused the pain to melt away. The comfort of holding this warm bloodied living being was astounding. Sirius never wanted to let go. He wanted to cling to him forever. If he let go, he would have to accept the fact that his brother is dead, his mother is going the same way, and Remus, who was selflessly holding him now, was a filthy traitor.
He wished he could keep Remus buried in his chest forever, holding his smaller frame tightly against his own, he wanted this comfort wherever he went, but like most things in his life, this sensation of content was only temporary. Sirius knew that right when he withdraws from Remus’ embrace, everything will come back tenfold. Remus would become traitor again, and they would stand at opposite ends of the battlefield, there wands pointed at each other. But for now, Sirius would just pretend none of it happened, he wasn’t to keen on letting go his best source of comfort.
He will do that tomorrow.
A/N: Well. I know I haven’t written for a while. And honestly speaking no sudden stroke has hit me up until now. This oneshot that I wrote now, is completely spontaneous. I don’t even know if it has a plot. I just wanted to show a broken side of Sirius. A Sirius who is dark, demented, and completely alone. Tell me what you think.