Regulus hadn't left his hotel room since killing Peter. The days began to blur together into a suffocating haze of guilt and despair. His once sharp, and calculating mind felt dull and heavy, like it was mired in quicksand. Every movement, every breath, seemed like a monumental effort. He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to muster the energy to do anything else.

His room had quickly become a chaotic reflection of his emotional state. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, blocking out any hint of sunlight. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the floor, mingling with discarded food containers and empty bottles. The air was thick with the stale scent of sweat and body odor.

He didn't need to see himself to know he looked like hell. He could practically feel the dark circles that had become part of his face, and he knew he looked sickly. He hadn't managed to eat a proper meal in days, the thought of food was utterly repulsive to him.

Sirius was the only one who knew where he was. The night they had come back, Regulus immediately booked another hotel with cash so James couldn't find him. He couldn't face James, not yet. Regulus could still hear Sirius' concerned voice echoing in his mind, urging him to get up, to move, to do something other than rot. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything. After all, he took all that from Peter, so why should he get to do it? Why should he get to live?

The only thing Regulus had managed to do the last few days was think. His mind was a prison, replaying the events that led to Peter's death over and over again. He saw his father's face every time his eyes closed, and every time he again would feel the weight of his father's expectations, pressing down on him, crushing him. Regulus knew something in him had broken, and he would never be able to put himself back together.

Regulus reached for his side, his fingers slowly brushing up against the white bandages pulled tightly against his stomach. He inhaled sharply as he felt an aching pain in his side, the pain was simply a manifestation of his fractured psyche causing a physical ache. He knew that. He knew his wound was past hurting. He knew a lot of things, but that didn't mean they made sense.

When he pulled his hands away from his side, he flexed his fingers, staring at them. For a split second, he was back with Peter, his hands coated in blood. His breaths came in ragged bursts as he clawed at his skin, trying to rid himself of the blood that didn't happen to be there.

"No, no, no, no," he mumbled, kicking and thrashing in the bed, relocating all the pillows, blankets, and his lunch to the floor.

His thrashing grew more violent, driven by the overwhelming need to purge himself of the invisible stains. The bandages on his side came loose, a null pain flaring up as the movement aggravated the wound. But Regulus barely noticed it; he was too lost in his frantic struggle.

A soft knock on the door broke through his haze. Regulus froze, his hands trembling as he tried to steady his breathing.

The knock came again, followed by the sound of the door creaking open. Sirius stepped inside, his look just as tired as Regulus felt. His luscious hair was tied back in a mess. His curls were sticking out in all different directions, and his face seemed to be more pale than normal. His gray eyes looked sunk in his face.

"Regulus?" Sirius whispered, secretly hoping that Regulus would be deep in sleep. "Can I come in?"

Regulus didn't respond, unable to find the strength to speak. Sirius took his silence as an invitation and moved closer, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He reached out, taking Regulus' trembling hands in his own. He quickly noticed the blood on the end of Regulus' nails and cupped Regulus' hands.

"Regulus, look at me," Sirius said softly. "You need to stop this. You're hurting yourself."

Regulus' eyes flickered up to meet Sirius', and in that moment, he saw the depth of Sirius' concern and love. Sirius looked over Regulus, trying to assess the damage he had done to himself. It really was a beautiful thing - the love of two brothers. Even after all they'd been through, they always seemed to have each other.

Regulus looked away as his eyes began to water. "I can't," he whispered, his voice broken. "I can't get the blood off. It won't go away."

Sirius tightened his grip on Regulus' hands. Regulus tried to calm himself down, focusing on the divots in Sirius' palms and the calluses on his hands.

"There's no blood, Reg. It's not real. What you're feeling, it's the guilt, the pain. But hurting yourself isn't going to make it better."

Regulus shook his head, the motion small and desperate. "I don't deserve better. I deserve this. I deserve to suffer."

Sirius' heart ached for his brother. "You don't deserve to suffer, Regulus. You made a mistake; you're human. That doesn't mean you deserve to be in pain forever. You're not alone in this. Let me help you."

Regulus' breath hitched as he looked at Sirius. He searched his brother's face for sincerity, noting the plea in his brother's eyes which seemed to immediately break through his wall of self-loathing. "I don't know how to move on, Sirius."

"Well, good for you that you have me. I seem to be good at a lot of things. A lot of things, Reggie."

"I'm trying to muster up a will to live, and you're telling me you're good in bed. I'm screwed," Regulus muttered sarcastically.

"Eh, what else is a brother good for?" Sirius asked as he playfully hit his brother's arm, and as he looked away, he swore he saw a smile out of the corner of his eye.

~~~

James was going crazy. He was literally losing it. There were only so many times you could access the hotel gym, the bar, and the bowling alley. And yes, James Potter had resulted to bowling; bowling multiple times a day in fact.

The neon lights of the bowling alley cast a surreal glow over the lanes, making the polished cherry wood gleam. The air was filled with the low hum of the automated pinsetters and the occasional crash of the pins, but it was only James and another man a few lanes down.

James stood at the edge of his lane, a purple bowling ball cradled in his hands. He squinted at the pins lined up in the distance, the lights were causing glares on his glasses and he could barely see.

"Alright, Potter," he muttered to himself. "Let's see if you can hit something."

He took a deep breath, his mind momentarily quieting. With a practiced motion, one he had worked up over the last few days, he swung the ball back and released it, watching as it rolled down the lane. For a moment, everything else was irrelevant to him - his worry for Regulus, the constant gnawing anxiety, the claustrophobic feeling of being stuck in the hotel. Right now, it was just him and the pins.

The ball collided with the pins, sending them scattering in a satisfying cacophony. James let out an excited whoop, a grin spreading across his face. "Strike! Not bad, Potter," he boasted to himself. There may have also been a fist pump involved.

He watched as the pins reset, and waited as he heard the return rack's mechanic heartbeat. It was symbolic in a way, the pins seemed to reset no matter the damage. Whatever was going on with Regulus was going to be okay too, right? Regulus was like the pins, he was going to eventually be standing again. And this time, James would be there to make sure nothing came crashing into him.

The purple ball rolled back into the rack, and James reached for it before it had a chance to stop. It was as if the ball stopped then James would be forced to deal with all his problems, and he couldn't, not right now. He could be perfectly happy if all he did for the rest of his life was bowl - no, that was a lie, he hated bowling. He just didn't want to wallow in his own thoughts.

He lined up for another throw, pushing the thoughts away. "Come on, focus," he whispered, turning the ball in his hands. "Vambora!"

The ball rolled down the lane once again, but this time it veered off course, knocking down only a few pins. James' facial expression shifted, a soft frown working its way there.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated?" he muttered to the ball. He stared at it, hoping it would respond.

As he prepared for his next throw, a familiar voice called out from behind him. James nearly dropped the ball in excitement.

"I didn't know you were such a bowling enthusiast, James."

James turned to see Sirius standing at the entrance of the alley. Sirius' hands were in the pockets of his black jeans. He wore a bold smile on his face, and his hair was down, and loose. He looked far better than he had when James previously saw him.

"Sirius," James said with a wide grin. "I wouldn't be if you didn't disappear off the face of the earth." James shifted the purple marble ball in his hands, holding it out towards Sirius, "This here is Gloría, and she is my new best friend."

Sirius chuckled, walking over to James and examining the ball with a mock-serious expression. "Gloría, eh?" Sirius said, doing his best to copy James' pronunciation. "She seems like quite the lady."

"Indeed she is," James nodded, playing along. "I'm not sure what I'd do without her keeping me company."

"Mind if I give her a try?" Sirius asked, holding out his arms, and waiting for the ball from James. James obliged, and Sirius rolled it back and forth in his hands, trying to get a feel for the weight.

James backed away from the lane as Sirius took the ball, he did a swift little bow, "Be our guest."

Sirius took one step back, the heel of his black boots squeaking against the waxed floor unpleasantly. Then he took one step forward, allowing his arm to pass by his side before letting the ball go. It looked great at first, and then the ball seemed to go straight into the gutter.

James couldn't help but burst into laughter, clutching at his sides. "Nice one, Sirius. Gloría's a bit tricky, isn't she? Just how I like my women, complicated."

Sirius shook his head, a sheepish grin wrestling its way onto his face. "I think she's got a mind of her own for sure. I used to be quite the bowling master. Gloría and I just aren't meant to be!" he said, dramatically fetching the back of his hand to his forehead.

"Sure, sure," James mused. "Blame it on the ball."

"It is the ball's fault," Sirius said just as the ball rack seemed to return Gloría. "She's a lousy partner."

James picked the ball up and held his hands to each side as if he was covering its invisible ears. "You can't say that in front of her!"

Sirius laughed, a melodramatic sigh escaping his lips. "Oh, come on James, you know I'm right."

James gave the ball an affectionate pat. "Don't listen to him, Gloría. He's just bitter that he can't handle your wild spirit."

James turned away from Sirius and stared at the lane. He let his fingers wander to their designed space in the ball before pulling his arm back and gently sending Gloría rolling towards the pins. She crashed with them, knocking the pins in all directions.

"That Sirius, is why Gloría and I are meant to be," James said with a triumphant grin.

Sirius smiled, and then he sat down at one of the booths towards the back of the alley. He gave James a look, and James knew that meant they had to talk. He watched as Gloría rolled back into the ball rack and he gave her a quick goodbye before meeting Sirius at the table.

"Yes?" James asked as he sat down opposite of Sirius.

"What?" Sirius asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"You gave me the look."

"I do not have a look."

This was hilarious to James. Sirius most definitely had a look. Whenever he needed to say something important, he would elevate his eyebrows slightly and tilt his head down. It was similar to the way James' mother would scold him when he said something prude.

"You do."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Nada."

"Você tem uma cara sim," James argued, switching to Portuguese easily. It just came naturally to him, perks of his mother teaching it to him when he was little. Or well, perks of his mother refusing to speak English until he could speak Portuguese.

Sirius squinted, clearly puzzled. "Did you just call me a carrot?"

"Não, não!" James burst out laughing.

Sirius shook his head grinning. "I swear you could say anything in Portuguese and I'd have no idea what it was. You could even be insulting me right now."

"Maybe I am," James mused, leaning back and crossing his legs. "Or maybe I'm just saying your face is shaped like a potato."

Sirius gasped dramatically. "A potato? How dare you. I'll have you know my face is beautifully shaped."

"Yup. Got it," James saluted.

"You're an idiot," Sirius groaned.

"Nope," James cut in, "I'm your best friend, and you love me."

~~~

Regulus was a nervous wreck. He had nearly paced a circle into the silver carpet flooring of his hotel room. His thoughts were a tangled mess of anxiety and shame. It was like a puzzle, but he couldn't find the answer.

He knew what he needed to do. He had to talk to Lily, and he was already late. He had promised to come by and see her nearly a week ago, but instead, he had spent the night in his bed. Then he spent the next day in his bed, and the day after that.

When he finally moved from bed the first time, it was the day after Sirius had visited -Tuesday. That morning, he had managed to get up and shower, and it might have been the longest shower of his life, as if the hot water could wash away all his mistakes, but then he retreated back to his bed, deciding that he would try again tomorrow.

This morning as soon as he woke up he had made plans to meet Lily. Now, as he stood in the mirror adjusting his tie for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was about to face one of the most daunting conversations of his entire life.

Regulus took a deep breath, trying to slow his pulse. He had been counting the beats in his head - 130 bpm. He wasn't a doctor, but he knew that wasn't positive.

"You're not alone in this."

Sirius' voice echoed in his head. Regulus took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly over the next eight counts. As childish as he felt, he couldn't deny his brother's breathing exercises were helpful

"Okay, Reg," he mumbled, watching his reflection like a hawk. "You can do this. It's just a conversation."

And then he smiled. It was a smile so wide it forced him to squint. Not only could he do it, he was going to do it, after all, it's just a conversation.

Regulus glanced at the clock and quietly cursed under his breath realizing he was once again going to be late. Panic surged through him as he grabbed his coat and keys, making a mad dash for the door.

He passed a custodian pushing a large cart of folded towels, bottles of soaps, and cleaning supplies. A custodian, just like Tiberus. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of Regulus. He'd completely forgotten about Tiberus. What was going to happen to him? They had Tiberus seized from home, and everyone in the precinct thought he was Marlene's killer. Even if he cleared Tiberus' name, Regulus knew that his life would never be the same. He was secretly hoping Lily had a plan for that.

A bell chimed pulling Regulus back to reality. It seemed as his mind had been racing, his feet had too. He'd managed to make it all the way down to the lobby and outside without even realizing it.

He stood under a black awning, waiting for a cab. The yellow and black cars were like fish swimming down a stream; they were everywhere. It only took a few minutes for one to pull up to the curb in front of where he was standing. He waited a moment to make sure nobody else needed a cab urgently, subconsciously he was trying to delay his meeting as long as possible.

Regulus opened the cab door, sliding into the back seat with a weary sigh. The cabbie, an older man with a kindly face, turned to him and asked, "Where to?"

Regulus gave him the address of the precinct and the cabbie gave him an odd look, but didn't question it. As the cab pulled away from the curb, Regulus leaned back, staring out the window. He took a moment to really see Chicago for all its beauty.

The city was a symphony of sights and sounds, a bustling metropolis where modern skyscrapers stood tall alongside historic buildings. The cab passed through the Loop, where the towering Willis Tower pierced the sky, its sleek, black facade gleaming in the morning light. The streets were alive - businessmen in sharp suits rushing to their officers, tourists marveling at the architectural beauty, and street performers just trying to make a living.

As they crossed the Chicago River, Regulus glanced at the iconic Wrigley Building with its white terra-cotta facade reflecting the sunlight. The river itself was a ribbon of green, spanned by numerous bridges that connected the north and south sides of the city; it was nothing like the lake Regulus had visited a few days ago. Boats drifted lazily along its waters, while the Riverwalk bustled with joggers, cyclists, and people enjoying the picture-perfect view.

Further on, the cab drove past Millennium Park. Regulus caught a glimpse of the famous Cloud Gate sculpture. He remembered reading in a book that it was affectionately known as "The Bean," its polished surface reflected the skyline and the faces of countless onlookers. Nearby, the Jay Pritzker Pavillion's sweeping, metallic curves provided a stark contrast to the lush greenery of the park.

The next place the cab took him was through a neighborhood. He didn't know which one it was exactly, unfortunately, all the neighborhoods in Chicago looked exactly the same. As they drove, the historic charm of the older buildings with cobblestone streets faded into vibrant murals, and sidewalk paint with hip cafes and boutiques down every sidewalk.

Regulus had zoned out when he realized the car had stopped. The familiar, imposing structure of the precinct was right outside; there was no turning back now. He stepped out of the car, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the blinding Chicago sun.

He walked into the precinct, which was buzzing with its normal activity. Of course,it would be; there was no need to stress. It was just a conversation!

"Regulus," a sharp voice cut through the room. Every head turned to see him standing in the doorway.

He cleared his throat, and fought off the embarrassment that was nipping at him. "Lily," he said with a forced smile. "Shall we talk?"

Lily's expression was unreadable as she nodded - this worried Regulus. She motioned once for him to follow her before disappearing through the maze of desks into her small office.

Regulus embarked on his walk of shame. He passed through the bustling precinct, past curious glances, and hushed whispers.

Once Regulus made it inside the familiar office, Lily closed the door behind him, leaning against it with her arms crossed. "You know why you're here," she said, her tone leaving no room for evasion.

Regulus wasn't afraid of women, but he was afraid of Lily. When he had first met her, he noted that he never wanted to feel her wrath.

"I do," he said meekly. "But I want to begin with sorry."

Lily's eyes narrowed, and she inhaled deeply before responding. "Sorry? Regulus, you left me to deal with the media regarding a trap you set up and hardly explained. A whole week without a word from you, and now you waltz in here with a 'sorry'?"

Regulus winced at her words, but he knew they were deserved. "I know, Lily. I messed up. But things got a little... complicated."

"Complicated? Oh trust me, I know. Don't even get me started on my complications. Let me name one for you: Tiberus," she paused for a moment, noticing Regulus' uncomfortable shift. "You vanished, Regulus. Do you have any idea what I've been dealing with? The questions, the accusations, the endless pressure?"

Regulus closed his eyes for a moment. He felt bad, yes. That wasn't a question; the thing was he knew he screwed up and there was no point in focusing on the past. He just got out of that mess mentally and was in no rush to go back. "Look, I know. I get it. I left you alone, but I'm here now, and I'm ready to help."

Lily's anger seemed to deflate slightly at Regulus' words. "You can't just disappear when things get tough, Regulus. You asked for my trust, and left me out to dry. Don't you -"

"Would you like to know why?" Regulus cut in.

Lily stopped talking momentarily and turned her gaze to Regulus. "Go on."

"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "You see..."

His words were failing. He had practiced this stupid lie countless times, but every time he opened his mouth to try and speak, he felt like he was suffocating.

"Regulus, just spit it out. What happened? It can't possibly be as bad as you're making it out to be."

It was possibly as bad as he was making it out to be.

Regulus dug one of his nails into his palm. The pain helped to clear his mind for a moment, allowing him to speak. "Peter fled. That night after the bar, I saw the mark on his arm - The Dark Mark. Peter's a Death Eater."

Peter was a Death Eater. He wasn't one anymore; Regulus had killed Peter.

Lily's facial expression was once again unreadable, and Regulus' foot tapped anxiously against the floor. Regulus needed Lily to say something. Anything. The silence was deafening.

Lily's mouth moved like she was going to say something, but the only sound was a broken sob as she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle it. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, struggling to compose herself.

Regulus' heart sank. This was far worse than any of the guilt he had felt yet. Lily was going to think the monster that killed her friend was still out there, and Regulus, knowing the truth, wouldn't be able to tell her. "Lily, I... I'm sorry. I tried to talk to him about turning himself in and he went crazy. Ranting about how it couldn't be helped, he tried to kill me. And to be honest, he made a pretty good attempt before taking off."

"He tried to kill you?" Lily asked, wiping a stray tear away.

Regulus nodded solemnly - at least that part wasn't a lie.

"And then what happened?" she pressed, her voice quiet, but not soft enough to hide the tremble.

"I called Sirius," Regulus said with practiced ease. "I was bleeding, and it was raining, and I was gassed. We tried to find Peter and we scanned that block multiple times, but there was nothing. After that, we checked out his home. The only thing we found there was a letter on the table."

"A letter? What did it say?"

"It was cryptic. Full of self-justification and delusion. In the letter, he rambled about his allegiance to the Death Eaters, and 'Master Riddle'. Then he wrote a part saying he would never be sorry for what he had to do. He mentioned Marlene... said she was collateral damage, and that she had to go because anyone who knew couldn't live."

Lily balled her fist, and turned away from Regulus, but it couldn't prevent him from hearing her silent sobs. "He took Marlene from us, and now he's hiding like a little rat. If I find him, I'm going to kill him."

No need. I already have.

Regulus wanted to tell her the truth, but Sirius had told him nobody could know. Not James, not Lily, not anyone.

Regulus chewed the inside of his mouth until the familiar taste of iron collided with his tongue. "We'll find him, Lily. Don't worry, he won't hurt anyone else."

Finally, some truth. Peter would not ever be given the chance to hurt anyone else. Well, maybe he would hurt the fish in the lake. Regulus couldn't imagine decomposing flesh being a healthy snack for the animals, but at least it would be beneficial for the environment. That's what killing Peter had really been about - the environment. Go green?

"Oh! I almost forgot," Regulus said, quickly sitting up in his chair, "Sirius and I grabbed these from his house, he left them with the note that said he was fleeing." Regulus reached for the brown satchel that was hanging loosely over the chair. This was the same satchel that James and Sirius always bullied him about. They told him it looked childish, but Regulus knew they were secretly jealous of how awesome his satchel was. He lifted up the flap and reached inside the bag, withdrawing a black hand-gun, and a small badge. Both items had belonged to Peter, and Regulus had thought to grab them off his body before he took an unfortunate dive.

"His badge and gun, I presume?" Lily asked, but she seemed rather annoyed.

"Yes, I think he's telling you he quits," Regulus said, slightly more sarcastic than he meant to; so much for trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, I decline his notice, and his ass is fired," Lily's attempt at humor was strained, but it was enough to bring a smile to both of their faces. The smiles quickly blended into laughter which ended in both of them gasping for air.

"So..." Regulus started, waiting for Lily to say something.

"So?"

"What now?"

"Well," Lily muttered as she grabbed a pen. "Now, I do a lot of paperwork and you go home."

Home.

Back to Washington D.C.

Away from Peter.

Regulus was going to be free.

~~~

Something didn't add up. Remus had been editing and working on his story about Peter for hours. At this point, he nearly memorized the entire thing front to back. Small details still weren't adding up. How had Sirius ended up soaked like he did? And what had happened to his other clothes? Where had Regulus gone?

Remus rubbed his temples, hoping that if he kept at it, eventually he'd have some sort of revelation and realize what was wrong. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. The small fluorescent light flickered, barely illuminating the room. God, Remus lived in a craphole, but what else was he expecting to afford? He now regretted ignoring all of his father's warnings about moving to a big city as a budding writer.

Remus had graduated with a bachelor's degree in creative writing, and now, four years later he sat in a shabby apartment at a desk held up with cardboard boxes. Not only was this his desk, but it was also his dining room table. There was a coffee maker on one corner of the desk, and a waffle maker right next to that - the necessities of course.

It wasn't exactly ideal, but it kept a roof over his head, and it was his. As a kid, Remus never really had anything of his own. His father was a poor businessman, and his mother had been a school teacher. His mother had died when he was only sixteen, and no matter how hard he tried to move past it. The memory of that night was burned into his mind.

He and his mother had been returning from his grandparent's house after the holidays. Hope had a few drinks just enough to err on the side of caution, so she asked Remus to drive them home. It was a two-hour trip through winding highway backroads, the kind people typically avoided at night. Remus didn't love driving, but he loved his mother and would do anything she asked of him.

The night was dark and the road was nearly empty. The car's headlights sliced through the blackness, revealing patches of trees and the occasional reflective road sign. Remus focused on the road, listening to his mother hum softly to the tune of a Christmas carol playing on the radio.

Then, in an instant, everything changed. A pair of headlights appeared from a blind corner, blinding bright and swerving erratically. Remus' heart leaped out of his throat as he realized the truck was veering into their lane. He had no time to react. The collision was brutal and sudden, a crushing crash of metal against metal. The impact hurled him forward, the seat belt cutting into his chest as it struggled to keep him in the car.

When Remus opened his eyes, the world was a blur of pain and confusion. The car was mangled, its front end crumpled like a tin can. Smoke and the awful smell of gasoline filled the air and nearly gagged him. Remus' left leg throbbed with a searing pain that took his breath away, and his right arm hung uselessly at his side shattered. He had tried to protect his mom, he had thrown his right arm out in a moment of panic and now it was a broken mess.

"Mom?" he croaked, turning his head despite the agony it caused. Hope was beside him, her body was limp; her eyes were closed, and she wasn't moving.

"Mom!" Remus screamed, panic and desperation giving him strength. He tried to reach out with his good arm, tried to touch her, to wake her up, but the pain of metal and glass protruding from his leg was almost blinding. Tears blurred his vision as he called her name over and over.

The next fifteen minutes that followed were the worst fifteen minutes of his life. He sat there, right next to her, and was forced to watch her die. He saw as she took her last breath, unable to do anything, but stare.

The sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer, but for Remus, they couldn't arrive soon enough. The pain, both physical and emotional, was overwhelming. When the paramedics finally removed him from the car, he was barely conscious. Everything was a haze, and he had only managed to catch a few words like "critical" and "emergency surgery."

In the hospital, they told him the truth he already had known deep down: Hope Lupin hadn't survived the crash. The driver who had collided with them had taken her life and irrevocably ruined Remus'. The crash had taken his left leg below the knee, and his right arm had been broken in several places. He also had a multitude of scarring on his face and across his body from shards of glass.

Remus blinked as a single tear dropped onto the back of his hand, colliding perfectly with one of his many scars; it pulled him back to the present. The present - he was at home, alone, and working on a story. He needed a break; he wasn't getting anywhere and it only seemed to waste his time to further rot in front of his notepad.

He stood up from his desk, leaning on the chair for support. He hardly ever wore his prosthetic when he was home. It felt unnatural, and it always reminded Remus of his mother.

Remus hobbled over to the window, using the furniture for balance, and pulled the curtain back. It was raining - of course , it was always raining in Chicago. He knew the outside air was the only thing that was going to help set his mind straight, so he made his way over to his bed.
He reached for the prosthetic that was propped up against his nightstand. As much as he just wanted to go with his cane, he knew he wouldn't be able to use both his cane and his umbrella. His arm had been healed for years but sometimes it still bothered him, especially when it was cold.

With a resigned sigh, Remus reached for his nightstand drawer, withdrawing a light-weight prosthetic sock - one of many. He put it on with ease, having done it so many times in the past, it had become second nature to him. The next step was the metal leg itself, he picked it up and carefully positioned it against the stump of his leg. Straps and buckles secured it in place, each click a stark reminder that his mom had died, and yet he had lived.

Remus huffed as he gently pushed himself up from his bed. He stood up slowly, only putting a little weight on his leg to make sure he had secured it. Once that was done, he was ready to go, the only other item he grabbed was an umbrella on the way out.

He lived on the ground floor in the apartment, thankfully he would never have to deal with stairs. The building was owned by a gentle old man named Aberforth, who no one really knew anything about other than he had a fascination with goats. The eccentric landlord had always been kind to Remus, perhaps recognizing a kindred spirit in the young man who kept to himself and paid his rent on time.

Remus' apartment was located in the most ideal spot for a journalist. It was only a few blocks down from the precinct and he could make it there by walking if he didn't want to pay for a cab.

As he stepped out into the rain, the cold droplets were a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere of his apartment. The city was alive with the sounds of traffic, people hurrying along the sidewalks, and the soothing pattern of rain colliding with the pavement. Remus took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air that filled his lugs, clearing his mind.

His walk took him past familiar landmarks: the corner shop where he often grabbed his morning coffee, the little bookstore with a perpetually dusty window display which offered the best break from the world, and finally, the park where he sometimes sat down to jot notes or simply take a break when his leg was bothering him and he'd been too lazy to bring his cane.

But then, Remus spotted something unique to this walk - a man who seemed oddly familiar. The man had an air of sophistication about him, his attire sharply contrasting with the casual wear of the people around him. From behind, Remus noted the neatly tailored vest over a crisp blue shirt and a tie peeking out. His posture was elegant and confident, and he walked with a graceful fast pace; each step was carefully considered and calculated. His wavy hair, which fell in an artful disarray, reminded Remus so much of Sirius that his heart skipped a beat.

Remus tried to catch up with the man, but his leg was starting to ache, the cold always seemed to bother him.

The man turned a corner and Remus caught a glimpse of his face. He looked just like Sirius; he had the same dark eyes, and tired face. But why was Sirius going down this street? Remus glanced at the street sign, West Maple Street, when he had driven James home the other night, he'd taken him to The Congress Plaza Hotel on South Michigan Ave. Why had a walk taken to clear his mind only seemed to fog it further?

He followed the Sirius-like man for another block until he stopped in front of a building - a hotel. It was just a typical low-quality hotel.

"Sirius?" Remus questioned the man from behind.

The man turned and looked at Remus with a look that could only be read as disgust, "Whatever my brother has promised you, I am not fulfilling in his place."

"So I finally meet the infamous Regulus Black," Remus said with a soft grin.

"And you are?" Regulus asked, confused.

"Remus Lupin, I'm-"
Regulus cut him off with a chuckle, "You're his little reporter; I've heard plenty," he said, casting a glance up and down Remus quickly. "Although, you're not very little so I amend that statement."

An awkward silence attempted to grow between them, but Remus quickly allowed his voice to jump into the space, "Where are you off too?"

Remus watched Regulus carefully for any tell-tale signs of a lie, but Regulus kept his constant eye contact with Remus. "I'm off on a walk before I head back to the hotel."

"A little far for a walk? And this weather is less than ideal." Remus prompted. He still didn't believe any of this story. Why would Regulus be out walking over five miles from the hotel he was supposed to be at.

"I'm just full of energy, and I've always been partial to water," Regulus said with a very un-convincing tone of excitement. His black curls were starting to flatten against his face, sticking in awkward angles.

Remus narrowed his eyes slightly, his skepticism growing by the second. "Full of energy, huh?" he echoed, his tone curious. "And here I thought you were the more reserved Black brother."

Regulus' expression remained carefully neutral, but there was a flicker of something - annoyance, perhaps - in his eyes. "Not everything is as it seems, Lupin."

"No," Remus agreed, "it's not. Like you being here, for instance. A good five miles away from where you claim to be staying." He tilted his head, studying Regulus. "What are you really doing out here, Regulus?"

Regulus didn't respond immediately, and he glanced at the ground before his eyes met Remus' again; Remus knew this sign, it meant Regulus was lying.

"Not that it's any of your business," Regulus said, clearing his throat, "but I wanted some privacy. My hotel is rather... public."

"Yes, hotels do happen to be public. It's almost as if that was their designed purpose," Remus said sarcastically.

This got a laugh out of Regulus who then looked up at Remus with those dark blue-grey eyes that mimicked Sirius'.
"You know, I like you Lupin. I feel like we could be friends. And as much as I'd love to stay and chit-chat. I've got places to be," Regulus said before giving a wave and hustling off down the block in front of Remus.

Remus never got a chance to ask him any more questions, and there was no chance he was going to be able to catch him again - not tonight anyway. But he wasn't allotted much time to think about it before his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He fished it out of his pocket, making sure to keep it under the umbrella so the screen didn't get wet. He had a text from an unknown number - odd. He didn't give his number out to anyone.

Is this Remus?
He quickly responded. Yes. And who is this?

Not one second after he finished typing did the response come.

James! James Potter. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Sirius' drunk friend.
Remus rolled his eyes and chuckled. It had literally been two days ago; Remus definitely remembered him. Of course. What can I do for you James?

I need a favor.

Remus' interest peaked. Maybe James knew something about Sirius and Regulus' secrets. He watched James type anxiously, his anticipation building.

Where's the best place around here to get some pizza?

Remus, sighed, rubbing his temples as he stared at the screen. The last message blinked back at him. Out of all the favors he could have asked, James wanted him to answer a question that could have been solved with a single Google search? He couldn't help but chuckle at the stupidity of the matter.

What was he even doing with these people? Remus was a lone wolf; he had never once had a pack. And within a week and a half, he'd found three people he couldn't help but feel intrigued to learn more about: Sirius, with his relentless charm and flirtation, James, always ready with unpredictability, and Regulus, who seemed to oscillate between cold detachment and cryptic remarks. They were an odd bunch, that much was certain.

I hope you have a pencil because I have a list.

Lay it on me, Lupin.

Just as he was about to respond, another message came through - this time from a number Remus did have saved. He couldn't help but flush just by seeing the notification from Sirius.

Hey Remus. What might two people do for fun in Chicago? (Also, are you free? I could use some company.)

Remus glanced between the two conversations, the rain softly pattering on the umbrella above him. He had a tiny feeling that tonight was going to get a lot more interesting.

And maybe, just maybe, he was finally finding his pack.