#* meme replies

The gas station looked like it had been forgotten by the rest of the country. It sat alone beneath a washed-out sky, surrounded by miles of open land that stretched so far in every direction it felt as though the world had simply given up and unraveled into empty plains. A handful of pumps stood beneath a faded canopy whose paint had long since surrendered to sun and wind, and beyond it, there was little more than a convenience store with flickering fluorescent lights and a gravel lot where dust chased itself in restless circles. The highway that had carried them this far cut through the landscape like a scar, disappearing toward Montana in one direction and back toward Chicago in the other.

Devon leaned against the side of the Jeep as the tank filled, the steady click and hum of the pump the only real sound for miles. The air smelled faintly of gasoline, dry earth, and the lingering heat baked into the pavement. Somewhere overhead, a hawk circled lazily against the pale blue sky. Road trips always gave him too much time to think.

He glances toward Noah and finds himself caught, as he often was these days, in the strange realization of how much had changed. There had been a time when being trapped in a vehicle would have been another opportunity for an argument, another chance for old wounds to reopen. They had spent so much of their younger years circling each other with sharp edges, neither of them willing to admit how much they cared because caring meant vulnerability, and vulnerability had never come easily in the Vanek family. Yet, here they were.

Hundreds of miles from home, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, heading toward a state neither of them had ever lived in, sharing bad coffee, gas station food, and long stretches of highway that seemed to go on forever.

Devon remembered scraped knuckles and broken bikes. He remembered summer afternoons that felt endless and winters that seemed determined to bury Chicago beneath ice. He remembered Noah as a kid who followed him everywhere despite pretending not to, and later as someone who became harder and harder to reach. There had been years where conversations felt forced, where pride sat stubbornly between them like a third passenger neither one acknowledged. Years where it was easier to stay angry than to admit disappointment, easier to stay distant than risk being hurt again. 

The thing nobody ever tells you about brothers is that resentment and loyalty often grow from the very same roots. No matter how far apart they drifted, no matter how many times they disappointed one another, some part of Devon had always carried Noah with him. It wasn't obligation, and it wasn't habit. It was something deeper than that, woven into his life so completely that imagining a version of himself without his brother felt impossible. Maybe that was why this trip mattered more than he wanted to admit. Montana was the destination everyone talked about, but Devon suspected the journey had become the point somewhere along the way. Every shared meal, every late-night conversation, every mile marker slipping past the windows felt like proof that they had survived themselves. That somehow they managed to grow older without completely losing one another.

body is slanted against the door-jam, feet planted but stumbling on the front stoop of perhaps the LAST place he should have gone. at least he is fairly certain he has lost the ones who DID THIS before arriving on regulus’ black’s ( dead regulus black, regulus black he really should try to contact someone about ) doorstep. “looks worse than it,” he stumbles, leans heavier against the doorframe, “ - than it is.” it’s a weak finish and remus offers a smile that fights against his tense jaw and the aching pain that radiates from a gash below his left eye from when face bounced off an unfortunately placed stone after the third time he went down.

remus’ hands are moving before he can stop them, setting the book he was reading down on the table more forcefully than necessary and looking at james with HOT, still eyes. “if there’s something you want to SAY, then say it.” the words are bitten out, each syllable sharp and staccato. still in the way something DEAD is, or something STALKING something else. “i get enough of this from sirius.” AND OTHERS, though he manages to stop himself to say it despite the way hackles are raised. remus isn’t as OBLIVIOUS to the fact sirius is not alone in mistrusting remus ; in thinking his LOYALTIES might be split.

how could they even BLAME HIM if they were? it’s a dangerous thought, one remus doesn’t voice - it would make it all worse. BUT TRULY - there is a REASON werewolves are so willing to fall in line with greyback. promises, even false ones, seem better than the future the order promises when viewed through the eyes of one deemed MONSTER by the powers the order is trying to uphold.

jaw is so tight his teeth ache and remus paces one quick line clean across the safehouse that has started to feel increasingly SMALL as the days wear on and the moon grows fuller in the sky outside the windows. the quick steps have carried him into the corner of the tight living space and he finds himself with little options on where to go that won’t bring him straight back over to regulus, which is not the ideal position at the moment.

it isn’t regulus’ fault, really. remus has been SHORT-TEMPERED himself and found small things that would normally float by without issue high irritating. in truth, remus can scarcely remember what the latest argument between the two of them has even been about. leaving something out? being in the way? none of it really matters but everything is magnified by the way remus wants little more than to run as far and fast as he can and there is something terrible about feeling CAGED that makes the sharp-toothed thing with his voice at the back of his mind snarl and snap. dumbledore must have a PLAN about the full moon - he cannot intend to let remus turn here, in this order safehouse where regulus and remus had been told to stay put after that truly EXPLOSIVE argument with sirius - but remus has not been made privy to these plans.

he’s woken up the past five nights with the image of regulus in shreds and the taste of iron thick in remus’ mouth. the lack of sleep likely isn’t helping the tension that hangs over the pair of them.

a hand scrubs through his hair, snagging at a tangle in the curls that he promptly ignores. ought to pull a brush through his hair soon but it isn’t the most pressing matter at this moment. “i’m fine,” remus says offhand without even considering the question. it ticks by, though, and lips slant into a frown. it’s a FAIR QUESTION ; he has never outgrown his tendency to ignore warning cues from his body begging for basic things like hydration or nourishment. remus gives a rueful sort of smile and levers himself up out of the chair.