Chapter Text
November 6, 1983
James enjoys Dungeons and Dragons. Lives for it. For what reason, he’s not entirely sure. Possibly just the idea of escaping into a world of their own. Making it whatever they’d like to be. Having a happy ending. Additionally, he has been told his whole life that his ability to tell stories captures the attention of everybody around him. That’s why he’s constantly the Dungeon Master with his group of friends. The Marauders. Well, except for Regulus. He claims to hate the name, despite James spotting a flicker of amusement in the younger boy’s eyes anytime the name is used. The way he struggles to forbid his lips from twitching.
“...Something is coming. Something hungry for food. For blood,” James begins as he pays attention to the task at hand once more, eyes scanning his friend’s faces for their reactions. The best part. “A shadow, mysterious and tall, covers your figures, swallowing the space whole in darkness,” he continues, trying and failing to keep his face serious as he takes in the anticipation on all of their faces. Peter looks growingly worried, a piece of pizza hanging half from his mouth. “It.. is almost here,” he finishes, looking to his own resources behind the dungeon masters book.
“What is it??” Sirius pipes up with a frown, looking between his friends. His allies, in their magical world.
Peter swallows his pizza, standing to look at the board and says almost like he doesn’t wish to doom their battle; “What if it’s the demogorgon?” This causes the youngest of the boys to scowl at the thought as his brother whines in a truly dramatic fashion for a 12 year old boy.
“Peter! We’re so screwed if it’s the Demogorgon. Don’t jinx us!”
“It’s not the Demogorgon,” Regulus sighs, looking at his brother, and James still spots that familiar flicker of amusement he’s trying to hide at his brother’s antics. A mystery, how the two are so different. “That’d just be... Ridiculously cruel. I’m not even that mean.”
James grins as he pulls out a figurine, eating up the visible relief on all his friend’s faces. “An army of troglodytes charge into the chamber, scattering around!”
Peter laughs in amusement, causing him to choke on the pizza he was eating but still looks beyond relieved before Sirius aggressively whacks his back. James falls silent as they all mutter their thankfulness. He looks around conspicuously, and whispers as his hand reaches for something in front of him,
“Wait a minute.. Did you guys hear that?” He looks back to Peter, taking joy in the way his smile falls and is replaced by a confused frown. “That.. that sound? Boom.. Boom.. Boom!” He bangs his fists on the table for dramatic effect, barely able to resist a laugh at the startled squawk Sirius lets out. But James continues.
“That wasn’t the troglodytes. No, that.. That was something different. Something bigger.” He holds the figurine in his hands, slamming it on the board in front of him. Oh, the wails his friends let out. The cute scowl on Regulus’ face. This is why he adores Dungeons and Dragons. The theatrics. “The Demogorgon!”
His friends fall into a panic as James demands an action from said scowling boy, who looks as if he is trying to burn the demogorgon piece to ashes with his stare. Sirius and Peter jump over each other to shout suggestions.
“Fireball him!” Sirius gleams at the idea of such violence. Even if imaginary.
“Sirius I’d have to roll a thirteen or higher!” His brother exclaims, looking personally insulted by the chances of his recommendation. Peter eagerly nods in agreement, having shrunk into his seat and is stress eating another piece of pizza.
“Too risky! Cast a protection spell.” He exclaims through a mouthful of food which earns a dramatic scoff from Sirius.
“You may be my baby brother, but don’t be a baby, Reggie! Fireball him!” Sirius shouts, glaring at Peter. James grins wickedly as the two boys argue over what Regulus should do, and he watches as his nose scrunches, brows pinching in thought. As if this was life or death. Which, it is. In their game.
“Fireball!” Regulus eventually shouts over the loud noise, throwing the dice. A bit too aggressively, however, as small bits of plastic go flying off the table. All four boys jump up, almost tripping to find them in a panicked rush.
“James!” He hears from upstairs, his mother calling him and he pops his head out of the bottom of the stairs in confusion.
“Ma! You’re interrupting the campaign!” He shouts back, purely because the noise in the rest of his basement is deafening. His mother looks barely amused and walks off in the direction she came as she taps her wrist where a watch would be. He shouts after her, stumbling up the stairs, “Please, just 20 more minutes, we’re almost done.”
Euphemia just sighs, giving him a pointed look before returning to packing lunches for the next day. “It’s a school night, baby. It can be finished next weekend, no?”
“No, it can’t!” He exclaims in a childish tone he’s not proud of, and neither is his mother based on the look she gives him. “I’m serious, mum. This took two weeks to plan. It’d ruin the flow!” He finishes and then hesitates, purposely avoiding looking at his mother before adding in a mumble, “..How was I meant to know it’d take ten hours?” His father’s laugh from the other room catches his attention but Euphemia speaks first,
“You’ve been playing for ten hours? James.” She looks at him pointedly as James simply opens and shuts his mouth to protest, before deciding against it and twisting on his feet to run back to the basement, past his father laughing.
When James eventually joins Sirius and Regulus outside to tell them goodbye, he simply observes the two boys. The differences between them. Sirius’ longer hair, almost in a rock-star, messy sort of way, silly for such a young boy. Compared to his brother, a tamed, shorter set of curls on his head, that still fall to cover his eyes occasionally. The way Sirius constantly bickers and teases Regulus, yet it is impossibly clear the younger boy means the world to him. How Regulus always acts so annoyed, insulted by Sirius’ childish demeanor - even though he is a child - and yet follows him everywhere. Before James can interrupt the two who are bickering over... Something truly unimportant, James is sure, Peter comes grumbling out the door.
“There’s something wrong with Mary and Marlene. Refused my piece of pizza! And slammed the door in my face!” He frowns as he swallows said piece of pizza, moving to grab his bike and James frowns at him.
“What do you mean?” He asks cautiously as Peter sighs.
“They’ve got sticks up their butts. Ever since they got to high school. They’re only two years older than us,” he continues, still pouting and climbing over his bike as Sirius snickers.
“Yeah, duh. Ever since Mary started dating that guy Barty Crouch jr. He’s a douchebag,” causing James to roll his eyes with a smile.
“You both are just annoyed they don’t play DnD with us anymore,” he teases, causing both Sirius and Peter to bump into him with their bikes before beginning to ride away. The sound of Regulus’ voice has his head turning however, the amused smile on his smile turning softer without any thought.
“It was a seven,” he says, deciding to elaborate when James makes a confused noise, head tilting. “The roll. It was a seven.” He shrugs, sighing as the older boy still looks baffled as to why he’s being told this information. Why regulus was lingering around him. “The Demogorgon, Potter. It got me,” he finishes with a mock salute and an eye roll before biking off after the other three boys, James failing to notice the light flickering. He’s a bit distracted.
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Regulus truly doesn’t understand his life. His family. His friends. Any of it. How he manages to appear the most mature of his friends, despite him being the youngest. How he even is friends with the idiots he is. Naturally, one of them is his brother. So he couldn’t escape that. He’s painfully protective, for a tween boy. But he’s also unbelievably strange, so. Regulus doesn’t question it. He secretly appreciates the protectiveness, not that he’d ever verbally thank his brother. Albeit, a little suffocating at times and he despises being treated like a baby, his heart isn’t quite as lonely knowing he will always have his big brother. That there will always be at least one person who will care for him. Love him.
Whereas, he knows how he became friends with Potter. James. During kindergarten. James and his family had just moved to Hawkins, meaning they didn’t know anybody. All giggles and bright clothing, hair a mess and glasses that looked several sizes too big for his face. None of that stopped the boy from talking to everybody he could. Watching him be so social and loud had given Regulus’ 5 year old self a headache. But, alas, he had approached the younger French boy. Had seen him swinging alone because his brother had gone to the bathroom. Which, his brother had been gone for a while. Probably got distracted. James had asked to be friends with the biggest grin he’d ever seen on anyone’s face. It was remarkable. Startling and a little terrifying how easy Regulus softened his tone at the sight. But remarkable nonetheless. And how could Regulus say no to such a face? To such kindness? Even if he wonders if he deserves it, he’s always been a selfish boy. So he said yes.
Despite the years passing, with them all slowly growing up, yet all too fast, even as James and Sirius became brothers in a way - a way that Regulus envies more than he’d ever breathe aloud - James stuck around. Asking how he was. How his day was. Inviting him to all of their hangouts. And not in a way that seems just to be polite because he’s Sirius’ brother. Like he remembers Regulus came into his life first. Like he actually cares. Like they’re actually best friends. It hurts the poor 11 year old’s brain. James seems to have a special talent for that.
Oh, and there’s Peter. James and Sirius met him in their first year of primary school. Immediately claimed him when he was being made fun of. Regulus doesn’t have anything against the boy. He actually quite enjoys his company. He’s mostly quiet, which is a pleasant change from thing 1 and thing 2 every day. Not as close, sure, but they both have a particular interest in plants and science, able to sit in peace doing their own thing for hours on end. So, he figures he’s also one of his best friends. Again, not that he’d say any of this aloud to anybody unless it’s in his dying breath.
“Oi, Pete,” he hears his brother shout from behind, and prepares for something idiotic to come out of his mouth. The usual. “You recently bought the X-Men 134 comic, right?”
At the mention of his comic, which he hasn’t even opened yet, Peter turns his head, looking wary. Smart. He hums in agreement, focusing back on not crashing his bike into the curb.
“I’ll race you back to yours for it,” Sirius suggests and grins wickedly, catching up to the two boys. “If you win, you can have one of my records.” Despite the sceptical pinch of Peter’s brows, his interest is caught. Bingo. He could spot the smug look on his brother's face from the other side of town.
“Any record..?” Peter questions and seems to think about it, but Sirius has deemed that as a yes and just shouts ‘go!’ before he starts biking away. Cheating. “Hey! We didn’t agree on it!” The former shouts, or rather squawks, pushing his legs to try and catch up. “I didn’t say go!”
Regulus simply watches with barely hidden entertainment as the boys ride down the hill and disappear. Sometimes he would go with them. Read Peter’s comics whilst the two bicker over something stupid. But frankly, he can feel a headache coming and listening to his friends argue over who won their race sounds like a death wish. He’d rather drown.
He continues to bike home, humming a simple French tune his mother used to sing to himself, frowning when the light on his bike flickers. And the street lights. His biking slows and he glances around cautiously. Maybe he should have gone with his brother. …No, he’s sure it’s nothing. It’s Hawkins, after all. Something is always going wrong in the tiniest fashions. Nothing bad ever happens here, he reassures himself.
He forces himself to breathe steadily and turns to look ahead of him, but his legs falter when he spots a dark figure down the road. Taller than any man he’d ever seen. He turns the head of his bike far too quickly, moving towards the woods and tumbles over the curb with a shriek. His head twists and his heart almost stops when the figure has gotten closer. And isn’t stopping.
Yep, should have stayed with his brother.
He pushes himself up, too scared to care about the dirt covering his clothes, rain soaking his hair, which would normally cause him to scream out of frustration. Now, he feels like screaming out of fear. His legs move almost on their own, body burning and yet numb at the same time. When he turns his head and spots the shadow following him, he forces himself to move faster, stumbling up the stairs on the porch to his house and slamming the door shut and fumbling to slide the lock into place. His heart feels like it’s in his throat. His brain has gone fuzzy. Maybe this is just a dream, he thinks as he pinches himself then winces. Well.
“Maman!” Regulus shouts, not proud of the way his voice quivers. She’s at work, he’s reminded by the cold emptiness in his house. A truly small thing, for a family who used to be as rich as can be. Houses larger than Potter’s. The young boy swallows back his nerves, trying to think rationally. Although any idea of sense goes flying out the window when he hears the lock sliding itself open from the inside. A truly strangled and desperate noise comes from the boy’s throat, almost tripping over their cat to get to the back door, shoving it open and throwing himself down the stairs to run to the shed.
He searches desperately for the gun Regulus knows his mother keeps in here. Definitely not licensed. But again, not the time to think of the ridiculousness of his mother’s habits. He fumbles with the gun and bullets, trying to remember how he’s seen her prepare it and swallows back a sob as his eyes burn. He hasn’t cried since the day his father left. The day he had gone too far and hit both Sirius and him. Their mother. Walburga all but threw him out of the house. A day full of far too much screaming and crying. So he vowed never to do it again. Never to feel so weak. And yet, here he is. Feeling like a hopeless 8 year old boy all over again. Scared for his life.
As he gets the bullets in the gun, he holds it up with shaky hands in the direction of the door, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. And failing, horribly. God, he can practically hear his heart pounding, let alone his breath that is shooting out of him in shaky bursts. A creek from behind him fills Regulus’ ears, causing him to whip around and almost drop the weapon as his eyes land on the figure. The red glow coming from the corner of the shed. A horrified, raw, scream tears out of the boy as the thing reaches for him.
Because whatever that figure was, it was not human.