Crossed Paths Chapter 1 Title: Crossed Paths Rating: PG-15 Summary: Do you believe in fate? Chase doesn't. Remus used to. Time period: December 1981 Warnings: Slash, non-graphic sexual situations and violence, language
I Chase kept his head down as he walked briskly on the edge of the bustle of Diagon Alley. It wasn't because it was raining, or cold (it was) but rather because Chase was a man with something to hide. Namely, scars. He had only escaped them a week ago, made it to England last Thursday, not nearly enough time for his face to heal up. The black eye was fading, but the cuts would take longer, particularly the deep one under his chin from where he had attempted suicide using a belt buckle. No, better to keep his head down.
His eyes darted around constantly, keeping tabs on the passerby. No one suspicious, but one never knew. The officials could have disguised themselves...
Well aware that he was being paranoid, Chase hastily ducked into a shop when he heard a man exclaim, "Guten tag!"
The shop was a dark little cafe, with big chairs in which anyone could collapse in and be rendered anonymous. His stomach rumbled, and Chase decided he would sit down with a nice sandwich and coffee. There was a dark corner in the back where he could put down his hood and take off the dark gloves that enshrouded his hands, maybe even take off the cloak altogether.
The roast beef sandwich looked like something from heaven, and the chairs were beyond soft. Chase tossed his dark cloak over the arm of the chair and proceeded to loosen his amour a bit. First, off went the knit cap that covered his shaved head, revealing more still-healing cuts and a large green-purple lump on the back. Then he peeled off leather gloves to show one bandaged hand and another with bruised knuckles. Finally, he pushed up his sleeves a bit—wool irritated the round scars that encircled them. He knew he was a ghastly sight, but in the inky darkness of the corner in this isolated part of the cafe, he doubted anyone would notice.
He took a bite of the sandwich. Yup, it was heaven.
But in his anticipation of his first meal of the day, Chase's observation skills had failed him. He was not alone in that dark corner of the cafe. Someone else was hiding there too.
Remus watched warily as someone else chose this corner. In fact, this disguised (for surely clothing that heavy and anonymous, even in the cold rain, must be a disguise) figure didn't notice him, though he chose a chair directly across from the one Remus occupied, so intently was he staring at his sandwich.
Remus was about to clear his throat and alert the man he was here, but when the person began to strip off the disguise Remus couldn't speak. First to be revealed from the depths of a hood was a face that had been recently and badly beaten. Under the cap was a roughly shaved head that also showed a beating. The lack of gloves showed stained bandages and knuckles so bruised and cut that when the boy--because it wasn't a man, it was a boy—when the boy flexed them, they leaked blood. And then there were the wrists. Livid circles around them, raised slightly, old scars recently retraced.
Like looking in a freaking mirror.
Chase took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring the first food since the night before, cautious not to further dislodge his loose teeth. Careful not to get mustard on the cut on his lip, he took another bite, and another and another, until his plate was empty except for chips, which also began disappearing rapidly.
It was a full ten minutes until Chase looked up, right into someone else's eyes. He froze, chip halfway to his mouth. "Who're you," he rasped out, throat raw.
Remus started. The voice that had come out of the boy's throat didn't match the face, and…yet it did. His voice, naturally, should have been a light tenor. The voice that came out sounded like sandpaper. It was- oh, it was raw. Someone had been screaming recently, and for a long time.
"I'm- I'm Remus Lupin," he replied to the boy's demand.
Remus Lupin. It didn't sound like something anyone would pick for a fake name, especially not the wizards who were chasing him. You could remember a Remus Lupin. Chase stuck out his bandaged hand abruptly, careful not to offer flesh. "Chase Yately. Nice to meet you."
Remus smiled slightly and clasped Chase's hand. And when a surprised look crossed Chase's face, Remus was slightly amused. And when Chase's return squeeze tugged a cut a little too much and it began to bleed sluggishly, Chase froze once again and looked the other man over again—this time more carefully.
And he saw the knit cap the other wore. And he saw the gloves sitting on the table next to a dark, anonymous cape.
Without warning, Chase's unbandaged hand shot out and pushed back Remus's sleeve. No manacle marks, but four parallel cuts that looked like scratches from some giant wild beast.
As quickly as he had seen them, they disappeared and Chase was faced with plain grey shirtsleeve again.
Remus met the other's eyes defiantly. The boy stared back, just as belligerent.
"So," said Remus, "when were you bitten?"
"What?" Chase asked, confused.
"You heard me. When were you bitten? I was six, so I'm used to it, and I can keep these to a minimum." Remus gestured to his wrist. "But still, sometimes I get the better of myself. Yours was fairly recent, though, I take it. Was it Fenrir Greyback?"
Fenrir Greyback. The name caught something in Chase's mind. That's right, he was a werewolf. And from what he was saying, this man was a werewolf too. Interesting. Chase had never met a werewolf before, but they couldn't be worse than the men he'd been dealing with. However, from what the man was saying, he thought that Chase was a werewolf.
"I'm not," Chase said abruptly. "I'm not a werewolf."
Remus raised his eyebrows. "It's two days after the full moon and you're wearing the same disguise as I am. You are. Now, it gets easier, but not very much. Look at me—I'm twenty-one, so it’s been fifteen years, and I still come back from the full moon looking like shit."
"Don't fucking swear," Chase muttered, something Geiselle had always said. Louder, he said, "Look, I'm not what you think I am, okay? I'm not a werewolf."
Remus shot him a clearly incredulous look. "Then what are you? Look at you, either you're a werewolf or you've been beaten to a pulp on a regular basis for the last-"
"I don't want to talk about it, okay?! So just keep your fricking persnickety nose out of it, because it's none of your damn business!"
Remus watched Chase's face carefully. If the way he had reacted was any indication, he had gotten it exactly right, albeit by accident. Chase had been beaten to a pulp on a regular basis.
"Lumus," he muttered, to see better.
"NO!" Chase shouted, and grabbed his cloak from the arm of the chair and threw it over himself. Hat, gloves, bag, run fast. A plate smashed behind him but he didn't care.
But before Chase could disguise himself, Remus saw what he'd been looking for. Those weren't solitary injuries, they were layers and layers and layers of bruises and marks and cuts and pain.
"Nox," Remus breathed and ran after the boy. Something horrible had happened to him, was happening, could happen again. He drew his own hood over his face and sent out a quick tracking spell that long ago Sirius- no, mustn’t think about that.
Chase ran for all he was worth. He didn't know where, didn't know why, didn't need to know either. Maybe that Remus Lupin guy wasn't an official, but he was asking too many questions to be good news. And if something in his head said that it was because he had seen his scars that Chase was so jumpy, Chase ignored the voice and concentrated on running. Down the Alley, around a corner in a gap between buildings, knocking over a an old man, around a corner until he reached a jagged street that looked like some place no respectable person should go.
Perfect. He wasn't respectable.
Remus frowned as he followed the spell through Knockturn Alley and into a little-known street called Wicker Lane. Knockturn Alley was fairly safe in the day, but Wicker Lane wasn't. The boy was liable to get jumped, though that probably wasn't anything unusual, from the look of him. Still, there was something about his eyes that made him chase after. Or maybe it was the name, Chase. Either way, he had to find him before someone far less pleasant than him did. Remus sighed and turned his cloak right side out, revealing a patch sewed to the collar. A white moon and red paw print, the insignia he was required to wear by law, the only thing he thought would give him any safety in the lawlessness of Wicker Lane. Not that his neighbors would do anything to him, but still, it couldn't hurt.
Remus turned a final corner to find himself staring at his front steps and the boy crouching beside them. Found him.
Chase breathed hard, crouched in a ball under the eaves of some dilapidated building. The rain couldn't get him, and he could catch his breath. Hell, from the look of this place, he could take his hood off and no one would even look twice. Habit, however, is hard to kick.
So when someone grabbed bare wrist he immediately twisted and kicked out, connecting with hard muscle even as his attacker's consciousness crashed down on him.
Strength, intelligence, bravery, pain of the physically and mentally. Incredible loss, an image of a man, short and timid looking, and another of a man with black hair and glasses arm-and-arm with a red-headed woman. Then a flash of betrayal, deep and dark and defining, and a good-looking man with long black hair, with anger as hard and cold as ice. Loneliness, alienation, courage, tiredness, a beast raging to get out-
Remus grabbed the writhing boy's shoulders and shook him. His eyes were unseeing, his body moving out of reflex. He wasn't unconscious, but he wasn't there either. Remus glanced around nervously and spotted a warlock with matted hair looking back. He glared, picked up the convulsing boy, and carried him up to his apartment, locking the doors behind him magically and in the Muggle fashion.
Whatever had afflicted Chase, it didn't look like it would be ending any time soon. Remus set him down on the ratty sofa and headed for the kitchenette.
Chase felt the hands lift from him and relaxed as Remus's thoughts and feelings disappeared from his mind and his own came back once again. It felt like he was laying on a couch now. He opened his eyes to see faded blue paint and patched furniture, worn but taken care of. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, being careful of his black eye. As if being in this situation wasn't bad enough, his gift of Seeing always left him exhausted. Gift? Gift or curse, it had come in handy for once. He knew he would be safe here.
Remus returned to the living room with a cup of tea to find the boy sitting up stretching gingerly.
"What happened?" Remus asked, handing him a mug.
Chase shrugged and took the beverage with shaking hands. "It was nothing."
"You were convulsing in my arms. It wasn't 'nothing.'"
"Well, it wasn't your business, so it might as well be nothing."
Remus rolled his eyes. The bravado of the young...with a start, he realized that Chase probably wasn't much younger than him. "How old're you anyway?"
"Seventeen," Chase replied immediately, automatically adding a year to his real age.
Not much at all. "So," Remus said, studying Chase carefully, "are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to drag it from you?"
Wrong words.
"You'll get nothing from me!" Chase jumped to his feet, throwing the mug at Remus, and ran for the door. Remus ducked the mug and ran after the boy, who was trying to kick the door down, having found it locked. He grabbed his shoulders to haul him away and suddenly Chase's convulsing started again, this time worse than before.
Someone holding Remus, loving Remus, a man, such anger hatred betrayal a soul ripped in two. Thoughts, clear thoughts, 'what happened to the boy why is he doing this what have I done what happened to him.' And then a small voice, a small sobbing voice that he shouldn't be hearing but he was and it said 'oh no no not another please no it's all my fault again please no.'
And then Chase fought the tide. He had heard the inner voice, the voice he'd needed to hear; he would be fine now if he could stem it off. Slowly, slowly, close the floodgates.
The writhing boy slowly quieted in Remus's arms until he'd stopped moving altogether and was breathing evenly, as if in sleep. Then he opened his eyes.
Remus gulped. "What- what was that? And don't tell me ‘nothing.’ That wasn't ‘nothing.’"
Chase sighed and closed his eyes. No, that wasn't ‘nothing,’ that was everything. He let himself relax and lean against Remus, who was still clutching him after his episode. He smelled nice. Like…something. Something nice. This man was trustworthy. That much he had seen.
"And if I tell you...Remus...what will you do?"
"What?" asked Remus, startled out of his thoughts.
"What will you do if I tell you what that was, what happened to me?"
"...I don't know," said Remus. And he didn't. And then he noticed that one of the reasons Chase was leaning against him was because he was shaking with exhaustion. "Look, you don't have to tell me right now. Why don't you get some sleep, some rest, or something, get out of your cloak."
"Sure."
Chase sat next to the door and took off his battered boots but left the layers of wool socks on. No need to show his freshly healed ankle yet. Then he took his cloak off and hung it on a hook along with his cap. The gloves he shoved in the boots, and the sweater peeled off to reveal a dirty white shirt that was part cotton and part rag. His bare arms were purple in the light from the window, the cuts standing out as black stripes. He noticed his pants were slipping and re-tightened the knot in the belt around the top. It didn't have a buckle anymore and kept slipping.
Remus stared at the scrawny boy in front of him. How could he still move without being in constant pain? Why hadn't he gotten medical attention or healed himself with his wand? His ribs were showing through a hole in what passed for a shirt and his collar bones stuck out much too far. There also seemed to be bandages around his chest.
Chase caught the man staring at him. "Broken ribs, still healing," he explained. "The healer was going to get to them, but they wanted to take my name after that and, well, I didn’t want them to get it."
"...My god," Remus breathed, at a loss for words.
"You want to know what happened to me?" Chase asked quietly. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"…Yes." The answer was not immediate, but it held no hesitation.
"Fine then. Don't say I didn't warn you." Chase sat on the couch gingerly and leaned back. "It's a long story. Get comfy."
"Right then." Remus removed his own shoes and cloak, hanging both up. Then he took off his knit cap, letting down the knot of hair that had been under it. Long, blond hair flowed down his back to touch the small of his back.
Chase whistled slightly. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair."
Remus smiled slightly. "Long hair is very useful. It hides things."
Chase waited until Remus had sat down to begin. "My name is Chase Yately. My parents were American wizarding ambassadors to Equidor, and we lived in Quito. I, however, like you, am gay."
Remus jumped. "How did you-"
"I'm getting to it. Anyway, long story short, when I was fifteen, my boyfriend Javier and I were discovered in a closet making out. We were immediately sent to Squad Camp—a military school. I escaped with only scars, my first set, but Javi did not. He's still there.” Chase closed his eyes for a moment before going on. “I went back to my parent's house, and they, not wanting it to get out that I had escaped, sent me to Durmstrang. I got there in September with scars and a haircut much like my current one. The boys there...assumed things about me. I did not appreciate their attentions there."
Remus winced, and Chase continued. "I transferred to Allaire Academy at age sixteen for my sixth year in the house Furor, Fury. There I met Iris—Ambrosias—who became my boyfriend. He couldn't take the strain of persecution, and slept with a girl to restore his reputation. I got my revenge."
Chase's eyes went dark, and Remus got the shivery feeling that he was not one to be crossed.
"I hired someone to hurt her, the girl, which in turn would hurt him. It backfired. The psycho nearly killed Iris instead. We healed him up but Iris went insane, pulled his fingernails out, hacked off his hair, put rusty nails in his leg. Batshit crazy. Then my parents were murdered and suddenly, they came for me."
"Who?" Remus asked softly.
"Officials. Accused me of murdering my parents. Murder, theft, battery, rape—fucking hypocrites—and they wanted a confession." A strange gleam came to his eyes. Was it pride, or just insanity? "They didn't get one." Chase grinned at Remus and shoved up his pant leg to show the healed ankle and the remaining mutilations. "They didn't get one, not from me."
"How did you get away?"
"I went insane. Completely, yet still proclaimed my innocence. I was still in the school when this was happening, in a tower. Allaire isn't known for the dark arts for nothing. They decided to get rid of the evidence. They shoved me out the window one night at midnight, figuring to come for my body in the morning. Only, I survived. That was a week ago. And here I am, in December, and I'm alive in England."
And then the small smile that had been on his face the entire time slide off and Chase stared at Remus, a jaded boy. "I was in there for month. Screaming. They heard me. They must have. And yet no one came for me. And that's my story."
"What about the episodes?"
Chase shrugged. "I'm a Seer, but I'm hypersensitive. To touch someone is to see their minds." He looked away, not wanting to go into why he was so sensitive. "You held me. I know everything about you now."
"Not everything." And then Remus did something he had never done voluntarily before. He turned around and lifted the hair off his neck, exposing it to the air for the first time that day, having been covered by the cap before.
On Remus's neck, in black, was: W0524.
"It's a brand. It's my registered werewolf number. That's why I live here, on Wicker Lane, a place you never, ever want to find yourself alone at night."
A large hand reached up and gingerly traced the letters. Goosebumps went down Remus's spine and he turned around to look straight into Chase's eyes. A boy so scarred that there was nothing untouched, who did not know what it was like to be anything but damaged.
"Damaged," Remus said aloud. "You're so...damaged."
"Yeah," said Chase, placing a hand on Remus's waist. "A pair of damaged kids. So?"
Remus looked away. "So you're hurt. You need to rest. You need to get better."
The hand slipped under his shirt. "So do you."
"What do you know."
"Everything."
"Not about me."
Chase smiled and traced the knife scar under Remus's chin, a mirror of his own. "Everything. Tell me, heard about Rodolphus Lestrange lately?"
Remus stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"He gave you this scar, and the one above your heart. You couldn't save yourself then, just like you couldn't save Nina and Fire and Evan and James and Lily and Peter.” The skin under his fingers trembled. “You couldn't even save Sirius."
"SHUT UP!" Remus turned away, but Chase still had a hold of his shirt. "Just bloody shut up!"
"Why?"
"Because I already know that! I know I couldn't save them! You're not telling me anything I don't fucking already know."
"And so now you need to save me," Chase said in a sing-song voice, repeating the very thoughts that he had heard in Remus's head, "because you need to know that you have saved something, anything. And I just happened to be near."
"No, that's not it!"
Chase shrugged and ran a finger down Remus's arm. "They're your thoughts, not mine. I didn't make them up, just repeated them a little louder. You needed to save someone, and then I turned up, accidentally. It seemed like fate." It was so easy.
"...Yes."
Suddenly Remus found himself looking straight into Chase's eyes. "So get on with it already."
And then Remus kissed Chase, who was so vulnerable, so strong, and told himself he was doing the right thing. Chase did not think of anything, and if during the night Remus called him 'Sirius' did not comment or correct, and was instead grateful for a warm bed and enough food and a chance to let the scars fade a little.