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fruitcoops · 1 year ago

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Dial Drunk

Fic O'Ween Day 1, for the prompt 'First Frost'! Many thanks to @noots-fic-fests for organizing and @lumosinlove for the best characters <3 Have some baby Sirius and James causing Dumo heart failure for your Thursday!

TW drunkenness (silly fun, not angsty)

Pascal enjoyed 20 minutes of a PG-13 movie (the first in three months) before stumbling, out-of-sync footsteps outside his house interrupted his peace. He should have known better than to think a quiet night in would live up to its name.

“Come on, man, work with me—”

“Shh.”

The kids were in bed. Why couldn’t that be enough?

“No, no, why can’t we just go back to your house?”

“Because—”

They had been gems this evening. Dinner passed without a fuss; a FaceTime with their mother riveted them more than a TV show, for once.

“James…”

“Don’t whine at me, god. Can I have my arm back?”

Pascal cursed softly to himself as he rummaged the remote from the couch cushions and paused the movie. Rustling became a scuffle—he opened the door just as the bell rang through the house.

James Potter stared at him, then broke into a broad grin. “Dumo! Hi!”

“Did you read the sign?”

James’ eyes flickered over the doorframe. Pascal got to watch him read the Please Do Not Ring Bell—Infant Inside! in real time. His smile slipped into more of a grimace. “…shit. My bad.”

“Bonjour,” Sirius mumbled blearily, listing into James’ side. “Ça va?”

Pascal sighed. He had been hoping someone on the team would keep an eye on those two. Parties were all well and good until the dynamic duo of poor decision-making was left to their own devices.

“We had fun,” James offered by way of explanation. Sirius’ hiccup jostled them both. “Maybe—maybe a little too much fun.”

“Got kissed on the cheek,” Sirius said with an enthusiastic nod.

The lipstick print on his face was glittery in the porchlight. “Congratulations.”

“Merci.”

Christ above. “Pots.”

James had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know.”

“Are you serious?”

“Non, c’est moi,” Sirius snorted, swaying toward the potted plant at the edge of the stairs. They both reached for him at once; Sirius made a noise of surprise, but was pliable as putty when James coaxed him back out of the danger zone. The sharp tang of alcohol and at least three different perfumes spilled off him in waves. Sirius was doe-eyed when he bent to rest his head on James’ shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

Pascal arched a brow; James gave Sirius a guilty pat on the back. “Any time, buddy.”

“Are you sure we can’t go back to your house instead?”

“Mhmm.”

Sirius huffed in disappointment. “Why?”

“Because my guest room isn’t unpacked.”

“Can sleep on the couch. Or the floor.”

“Lily’s coming over tomorrow morning.”

Sirius’ groan cracked as he pushed his face into James’ shoulder. “Just put me in the backyard.”

“One of us will turn the hose on you.”

Pascal shook his head and reached out. “Allez, mon fils, let’s get you—"

“You’re so mean,” Sirius complained, still fixated on James. “I don’t want to go home. Dumo’s going to be upset.”

James’ gaze darted to him for a beat. “Pads, no, it’ll be fine.”

“Non.”

Pascal’s stomach sank. “I’m not upset,” he tried, gentling his voice.

But Sirius just nodded. “Yes, he is.”

“Hey.” Pascal prodded his arm. “Hey, petit chou.”

“Don’t like cabbage. Crunchy.”

Pascal exchanged a look with James and fought an eye roll. Without initial surprise clouding his vision, James was clearly only more sober by a slim margin. His glasses seemed determined to balance on the very end of his nose, despite repeated attempts to push them up again. His sneakers shuffled sheepishly on the doormat.

“Just tell me you didn’t drive.”

“I don’t have a car,” Sirius said brightly.

James gave a vigorous shake of his head. “Fuck no, we took an Uber. Are you crazy?”

“Are you drunk?” Pascal countered. Sirius barked a laugh; James’ already-flushed cheeks darkened. A once-over revealed little he didn’t already know, only a comfort in the sense that they both seemed hale and whole regardless of their wobbling.

Oh, to be twenty again.

Pascal inclined his head toward the house and stood aside. “In. Don’t wake the kids.”

An attempt to fit through the door at the same time was admirable, but doomed, as they soon realized after a few seconds of fumbling. James eventually squeezed past with Sirius trotting close behind. Something about it struck Pascal as a particular poetic irony.

“Where’d you end up?”

“Place on sixth.” James’ hands were clumsy on his shoelaces. Sirius observed him for a moment, then kicked his own shoes into the closet still tied.

“Was it fun?”

“Mhmm. Hopping tonight.”

“We left early,” Sirius chimed in. “James said I needed to go home.”

“He’s smart. You should listen to him more.” Listen to me more, he added in his mind as he guided James’ jacket off his flailing arm and nudged Sirius’ phone away from the precarious table edge. Despite their clumsiness, their clear efforts to stay quiet did not go unnoticed. It was a common courtesy that some of the rowdier boys tended to forget.

“D’you want me to—”

“Guest room,” Pascal interrupted, tilting his chin down the hall. “Bathroom’s yours. Advil in the top drawer.”

James took a breath, then paused. “Does it have one of those kid-lock things?”

“Yes.”

He whistled through his teeth. A reluctant nod followed. “Kay. I can handle that.”

“Lame if you couldn’t,” Sirius mumbled.

“Like you’d do better.”

His lazy grin became offense in half a second; his back stiffened under Pascal’s palm. “I could—”

“Quiet,” Pascal reminded him.

“I could,” Sirius repeated in a harsh whisper, jabbing his finger toward James. “And you know it.”

James raised his hands in mocking surrender before raking one through his hair. His glasses had wandered down his nose again, and he gave Pascal a drowsy blink. “I’ll be out by, like, nine tomorrow. Lily’s coming over at eleven, so…y’know. Gotta clean my kitchen ‘n shit.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” was Pascal’s response of choice. He was fairly sure noting the late (or rather, early) hour was a poor course of action if he wanted James Potter asleep in the next five minutes.

James squinted at the floor for a few more seconds. “Fuck, I gotta wash my sheets.”

“Go to bed, James.”

“Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

Pascal propped Sirius up on his shoulder as he watched James go. There was a hole in the heel of his sock that was only going to get bigger. James probably wouldn’t throw the thing out until it literally fell off his foot. Maybe it was a good thing Lily was visiting—she always shook some sense into him.

“Dumo.”

Pacal’s stomach swooped. “Are you going to throw up?”

“No,” Sirius snorted, as if the very idea was ridiculous.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“What do you need?”

“Nothin’.” Sirius wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out for a weak raspberry. “English tastes gross. Makes my head hurt. Regulus doesn’t like it, either. Mine is a lot better since because I was here but he’s pratiss—practick—pratique. In school. See? Dumb language.”

“You’re doing a very good job.”

Sirius beamed at him. “Really?”

“Ouais. Much better than I did.”

“Yours is a lot better than mine, though.”

Pacal was glad he didn’t protest the subtle guidance toward the basement stairs, if he noticed at all. “Well,” he began, grunting slightly at the weight imbalance on the first step. “I’ve been in the league for nearly twenty years. You’ll pick it up.”

“I wanna play hockey forever,” Sirius sighed.

“Give it your best, and you’ll do great things.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgment, though he seemed a little too focused on holding the railing for Pascal to believe it. They edged their way down two more steps before he glanced up again with an astonished look on his face. “You’ve been in the league as long as I’ve been alive?”

Holy Jesus fucking Christ. His tongue went dry and stiff as leather. “I guess I—” Pascal tipped his head toward the ceiling and let a breath siphon through his nose. He should’ve taken James up on the backyard offer. A spray-down with the hose would do Sirius some good. “I hadn’t, ah. Thought about that. Merci.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Isn’t it just?” Perhaps if he asked nicely, Sirius would kick him down the stairs. It would be kinder. He might even hit his head hard enough to forget the entire evening. Where was the shy boy covered in winter’s first frost when Pascal needed him, anyway?

He winced at the thought. As accidentally-devastating as Sirius was with alcohol coursing through his veins instead of common sense, he couldn’t make himself wish for the opposite. They had only just managed to get his shell open; James better than anyone. There really wasn’t a world where he would trade this newfound vibrancy for anything, but—

His lower back panged when Sirius lurched toward his bed. “Woah.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius muttered. “Tired.”

“Je sais.” Pascal shook his head against the glimmers of pain in his vision and made a mental note to ask Remus about that during their next session. “Pajamas, water, then bed.”

“But—”

“Pajamas, water, bed,” he repeated firmly. “Or skip the pajamas. I don’t care.”

Sirius frowned down at himself, scratching at his cheek. Glossy sparkles spread into an amorphous blob. Exasperation pressed against the inside of Pascal’s ribs; he sat Sirius on the edge of his desk and dampened a washcloth in the bathroom, then returned to his side. “Let me see.”

“See what?”

“Your cheek.”

Dark brows knit. “Not hurt.”

“Just—hold on.”

Sirius was flinching back before the cloth even got close. “Hey, hey, non.”

“You’ve got—”

A forceful push to his wrist made him pause. “Non.”

Pascal blinked. “There’s something on your cheek,” he tried. Sirius watched him with strange, alert suspicion. He held both hands palm-up between them and bit the inside of his lip against the urge to reach again. “Here.”

Silver eyes flickered back and forth in the low lamplight, towel to Pascal to towel to Pascal. Sirius shifted on his perch and took the cloth hesitantly. The rigidity of his torso eased once the gloss-print was gone under a few harsh scrubs, and Pascal took it back without issue.

“I’m not upset with you.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not upset.” He watched Sirius take two large gulps of water from the bottle on his desk before flopping back on the bed. “I’m just glad you two got home safe.”

Sirius made a faint noise of agreement while he made himself comfortable, tugging at the sheets with little regard for their proper direction. A leg and most of his shoulders stuck out when he finally gave up and pushed the side of his face into the pillow. Pascal tucked the blanket around him on instinct; his heart tugged at the long, contented exhale that followed. “James is so nice to me.”

“He’s your friend.”

“So nice,” Sirius mumbled, almost to himself. His eyes were already half-shut. “Dumo?”

“Ouais?”

“Is James going to play hockey with me forever?”

“Ah.” Of all the questions you could ask. “I think you two do well together on the ice, so there’s no reason to split you up.”

Sirius tucked his knees up beneath the covers and shoved an arm under his pillow. “I don’t want to play hockey forever if James isn’t there.”

Pascal sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms across his chest. It had been nearly twenty years since he last checked his blindspot on the ice. There was no need—not while Sergei was there. They had talked about the end, of course, and the after. It went unspoken that they’d probably leave together. Too many jokes about PTA duels would be wasted if they didn’t.

How many nights had they dragged each other home, stumbling and giggling? They had walked nearly four miles the night they won the Cup in Colorado, those glorious quiet hours between being shooed home and when the taxis would answer their phones. Pascal couldn’t recall the last time he had fallen over the welcome mat with Sergei on his heels, instead of being the one holding the door open.

“Sirius?”

“Mhmm.”

“James will stay with you.” There was nobody Pascal would rather have at Sirius’ back, when he thought about it. Not even himself. “If you decide you want to play hockey forever, he will be the first person to sign up with you.”

“You’re not—” A yawn interrupted him, wide enough to make him scrunch his face. “—upset that we were loud?”

“Non. Promise.”

“Merci.” The sheets twisted in Sirius’ fist as he brought them close to his body. His mere twenty years made him look small without a frown and a ‘C’.

“Bonne nuit, mon fils.”

An incoherent mumble was all the answer he received, and more than he expected. He turned the lamp off with a gentle click, leaving Sirius to sink into heavy, even breaths.

New Message To: Vans

Pots and Black home safe

Lunch tomorrow @ usual. Kids included.

I’m buying. No protests.

New Message From: Vans

Why are you awake

New Message To: Vans

Lunch. Usual. Kids included.

If you bring your wallet I will kick your ass.

New Message From: Vans

Vans laughed at your message

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