Chapter Text
Teddy would not stop screaming.
It was the kind of cry that made Remus’ entire body tense up instinctively, sharp and broken and entirely unlike the usual tantrums over bedtime or vegetables or wanting to watch the same cartoon for the fifteenth time in a row.
Tiny fingers were curled desperately against his right ear, tugging at it so hard Remus kept having to gently pry them away before Teddy hurt himself further. His cheeks were blotchy red, damp with tears that had not stopped for the better part of an hour, golden curls sticking to his forehead with sweat as he writhed miserably against everything and everyone who tried to help him.
Remus sat on the edge of the narrow sofa with Teddy clutched tightly against his chest, rocking instinctively back and forth despite knowing it wasn’t helping much.
He pressed his lips against Teddy’s temple and whispered every promise he could think of, voice low and soft despite the panic clawing violently at his own chest.
“I know, sweetheart. I know, I know… daddy’s got you, yeah? It’s alright, baby, I’m gonna fix it, promise. You’re alright.”
But he wasn’t alright. Teddy wasn’t alright. And Remus could feel himself beginning to unravel right alongside him because there was something uniquely horrifying about watching your child in pain and realising there was very little you could actually do about it.
In the tiny kitchen barely six feet away, Lily stood frozen over the stove, mechanically stirring a dented tin of tomato soup into a saucepan she had no intention of eating. Her shoulders were tight enough to snap and every few seconds she wiped absentmindedly beneath her eyes with the sleeve of her oversized shirt, quick enough that she clearly thought nobody would notice.
Remus noticed anyway.
There were dried tear tracks still faintly visible against her cheeks from earlier when Teddy had screamed so hard he’d nearly made himself sick. Lily had always been terrible at hiding when she cared too much, and unfortunately she cared about Teddy almost as much as Remus did.
Peter, meanwhile, had launched himself into what could only be described as a full-scale treasure hunt.
Every cupboard door in the trailer had been flung open, every kitchen drawer left half hanging out, the old biscuit tin where spare change usually lived overturned entirely across the already cluttered counter. Remus could hear the constant clatter of coins being shuffled, counted, recounted, followed by increasingly frustrated muttering under Peter’s breath as he crouched near the battered television stand checking between sofa cushions and under old magazines. It had reached the point where Peter had started checking coat pockets hanging by the front door, as though somehow twenty forgotten dollars might magically appear if he searched hard enough.
The entire trailer felt too small for panic.
Too hot.
Too loud.
Teddy’s cries bounced harshly against the thin walls whilst the smell of cheap soup and summer heat hung thick in the air, making everything feel sticky and suffocating.
Remus squeezed Teddy tighter, shutting his eyes for one brief second as another cry tore through the room. Thirty-seven dollars. That was all it would cost. Thirty-seven stupid dollars standing between Teddy and antibiotics and sleep and relief. Thirty-seven dollars that Remus Lupin did not have.
Beyond the thin metal walls, the rest of the park seemed unbearably alive, every noise crashing into Remus all at once until it felt impossible to think around it.
A baby somewhere a few trailers down had started crying almost in competition with Teddy, shrill wails carrying through the humid summer air whilst somebody’s television blared loudly enough that the muffled sound of a game show host bounced against the walls.
Two men outside were shouting drunkenly over something stupid, their voices slurred and sharp before dissolving suddenly into laughter that grated against Remus’ already frayed nerves.
Tires crunched violently over gravel as someone sped through far too fast, music booming from open car windows with bass so heavy the old kitchen glasses rattled faintly in their cupboard.
A dog barked. A screen door slammed. Somebody nearby yelled for their kid to get inside. Somewhere glass shattered, followed by a distant “shit!” and more shouting.
It was too much, too hot, too loud, too crowded, the entire trailer park pressing in around him like the world itself had decided tonight was the perfect time to remind Remus exactly where he lived and exactly how impossible it was to escape it.
And God, Remus hated that feeling more than anything.
Hated the crushing certainty settling somewhere deep in his chest that despite every promise he had made to himself, despite every stupid mistake he’d spent years trying to fix, Teddy was growing up exactly where Remus had sworn he never would. In the same cramped trailer with faulty heating and flickering lights, surrounded by people who worked too hard for too little, where money was never something you had but something you desperately chased until it disappeared again.
Remus had spent nineteen years watching people here survive rather than live, convincing himself that somehow Teddy would be different, that he’d be the one good thing Remus managed to do right.
He wanted birthday parties and clean bedrooms and packed school lunches and family holidays and scraped knees from playgrounds in nice neighbourhoods. He wanted Teddy to grow up somewhere safe, somewhere stable, somewhere that didn’t teach children far too early that sometimes hunger won and bills mattered more than comfort.
Most of all, Remus wanted desperately to believe he could break the cycle.
But sitting there listening to his son scream in pain whilst knowing he couldn’t even afford the medicine to help him, Remus had never felt more like his father.
Peter finally emerged from beside the battered armchair near the front door, shoulders slumped in defeat, one hand still clutching the upturned biscuit tin he had been digging through for the better part of ten minutes.
Loose pennies and nickels rattled sadly around the bottom as he shook his head, face pale beneath the harsh yellow kitchen light.
“Moony…” he said quietly, almost apologetically, hating the look that immediately crossed Remus’ face before he’d even finished speaking. “I’ve checked everywhere. Sofa cushions, drawers, jacket pockets, under the bloody fridge somehow… I haven’t even found a dollar bill.”
Before Remus could answer, Lily crossed the narrow space between kitchen and living room carrying a chipped ceramic bowl balanced carefully in both hands, thin wisps of steam curling into air. Without a word, she crouched beside the sofa and gently pressed it toward Teddy, who had quietened only enough now to whimper miserably against Remus’ chest.
“Maybe the warmth’ll help a little,” she murmured softly, brushing damp curls away from Teddy’s forehead with fingers that trembled far too much to go unnoticed.
Sometimes Remus genuinely could not believe he had once believed in God.
Not casually either, properly believed. Sunday mornings sat stiffly beside his mother in uncomfortable church clothes whilst old men spoke about kindness and mercy and divine plans that were supposedly crafted with love.
He used to pray before exams, before Teddy was born, before court dates, before every stupid mistake he had spent years making.
But sitting here now, watching his son cry so hard his tiny chest shook violently with each broken breath, Remus could not comprehend how anybody still believed there was something benevolent watching over any of them.
What sort of God let innocent children suffer like this? What sort of cruel divine plan demanded that a three-year-old boy, sweet, perfect, gentle Teddy with his dinosaur pyjamas and sleepy little laugh and habit of crawling into Remus’ bed every thunderstorm, sit in pain because his father couldn’t afford a few dollars worth of medicine?
If God existed, Remus thought bitterly, then He had an absolutely rotten way of showing love.
Lily stayed crouched beside the sofa for a few long seconds, watching Teddy push weakly at the bowl in disinterest before she finally exhaled shakily and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand, giving up entirely on pretending she hadn’t been crying.
“There’s no money in my trailer,” she said quietly, voice rough with exhaustion and guilt that didn’t belong to her. “I’m so sorry, Rem… I searched all morning before Petunia locked me out again.” The words came bitter at the end, anger bleeding through the apology.
From the other side of the room Peter shifted awkwardly where he still stood holding the biscuit tin, face pinched apologetically. “Mine’s gone too,” he muttered, kicking absentmindedly at a loose floorboard near the television stand. “Spent the last few dollars on groceries yesterday, didn’t I? Bread, milk, those stupid dinosaur yoghurts Teddy likes…” He trailed off miserably, as though somehow admitting that aloud had made him personally responsible for the fact none of them had enough money now.
And Christ, Remus loved them for trying.
Loved them so fiercely sometimes he thought his chest might split with the weight of it.
Lily and Peter had been there for everything. Pregnancy scares at sixteen, sleepless nights after Teddy was born, court hearings, probation meetings, days when Remus had thought the entire world had finally beaten him for good.
They fed Teddy when Remus couldn’t, watched him when the fair called needing extra shifts, sat through every miserable moment life kept throwing his way without ever once asking for anything back. They were family in every way that actually mattered. Which only made the anger sitting heavy in Remus’ stomach twist sharper when his mind wandered, as it always eventually did, to Dora.
To Nymphadora bloody Tonks, who had smiled so brightly when Teddy was born, kissed his tiny forehead and promised she’d never leave either of them.
Right up until two years ago when some rich bastard in an expensive car had rolled into town and suddenly she’d decided she wanted more than trailer park life and a struggling teenage father tied permanently to a kid they’d created together.
So she left.
Just… left.
No backwards glance, no concern over what happened next.
Leaving her son behind to grow up in this miserable place with a father who couldn’t even afford antibiotics when he needed them most. Remus hated her for that.
Hated her with every exhausted part of himself.
It took the better part of twenty minutes, but eventually Remus managed to coax a few reluctant spoonfuls of lukewarm tomato soup past Teddy’s trembling lips.
His son barely had the strength left to protest properly now, reduced instead to weak little whimpers each time pain flared sharp enough to make him clutch instinctively at his ear again.
Whilst Lily distracted him softly, murmuring nonsense about dinosaurs and cartoons and how brave he was being, Remus quickly crushed two paracetamol tablets against the back of a spoon and stirred the powder carefully through what remained in the bowl.
He knew it wasn’t right. Knew full well children Teddy’s age weren’t meant to be given adult painkillers crushed into cheap soup on the sofa of a trailer because their father couldn’t afford proper medicine.
Every parenting book he’d half-read in waiting rooms over the last three years would probably call it negligent, dangerous, irresponsible.
But what else was he meant to do?
Sit there and watch his little boy suffer when there was something, however wrong, however stupid, that might dull the pain even a little?
God, he was trying.
He was trying so bloody hard.
Thankfully, exhaustion won not long after.
The fight gradually left Teddy’s small body in slow, uneven stages until eventually the little hand gripping Remus’ shirt loosened entirely and his breathing softened against the damp cotton stretched over Remus’ shoulder. Tear-stained cheeks remained flushed pink with fever, curls still stuck messily against his forehead, but finally, finally, he was sleeping.
The silence that followed felt almost deafening after hours of relentless crying. Remus sat perfectly still for several moments longer, staring down at his son as guilt churned violently alongside relief somewhere deep in his chest.
Three years old. Three years old and already learning pain before he was old enough to understand why it hurt. It made something dark settle heavily inside Remus then, something cold and final and frighteningly familiar.
Carefully shifting Teddy against the sofa cushions, Remus stood slowly and reached for the old denim jacket hanging over the back of the chair by the door.
Lily noticed immediately.
“Rem…” she started quietly, already shaking her head before he’d said a word.
Peter straightened too, understanding dawning across his face almost instantly. Remus shoved his arms through the sleeves and stared firmly at the peeling paint near the trailer door rather than either of them.
“I’ve gotta go and do it,” he said flatly. “I’ve got to go. Those rich dicks don’t fucking need it, Lily! I've got to do it. I have to.”
Lily stood abruptly, panic flashing sharp across her face. “Remus, if you get caught—” Her voice cracked slightly. “You’re already on probation. You violate the terms again and they won’t just slap your wrist this time.”
Peter rubbed a hand over his face, looking sick. “They’ll revoke it, mate. Judge already warned you last hearing, didn’t he? Another break-in means actual jail time. No more ankle monitor, no more community supervision. Proper prison.”
Lily stepped closer, voice quieter now, more desperate. “And what happens to Teddy if that happens?”
That one landed like a physical blow. But Remus only glanced once toward the sleeping toddler curled small against the sofa cushions before reaching for the front door handle.
“Exactly,” he whispered.