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nymalt · 8 months ago

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The Joys Of Hypermobile Joints

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Dislocations aren't new for you, but they are for the boys Warnings: Non-graphic description of a dislocated knee Series Masterlist

You're sitting up, your legs drawn under you and a fire crackling nearby, providing warmth against the winter chill. It's a rare moment of peace that you cherish, despite not being able to join James, Sirius, and Remus outside in the snow. But the boys have made sure you're not alone; they keep you company as you remain indoors, tucked away from the cold. The room is filled with their presence: James on the floor, Sirius sprawled across your bed, his legs tangled with yours, a book lying half-forgotten on his chest.

Remus is close, his arm draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your skin through the fabric of your shirt. It's a simple gesture, but it grounds you, bringing a sense of calm and warmth that's become familiar. You lean into him, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to relax fully for the first time since you woke. James rustles a Quidditch magazine, occasionally pointing out an interesting play to Sirius who hums in response.

You shift your legs slightly, seeking a more comfortable position against Remus, when you feel it—a sharp, familiar pain shoots through your right knee as the joint slips out of place. You gasp, your breath hitching in your chest, and your muscles tense instantly.

Remus stiffens beside you, his gentle touch faltering. "Love?" His voice is laced with concern. "What's wrong?"

The moment stretches thin, and you can feel the shift in attention as all three boys turn to focus on you. The comfortable atmosphere of the room tightens, the air thickening with unspoken worry. You grimace, trying not to wince because of course this would happen now.

"Just my knee," you say, attempting to keep your voice steady despite the sudden flare of pain. "I think it's...dislocated."

A collective gasp fills the room. Sirius is sitting up in an instant, the book he'd been reading discarded without a second thought. James lets out a low curse, his magazine slipping from his fingers. Their concern hangs heavy in the room, but you lift a hand, halting their impending flurry of movement.

"I’ve got it," you nod, cradling your knee with one hand while the other fumbles for your wand. The pain is a hot spike in your leg, but this is familiar territory, a battle you've faced many times before. "It happens occasionally—genetic gift from my mum." You manage a half-smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "She taught me how to handle it before I even got diagnosed. Hypermobile joints, they're a blast."

"Are you sure?" James starts to rise, his brow creased with concern. His glasses have slipped down his nose, and he pushes them up absently, his gaze never leaving you.

"I'm sure," you reply, your voice carrying a note of finality. "It's easier if I do it myself. If others try to help—" You hesitate, searching for the right words. "Well, you're all brilliant, but it's... complicated."

Remus shifts, his gaze intense and worried. He looks like he wants to help but is unsure if his touch will bring comfort or more pain. "Is this... Does this happen often?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Only in winter," you respond with a faint smile, trying to infuse the moment with some semblance of lightness. You hold your wand over your knee, murmuring an incantation for warmth. "The cold makes everything worse—knees, ankles, thumbs. Sometimes even my shoulders if I'm pushing myself too much in the chair."

Sirius grumbles under his breath, something about winter being a "real pain", but his eyes never leave your knee. He watches every twitch of your muscles, every flicker of your wand as if he could will it back into place with his stare alone.

The spell provides a gentle heat that seeps into your skin, soothing the raw edges of your pain. It's not enough to completely dull the ache, but it grants you the strength to reach for the next step. Your fingers close around a tiny vial on your bedside table, its contents shimmering under the dimmed light. A pain potion—you down it in one swift motion, grimacing at the bitter taste before setting the empty glass aside.

You press your fingers against the muscle surrounding your knee, massaging gently in an attempt to coax your body into submission. This is routine, a dance you've performed time and again, though never with an audience quite like this.

"Blimey, you're taking this well," Sirius murmurs, his voice a mix of admiration and concern. His brow furrows as if he wants to reach out and help but restrains himself.

A soft laugh escapes your lips as you continue to work. "When you've had to pop joints back in place as often as I have, you learn not to panic."

James grimaces, running a hand through his hair. "That's... intense. How do you even learn something like that?"

"Practice," you answer simply, a wry smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "My mum has hypermobile joints, too. She taught me how to handle dislocations when they happen. Knees and ankles are usually the problem spots for me."

Remus's hand returns to your other thigh, a silent anchor in the storm, but he doesn't attempt to take over. He knows you need to do this yourself. You grit your teeth and massage around the dislocation once more, trying to coax it back into alignment.

"Ready?" you whisper to yourself more than anyone else. With a deep inhale, you brace for the pain, then give a gentle push.

A dull pop resonates through the room, almost drowned by the sound of your own relieved exhale. The sharp agony subsides, leaving a throbbing ache in its wake that is blissful in comparison. You sag against Remus, his arm instinctively tightening around you as your body relaxes.

"Done," you breathe out, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the lingering discomfort. You lean back, seeking the warmth of Remus who obliges, encircling you once again with his strong arm, now even gentler than before.

"Blimey," Sirius breathes, breaking the thick silence. His eyes are wide, a blend of awe and lingering worry. "That was bloody intense, love. Hard to watch, but..."

"...incredible," James finishes for him, though his complexion is still a shade paler than usual. He turns to you, his brows furrowing in concern. "Does it hurt much?"

"Only when it happens," you reassure them, shifting to find a more comfortable position. "It's fine now, just needs some rest. The protocol is RICE—rest, ice, compression, elevation—but I've always skipped the ice. Not much point when cold makes me swell up like a balloon."

Remus presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his body still tense with worry, though visibly relaxing. "We can help with the rest, right? Compression and elevation?"

You chuckle, nodding. "Yes, that part’s no problem."

"Great." Before you can draw another breath, James is already reaching for a pillow to prop under your leg, and Sirius rummages through a drawer to find a suitable bandage. The sight brings a small smile to your face, a warm glow spreading through your chest despite the circumstances. They might not understand everything, but they're here, trying their best to help.

“So,” Sirius says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as he kneels by the bed with the bandage, his gaze lifting to meet yours—a strange blend of admiration and concern etching lines across his forehead, “how long has this been going on?"

You let out a sigh, sinking back against Remus who's tracing patterns over your arm, an absent-minded motion that anchors you to the moment. "I was born with hypermobility and had my first dislocation just after I turned two. My joints have been popping in and out ever since."

James's brow furrows, a question sitting on the tip of his tongue, but it's Sirius who speaks first, disbelief colouring his tone. "Two? Blimey, you must've been tiny."

A soft laugh escapes you, and you nod. "I was. My parents handled it well, though. They began teaching me how to pop them back in when I was about eight." You pause, looking down at your hands. "They wanted me to be able to manage on my own if they weren't around."

Remus stiffens ever so slightly behind you, his fingers pausing mid-concentration. "Eight seems young for that," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his words hangs in the air, unspoken implications lingering like the aftertaste of a bitter potion. He doesn't say it, but you can hear the echo of his own childhood struggles, of learning to cope with pain and fear far too early.

Shrugging, you attempt to keep the mood light. "It wasn't so bad. At first, they helped me, but once I got the hang of it, it was just something I had to deal with. Normal for me."

James slowly rubs the back of his neck, his brow furrowed as if he's trying to unravel a particularly challenging puzzle. "I can't even begin to imagine," he admits, his gaze flicking towards your knee as though it's a foreign object he can't quite comprehend. "You've been living with this since... for almost all your life."

"Pretty much," you reply, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards in a faint smile. "By the time I was eight, it was just another thing. Annoying, yes, but I knew how to handle it." You pause, glancing down at your hands. "It's just part of being me."

Sirius's expression tightens, the lines of his face hardening into something akin to resolve. He remains crouched by your side, one hand still resting on yours—a comforting presence despite the gravity of the conversation.

"You shouldn't have to handle it alone, not anymore," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're here for you, and we'll help however we can."

You squeeze his hand in response, touched by the sincerity in his words. It's warm, a stark contrast to the chill that seems to have settled in your bones. "I know," you murmur, "but sometimes it's easier to manage on my own. Trust me, it gets awkward when someone else tries to step in." A weak chuckle escapes your lips, muffled by the steady rhythm of rain against the windowpane. "You lot are brilliant, but I've got a system."

"Even so," Remus murmurs, his breath a gentle caress against your skin, "you don't have to shoulder everything alone. Just because you've always done it doesn't mean you should."

Your head tilts back slightly, seeking the warmth of his gaze, its steady affection a balm even now. "I know, love. And I'm not alone. Just... let me handle the dislocations, okay? You can tend to the rest."

The shift in atmosphere is palpable as James' posture relaxes, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "So we're on compression and elevation duty, then?"

A grin flickers across your face, pain momentarily forgotten. "Exactly."

Sirius, ever the watchful guardian, glances from the bandages he holds to your face once more. His features are etched with concern, but there's a firm resolve there too. "Alright, how do you want this done? And don't say 'I'll do it myself.' If we're allowed to help with the rest, then I'm bloody well doing this part."

A bark of laughter escapes you, despite the lingering pain. "Alright, alright. Just wrap it snug but not too tight. I know what works best for my body."

Sirius starts to bandage your knee with deliberate care, his movements gentle, belying the brash confidence he usually wears like a second skin. James watches his every move, his forehead creased in concentration as if mentally cataloguing each step, ready to replicate it should the need arise. Remus remains behind you, his presence a sturdy pillar you can lean against without tipping over into the abyss of helplessness.

When Sirius is done, he secures the bandage with a final tug, then looks up at you, brown eyes seeking approval. "How's that?"

You give your leg a tentative flex, testing the level of support the bandage provides. Relief washes over you as the pain reduces to a manageable throb. "Perfect. You're a natural."

His lips curve into a triumphant smile, and he sits back, dusting off his hands with a flourish. "Told you. I'm brilliant."

James chuckles, shaking his head, and repositions the pillow under your leg. "There we are," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "That's the proper elevation."

The relief is immediate and profound; your grimace melts into a sigh as the throbbing in your knee subsides to a dull ache. The fire crackles merrily in the background, casting dancing shadows across the room, and for the first time since you stumbled and twisted your knee, you feel yourself beginning to relax.

"Is there anything else you need?" Remus asks softly, his hand still resting protectively on your shoulder.

You shake your head, managing a weak smile. "No, this... this is perfect."

Silence settles over the four of you, broken only by the occasional pop from the fire. James leans back against the bedpost, his gaze watchful. Sirius sinks down onto the floor beside you, his arm brushing against yours. And Remus—Remus pulls you just a fraction closer, as if to shield you from any further harm.

It's a moment of peace you hadn't expected—not with them, not here—but it wraps around you like a warm blanket, soothing away the last remnants of tension in your muscles.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," Sirius says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You chuckle, the sound raspy with fatigue. "I've had plenty of practice."

"You really are," James insists, his own glasses pushed up to rest on his forehead, leaving his hazel eyes unobstructed as he leans in closer. "You've been handling this stuff since you were a kid. It's bloody impressive, love."

There's no mockery in his tone, no jest in his words. For once, James Potter is entirely serious.

You glance between them, their sincerity washing over you like a warm tide. The impact of their words is not lost on you, but it's difficult to reconcile with your self-perception. You've never thought of yourself as strong—you've just done what was necessary.

Yet the way they're looking at you now, with admiration and something akin to awe, suggests they see something in you that you've never considered.

"Well," you hedge, your voice barely above a whisper, "I had to. But I'm glad... I'm glad I don't have to do it alone anymore."

The last part comes out with more force than you intend, a truth you've held close for too long. Remus's fingers tighten around yours, a silent promise that you're no longer alone. And in that moment, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

#poly!marauders x reader #and what if i cried #this is why representation matters #exactly what i needed this week #chronic pain #hypermobility

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