Trigger warning: Mentions of violence/blood, anxiety/panic attack

Andy was attacked again.

It was three days after Emerson had visited, and Remington had been growing increasingly agitated due to his not being allowed into the studio, and in an attempt to calm him down, Andy had taken him for a walk, though had been careful to go somewhere that was not busy.

They only passed two people while they were out. They second one, a middle aged man wearing sunglasses despite the cool air, had watched them as they passed each other, and just seconds later, he had grabbed Andy from behind and pulled him with a series of thuds to the ground, uneven with tree roots and damp with mud.

Remington had been pulled down, too - their arms were linked - and had freed himself to shove the man back, kicking him until he scrambled to his feet and ran down the path. "Shit," he then said, breathless, and helped Andy off the ground. "Are you alright?"

"I'm a little bruised, I think," he replied, shakily so.

They walked home without speaking, but every time Remington looked at Andy, The Perfect was shaking more than the previous time, and once they were inside, it was so bad Remington worried he might shutdown.

He walked with Andy up the stairs and sat him on the bed, got him some clean clothes, since his were smeared with mud, and said, "I think you're having a panic attack again. Try and take some deep breaths."

Andy stared at him with such intensity that it was as though looking away would kill him. He tried to do as Remington had suggested, tried to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths.

"That's it," Remington encouraged. "You're okay."

It didn't feel okay, but Andy wouldn't say that, couldn't say that, couldn't even breathe.

Later, after Andy had calmed down enough at least to change his clothes and wash his hands, he said to Remington, "I do not feel right."

Remington made him tea with almond milk and sat beside him. "I know," he said. "No one would after being attacked. I'm so sorry it happened again. It's my fault. I should have told you to stay here."

Andy shook his head. "You must not blame yourself." As he spoke, his voice was, as it had been the last time he experienced such anxiety, unsteady.

"Lie down," Remington suggested. "You're gonna be fine, it'll pass."

The doorbell rang and he promised Andy he'd be right back before going to see who it was, and outside stood a Perfect with a bust lip and, like Andy, they were trembling terribly. Remington knew they were a Perfect once he had looked at them for a few seconds; they blinked every five seconds exactly, and when they did, their eyes remained closed slightly longer than a Human's would.

It was something he had noticed in Andy, and had looked it up out of curiosity in the information manual, which specified the few ways in which The Perfects differed physically from humans. There were only two points - they blinked every five seconds, and when they did, their eyes would close for two seconds longer than a human.

It was a small thing to notice, but like everything, the more familiar he was with it, the easier it became to see.

"Can I help?" Remington asked, anxious to return to Andy

The Perfect blinked. Remington counted five, and they blinked again. "I'm sorry," They said. "I am in need of help, and I did not know where to go, but I saw you with a Perfect, and so I am sure that you are not going to attack me."

"Your Human?"

"My Human and I have been separated. I was attacked, you understand, and they did not realise, and when finally I was left alone, they had gone. I do not know where."

Remington glanced behind him. "How badly hurt are you?"

"My stomach is in pain."

"They kicked you?"

"Yes. Multiple times."

"Alright. Come in. My Perfect has just been attacked as well." Remington stepped aside, asked for their name and pronouns.

"Thank you," they said, following him in. "My name is Deon. My pronouns are he/him."

"I'm Remington. He/him. My Perfect is Andy, he/him. Come up to the bathroom and I'll check you're not needing medical care."

"Thank you, Remington."

In the bathroom, the human first carefully cleaned Deon's bloody lip. Then he gave Deon two painkillers and a glass of water to sip while he lifted his shirt and observed the bruising. "Okay," he said eventually. "You're not crying in pain when I touch it so it's probably alright, but we'll see how it goes. Can I get you anything? Tea? Soup?"

"Only if you are sure."

"Of course. Anything you need. Come and lie down in the living room, I'll heat up the soup. Andy could do with some, anyway."

Deon agreed, walked behind him down the stairs, and sat on the free couch. Andy was looking at him. "I do not wish to impose," he said. "I have been attacked, Remington is making sure I am not badly injured."

Andy was still on edge. "Okay," he said. "You will not be staying long?"

"I do not know where my Human is, but once I know, I will leave."

"How will you know?"

Deon didn't have an answer, because he didn't know. It was hopeful thinking.

Neither of them spoke until Remington returned with two bowls of soup, when Andy said sharply, though still shakily, "You have befriended another Perfect." It wasn't a question, but a demand, urging Remington to explain himself, and the first time he had expressed real dissatisfaction in something that Remington had done. 

"Deon is hurt, Andy. He won't be here long. I'm gonna call the helpline and track down his Human, but I won't let him wander around until someone else attacks him. Be nice." He put one bowl in front of each of them, on the coffee table, and sat beside Andy, who pulled the soup towards himself. 

"I do not feel happy about this, Remington," Andy said. Nothing more was spoken.