Trigger warning: Suicide/self-harm mentions.

It’s a struggle to coax Andy back to the hospital to see Doctor Sanchez for an update on Remington. The man says repeatedly that he’d rather stay at home and hear what she said from the brothers, but Sebastian won’t let him.

In the hospital, the three join the doctor in her office, greeting her politely before she begins. “As you know, it’s been two weeks since Remington woke from his coma,” she tells them.

They nod.

“Tests have been taken in this time. We’ve put him through x-rays and scans and blood tests, and I can now confirm that physically, he is healthy. The coma gave his head an opportunity to heal, his previous sickness has gone, and he’s ready to go home. That leads me to the question of whether he lives with you, Andy, or not.”

Andy cringes. “With me,” he mumbles.

“Okay, and how are you feeling about having him move back in?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“I know it’s not easy, but he needs to be in a stable home while he recovers.”

In response, Andy just sighs. Right now, he can’t think of anything worse than having Remington in the house. It’d break him, he’s sure.

Sebastian notices his discomfort. He speaks up, says, “I’m happy to have him staying with me for a bit.” He sends a careful smile to Andy the man, who looks at him with grateful tiredness. “I’m sure he’ll be absolutely thrilled with it.” The sarcasm is to mask the sadness of it all. Everyone knows that.

“That’s great,” Doctor Sanchez says. “He’s ready to go as soon as you are. He’s practically bursting through the walls at this point.”

“Drama queen,” Emerson mumbles.

“Oh, fantastic,” is the first thing Remington says when the three appear through the door. “It’s dull, duller, and dullest.” He looks at Andy for a short second. “And mopey. Looking as cheerful as ever, ain’t you, mate?” From where he’s sitting on the bed, he drops the magazine in his hands and rolls his eyes. “Seriously, would it hurt to look a little less like you wanna slit your wrists?”

“Alright, shut up,” Sebastian scolds. “Get your shit, you’re coming home.”

Remington huffs loudly and slides off the bed. For a mere moment, Andy thinks the Remington he knows returns. But then the new, meaner version stomps on him. “Finally.”

“Yeah, don’t get excited, there ain’t no girls for you to stick your tongue into. There’ll be none of that.”

“Well, how’s that fair? I ain’t had sex in forever!”

“Deal with it,” Sebastian tells him dryly. “Sex with girls won’t help you, anyway.” That bit is said under his breath.

Remington’s head snaps up from the clothes he’s collecting. “What?” He asks.

“I said,” the guitarist begins, “that sex with girls won’t help you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Use your fantastic brain, sugarplum.”

With a glare, Remington continues packing. “What’s with the leaving committee anyway? What do you think I’m gonna do? Sarcasm you into the grave?” He stabs a glance at Andy. “God knows if you wanna get him into the grave, all you gotta do is leave him by a road.”

“Quit it.”

“What? Did I say something out of line? Do I need to apologise?” Remington laughs. “I don’t know who the fuck you lot think you are.”

“Nice people, that’s who,” Emerson says spitefully. “Can we go now? This is getting boring.”

“It’s only boring because you made it boring.”

“We didn’t turn in to assholes.”

“No,” Remington says with fake interest. “You already are assholes. The worst type, too. The boring assholes.”

“You would know about assholes,” Sebastian mutters. Emerson snickers. Then the door closes and they realise Andy has walked out. 

Remington raises an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me.”

“Oh, we are looking at you, mister ‘let’s make Andy feel like shit’. Are you fucking ready?”

“Yes, I’m fucking ready.”

They can’t find Andy when they leave the room. His car isn’t in the carpark anymore. Emerson tells Sebastian that he’ll look for the man while Remington is taken ‘home’. He leaves his brothers at the hospital. Andy is just where Emerson assumed he would be. The liquor store. Emerson recognises his black car outside. He pulls up beside it and gets out, walking into the shop and spotting Andy at the counter, paying. When the man turns around, he rolls his eyes and attempts to step past Emerson. The drummer lets him walk out before yanking the bag from his hand and dropping it with a crash onto the concrete path.

“What the fuck!” Andy shouts, looking down at the mess. “The hell was that for?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Andy. You’re not getting drunk again.”

“And what’re you? My fucking father? I’m older than you!”

Emerson pushes him towards the cars. “Get in,” he demands.

“There’s no need for this.”

“Get in my car, Andy. Now.”

“What is this? A kidnapping? No, I won’t get in your car.”

The younger sighs and opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

Pushing him back, Andy shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to. If you’ll excuse me, I-”

“You’re not getting drunk, Andy!” Emerson insists.

Andy kicks his tyre. “No? Watch me!”
“Andy, fucking hell! I’m trying to help you!”

“By kidnapping me? Sure, sure.”

Emerson tries to shove him into the vehicle. “Just fucking sit. This is ridiculous. Alcohol literally won’t fix any of this.”

Andy laughs. “At least it stops me wanting to die, which is more than you’re doing!”
“You don’t wanna die.”

Another laugh, more manic this time. “Hate to break it to you, Emerson, but you’re mistaken! I would love to die!”

“Andy, seriously, you can’t fuck around with shit like this.”

“Fuck around?” He turns the other way before adding, “I’m not fucking around. I’m serious. You don’t think I’m serious?”

Emerson steps away from the smashed bottles. “You mean it?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Do you see me having the time of my life over here?”

“I didn’t realise-“

“What? Didn’t realise what? That I wanna die? Join the club, Emerson. It’s a pretty fucking new prospect to me, too.” He looks at the open car door. “Just let me go home. I’m tired.”

Thrown by the news, Emerson says, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Andy looks away, sighs, and nods eventually. “Fine, then come with me. I don’t care. Either way, I’m going home and I’m sleeping.”

“Do you really mean it?”

“Yes, fucking hell!”

“Andy-“

“Yes, Emerson, I want to die! Get over it! Goodbye.” He violently pulls open his own car door, getting in and pulling out before Emerson can protest.