V brief mention of injury but apart from that, no warnings

The boys are called into their manager's office just a week and a half after Andy and Remington's making up. Remington sits between his brothers with Andrew beside Sebastian and Johnny (Bassist) beside Emerson. The singer looks around the room, tries to work out what it is. Then when their manager starts talking, he looks down at his hands and does his best not to let the words slip away.

"Thank you for coming," she says to begin with. "I understand you are recovering well, Remington."

He looks up.

"Now, we're beginning to worry that if you don't plan a tour soon, your fans will get desperate and fed up and you may lose some. They need to be given your attention."

"He's not ready to tour," Sebastian says. "It wouldn't be healthy. His doctor told him not to do anything that could overly confuse or overwhelm him."

"I get that. However, I cannot let you take advantage of the extension the label gave you to the point that you spend the next four years slacking off and making everyone else work around you. You must be mindful that there are five of you in the band. Only one of you is injured."

"He's got brain damage, we're not touring."

She sighs at Sebastian's words. "And while I sympathise with that, you have a job to fulfil. There's no reason why you can't start work on recording your next album."

"We have started, Jess. But we can't push Remington into hours and hours of recording every day, it's not fair."

"He's done it plenty of times before."

"Yes, before he smashed his head open and forgot who anyone was. Look, we understand you have a job to do, but we're not gonna put Remington in danger just for a tour, alright? If he hits his head again, he could die. We will record the album. We are recording the album. Its just gonna take longer than usual."

"It's been more than a year since you last released a song, you need to release something or your fans will grow bored."

"Our fans, like us, care more about Remington's wellbeing than what we release next. Sorry, but you're wrong." He folds his arms.

Remington decides to speak now, surprisingly. "All you care about is the money," he says to Jess.

She looks him for a moment with a firm expression, then looks at the other members of the band, shakes her head, and says, "if you don't release something soon, you will face repercussions."

Remington wonders what that means.

"Better that than our singer dead, don't you think?" Emerson chimes in. "And he's right. You do only care about the money. And about how you are perceived. If you didn't, you'd understand how important it is that Remington isn't pushed into excessive recording and touring when he gets lost in his own home. You say you sympathise, but you don't. You regret giving us the extension because we're 'wasting' it. You're see through." He gets up. "Come on," he says. "We're leaving. This is a joke. I have better things to be doing."

"Stop talking for me," Remington demands, loud enough that it catches everyone off guard. "I'm not stupid, I can talk for myself! Sorry if you don't like that, but bloody well deal with it." He storms out of the room, not thinking past the point of slamming the door. Then he wonders down the hall trying to find a way out.

It's Andrew who finds him sitting against the wall looking at a photo on the opposite one. "Your brothers are just being protective," he says quietly.

Remington lifts his eyes to look at him. "Everyone thinks I'm stupid," he mumbles. "Sorry, who are you?"

"I'm Andrew. I'm in your band."

"Oh. Okay."

"I think they just get carried away sometimes."

"Who?"

"Your brothers. I think your brothers get carried away with protecting you sometimes."

"All the time, not sometimes," he corrects. "I just don't want to be treated like, uh, like an idiot."

"They're just trying to be good brothers."

"Well they're rubbish at it." He sighs. "Do you know the way out?"

"Yeah. I'll show you. Come on."

Remington gets off the floor. "Thanks," he mumbles, and follows Andrew to the exit, where his brothers are waiting. Dramatically, he groans and looks the other way. "Go away."

"Get in the car."

"No."

"Remington, you have to get in the car if you wanna go home."

"I'm not getting in a car with you."

"You literally have no other choice. It's a twenty mile journey. You can't exactly walk home," Sebastian argues, opening the passenger door. "Just get in."

"No."

"Remington-"

"Go away."

"If we go away, you're gonna be stranded here alone."

"Better than being with you," the boy spits.

Sebastian tries to usher him into the vehicle. "It's literally half an hour," he says, growing frustrated. "You've got no other way home. Come on. Get in."

Denying him, Remington instead sits on the concrete. "No offense, but how is anywhere supposed to, uh, to feel like home, when I don't know where I am half the bloody time?" He sits with his arms stubbornly folded, refusing to get in the car and continuously telling his brothers to shut up and go away.

Andrew ends up driving him home, despite it being a twenty minute extra detour for him. He pulls into the driveway and Remington opens the door, mumbles a thank you, and gets out. Andrew doesn't drive off until he sees she singer open the front door.

Andy isn't home. He took the opportunity to go into the studio. Remington closes the door with a sigh.