Ayo I'm curious how many readers I have, comment if you read w/o commenting or voting usually. No shame, I do it all the time :)

Trigger warnings: Mentions of eating disorders, self harm, substance abuse

Two weeks after the incident, Remington decides to take matters into his own hands, and so he waits until everyone's asleep before getting out of bed, having to grab the side of it to keep himself from collapsing. With the flashlight on his phone, he searches for Andy's heroin in all the cupboards and bags, finding it in the bathroom. "Finally," he whispers to himself, pleased with his find, and heads for his husband's bunk. He pulls the curtain back, looks at Andy's fast asleep form. He thinks he feels some sort of emotion relating to sympathy, but choses not to pay attention to it, and shines the light at the man's face until he wakes.

Andy rubs his eyes, groans. It can't be even three am. He shields his face from the bright light, knowing it's Remington because he can see his hand is shaking slightly.

The boy leaves the bunk once Andy's awake. He goes to the front of the bus, where the window opens, and loudly opens it to get the man's attention. "Better say bye!" He shouts, grins sarcastically at Andy when he approaches sleepily.

"The hell are you doing?" Andy asks, yawning after.

Remington holds the drugs out of the window, grins again, and lets go. They land on the motorway in a mess. "There," he says, "no more fucking drugs, got it?"

Andy stands in shock at Remington's confidence. "That wasn't fuckin' necessary," he mumbles.

"Yes it was," Remington says, dusting his hands off dramatically. "Enjoy the withdrawal."

* * *

"He threw them out?" Martin asks Andy the next morning, as the man is beginning to feel the effects of the withdrawal.

The singer nods, defeated. "Out the window, yep."

"Fucking hell, what a cunt."

"'ey, don't fuckin' talk about him like that or you'll be out the window as well." He rubs his eyes, gulps down warm coffee.

"So you're fine with it? You're kidding, right?"

Andy looks at him, unimpressed. "No, I'm not fine with it. But I'm more fine with it than I am with you forcing it into me every five fuckin' minutes. And don't you be rude to him, alright? I've seen how you talk to him, like he's some useless kid. He's not. He may be confusing sometimes, but he ain't useless and he's been hurt too much for you to be added to the list. Leave him the fuck alone."

Martin goes back to eating his breakfast.

"And don't even think about lecturing me on how important this tour is for my career blah blah fucking blah, you're like a broken record. It's my life so you can suck it. I say no drugs, so no fucking drugs."

"You're only saying that 'cause he threw them out."

Andy groans. "First of all, he has a name and you don't need to talk about him like he's a piece of dirt. Second, you think I've been wanting to take it all this time? Are you dumb? Are you a fucking dumb fucking idiot?"

"What's his name, then? Twiggy?"

Andy glares at his manager, looks in his mug, and, without warning, throws the rest of the coffee at Martin, who gasps and swears. "Just do your fucking job!" Andy yells, slamming the mug on the side and going back to his bunk. He lies there for a while, tired, pissed off, and dizzy, as Remington talks quietly to Abigail, or as Andy has recently overheard him call her, 'mum', in the bunk opposite. That makes him smile for a moment or two; the thought that Remington has her to talk to and to trust like that. He just wishes he had someone, too.

"I threw his heroin out," Remington tells Abigail proudly, lying on his front with the phone on his pillow.

"How did that go down?"

"Well he's been complaining about withdrawal for the past hour, so..."

Abigail hums.

"And I heard his manager on the phone to a drug dealer."

"They're getting more?"

"I guess."

"How do you feel about that?"

Remington pokes at the pillow. "Fine," he says flatly.

"Let's be honest, now. How do you feel about it?"

"Worried."

"Yeah? About Andy?"

The boy mumbles in agreement.

"That's normal, Remington. You love him, of course you're worried."

"And it feels like no one wants me here. Martin-"

"Martin?"

"Tour manager," he explains, "he was arguing with Andy. Called me a twig or something, I don't know. I'm not even that thin yet."

Abigail frowns. "What do we mean, yet? Are we planning on being very thin?"

The boy sighs, rubs his eyes. "No..."

"Tell me what we've had for breakfast today."

"Water."

"Okay. Let's have something now. Can you do that for me?"

Remington whines. "But I like it," he says timidly, knowing he shouldn't like it.

"I know, but that doesn't make it okay, does it?"

"But..."

"Which city are you heading to now?"

"Some big one."

Abigail hums. "How are we doing with our urges?"

"Fine," he pouts.

"Is that a 'I'm really okay' fine or a 'I really need to or have hurt myself recently' fine?"

Remington rubs his eyes, murmurs that it's the second one.

Abigail knew that was the answer before he said it. "Have your hurt yourself?"

"Mm."

"D'you wanna tell me when?"

"Just, like, last night. And this morning." He plays with the fabric of the pillow case between his fingers. "And in, like-uh-one minute."

"Can you tell me what you're using?" Abigail asks carefully.

"A thingy from a pencil sharpener."

"And where is it now?"

"Pocket."

"Okay. How about we leave it in our pocket for today? Can we do that?"

"Just today?"

"Just today, okay? We can handle tomorrow when it comes. How's that sound? Manageable?"

Remington sighs. "I guess," he mumbles, "I want a hug."

"I know. Do your best to sort things with Andy and then you can hug him."

"Don't think he wants to hug me anymore."

"I'm sure that's not true."

Remington isn't so sure.