Trigger warning: Mentions of eating disorders

Remington goes downstairs the following morning to a clean kitchen and Abigail, who's sat with a mug of tea and two plates of buttery toast. She smiles when she sees the boy, who rubs his eyes. "Good sleep?" She asks, getting up and boiling the kettle to make him a hot drink.

"You didn't need'a stay," he mumbles, tone not matching with the words.

Abigail pours water into a mug with a teabag. "You need looking after and if you can't rely on your mother to do that, then who can you rely on?" She spoons the teabag out and pours in a decent amount of full fat milk.

Remington smiles gratefully, pulling out the nearest chair and sitting in it.

"You did good last night."

"What? How? I fuckin' lost it."

Abigail puts the tea down in front of him. "You called for help and I know that's not easy sometimes, and you knew what you'd done was not good and you admitted that and that's not easy, either." She pushes one of the plates towards him. "And now we're gonna do something also not easy, and we're gonna have breakfast, okay?"

He bites his knuckles.

"We're gonna do it really slow and calm and we'll do it together, okay? D'you think you can give it a go for me?"

Remington nods but the tears in his eyes say otherwise. He picks up the mug in both hands and sips the tea to try and settle his mind. "Can-can you sit next to me?" He asks quietly, not looking at her.

Abigail moves straight away. "Let's try and take a really small bite," she says, "it's gonna be okay. You can do it."

The boy shakes his head this time, bites his knuckles again.

"It's gonna be okay," Abigail says again, "we're gonna eat breakfast because food give us energy and energy gives us strength to go places and do things that we can't do without it. And because, Rem, you are worth so much more than the number on the scales. You're not here just to be on the brink of death, you're here because you're so incredibly talented and kind and you need to see that."

"Mummy, 'm scared," Remington mumbles.

"I know and that's okay. Let's try picking up a slice, okay? Can you do that?"

He nods, unsure of himself, and picks upon of the halves, his whole hand shaking like he's about to jump into a black hole.

Abigail rubs his shoulder soothingly. "You're doing so good," she praises, "try a little bit for me. See if you can do that."

Remington looks at the toast.

"We'll do it together. Just a little bit. Ready?"

The boy nods slowly, not really ready at all. He looks at Abigail with shiny, wide eyes, looking back at the toast, dropping it, and running up the stairs, the chair clattering to the floor in his flurry.

Abigail follows him, stepping around the fallen chair and going up the stairs and into the bedroom, where he's pulled the covers completely over himself. She can hear him crying as she sits on the bed. "Hey darling," she says softly, "I know it's so so hard, but we need to give our body energy so we can do all the things we can't do without it."

"But 's-mummy, can't do it. Can't..."

"Let's have a cuddle, okay?"

"'kay." He turns over, puts his head in her lap. "Sorry."

"Shh, none of that." She strokes his forehead with her knuckles. "We need food because it gives us energy," she says, "okay?"

"Need food for-for energy," he repeats in a shaky mumble.

"That's right. And d'you know why we need that energy?"

Remington sniffles. "To do things?"

"Exactly. What things d'you like doing with your energy?"

"Uh..."

"Singing? We need energy for that, don't we?"

He nods. "And-and climbing."

Abigail hums.

"And I like-I like swimming," he murmurs.

"D'you like swimming in the sea?"

Remington nods. "And climbing. And-uh-and chasing Andy around the house."

Abigail smiles, still stroking his forehead. "Now which ones of those can we do when we're hungry all the time?"

"Uh..." He tears up, wipes his eyes. "All of 'em."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Like I-like there's no point."

"Okay. And how do you feel when you have the energy to do those things?"

"Better," he mumbles, "'nd not-'nd not all dizzy all the-all the time."

Abigail hums. "And how do we get the energy for these things?"

"Food," he says with a pout.

"That's right. We need food so we can do all those things you like doing."

Remington sniffs.

"So we're gonna be really brave and strong and we're gonna have breakfast, okay?"

"'kay." He sits up. "Okay," he says, with as much confidence as he can muster.

Abigail gets off the bed and offers a hand.

Remington takes it, walking with her down the stairs. "Sorry," he whispers.

"No no, there's nothing to be sorry for. Come on, sit down. It's okay." She picks up the chair he knocked over.

"Feel so pathetic."

"You're not pathetic at all, Remington. I promise. You're so strong. Can we have a little bite?"

He picks up the toast. "Okay," he mumbles, looking at the food for a moment before taking a small bite, covering his mouth with his hand.

"I'm so proud of you, you're doing so good."

Remington wipes his eyes, takes another bite.

Abigail rubs his shoulder and picks up her own toast. She eats with him, encouraging him the whole time and congratulating him when he finishes it. She hugs him, tells him how well he's doing, that she's proud and he's being so strong.

Remington finishes his tea after, wiping his eyes and mumbling, again, that he's sorry. Abigail shushes him, assuring him that there's nothing to be sorry for. She takes him for a walk at midday and makes lunch after.