Trigger warning.

Back in his room, Remington is writing in his notebook. which he hasn't done for some time. He felt like now was the right time to get his thoughts down, for Abigail, and for himself. Sometimes he likes reading back through old pages, remebering how he felt when he wrote it, smiling because he is getting better. He's confused, if he's honest. Confused about what he's really feeling. It's weird to be in here while Andy and Kacey are at home. He should be there with them. But then he knows that he probably isn't ready to go home, to be around medicine cabinets and knives and razors. And even though Andy does his best to hide everything that could trigger him, it's impossible to get rid of everything. They need kitchen knives and they need painkillers and they need razors. There's always something there for Remington to use, and sometimes he finds it scary, because he doesn't know if his will power is actually strong enough to resist the urges when he gets them. And God does he get them.

And he isn't really sure if he's still suicidal, if, given the chance, he would overdose again, or jump infront of a car. That scares him, too. Will he ever know? What if the only way of knowing is by being exposed to it?  

The way his brothers betrayed him makes him feel worse than he thought it would for some reason. It hurts that they'd do that to him, that they really care so little that they thought it was okay. It isn't okay. How would that ever be okay? Even if he was at home and stable and happy with himself, it still wouldn't be okay.

Sometimes he thinks that they have grown so tired of him that they just don't care anymore. It makes sense. For years, he has been so fragile and so prone to getting triggered by things that shouldn't trigger him, and really, it's no surprise that they're tired of it. Remington's tired of it. He wishes he could go out and enjoy himself, play shows and hug fans and not always be scared of how close he is to his next panic attack, his next breakdown. But he needs his brothers back. He needs them to be there and to love him and to sympathize with him. How can he ever get them back?

He's being monitored more closely than normal today, to make sure he's not gonna relapse again, no matter how much he might want to. The scrape of his teeth agianst his knuckles, the stinging, gagging, sick pain as he jerks forwards over a toilet or a bin and rids his stomach of whatever he may have eaten. If they weren't watching him so closely, he would already have done that.

The ink in his pen runs dry and he sighs, halfway through a sentence, and goes to ask for a new one. He asks at the front desk and is given a brand new black ink pen, thanks the woman, and turns to go back to his room as the phone rings on the desk. He's called back over and is told Sebastian is on the phone for him. Remington sighs. Does he really want to talk to Sebastian yet? The singer takes the phone, sitting on a chair and talking. "Hello?"

Sebastian is actually surprised that Remington agreed to talk to him. "Remington, hi. I need to talk to you, and-um-apologise."

"An apology won't make this all better, you know? I'm really hurt by what you did, Sebastian. I thought you cared about me and about the band. I guess not."

He sounds sad. Sebastian hears it in his tone. It reminds him of how Remington would talk back when the two were staying together right after the hotel incident. "I know. I want to make it better. I really do. Can I explain this from our point of view?"

Remington crosses his skinny legs, tracksuits too big. "Fine. I'm listening."

"Look, I know what we did was so wrong, Remington, I get that. But the thing is...we miss playing so much. I love Palaye. You know that. I wouldn't give it up for the world. But I can't sit at home waiting and wondering when you're gonna be ready to start up again."

"But-"

"It's not your fault. I know that. You need to work on yourself before you can think about the band and everything again."

"Exactly, so how is it okay for you to push me to the side and act like I don't matter?"

The older sighs. He knew it would be hard to get Remington to understand. He didn't really expect the boy to at all. "That's not what I'm doing. I swear. I would never push you to the side. I love you. I care about you. But just because your life is on hold while you get better doesn't mean that mine and Emerson's have to be, too."

Remington hates how Sebastian says 'get better', as though there's a problem with how he is now. Like he needs fixing. "It's not fair. You're acting like I'm not upset about this, that I don't care about Palaye. I am upset, Sebastian! It fucking hurts. I don't want to be here. I want to be touring and recording and getting on with my life. It's fucking horrible to see you and Em moving on without me, when all our lives we've stuck together. You're like a dad to me, to both of us. You raised us. That means something to me. I need you. I feel so lost when we're fighting like this."

"I'm sorry. I really am. I want things between us to be okay. But I don't wanna just sit and wait for you, Remington. It's a waste of time."

The boy tears up. Something about how Sebastian is talking makes him sound like a stranger in his brother's skin. "A waste of time?"

"That came out wrong."

"No. You think I'm a waste of time. Thanks a lot. That's nice to hear."

Sebastian realises that whatever he says, Remington will take it the wrong way. That's just how he is. "No, I don't. I think that waiting around instead of doing something is a waste of time. What's wrong with that?"

Remington doesn't know what to think. He knows his brother is trying to fix things, but God, does it feel bad to hear him say that. "You're right. There's no point waiting for me. I'm not important enough. Got it." He hangs up and stands up, handing the phone back and walking back down the hall to his room, tears in his brown, beautiful eyes, like little sparks of gold dust, or smashed diamonds. Broken and unfixable.

Like him.