TRIGGER WARNING! TRIGGER WARNING! T R I G G E R W A R N I N G ! ! !
(Trigger warning)

Sebastian is surprised when he opens the door to Remington, since the two haven't even seen eachother since he was released from hospital. The guitarist steps aside to let the younger in, frowning, and closes the door. "What's wrong?" He asks, putting his hands on Remington's shoulders to make the boy look at him. "Hey, bub, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Remington shakes his head and stumbles into his brother. "We-I-he-he," he struggles to form a cohesive sentence, worried out of his mind because he literally just left his apparently suicidal husband alone in the house, with knives and pills and anything he could need to kill himself.

"Deep breaths for me, it's okay."

The boy shakes his head again, whimpers, and Sebastian notices how he's leaning all his weight on his right leg.

"Are you hurt?"

"My-my ankle," he mumbles, "Andy-Andy's-he's...Sebby..." He radiates weakness and vulnerability and, again, stumbles into his brother.

Sebastian lifts the skinny, trembling singer into his arms to save him from hurting his ankle, hands under his thighs, and carries him into the living room. "Andy's what, bub?" He sits Remington on the couch and kneels in front of him. "Did he hurt you?"

The boy is teary. "No, he-" Remington cuts himself off when he touches his foot the floor, sucking in a breath and tightly closing his eyes for a moment.

"I'm gonna get you some ice, okay? Try and keep your leg still."

Remington nods.

"I'll be right back. Just keep breathing for me, okay." He rubs his brother's shoulder and stands up, going to get an ice pack from the freezer. Just as he's turning to go back into the living room his phone starts ringing in his pocket, and, with his free hand, he answers. "Andy? What's going on?"

The man is sitting on the floor in tears, pushing a container of painkillers back and forth beside him. "Is Remington there?" He asks, trying not to sound as broken as he feels.

Sebastian returns to Remington with the ice pack, kneeling back down. "Yeah, he's here. What's going on? Are you okay?" He holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder, tilting hid head to keep it in place, and carefully pulls Remington's jeans up over his ankle.

"Not really, no."

The guitarist puts the ice to Remington's sore ankle. "Did you two have a fight or something? Remington seems shaken."

Andy puts the phone down on the floor with it on speaker and picks up the plastic pill bottle. "Kinda. I don't know. Is he okay?"

Sebastian winces when his brother flinches. "He's hurt his ankle and he's shaking, but I think he's alright."

The man unscrews the lid. "Can you tell him I love him and I'm sorry?" He tips more than half of the contents of the container into his hand, forcing himself not to cry. "Please?"

"No, Andy, don't you dare! Andy!" He drops the ice pack and scrambles to his feet, picking up the landline and giving it to Remington. "Call an ambulance," he says, panicked, "to your house, now."

Remington takes the phone. "What?"

"999, Remington, now! He's trying to kill himself." He watches Remington dial the number. "Andy? Andy, are you still there?"

As Sebastian speaks, Andy is running a knife lightly down the inside of his arm, wondering what it would feel like to cut into a vein. "I keep trying to tell myself it's just a bad day, but I don't know how many bad days I can take, Sebastian."

"It will get better. I promise. You just need to keep going even when it feels impossible. This isn't the answer, Andy, you know that."

He pushes down on the knife and draws blood. "What else am I meant to do? Every day it feels harder and I can't fucking do this. Just look after Remington for me, okay? Don't let him go the way I am."

Remington's voice is shaking as he tells the operator that his own husband is trying to commit suicide. He tunes out what Sebastian is saying, knowing it'll only hurt more to hear how broken Andy is.

"You can't do this," Sebastian says to the rock star, "Andy, don't you fucking dare do this. It will get better. But only if you stay strong now. You have to stay strong, Andy, for me, for Remington, for yourself. Because you deserve to be happy and you deserve to live a long life, and there are people who love you and need you and I can promise you that if you go, Remington will go, too. You know he will. I can't live with that. I can't let you do this. If Remington goes, Emerson goes, and if they go, then so do I. Please, Andy, don't. Just put whatever it is you're gonna use down, okay? It's okay." He looks at his brother and wipes his eyes.

"I should've just told him," Andy says in an almost-whisper, "I should've just asked for a hug."

"You still can. He's right here, do you wanna talk to him?"

There's blood trickling down his arm slowly and Andy looks at it with tears in his eyes.

"Andy?"

"Is he-is he mad at me?"

Sebastian picks up the ice pack again and holds it to Remington's ankle. "No, not at all. I can give him the phone."

Andy holds the knife up and sees the reflection of his eyes in the metal. "I'm sorry," he says, "but I can't keep feeling like this. I'm sorry."

"No! Andy! Andy!"

The man hangs up and Sebastian swears loudly.

"Is he-is he okay?" Remington asks, "Sebastian, is he okay?"

"You need to breathe."

"Is Andy okay, Sebastian? What was he saying?"

Sebastian sighs heavily. "Is there an ambulance on it's way to your house?"

Remington nods slowly. "Yeah, they'll be there in ten minutes. What did he say?"

The guitarist stands up and pulls Remington off the couch. "Come on."

"No, Sebastian, what did he say? Is he okay? Ow!" He's guided out of the room, angry that his brother won't tell him what Andy was saying. "Call him back! Call him back!"

"Remington, calm down."

"How am I meant to calm down when my husband is trying to kill himself and my brother won't tell me what's going on? Call him back!"

Sebastian opens the car door and gently pushes Remington into the passenger seat.

"CALL HIM BACK, SEBASTIAN!" He angrily pushes the older man away, doing up his own seatbelt.

"Take a breath, Remington."

Remington watches Sebastian get in the other side. "Andy's trying to die and you want me to take a breath! What the fuck?"

On the floor, Andy tips his head back and swallows half of the pills in his hand, digging the blade of the knife into his wrist again and screaming. His arm hurts so much it's numb. Andy wishes he was numb. Surely that would be better than feeling all this.

He thought twenty six was bad. Really, it's forty eight that he should've been worried about.