Trigger warning. We've got a sad one :))

"You've told Remington, right?"

Emerson winces at Sebastian's question, looking at the man across the table. The two are having lunch together. "Not exactly," he says slowly, seeing how his brother's face turns from hopeful to disappointed.

The man's eyes widen. "You haven't told him? What the fuck, Emerson?" He keeps his voice low.

"I'm sorry! It's so hard to tell him. It'll break him."

Sebastian sighs. "You need to tell him! If you don't, I will."

"No, Sebastian, don't. I will, I promise."

"You promised that last week and yet here we are," Sebastian says sharply. "You've got a day. If he doesn't know by tomorrow evening, I'm telling him."

"No, Seb-"

"Tell him!"

Emerson looks down. "Fine," he mumbles, "fine, I'll tell him."

But then a day passes, and still Remington doesn't know. And when Sebastian asks Emerson in the evening, and the younger says he couldn't do it, he tells Emerson that he's going to break the news to Remington tomorrow, whether he's in a good mood or not. He needs to know. Emerson argues about it, says it'll break Remington, and Sebastian repeats over and over than he doesn't want to be doing this at all, and that Remington should have found out when he was first diagnosed.

Sebastian, Andy and Remington meet for lunch. "So why did you wanna meet?" Remington asks, oblivious to how he's about to have his day ruined. But none of them are aware just how much this news would affect him.

"Emerson has been hiding something from you."

Remington puts down his fork. "Oh? Is it bad?" He knows by the look on Sebastian's face that it probably is.

With a slow, pained nod, Sebastian hesitates, and then says, "he was meant to tell you weeks ago, but he's been putting it off and you need to know." He looks from Remington to Andy, and back again. He's about to destroy his little brother, who has spent years rebuilding himself after being broken in the worst way.

"What is it?" The singer queries, noticing how Sebastian is looking at him, all sad and on edge. "Sebastian?"

None of them are eating now. The air is thick over their table. Sebastian looks away. He understands why Emerson couldn't do it. It's heart breaking. Knowing his little brother is ill is one thing, but telling Remington, who can be pushed over the edge so easily, it a totally different ride. Who knows what this could do to him? "Well..." He trails off and closes his eyes for a few moments. Remington looks at him expectantly, waiting, and the man knows he can't back out. He takes a breath, leans forwards so his elbows are on the edge of the table, and says it.

Remington stops moving. He stares ahead of him like his eyes are detached from his body, like he's not actually seeing anything at all.

"Remington, say something," Sebastian urges, terrified of what his brother might do. He looks at Andy and the man looks back.

The boy stands up stiffly. He nearly faints, but doesn't. He pushes his chair back and runs, and by the time Andy and Sebastian have got to their feet, Remington is gone. Andy calls him and texts him and he doesn't reply. He calls Abigail, too, asks her to get back to him if Remington turns up there. She promises she will, and that she'll keep him with her if he does show up.

"I'll go home," he says, "he might have just gone home. We can't panic yet."

But Remington isn't at home.

No, he's in a taxi halfway down the motorway. He doesn't have anything, just his phone and his wallet, and turns his mobile off because he doesn't want to talk to anyone. He doesn't know what hurts more; the fact that his little brother has cancer, or the fact that it wasn't even Emerson who told him. It's like Emerson doesn't care about him anymore.

He gets out the taxi three hours away from home, and finds a hotel, booking into a room and then walking around until he finds a pharmacy, where he buys diet pills and a container of painkillers. His plan is to finish what Holly started, back in that stupid fucking hotel room.

He's going to die.

Back in the hotel room, he swallows four diet pills dry and lies on his back on the bed. He can't even cry. He feels so broken that he feels nothing at all. Last time he felt like this he ended up in a mental hospital. That won't happen again. They'll find him too late.

He flicks through the endless channels on the television and plays with the painkillers in his hands. In the evening he sticks his fingers down his throat and brings up everything he ate today, and still, he can't cry. He can't do anything.

His little brother is dying and he didn't even know.

At around two am he turns his phone back on. Eight missed calls from Andy, six from Sebastian, and nineteen texts, which he reads.

Where are you?
Remington?
Are you okay?
Remington?!
Please text me back. We're worried.
Answer the phone.
Are you okay???
Hello?
Remington, please answer.

And they go on.

Still, he doesn't cry.

He types out a message to Andy.
I'm sorry. You'll be better off without me anyway. I love you. Tell my brothers I love them.

Then he deletes it, and retypes a different one.
This is how it was always meant to be.

But he doesn't send that one, either. He doesn't send anything.

He looks at the painkillers again. They're so enticing. His phone rings. It's Andy. He ignores it. No one should worry about him.

Emerson is dying and he can't do anything about it. All he's doing is making everything so much worse. All he's ever done is ruin things.

He should have just let himself bleed out those years ago in that bathtub. He should never have lived. Holly was right. He doesn't deserve to be here. He never has.

Remington picks up the pills, tips half the bottle into his hand. His phone rings again. This time it's Abigail. What he would do to talk to her right now.

He answers, and waits for her to say something.

"Please talk to me. I want to help you," is the first thing she says, in her calm, gentle voice.

The boy looks at the painkillers in his hand. He wonders why she's calling him in the middle of the night. Does she care that much?

"I know that Sebastian told you something really upsetting, and I understand why you're running, but it's not the way to deal with this. You are strong, and you need to be here for your brother. He needs you. So many people need you"

Remington closes his hand, encasing the capsules, and rubs his eyes. "I don't know what to do," he says. His palm is sweaty and the pills feel damp in his hand.

Abigail is in her kitchen. She hasn't been able to sleep since Andy told her what happened, and she promised she'd do her best to help. "Whatever you're planning on doing, don't. I know what you're gonna do, and it breaks my heart that I can't sit with you and talk it out. Please don't do anything, Remington. You're too important to me." She's tearing up. The thought of Remington being alone and with his thoughts is terrifying.

"I can't do anything else." He opens his hand.

The woman can almost picture him. "Yes, you can. You can flush away the pills that I know you have and you can call Andy. He's so worried about you. We all are."

Remington inhales shakily. It's the first time since Sebastian told him that he's been close to crying. "I don't want to feel like this. I can't do it." The way his voice is so hopeless makes it clear to Abigail that he probably would have swallowed a whole container of pills if she hadn't decided to call him.

"I'm going to help you, okay? You're gonna be okay. Let me help you."

"There's no point," Remington replies, and rubs his eyes again. "I can't-I can't feel like this. I need to die. I just-I need to."

Abigail wipes her eyes. "No you don't. You have so much to live for. You need to fight this for me, Remington, and for everyone else who loves you." She feels her phone vibrate with a text.

Apparently he's in another call.

She quickly typed out a reply to Andy's message, not caring about the typos.
he answerwd me.

"I'm so lonely," the boy sobs, finally crying. "I wanna go home."

It's so hard to hear him like this. "Can you tell me where you are?"

Remington yawns. "I don't know. I don't know anything." He hugs his knees to his chest and wipes tears across his face.

"Try and remember where you are for me. Deep breaths, and just focus on that."

He picks up a menu on the side of the bed. It has the address for the hotel, and he reads it out.

Abigail writes down what he's saying on an envelope she finds on the table. "You're doing well," she says calmly, "I need you to flush the pills. Can you do that for me?" While waiting for him to respond, she messages the address to Andy, who wastes no time in leaving the house and getting in the car.

"All of them?"

"All of them."

Remington stands up with the container and the handful of pills in his hand, and walks into the little bathroom. He feels a sense of safety with Abigail talking to him, and before he has a chance to change his mind and swallow the whole lot, tips the contents of the container and his hand into the toilet, pressing the button on top to flush it, and watching them all get sucked down and out of sight.

The therapist sighs in relief at the sound of the toilet flushing. "Go and lie down in bed, okay. Andy's on his way. What room are you in?"

The boy crawls under the covers. "75 I think. I'm sorry."

"No no, it's okay. I just need to know you're safe until Andy gets there. Try and get some sleep, okay? If you need anything, you ring me up straight away. I don't want you struggling alone."

"I will. Thank you so much."

Abigail wipes her eyes again. "Stay safe, Remington. You're gonna be okay."

Remington yawns and reaches for the light. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he says truthfully, "sometimes you're the only person I can talk to."

"I know, and I'm glad you're able to talk to me. All I want is for you to be okay."

He turns the light off. "I don't think I'll ever really be okay, Abi."

"You will. I know it. Get some sleep and Andy will be there soon."

Yawning, Remington wipes his eyes with the covers. "Okay. I'll try."

Abigail yawns, too. "Goodnight, Remington. Sleep well."

After saying goodnight to his therapist, Remington hangs up and puts his phone on the table by the bed, and closes his eyes.

He can't sleep.