Trigger warning

Three days pass and Remington doesn't leave the house. Andy tries to persuade him to go for a walk or at least sit in the garden, but he refuses, says he can't face the outside world.

Two nights in a row, Andy is woken by sobbing, and Remington keeps repeating how it should be him dying, and not Emerson. Andy knows that he's scared for his brother, and that all the arguing has really taken a toll on him, and assures his husband that it's all going to be okay, even though he knows that if Emerson dies, it won't all be okay.

On the fourth day, Remington sleeps in past midday, which at least means he won't be so tired, and greets Andy in the living room with a smile, which have been lacking on his behalf recently.

"I'm gonna talk to Emerson today," he says.

Andy smiles back. "That is a great idea. And you're even dressed today!"

The boy nods. "Yeah... my onesie kinda smells, so..."

"I see," Andy responds, amused, "well you look beautiful either way. Do you want me to come with you to see Emerson?"

Remington shrugs. "No, it'll probably be okay."

Standing up, Andy playfully throws a cushion at Remington, who catches it and hugs it to his chest. "Okay. You need something to eat, and by the looks of it, a hug."

"No to the food, yes to the hug," Remington says, throwing the cushion onto the sofa.

Andy wraps the boy in his arms and kisses his head. "I'm afraid the food part wasn't a choice, sweetheart."

"Well you just ruined this hug by saying that," the younger pouts.

"Mm, sorry."

After lunch, which Remington reluctantly eats, he walks into town and to his little brother's house, smiling when Emerson opens the door. "Hi," he says, "can we talk?"

Emerson nods and lets the singer in. "Sure," he responds, "sit down." He follows Remington into the living room, and sits next to him on the couch. "What's up?"

Remington sighs. "I feel like asking that isn't really the right thing to be fucking asking," he retorts, "I mean, you know what's up, Emerson, you have cancer and you didn't tell me. Sebastian told me."

"I know."

Remington waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't. "You know? That's it? That's all you wanna say to me after everything that's happened?"

"You mean that you ran away and nearly killed yourself in a random hotel? You know, that sounds strangely familiar to when-oh I don't know-you were stabbed!"

The boy has to tell himself not to shout back. "Are you trying to give me a fucking panic attack? What the fuck, Emerson? Like I don't fucking remember that!"

"Why are you always so dramatic?"

Remington raises an eyebrow. "I'm not dramatic," he argues, "I just don't get why you'd bring that up. You know how hard it is for me to think about." He doesn't remember why he ever thought this would be a good idea. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The question lingers for a while before it's answered, only telling Remington that it won't be a nice answer. "Because I knew you would do something stupid and I didn't wanna be responsible for it."

"Something stupid?"

Emerson nods like it's obvious. "Yes, Something stupid. And I was right, because apparently Abigail had to call the fucking police so you wouldn't kill yourself. Why did you talk to her and not us, Remington? Why don't you talk to me anymore?"

"Why don't I talk to you anymore? Oh, I don't know, maybe because you keep shouting at me and telling me I'm not allowed to have feelings!" He can feel himself losing his temper and he hates it. He doesn't want to be fighting like this. "Tell me what I've done wrong, because clearly I've done something."

"You just-you take everything so fucking personally, Remington. Like-it's not you who has cancer, yet you have to run off and threaten to kill yourself. What the fuck? How do you think that makes me feel? I'm trying so hard not to fall apart and whenever you do, everyone jumps up to help you."

Remington can almost feel a knife in his throat. "I know! I know that I take everything so fucking personally! I can't help it. Holly made me believe that everything was my fault and when Sebastian told me you have cancer, all I could think about was how it's my fault. I should be the one dying, not you." His eyes tear up and he swiftly wipes them away.

"Will you shut up about Holly for one fucking second? I'm so fuckin sick of hearing her fucking name! Holly made you do this, Holly made you do that. Blah blah fucking blah! Do you know what, Remington? Maybe if she said it so much then she's fucking right! Maybe you deserved everything you got!" As he says it, his brother flinches visibly, eyes wide, and inhales like the air is made of cotton wool. "Oh my God, I didn't mean it, Remington, I'm-"

The boy shakes his head. "You're right," he interrupts, "you're right. I deserved it all." He chokes in more air. "I deserved it all," he says again, and Emerson doesn't like how his voice is so certain. "I deserved it all. You're right."

"No, Rem-"

"Shut up!" He stands up stiffly. "She said it, in the letter. She said it was my fault. She said I made her do it. She's right. She's right about everything. She's been right this whole time. I deserved it. I blamed her but it's my fault. I made her hate me. I made everyone hate me." He paces back and forth in front of the sofa, not once looking at Emerson, who has no idea what to do. "Emerson, you're right."

The younger watches Remington. "No I'm not."

Remington nods quickly. "You're right. You're right. You're right." He whispers it to himself, and grips his hair. "I made her do it. You're right."

"No-"

"SHUT UP! OH MY GOD!" He looks too pale. "I ruined my own life, and I'm ruining yours, and Andy's, and Sebastian's. I ruin everything...I ruin everything." He stops moving, looks straight ahead of him at the window, black curtains framing the glass. And then he falls, hitting the ground before Emerson can catch him.

The drummer knows he can't just wait for Remington to wake up. That might not happen. Who knows why he collapsed this time? He kneels by his brother and calls an ambulance, stroking hair from his almost-white face and explaining to the operator what happened.

They're at hospital twenty minutes later. Remington had gained consciousness in the ambulance, and was confused and scared and mumbled over and over that he wanted Andy. Now in a hospital bed, white sheets pulled up to his shoulders, Remington doesn't even acknowledge Emerson's presence in the room. He remembers what the man said.

"I'm sorry," Emerson says regretfully.

Remington doesn't respond. He looks the other way, until the door opens and Andy comes in, closely followed by Sebastian. "Cuddle," he demands, and Andy obliges. He's relieved there is no feeding tube this time.

"What happened, sweetheart?" Andy asks softly, and Remington whimpers. "It's okay. You're alright."

A nurse comes in and greets the men in the room. "Alright, Remington, it's nothing to worry about. You seem to be under quite a lot of stress at the moment. We're almost certain that's why you collapsed. Do you collapse often?"

Remington looks at Andy before answering. "Sometimes," he says, "when I don't eat."

"Ah, okay. Have you eaten today?"

The boy nods.

"Okay. You're okay to go home when you're ready, and I suggest avoiding stressful or situations if you can."

After she leaves, Remington just curls further into Andy, who talks. "Stress, huh? Do you think it's all the arguments? They make you stressed, don't they, honey?"

Remington nods. "Emerson said something," he mumbles, "made me panic."

Both Andy and Sebastian look at Emerson accusingly. "What did he say?" Sebastian asks.

"Ask him. Don't wanna talk."

"Emerson?"

The drummer sighs and looks away. "I don't remember."

Remington lifts his head. "He said that I deserved everything Holly did and that she was right about everything. That's what he said."

"Fucking hell, Em, really?" Sebastian glances at Remington, who hides his face in Andy's shoulder. "That's so fucking irresponsible of you."

The accusing tone doesn't sit well with Emerson. "I'm sorry I'm so tired of constantly having to treat him like he's fucking royalty. Do you know how hard it is to talk to him without saying something wrong?"

Andy and Sebastian exchange glances. "I don't get it," the guitarist begins, "you always say it's so hard to talk to him, and it seems that recently, the moment you are alone with him, you unload a string of insults that you known will make him feel like crap. But Emerson, here's the thing. He has been living with Andy for almost a year, and not once has he come crying to us because Andy upset him. Not once. You say it's impossible, yet Andy's been doing a perfect job of it for a year."

"If I remember correctly, wasn't it Andy who he ran away from when Holly found him? So this is technically all Andy's fault."

Sebastian's eyes widen. "That's low, even for you."

"Stop fighting," Remington murmurs.

"It's true," Emerson fires back, ignoring Remington. "He acts like Andy is a fucking saint when he's the reason we're in this mess. If they had never met, everything would be fine."

"Shut up!" Remington suddenly shouts, abruptly lifting his head and glaring at Emerson. "I hate you! I hate you so much!"

"That's not-"

"Yes, it is! Emerson, all you've done for the past six months is insult me. Don't you dare insult Andy when he's the one who's been here when you haven't. He doesn't shout at me, or tell me I'd be doing everyone a favour by jumping in front of a car, or tell me I use anorexia as an excuse, or make me feel bad about what Holly did to me. You do all of that! You do it so much and now you're claiming that Andy is the bad guy? I'm sorry, but what the hell? Andy is the one cleaning up your fucking messes. He picked me up when you abandoned me, he hugs me and makes me feel okay when you make me feel like I don't deserve to be alive. He drove three hours for me when I ran away the other day! He stayed up all night for me! You didn't even call once that night. No once! So fuck you, Emerson. You have been a fucking terrible brother and a worse friend and I hate you." He returns his head to Andy's shoulder and sighs. "Just go."

Emerson stands up. He knows he can't win this fight, and he knows that Remington is right. He has been a shitty brother. He just wishes he knew how to stop.