Trigger warning. Please be careful. This was hard to write.

Death seems like the only relief.

Remington doesn't know what he's doing. He thought he was getting better. He stopped taking his pills again.

The street is empty and dark, and Remington walks without knowing where he's going. Just somewhere.

He had an awful fight with Sebastian today. They were meant to be doing a livestream, but Sebastian kept commenting on the younger's weight, and it made Remington uneasy. He knows he's still underweight, but he really is trying. Sometimes food just makes him feel sick. Remington had shouted at him, screamed, and thrown his phone violently at the wall so hard it shattered, and he never went home.

He wasn't in the mood to talk about it, not with Andy, not anyone. He knew that if he went home then he'd have been asked about it because Sebastian would have called Andy. He knows that his husband will be trying to find him, but his phone is in pieces in his brother's house and he doesn't want to be found.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

It's bad again.

His previously healing wrists are raw and bloody and his fingertips trail red down his face, over his clothes. He's not in town anymore. He can hear water rushing somewhere nearby, and wonders what would happen if he jumped into the river, or drowned himself like Holly tried to do. Would anyone miss him?

He knows they would, but manages to convince himself otherwise. Why does his brain keep letting him down like this?

Is it because he stopped taking his stupid pills? Or is it just that he's permanently fucked up, destined for a life of misery, until he hangs himself from a rope on a tree, or slices until there's no more blood, or jumps off a bridge and disappears with a splash.

Who would miss him?

Nothing feels real. He doesn't turn his head at the sound of people behind him, probably drunk, or in the midst of getting drunk. Or both.

The river is getting nearer now. He can almost feel the water on his skin, seeping into every scar and drowning him from the inside. He rubs his eyes, feels hot tears, but doesn't care.

It's bad again.

It's really fucking bad.

What if he can't be saved this time? What if this is it? And what if he wants it to be?

"I can't even look at you," he hears Holly say, and shivers, pulling the hoodie sleeves over his hands. "Look what you've done!" He remembers how she was angry at him, but he doesn't remember what for. It could have been anything. She was always angry about something. His existence, mostly.

He's cold, freezing, in his clothes, and wishes he'd taken one of Andy's jackets when he left this morning. Maybe he'd feel okay if he had Andy's jacket protecting him. Maybe he'd feel better then.

It's getting harder to see through tears and through the looming darkness of the sleeping world. Everyone is in bed now. Warm, safe. Not Remington, who has never felt so cold before. Not ever.

Is this what it feels like to be empty?

Is this what it's like to have nothing left?

Is this death approaching?

He wants it to be.

But he also wants to go home, to curl up in Andy's safe arms and tell him what's wrong, to be loved, to be protected, to be happy. He wants to be happy, but he knows that will never be the case. Not in this lifetime, anyway. Happiness isn't meant for him. Nothing nice is meant for him.

It's bad again.

The way his mind can make everything scarier than it really is makes Remington physically afraid. He shudders, wraps his arms around himself, looks down at his feet which drag along the floor, over the roots and the stones in the path which leads somewhere he's never been. Hopefully the river, so he can drown in the night, drift into the sea, find happiness in a place that wants him.

He thinks back to the fight with Sebastian. It was his fault. He shouldn't have shouted like he did. Everything is always his fault. He wonders if they're looking for him, if they've even noticed he's gone missing, and deep down, he knows they care, but tonight it feels like he's the only person here. Like he's living on this planet completely alone, no one to hug him, to tell him it's okay, to patch him up when he's hurt. To save him when he can't save himself.

And right now he needs saving. Because it's really really fucking bad.

Why is it so bad? What's he done for it to get so bad? Is it his fault? It must be his fault. Everything is his fault.

He stumbles over a large root and feels his heart raise into his throat, like he's about to sick it up and die right there.

Without really meaning to, he finds the river, which is gushing and deep and oh-so inviting. If only he could stay here forever.

There's a steep drop from where he's standing. If he jumped he'd probably die. He's literally one step away from it now. Should he jump? He wants to jump.

He can feel his heart in his mouth now, throbbing, pounding, like it wants to escape. He wants to escape.

With shaky legs, he sits on the edge, where ground meets cliff, and let's his feet dangle down. If he moves forwards he'd slip and fall. Would that be seen as an accident? He knows it wouldn't. How many people have done what he's about to do?

The air is cool, harsh, as though the whole world is against him, willing him to just jump already. "Please don't," he hears behind him, and turns to see who it is. A young woman, no older than him, with a bottle of vodka in her hand. She puts it down. She doesn't seem drunk. "If you're going to jump, please don't." Remington is quivering. He looks back down at the river, at the icy water the way it splashes at the cliffs, luring him in. The stranger approaches him, but stops before she is within touching distance, and sits on the damp ground. "I don't know what you're going through, but I do know that people love you, and that if you jump now, they might jump later." She's looking at him, watching, and is ready to jump up if he suddenly tries to leap off the cliff.

Remington hugs his knees to his chest. "Everyone wants me to die," he says sadly, reading those comments in his mind.

"I don't." Her words hit harder than the boy expects. A stranger cares. That has to count for something. "Look, I know that I'm literally a stranger, but if you won't stay for yourself, stay for me, and for everyone who needs you. I promise that you're not alone." She can see how close he is to the edge. She's lucky she found him now.

The boy looks back at her, trying to see Holly, but he can't. He knows he's safe with this stranger. "I feel alone." His words are carried in the wind and he doesn't know if she can hear him.

"Sometimes our minds are against us. Just because you feel alone doesn't mean you are. You will have people who love you more than you know." It's drizzling now. She's only just noticed.

Remington can't stop his gaze from returning to the river. "I have a husband," he says, thinking about Andy, about their home, the warm bed, the bath, the hugs, the kisses, the safety. He can't leave all that. "And brothers."

The girl can hear the river. She knows how tempting it is, how it draws one in. "They won't want you going anywhere."

"I had an argument with my brother," he tells her. He needs to tell someone, and she's here. "I should've gone home but I came here." He looks at her again, rubs his heavy eyes.

She sees his bloody wrists. It makes her sad. "Will you go home now?" She asks, looking from his face to his hands, and back again, observing his actions. The boy knows she can see what he's done to himself. He's too tired to care. He doesn't reply, so the stranger talks again. "I'm not going to leave you until I know you're not going to jump," she informs him, "I'll walk home with you if that helps."

Remington looks back down at the water, sighs. "Okay," he whispers, and knows she can't hear. He carefully turns and crawls away from the edge, and the girl breathes out in relief.

"You're very brave," she says, standing up and waiting for him to get to his feet. She leaves the vodka on the ground. Remington has no idea that he just saved her from drinking it all and jumping. She couldn't see him like this and not help him.

Remington is quiet. He yawns and rubs his eyes with his fists and shoves his hands in his pockets. "What's the time?" He asks quietly, and is told that it's nearly three am. Andy must be so worried. His body is sore and his mind is worn raw and he craves the feeling of his husband's safe, warm arms. He's so cold it hurts, and rain is soaking through his clothes, sticking to his skin like blood. He wants a shower and a cuddle and to be okay.

They reach his house and the girl waits until she sees someone else before leaving. If there's one thing she knows, it's that you never leave a suicidal person on their own. Never.

The shaking boy opens the door. The lights are on inside, and he barely steps inside before Andy is there. "Oh Remington, thank God," the man breathes, pulling his beloved into his arms and catching sight of the girl outside. He knows why she's there, and mouths a sincere thankyou. She nods, smiles, and walks away, happy at the sight of the broken boy in such protective arms.

Remington is shaken. He is gripping Andy tightly, like he might disappear. "I'm sorry," he keeps repeating.

"You're okay," Andy assures him, "it's okay, you're safe. I've got you." He pulls back to look at Remington, runs his hands down his face, kisses his forehead.

The boy is shivering and damp. He kicks the door shut behind him because the breeze is making him colder. "Sorry," he mumbles again, "sorry, I got-I got scared."

Andy shakes his head. "Shh, it's okay. Let's get you dry and warm, sweetheart. We can talk when you've had some food and some sleep, okay? You let me take care of you."

The younger just nods, gripping Andy's hand and following him up the stairs. "I didn't wanna hurt you," he murmurs, "I just wanted to go."

In the bathroom, Andy starts the shower, and carefully gets the younger's clothes off. "Oh baby boy, your wrists," he notices, kissing his hands. "I'm so glad you came home. I was worried sick. I thought I'd really lost you." He helps his lover into the shower, washing away the blood and the dirt and the tears, warming him up, giving him love.

The boy is finding it hard to stay awake now that he's home and safe. Andy wraps him in a towel and guides him into the bedroom, pulling back the covers and going to switch off the lights. Remington crawls into bed and pulls the covers up to his eyes, keenly letting Andy hold him against his chest. He yawns and curls into his husband, and lets his weary mind sleep.

Death isn't the only relief, not when he has Andy.