Trigger Warning: Depression, suicide, injury/blood, vomit

Remington wouldn't let Andy touch his ribs, kept weakly pushing his hands away and kicking at his stomach without much force. 

"Baby, baby, hey," Andy said, stroking his hair. "You have to let me help. It's okay. You don't need to give yourself anymore hurt. Let me help." 

Remington shook his head, tried to turn and crawl away, but the movement hurt more than he expected and he crumpled onto the floor, which only made it worse, the tiles against his wounds. When Andy touched him to pick him up off the ground, he wailed. 

Despite the protest, Andy pulled him up so his back was against his chest, pinning his arms between them and lifting up his shirt to reveal the source of the blood. Remington started thrashing, though it wasn't much use with his arms trapped behind him. 

"It's okay," Andy said repeatedly as he pressed a towel to the cuts to slow the bleeding. "No more fighting, baby, you're making the pain worse. Let me make it better, it's okay. Shh. Settle down. Settle down, honey, it's alright. It's alright." 

"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it," Remington cried, arching his back but immediately regretting it. "Let go. Let go. Let go." 

"No, baby. Shh. Settle down. Let me take care of you, it's okay. It's okay." 

"You're supposed to-you're meant to hate me." 

"Shh. You're scared. You're scared. And it's okay. It's okay. Settle down." 

"My arms, please." 

"You have to promise not to fight." 

Remington leant his head back against Andy's shoulder. "'kay. Promise. Promise. I promise. Please." 

Moving back enough for Remington to free his arms, Andy kissed the back of his head, kept his hand on the towel. "Good boy," he murmured. "So proud of you."

Keeping true to the promise, Remington stayed as still as he could, wrapping his fingers around Andy's wrist and tightening them each time a surge of pain rushed through him. 

"There we go, that's it. You're doing so good. Gonna call an ambulance, okay?" 

Remington thought about arguing but decided against it, instead nodding and mumbling a vague agreement. 

Andy kept one hand firmly on the towel as he held the phone to his ear, looking down when Remington rested his hand on top. "Ambulance, please," he said. "We're at the Premier Inn on Lake Road. Room two one one. I'm with my husband, he's cut himself a lot. My name's Andy Biersack, he's Remington. Biersack, yeah. Yeah. I am. Yeah. He's conscious. Talking, but shaky. There's a lot of blood. Okay. Alright. Thanks." Putting the phone down, he returned his hand to the covered wounds, saying, "They'll be here in no more than five minutes. You think you can manage for that long?" 

"Okay." 

"I'm so proud of you. I love you so much. Keep taking deep breaths, it'll help with the pain a little." 

He was leant entirely against Andy now, having given up trying to get him to leave. It wasn't going to work - Andy was much too loyal - and besides, there was a comfort in knowing that he was cared for on such a deep level that he didn't want to be without him any longer. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. The tears had since stopped. 

"Don't. You're okay. You never have to be sorry for something like this, baby, never." 

"I've been so awful to-to everyone." 

"I know, baby, I know. And it's okay. You've been hurting and desperate and I get it, I do. Your brothers will understand, no one's going to hold it against you. Keep breathing." 

"You're so calm all the time." 

"Please, have you met me?" 

Remington tensed up, waiting for the worst of it to pass before attempting to speak. "I literally-I've been trying to-to die all afternoon, and-and you're all 'I love you, baby, it's okay, I don't hate you.' Like...like if it was me in your position, I'd be-like-I'd be fucking freaking out so bad." He shifted, found a position that was slightly less painful. "And I called you all the names under the-under the sun, and you're still, 'I love you, baby,' like-like what the fuck, are you real? Are you human?" 

"What else would I be?" 

"An angel." 

"Angels are still human, no? Just with, like, upgrades? Keep breathing, there's a good boy." 

"No, they're not-they're not human," Remington muttered. "It hurts so bad." 

"I know. I know it does. Ambulance will be here any minute now. I'm pretty sure they are human. They just have wings and shit." 

"See, told you you don't know anything." 

Andy hummed. "Glad to know you're still super funny." 

"Comedian." 

"Absolutely." 

"Ow!" 

"Easy. Stay still. You keep wriggling." 

"Because it hurts," Remington complained. "Like a motherfucking motherfucker on motherfucking steroids." 

"That's a lot of mothers to fuck." 

"I'm gonna be sick." 

Andy reached for the bin, holding the lid up while Remington heaved into it. "There's the ambulance," he said, hearing the sirens that were getting louder outside. "Just a little longer." 

Hands gripping the metal bin, Remington groaned, vomited again, then started to cry. "Make it stop now," he begged, and as if on cue, the door flew open and paramedics were quickly at the scene, asking Remington simple questions to keep him talking while they worked around him, unwilling to move him from his position against Andy until they had prepared everything. 

Less than two minutes later, Andy was following them into the lift, holding Remington's hand as he lay on the stretcher. The ambulance ride wasn't long - the hospital was just a few streets away - and once Remington was taken back for various tests and stitches, Andy sat in the waiting room and called Emerson, then Sebastian. 

"But he's okay, right?" Emerson asked upon his arrival at the hospital, sitting beside Andy uneasily. "He's gonna be fine?" 

"I think," Andy said. "They haven't told me anything yet. But he was still conscious when they took him back, still talking and everything, so..." 

"Oh. Good." 

The same conversation almost to the word was had when Sebastian showed up, accompanied by Larisa, and then the three sat in silence, until Emerson said, "I can't believe we didn't see it. It makes so much sense now. The arguing, the anger, the desperation to get away from us. How did we not see it?" 

"It's not our fault," Sebastian said. 

"No, it's no one's fault," Agreed Andy. "Just so glad I got to him in time." 

"Honestly, man, I don't know what we'd do without you." The guitarist rubbed Andy's shoulder. "What was he like, though? Still angry?" 

"Trying to be. Up to a point. Then he gave up and let me help. Huge relief. God. I've never seen him like that before. He was so ready for it to be over." 

"Poor boy, he must have been feeling so alone." 

"I can't even imagine."