Trigger warnings: Mentions of depression, abuse, PTSD, eating disorder/weight, injury/blood, panic attack

It was a long way on foot from Andy's place to Remington's, and as Andy predicted, the boy didn't make it. He ran, but not for long, because he was running on an empty stomach, and Andy caught up to him thanks to his long legs. Remington was panting and crying and when Andy got too close, he begun backing away again. 

He was beyond confused. The man before him was the first safe person he'd encountered in what felt like forever, and yet the only person he wanted - no, that wasn't the right word - the only person he knew how to be around wasn't there anymore. 

So many rules had been broken by now. He couldn't think of one that hadn't, apart from that he shouldn't kiss another person. That was one of the few rules that actually made sense, something that he wouldn't have done anyway. He expected a punishment so much that he didn't know how to deal with the idea that he might not get one. 

"It's okay," Andy was saying. 

Remington stared at him. His face was glistening under the streetlights, sparkling with confusion and longing. Longing for her to come back, to drag him into the shower, to pass him the blade. Longing for the sting and the shoot of pain the followed, the blood that washed away, the way she would look at him. Proud, happy. It was the only time he ever made her happy. 

"We need to go back inside." 

He was hardly listening, ears ringing with the absence of her. It was as though he was experiencing grief. That was how it felt, at least. Standing there by the road as the sun sunk beneath the earth. It was as though she had died, and he missed her. 

The worst part was that he didn't know why. He didn't want to miss her. She was horrible and he hated her, but he couldn't live without her, not when everything he did was for her. He couldn't be anything if she wasn't there to tell him what to do and how to do it, couldn't form his own opinions because she fed him hers in place of actual meals. 

The grief was so bad that he felt sick and he imagined that if he ever were to go through drug withdrawal, this is what it would feel like. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see straight, he was colder than he'd ever been, even more so than when she'd forced him into a bath of freezing water for forty five minutes. He thought he might be dying. 

Andy watched it unfold; Remington crumpling to the pavement with his head in his hands, pulling his body in on itself like he was trying to make himself disappear or melt through the cracks. He stayed a few metres away but was alert, ready to catch anyone who dared come too close and suggest they cross the road and continue walking on the other side. 

On the ground, Remington was only escalating from bad to worse, and had started to incorporate screams into his hyperventilating sobs. He needed the pain in his arm so badly that he was using the rough surface of the pavement to scrape the skin on the back of his hand. Still, it wasn't enough and it wasn't the same. 

He wasn't going to calm down any time soon. That was easy enough to work out, and with no other ideas as to how the hell he was supposed to help, Andy strode towards him, bent down, and pulled him off the floor. Remington thrashed against him but he didn't let go, and walked quickly back to his house with his arms around Remington's waist, the boy pressed against his chest and trying to free himself. 

As soon as they were inside, Andy released him and locked the door. Remington fell with a series of soft thumps onto the carpet, scrambling to get away. He disappeared into the living room, and Andy didn't follow him. He'd done enough damage just by bringing him back to the house, he couldn't risk anything more, not now. 

From the kitchen, Andy heard him loudly crying for some time, wondered if he'd make himself pass out with all that panting, and when finally he quietened down, Andy ventured into the room to find him. 

He was curled up tightly behind the couch, pressed against the wall, and Andy crouched down in front of him. "Hey, honey," he whispered. 

Remington didn't flinch as Andy expected, but lifted his head and looked at him. He said nothing. 

"Let's get you up to bed, okay?" He was still whispering. 

A long silence, then, "You have to punish me." 

Andy frowned. "No, honey." 

"I hurt you." 

Andy knew he was referring to his thrashing, and he shook his head. "You were frightened and confused and I touched you without your consent, don't blame it on yourself. I just wanted to make sure you were somewhere safe, I'm so sorry for scaring you like that." 

Remington loosened his muscles, let his arms fall from the grip they had on his knees. "But I...I..." 

"Listen to me, okay? Nothing that happened today was your fault, and nothing that you did deserves any sort of punishment. Okay? Nothing. What you deserve right now is a warm bed, which I have for you." 

"Nothing?" 

"Nothing." 

"But...but I shouted at you, and-and I didn't do what you said, and...and I left with-without telling you, and..." 

"And none of that deserve any sort of punishment, because you are allowed to do all of those things." 

"Allowed?" 

"That's right." 

"But I shouted at you." 

"And I understand why, and I'm not going to blame you or hurt you or anything because of it. We all shout at people sometimes." 

Remington seemed to be swimming in Andy's eyes. "No punishment?" 

"No punishment." 

"At all?" 

"No punishment at all." 

"And-and you're not mad?" 

"Of course not. What I am is worried, and sad, and angry at her for doing all this." 

"Sad?" 

"Yeah, sad to see you suffering." 

"Oh." 

Andy sat on his heels. "Let's go to bed, okay? I just need to finish making yours." 

Remington blinked. "Bed without punishment?" 

"That's right." 

"Really?" 

"Absolutely." 

Remington pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and thought for a moment. "Bed without punishment," he whispered. "Really really?" 

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life." 

"You promise? You really promise?" 

Andy was welling up. The innocence in his voice was heart wrenching. "I really promise, on my life. Bed without punishment." 

"Punishment is always before bed." 

"Not anymore. Punishment is always never, okay?" 

"Always never," Remington repeated in a murmur. 

"Always never," Andy confirmed. 

Straightening out his legs beside Andy, Remington nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll go to bed without punishment."

"Just give me a sec to finish putting the covers on, then it's all yours. You can go find some clothes in my room if you want, so you have something to wear tomorrow." 

"Okay. Thank you." Then, once he was standing, he mumbled to himself, "I can go to bed without punishment. Who'd have seen that one coming?"