Trigger Warning: Mentions of depression, abuse, self-harm, PTSD, eating disorder/weight, anxiety 

The first night in the hospital was worse than the night in Andy's house. 

It was getting late, and he had to be punished, because how was he supposed to sleep without it? Only he couldn't do anything about it because he was chained to the bed with all these wires and tubes and even if he could get up, that wouldn't solve anything. They were hardly going to leave sharp objects just lying about in the room of a patient who had been brought in with cuts all up his arm. They'd have to be crazy to be so reckless. 

Remington lay wide awake for some time, flexing and relaxing his fists to occupy himself, to give his arms something to focus on. 

It was no good. 

It was always punishment before bed. It had to be punishment before bed. There was no other way. 

He sat up. The room was dark but not dark enough that he couldn't see, and carefully, he swiveled around and planted his feet on the ground. He didn't move beyond that point for a few minutes, contemplated what to do next, realised he didn't have a clue. 

If he were to take off the bandage, they'd know, or they'd work it out soon enough. He'd never be able to replace it as neatly as they's put it on. And he couldn't exactly do anything to his other arm, they'd see that, too. It was a question of importance. To disobey the routine he'd lived by for two years and prove to the doctors that he wasn't suicidal, he was just sad. Or, to confirm their suspicions by following the routine he'd lived by for two years and risk being committed into a mental institution. 

He didn't want to do either, but he had to choose one.  

He needed her to tell him what to choose, and then he decided that if she were to tell him, she'd say option two. 

Punishment before bed. 

Still, he didn't move from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. His body was telling him one thing, his mind another. He didn't need anymore pain, couldn't handle anymore bloodshed, that's what his body was telling him. He'd hurt enough. He'd been hurt enough. 

Punishment before bed was all his mind told him, over and over, screaming it at him, rattling the inside of his skull.

Remington didn't know how long he was caught in the impossible decision, but was alarmed when he noticed the glimmer of morning sun through the cracks of the blinds. He hadn't slept at all. 

A doctor came in at just gone seven, saw he was awake, and said a quiet, "Morning, Remington," as she went about her tasks. 

Remington didn't respond. He couldn't work out whether he had slept without realising, or whether he had spent the entire night in a sort of hypnotic state, trapped inside the helplessness of this post-abuse limbo he was in. Unable to move past the shock of the past few days but equally as unable to go back to when every moment of his day was rigid with rules and routines and 'don't's.

Like he was in a rowing boat without any ores in the middle of the ocean. He could try and swim to the shore, but he would tire quickly and end up drowning. There was nothing he could do but wait for a sign of help, sitting alone in the wooden boat with nothing but the wailing birds to keep him company. Growing colder each hour, freezing through the night, until an eventual storm would come, and he was thrown overboard. There was no way out of the ruthless waves, and he thrashed about as though he could cause the ocean harm. 

Finally, he lost the power to fight, and he let it smother him. 

* * * 

In the early afternoon, Remington was notified of the fact that his brothers were here. He had forgotten he'd asked for them after Abigail left yesterday, but couldn't turn them away again, not after being the one to request they come in the first place. He was aware they probably didn't want to be anywhere near him. They hardly did anymore, since Holly wedged a wall between them, just a few months into their relationship, in the form of lies she told about Remington. About him saying they were the 'weaker members of the band', that the only one their fans cared about was him, that it didn't matter who was 'in the back', so long as he was upfront. They believed her. Remington was heartbroken when he found out that they believed her. 

They'd grown up together, they'd dreamed of the band together, they did everything together, and yet they believed some girl they'd known for half a year. 

When they came into the room, he was unable to make eye contact, but said, "Please. Can we talk?" 

The two shared glances, as though there was an option they'd say no. "What about?" Emerson asked. He didn't sound rude, just wary. Like he was the one who'd been hurt. 

Remington looked at his covered lap. "Did they tell you what happened?" 

They sat down on the couch where Abigail had been yesterday. "Did who tell us?" Sebastian said. 

"The doctors, I suppose." 

"They told us you wanted to see us and something about that whore Andy coming later, but apart from that, nope." 

Remington winced at the insult about Andy but didn't mention it. "Great," he mumbled. 

"Why? What is there to tell?" 

"She was arrested." 

At the same time, the two leaned forwards. "Who? Holly?" 

Remington nodded. 

"What for?" 

"Domestic abuse," Remington said. It was easier to say it before he thought too much about how he was saying it, easier to get it out of the way. They had to know, and if they didn't find out from him, they'd only get colder. 

Again, they exchanged looks. "Really?" Emerson asked. 

Remington nodded.

"She was that bad?" Sebastian asked.

Remington could have slapped him. "Yes."

"When?" 

"Day before yesterday." 

"By the police?" 

No, by the fucking Queen. "Yes." 

"How'd you manage to pull that off?" 

Again, Remington could have slapped him. The lack of sleep was making it hard to remain calm. "What do you mean, pull it off? They came to the house, they asked me some questions, I told them the truth, she was arrested." 

"How'd they know to come to the house?" 

"Andy went to the station and-" 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sebastian muttered. "I should've guessed Andy was behind this." 

"Behind what? Getting her arrested for a crime she was committing for two years? What's the issue here?" 

"The issue, genius, is that you let Andy - the man who filmed and posted his own sex tape online - interfere with a family issue." 

Really. You're bringing up his sex tape? Who fucking cares, it was hot, he got rich, get over it. "A family issue?"  (For the record, Andy has NOT done this in real life, it's for the story k thanks) 

"Yes, a family issue," Sebastian confirmed. "If you were having trouble with her, you should've come to us." 

And return home to a death sentence. Yeah, right. "And said what? 'Hey guys, sorry I'm late, I collapsed because my girlfriend forgot to feed me this morning. How are you?'" 

"God, stop being so dramatic. No wonder Andy's weaved his way back in, he always loved the fucking drama you brought into his life."

"Will you shut up about Andy?" Emerson demanded, though in his usual soft voice. "This isn't about him, for God's sake. Get off your high horse." 

Sebastian glared at the drummer. "So what, Remington? She was arrested, and then what? You carried on with your life as though you hadn't just ruined her's?" 

Are you trying to make me off myself? "No, Andy took me back to his place and tried to help me." 

"See, it is about Andy," Sebastian said to Emerson. "I see. You chose him over us, your family." 

"Yes," Remington said simply. He was almost smiling at how angry they were making him. 

"And why did you do that?" 

"Because," he started. "Andy's actually nice." 

"As opposed to us?" 

"Yep." 

Turning to Emerson, Sebastian asked, "Are you just gonna sit there accepting this crap?" 

"He has a point," Emerson said. "I mean, he told us what was going on last time he was here and what did we do? Nothing. He has a point." 

"Oh, that's right. Take his side." 

And as though it suddenly clicked in his mind, "What other side is there? Sebastian, wake up. Your brother's been trapped in an abusive relationship for two years, and you're getting pissed at Andy for being the only one who's taken it seriously. I mean, come on. The man hasn't seen Remington for years, and he's still got enough fucking common sense to go to the police and make sure something was being done about it. We did nothing apart from getting mad that we weren't told first, and honestly, I don't blame Remington for not telling us. Look how we're reacting now he has. We should be ashamed." 

Remington lifted his eyes and found Emerson's. He smiled for a second and Emerson nodded back. 

"Fuck this," Sebastian muttered, and left the room. 

Emerson shook his head. "Listen, I'm really sorry," he said. "I know I've been awful to you, I'm sorry. All that stuff Holly said that one time, you know-" 

"The 'Remington thinks you're a load of useless crap' thing. Yep. I know. I'm sorry she did that." 

"What are you apologising for? I just, I guess I got a little carried away with holding a grudge. I hate that I even believed you'd say any of that in the first place, and by the time I started to realise she probably made it all up, I was too ashamed to admit it." 

"It's okay," Remington said. "Thank you for being honest." 

"And for the record, Sebastian's just jealous of the way you are with Andy, wishes he could be that close to you. He knows he's in the wrong, he's just fucking stubborn. He'll come around." 

"Maybe." 

"If he doesn't, I'll steal his guitar pedals. He hates when I do that." 

"Thanks, Em." 

The younger smiled. "Thanks for letting us see you after everything we did. I'm really glad you're okay." 

Yeah. Okay. That's what I am.