Keep commenting and voting, u know u want to. 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of abuse, PTSD, depression, self-harm. 

Remington's phone rang at midday, while Andy was tiredly making lunch. They were in the kitchen together and had been all morning, neither of them speaking a word of the previous night. 

"Hello?" He answered. Andy could hear the weakness in his voice. "Oh, Nadya. Uh, hey. Oh, uh, I...No. I'm dealing with stuff. No, I know that, but...Okay. Okay. No. That's...That's fine. Yes, okay. Alright. You too. Yep. Bye." 

"Everything okay?" Andy asked once he hung up. He knew Nadya was Palaye's manager, that she had questioned him while he was in hospital. 

Putting the phone on the table, Remington said, "Gotta go." 

"Go? Where?" 

"To do my job." He stood from the breakfast bar stool he was perched on. "See you." 

"You can't be serious." 

"What do you mean?" 

Andy turned away from the pan. "You're going to the studio right now? Remington, not to be a dick, but that really isn't a good idea." 

"It's my job," he reasoned. "I have to." 

"No. You're gonna burnout. You need to take time off." 

"I'm fine," Remington snapped. "If you're talking about last night, I'm fine now, okay? I was just tired." Collecting his car keys from the side, he said, "It's nothing I haven't done before." 

"I know, but...You're so..." 

An accusing look. "So what?" 

"Look, I just don't think it's a good idea." 

"Well, I do." Remington opened the door and threw Andy one final glance before walking out. 

Too tired to argue, Andy let him go. 

Remington drove to the studio in his car, which Andy had gone to pick up while he was talking to Abigail. He hadn't driven since Holly's arrest and as much as he liked Andy's sleek black car, it was nice to be the one in control of the vehicle. 

He wasn't looking forward to seeing everyone, didn't want to go inside at all, but he was here and he had to. It was stupid because he knew Andy was right and he'd much rather have stayed in the man's kitchen watching him cook, but they wanted him to do his job, and he owed them that. He owed them big time. 

"Look who's risen from the dead," Sebastian exclaimed when he saw the singer. There was a harshness to the way he spoke that made Remington's skin crawl. "Nice of you to show up, rock star." 

Like he was supposed to, Remington greeted everyone, smiled, pretended like he was happy to see them. 

"You got Andy hidden in the bushes?" 

"Sorry?" 

Sebastian was tuning his guitar. "He's always around somewhere near you. Like a fly waiting to be flattened." 

Remington didn't like the rudeness aimed at Andy. He wanted to remind his brother how much the man had done for him, but didn't, because it wouldn't change anything. Sebastian would always have a disliking for him, it seemed. "He's at home," he said instead. 

"Good." 

A door slammed, making Remington flinch. 

"We're probably gonna stay late tonight," their producer said. "Is that okay for everyone?" 

Like they wanted, Remington nodded. 

"You not got a curfew?" Sebastian asked meanly. 

Remington was already ready to cry. "No. Course not." 

"I'm surprised. Andy seems the type." 

The type to pull out your teeth one by one for making me upset, maybe. "He's not." 

"Well, whatever. You're not fucking off early, we've got shit to do. So much shit." 

Because of me, right? Holding you back.  "I won't." 

"Fucking shut up," Emerson called from across the room. "He's here, that's all that matters. Leave him be." 

"Stay out of this." 

"You're just bullying him, Sebastian, it's not okay. He's been through shit, give him a break." 

"Been through shit? He's been living for free with a slutty thirty-one-year-old while we rally about trying to finish our fucking album!" 

"Oh, shut up. You're talking out your arse." 

Remington bit back tears. They were arguing over him, like they always did. Over how he should feel, how he should act, how he should be. Always thinking they knew better, usually wrong. He didn't want to have that effect on them and he didn't know how to make them stop. He wasn't allowed to tell people to shut up, and even if he tried, he knew they wouldn't listen. They never listened. 

They argued back and forth for some time, growing louder and more violent with how they addressed each other as the minutes passed. It was like Remington was watching his life from a different body, like he couldn't do anything because he'd lost all power in his own body. He just stood with his eyes burning and his ears ringing. 

When Emerson and Sebastian finally stopped, it was because their producer yelled at them, and the sound made Remington flinch again, uneasy and unable to settle. There was the horrible feeling in his bones that someone was going to hurt him, and when his name was spoken, he nearly screamed. 

They were recording the final two songs of their album, both which happened to be very heavy and very loud. Putting on the headphones made Remington feel sick. He couldn't listen to such intense noise, and he wanted to sleep, and his arm throbbed with the absence of the scrape of a razor. 

But they were all looking at him, waiting for him to sing, and he owed them big time.