Trigger Warnings: Mentions of depression, abuse, eating disorder/weight, injury/blood, anxiety

During the car ride through town, Remington was drifting in and out of consciousness. He hadn't eaten since what must have been at least four days ago, though he'd lost count after the two day mark. After so long, the days tended to melt together into one long, inescapable night. Andy glanced at him frequently and knew he'd have to encourage him into eating at least something. He couldn't go on like this. 

He pulled into his driveway and stopped the car, undoing his seat belt and looking over at Remington, who wasn't looking back. His eyes were on the dashboard. Andy got out and walked around the vehicle. He opened the passenger door. 

Remington slowly moved. He fell dizzily into Andy, who steadied him and promptly pulled back to avoid unnecessary contact. He didn't know how comfortable Remington was with being touched, and now wasn't the time to test it. 

Without talking, Remington followed him to the front door. He was seeing double. Andy closed the door behind them and led the younger into the living room. He was concerned at the colour Remington had turned and told him gently to sit down, which gratefully, he did. 

The soup from earlier was still on the table. Andy put it in the microwave for a few minutes, until it was warm again, and returned to the living room, where he carefully set the bowl on the coffee table and knelt beside it. He had a spoon in his hand, and Remington was looking at it with half-closed eyes. "I'm worried you're gonna faint," said the elder, eyebrows furrowed. 

Remington pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

"Just a bit, okay? No rush." He offered the spoon to Remington, who hesitantly took it.

He eyed up the soup and quietly said, "Not allowed." 

Andy could have cried. "Yes, you are." 

"No.no. She...she said." He shook his head. "Not allowed." 

"You don't need to listen to her anymore." 

Troubled, Remington put the spoon down and touched his sleeved arm. He winced. "She'll make me do it again," he whispered, more to himself than to Andy. Like he was trying to prepare himself. 

Andy picked up the spoon. "You don't have to do it ever again," he said. 

Remington stared at him. 

"It's okay. Nothing's going to happen. I promise. You're safe now." 

He shook his head and moved away from the table, to the other end of the couch, pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. 

Andy didn't know what to do. He couldn't force Remington to eat, that would defeat the point. "You're safe now," he repeated. He meant it. 

Remington was slipping away. Heavily, his head fell to his knees as though it could come loose from the rest of his body. "She'll know," came his half-muffled, half-slurred words. "Always knows." Then his arms dropped onto the couch and Andy had no choice but to call an ambulance. 

In the vehicle, Remington woke, startled at the change in scenery and at the strangers who were sitting close by. His terrified eyes found Andy and he allowed himself to relax just a little. "Easy," said a paramedic. "No sudden moves, alright mate? You're malnourished, might lose consciousness again. Lie still." 

Remington did as he was told because that was all he knew how to do. 

When they arrived at the hospital, he was taken into a room that Andy wasn't allowed in, and the separation from the man felt like the world was ending. He lay on the bed with tears in his eyes, trembling, heart racing at each open and close of the door. Every time it was a doctor and not Holly, he felt sick with relief. 

He was left alone to change into the gown provided, and when they returned, the wounds on his arm were immediately brought to attention. They asked what had happened but he said nothing. 

They had him sit up while they inserted a tube into his nose, told him to cough on the count of three, and he did. It felt strange going in, but he was too tired to pay much attention. When they let him lie back down, he did so with every reason to believe that she'd come through those doors at any moment. 

"All done," said the doctor who had been stitching up the worst of the wounds for the past ten minutes. Remington had completely forgotten they were there at all. His arm had been numbed and he was falling asleep when the doctor spoke. "They'll heal just fine. Can I ask how they were caused?" 

Remington looked sleepily at the man. 

"I'll leave you to rest. Your friend Andy is waiting, would you like me to show him to the room?" 

He nodded and closed his eyes. When he next opened them, it was at the sound of the door. He had to check who it was or he'd go crazy with fear. It was Andy, who smiled and sat down. "You stayed," Remington said. 

"Of course." 

"Not used to nice people." He reached out his hand and, as though he might be told off for asking, said, "Hold it?" Andy moved the chair closer to the bed and took his hand. At the soft contact, Remington burst into tears. He wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. "Sorry," he stuttered. 

Andy stroked his knuckles. "Shh-shh, it's okay," he soothed. In his hand, Remington's was shaking. It was painful to witness the breakdown of such a gentle person. 

For a few minutes, Remington cried while Andy held his hand. When he begun to calm down, he pulled his hand free to wipe his eyes. Then he offered it to the man again, who took it and continued to lightly rub his knuckles. "You saved me," he said, like the realisation was only now becoming clear. He started to cry again. 

"I'm sorry you had to be saved," Andy replied. "No one should need saving from their own home. I'm so sorry." 

Remington tightened his grip on the elder's hand and it only loosened when he fell asleep.