Holly is sentenced to life behind bars. All the evidence is against her. The photos of Remington after he escaped that house the first time. The camera surveillance in that hotel that shows her entering the hotel and leaving around an hour later. Photos taken in the hotel room.

The empty toilet roll, the unflushed blood soaked tissue, the stains Remington missed on the floor.

It all leads to the same conclusion. Holly stabbed him. It was no accident.

They even found the same knife in her house. She was stupid enough to keep it.

Remington is told the news and all he can do is cry. Finally he's safe. She's really gone this time.

He is encased in Sebastian's arms and sobs into him, so relived he could pass out.

And he sleeps well.

Another two weeks pass. Remington is healing well. He's allowed out for a few hours at a time, as long as he's accompanied. He walks with his brothers into town and they sit in a coffee shop. The same one where he bumped into Andy after running from Holly.

The boy can still remember that day. How terrified he was. The panic attack he had in Andy's house.

He hasn't seen Andy for ages.

The three men talk. They talk about anything. And Remington smiles again.

Another week passes. And then he can finally go home. Emerson welcomes him into his house, knowing there is no way Remington can step foot in the house he used to live in. So many bad things happened in there.

Remington wakes with a nightmare on the first night away from the hospital. He's disoriented and confused, and on waking up he is certain he's back in that hotel. He screams.

Emerson and Shy are woken by the scream. The man dashes out of bed and into the spare room. He finds Remington pacing, still with a limp, every step straining his delicate wound. "Hey, Rem, you're gonna hurt yourself," he says, gaining the boy's attention.

Remington stops. He sits down on the bed with a sigh. "I feel so," he pauses, thinking of the right word, "tortured." The way he says it is pained, anxious, tense.

"You need to sleep," Emerson says, "you can't keep blaming yourself. None of this was your fault. None of it."

The singer knows he's right. Remington didn't ask to he stabbed. He didn't know Holly was outside that door. He didn't know, all those years ago, that she'd abuse him. "I'm finally out of the hospital and now I can't fucking sleep!" His voice is louder than intended. "Sorry," he mumbles, "didn't mean to shout."

Emerson shakes his head. He lifts up the cover Remington crawls under. "You were used to sleeping there, that's all. You just need to adjust to being home." The way he says home makes Remington feel better. The fact that this isn't just Emerson and Shy's place, that it's his home too, makes him feel better.

"Love you," he mumbles sleepily.

Remington dreams about Andy. What would have happened if he hadn't run away. God, he misses the rock star. He gets dressed into actual clothes, relieved he doesn't have to wear the ugly hospital gowns anymore, and trecks downstairs, having to hold the banister tightly to take the weight off his wound. It still hurts.

Emerson and Sebastian are worried about performing again. Their lead singer can't walk without limping, and there's no way he'd be able to run around, or jump. They haven't mentioned this to Remington, not yet. He doesn't need something else on his mind.

Remington finds his brother in the kitchen making a cup of tea. He has to sit down to ease his stomach. "I'm sorry for waking you up last night," he apologises, "I swear I could see that hotel room again."

The younger man offers his best friend a cup of tea. The singer nods. "It's alright, Rem, I understand. I just want you to be okay. How's your stomach?"

With a sigh, Remington takes the hot drink. "I could barely get down the stairs without having to stop and sit down," he admits, upset, "what if I'm like this forever?"

"You're still healing. The doctors said it'll take a while to heal completely. You've got to take it easy." Emerson knows that if he doesn't keep reminding his brother of this, he'll no doubt try and do something resulting in another trip to the hospital.

Remington sighs heavily. He wants to be better now. Not just physically, but mentally too. He hasn't even told his brothers what Holly did before she stabbed him. He never told the police either.

Perhaps he should have.

She's already in jail for life, it's not like she could do anything do harm him, is it?

The thought dawns on him for the first time. "What if I can never play live again?"

On hearing the question, and the way he asks with so much fear, Emerson wants to swap places with Remington, to take all his pain away. "Don't think like that," he says instead, "you're still healing."

The boy sips his tea. "What if I'm always still healing, Emerson, what if I'm just never gonna be able to walk properly, or stand for more than ten minutes without crying in pain? What if this is it?" He goes on before Emerson has a chance to say anything, to try and calm him down. "I feel so fucking guilty, oh my god! I fucking abandoned Andy! Holy fuck, I'm a terrible person. I'm a terrible terrible person." He stands up and winces at the sudden movement. "I-I need to see him, to apologise." And with that, the inured singer limps out of the room, pulls on some shoes, and leaves the house. For the first time he's gone outside unaccompanied.

Remington is in pain. It's a fair amount of walking to get to Andy's place, and while he would drive, he has been told a firm no over and over by his doctors. Apparently sitting in the same position is bad for him.

By the time he reaches the familiar house, he is holding his stomach tightly and blinking back tears.

He notices how the front steps are stained in puddles of dark red. Blood.

Remington rings the doorbell, praying to God that this won't have the same outcome as last time he was here. He isn't able to walk all the way back now.

But then the door opens.