Trigger Warning: Mentions of blood/death, depression, panic attack, abuse, vomit, PTSD 

Remington was still on the floor when he was startled awake by the crashes. He sat up and thought he might collapse again, put his hand to the side of his head until he was able to stand. 

There was yelling downstairs. A deep male voice shouting, "Don't test me, dammit!" Then a bang. 

Remington flinched. He approached the locked door, pressed his ear to it. The door started rattling and he took steps back until he hit the bed. He fell onto his back and sat up quickly, making himself dizzy. 

"Fucking bastards. Fucking abusive fucking bastards," the man on the other side was saying as he ran at the door. A moment later, it flew open and crashed against the wall with a sharp bang. 

Remington flinched again and pulled his knees into his chest. He stared at Andy, couldn't work out if he was real or another hallucination. 

Andy was holding a gun. There was blood on his shirt. "Finally," he breathed. "Fuck. Do you know how many rich fucking cunts I've shot in the last few months? I think I might be a serial killer." 

Hearing a voice that wasn't his and that was undeniably real made Remington sob. He scrambled off the bed, nearly slipping over, and threw his arms around Andy with such vigour that Andy had to grab onto the doorframe to steady himself. "You're here, you're here, you're here." Remington's words came out in a rush, and after, he pressed his face into Andy's neck and took a deep breath in. 

Andy dropped the gun and wrapped his arms tightly around Remington. "I'm here, my darling. I'm here. My god, you're so bony. Come on, we gotta get you out of here." He attempted to step back but Remington tightened his grip and sobbed loudly. "Alright. It's okay," he soothed. "I'm right here. I'm right here. Fuck, what have they done to you? You're shaking so much. Oh, my love. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Fuck. How about I take you to the hotel I'm staying in? This room is depressing as shit. It smells like damp mould. I'll run us a bath. Does that sound okay? Or do you need hospital first? Has he hurt you badly? Fuck, sorry, I'm rambling. Tell me what you need and we'll do it. But I should change shirts because I just shot -"

The intense relief made Remington vomit down Andy's shirt, cutting Andy off mid-sentence. 

"Ah. Okay. Now I definitely need to change shirts." He pulled back, holding Remington's waist. 

"Sorry," Remington mumbled, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Very not good right now." He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand. When Andy let go of him to take off his shirt, he started to sob again, pressing himself to Andy's bare chest and calming down once he felt arms around him.

Andy began to stroke his hair. "Hospital?" 

"Bath." 

"Alright. Bath. But only if you're not unwell." 

"No, I...not unwell." 

"Bath it is." 

Remington nodded against him. 

They descended the stairs slowly, stepping over the body of H, who Andy had shot in the neck. "My aim got pretty good after the first few," he explained, arms around Remington to keep him stable. "I'll tell you all about it later." 

At the bottom of the many stairs, they turned for the door, and Remington said, "You saved me again." 

"Of course I did. You're my boy. I'm sorry it took me so long." 

While Andy drove, Remington started to cry again. He feared that without the physical contact, Andy would disappear, and so he repeatedly put his hand on the man's arm to check he was still real. Andy glanced at him each time, unsure of what went on with H for him to be so desperate for touch. 

When he got out the car in the hotel carpark and walked around the vehicle to open Remington's door, the younger had begun to sob, and he pulled him out of the seat and into his arms, swayed and whispered that he was right there until Remington was a little less hysterical. 

In the lift up to the room, Remington clung to Andy, hyperventilating whenever he moved. "It's alright," Andy said when it happened a fourth time in the space a minute. "Not going anywhere. Right here. Deep breaths, you're okay. You're safe now. I'm right here." As the lift doors opened, he put his arm around Remington's shoulders and walked with him down the hall. He swiped the key card and opened the door, let Remington in first, and said, "Do you want bath or food first?" 

Remington was hugging him again. He didn't answer. 

"Hon?" 

"Huh? What? Sorry. Forgot to listen." 

"Bath or food first?" 

"Food and bath?" 

"At the same time?" 

Remington nodded. 

"I don't see why not. Let me get the room service menu." 

"No!" 

Andy frowned. "What is it?" 

Tightening his arms around him, Remington shook his head. 

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" 

"Don't go." 

"I'm just getting the menu from over there." 

Remington shook his head again. "Don't go," he said again, this time tearfully 

Andy held him tight. "You'll see me the whole time. Just over there." 

"No. No. No. Please. Please. No. Please. Don't go. Don't go. Please." 

"What did he do to you?" 

"Don't go!" 

"I'm not going anywhere." 

"You have to stay here." 

"I'm right here." Andy stroked his hair. "I'm right here, darling. It's okay. I'm right here. You're giving yourself a panic attack. Deep breaths. I'm not going anywhere. I promise. I promise. Right here." 

"Tighter." 

"I don't want to hurt you-"

"Tighter. Please. Please, tighter." 

Andy did as he wanted and wrapped both his arms around him with considerable strength. "Better?" He asked. 

Remington nodded and closed his eyes, rested his cheek against Andy's shoulder, took a series of slow breaths, focussed on the way it felt to be held after such a long time. He was dizzy. 

"Gonna take some steps, alright?" Andy said. "Woah, it's okay. Not letting go. Just need you to walk with me." 

Remington nodded again and moved with Andy, stopping when the elder could reach the menu. "Burger," He mumbled. "And chips. And chocolate cake."

"You got it." 

"Tighter again." 

Andy struggled to order, tried not to let go of Remington for more than a few seconds while he dialled the number and picked up the phone. He secured it between his cheek and shoulder once he had pressed 'dial' and returned to firmly hugging him while he spoke. Then he quickly put the phone back in the cradle. "Alright. Twenty minutes. Let's run the bath." 

"No letting go." 

"I'll do my very best." 

"Tighter." 

"Darling, you'll suffocate." 

"Tighter." 

"Okay. Alright. But if you can't breathe properly, tell me." They made their way to the en-suite, Andy releasing him with one arm to turn on the taps. "Here," he suggested. "Let's sit on the floor while we wait for it to fill up." 

"Don't let go." 

Andy lowered them carefully to the ground and sat against the wall. Remington was quiet in his lap, apart from the occasional sniffle, and when Andy had to get up to turn the taps off, he started to cry again. 

The knock on the door made the tears heavier and he grabbed at Andy, who stood to answer it, begging him not to go. Just a minute later, the man returned with a tray of food, which he put on the side, and Remington was sobbing and gasping on the floor.