Make Me (Remdy)

We All Need Looking After

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death, depression, sorry luvs I do be making this shit sad

It's raining when Remington goes to see his brothers on Sunday in the evening, after rehearsal with Andy's band. It was awkward with Andy today, since last night ended on such a sour note. They could hardly look at each other.

The rain pelts down onto him as he walks, having forgotten a coat because he was in such a hurry and so desperate to see them, even though seeing them is such a painful thing. Remington finds his way without thinking towards the graveyard and down the paved paths to where they are, decorated with their white, pink and yellow flowers and resting beside one another in an eternal, inevitable sleep.

Only today, the flowers aren't where they should be.

Remington slows when he notices, wiping water droplets from his cheeks and frowning. As he nears his brothers, his heart drops and a hand presses to his mouth. "No..." he whispers, bending down and picking up one of the trampled, torn flowers, petals falling from it and landing on the ground. "No," Remington says again, dropping the flower and trying to come to terms with the scene.

It's clear that someone, most likely a group of teenagers during the night, has found enjoyment in spray painting red lines over the engravings and destroying the flowers.

Remington touches the paint. It's dry and he knows it won't come off easily. He picks up another of the flowers and holds it to his chest as he sees the crack in Sebastian's headstone. It's been wacked with a hammer.

His hands are shaking. He touches the crack and then the paint and tries desperately to work out why anybody would do this.

The rain continues hammering down. Remington collects the flowers and holds them carefully even though they're already past saving. Most of them have been stood on, crushed against the stone. There's red paint all the way across both the graves, covering the names, and a considerable crack is slicing through the top left corner of Sebastian's.

Remington sits on the grass and releases the flowers. Then he screams and grabs his hair in his hands.

He calls Shy but she doesn't pick up, so he tries Larisa to find her phone is turned off. She must be working late in the salon.

As he's trying Shy again, Andy rounds the corner and Remington comes into his view. The man quickens his pace when he sees what's happened, making out the red paint from a distance. He kneels on the ground and pulls Remington into his chest, turning him away from the vandalism and putting a hand to the back of his head, umbrella shielding them both.

Remington cries, tears heavier than the rain, into Andy's dry shoulder, until it isn't dry anymore.

Andy's knees become wet from the grass he's knelt on, but he doesn't care. Nor does he care about the tears on his jacket or the dripping hair that his hand rests on.

For ten minutes, they stay there in the rain with the dead flowers beside them, listening to it thundering onto the umbrella that Andy holds in his cold hand, letting water drip down his back so it doesn't drip down Remington's.

Eventually, Andy helps the boy to his feet, holding the umbrella over his head as they walk quietly away from the devastating sight. Andy takes Remington back to his place without saying anything. He guides him into the living room and sits him on the couch before leaving the room to make hot tea and find something dry for the younger to change into. "Here you are," is the first thing he says, putting a folded pile of clothes on the arm of the couch and a mug of tea on the coffee table. "Shower if you like, it's just upstairs."

Remington looks up at him, eyes wet, heavy. "Thanks," he mumbles, picking up the tea and sipping it.

Andy smiles gently and leaves the room again so Remington can get changed. He makes himself a drink while waiting, turning and smiling again when there's a presence in the doorway. "Dry now?" He asks softly.

Remington nods and sniffles. "Thanks," he says again, "I, uh, I'll go home."

At this, the elder shakes his head. "No no, you'll get wet again. You can have the spare room."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I can't make you go home. It's the least I can do."

"Okay."

Andy approaches, mug in hand. "Come on, I'll show you where it is. You look tired."

Again, Remington nods, trailing behind him up the stairs and into a decent sized bedroom. He rubs his eyes and yawns.

"If you need anything, let me know. The bathroom's just down the hall on the left and my bedroom's opposite. I'll be downstairs if you want anything, okay? Or you can text me." Noticing the stiffness of the boy, he adds, "make yourself at home. Sleep well."

Remington sits on the bed once Andy has left the room, sighing, and puts his head in his hands. He tries to rid the image of the vandalism from his mind but it seems that task isn't worth attempting, so he crawls under the covers and lets it make homage in his head.

For a while, he's on and off sleeping. Drifting in and out of consciousness. But it feels strange in an unfamiliar bed and he knows his brothers won't be sleeping peacefully tonight and that thought makes him cry again.

At around midnight, Remington hears Andy going to bed. He listens to the click of light switches, the closing of doors, the running of the tap. Half an hour later, when he still can't sleep, he gets out of bed and tip-toes down the hall to where Andy said the bathroom was.

Remington opens the door opposite.

Andy seems already to be asleep. Or at least close to being asleep. As silently as he can, Remington approaches the bed, hesitating and looking at the man's pretty face before lifting the covers and sliding in beside him.

"You okay?" Comes a half-asleep question. Andy turns over and finds Remington in the dark. When he gets no response other than a muffled sob, he wraps the boy in his arms and doesn't let go until he's fallen asleep.

Then he whispers, "I like you too."