Make Me (Remdy)

We All Have Friends

Trigger warnings: Mentions of suicide, depression, PTSD, death, alcohol (brief)

Remington does go home, and unhappily so, leaving Andy to sit alone in the kitchen and cry. 

He hadn't realised how much the loss of his son was effecting him until it all was brought to the surface in the form of Remington's dead brothers, hadn't given himself enough time to mourn the devastation of losing a person he created. 

Remington is right, too. He was just a baby. It's true Andy never really knew him, and yet that doesn't make it any more bearable than if he had grown up with him for twenty years. Either way, he was a living, breathing being who was supposed to still be alive today, and instead, Andy is left with a divorce and a quiet but insistent desire to drink until he is unable to stop. 

There's a part of him that wants to call Remington, to tell him he was wrong, they need each other, but he knows he shouldn't, and it isn't the case. They don't need each other. At least, not the way they wish they did. 

The reality is that Remington needs his brothers but he can't have them, so he tries to find them in other people, tries to rely on others the way he could rely on them. And Andy so wishes he could be the person Remington needs him to be, but that isn't possible. Perhaps that's the saddest things about all of this. 

* * * 

Andy goes to the graveyard two weeks after. He sits on the usual bench and looks over the gravestones, sighs. For a long time, he stays there contemplating what happens next. Writing for the new album begins in next week, and then they'll be back in the cycle of recording, listening, rerecording, listening again , arguing over musical and lyrical choices, and all the while, he and Remington will have to act as though nothing happened between them. And how on earth are they supposed to do that, when clearly, they're still in love with each other?

Andy knows it's true. He wishes it wasn't, but it is. what makes it worse is that he has never experienced anything as intense and as all-consuming as this unavoidable love. He doesn't know how to make those feelings go away. He isn't even sure they ever will go away.

A presence he was hoping not to see comes into view, hands in pockets, hood up, and to keep from speaking, Andy gets up and walks away from him. He knows if he stays, he'll say something like 'I miss you', and while it's true, he does miss Remington, saying it won't achieve anything. They don't need to go through it all again. The fighting,  the crying, the sex. There's simply no need. 

Remington watches him as he goes, teary. He, too, wants to speak, to express how much he wishes things were different, that he's sorry for everything, but by the time he has made sense of what all his emotions mean, the man has gone. There's no one here but the reminder of all who once were. He continues to his brothers but is unable to get the image of Andy out of his head. 

* * * 

The first day of writing arrives. It's a shock to Andy to be back in the studio after so much time away, and a shock he is able to get over. That is until Remington shows up, and he has to try hard not to look at him. By the end of the day, he's about ready to grab the younger and pretend they never argued at all. 

After everyone else has left and Andy is searching for his misplaced car keys, Remington approaches. He has on a long sleeved turtle neck and tartan pants, and looks better than Andy had expected. His hair has been recently cut, his eyes are clear and bright. He looks well. 

"Hey," is what he begins with.

Andy looks at him from on his hands and knees under the desk. "Hey," he returns. 

"Have you lost something?" 

"Uh, yeah. Keys." 

"Can I help look for them?" 

Andy smiles inwardly, then realises who he's smiling for, and promptly stops. "Sure," he says. "Thanks." 

Remington is quiet again. He moves the two sofas to check underneath them. "I wanted to, uh...talk," he says eventually. "I know it's not a good time, but..." 

"Oh. About what?" 

"I don't know. Everything, I suppose." 

Andy sits in the desk chair. "I don't know, Remington. I'd rather not get into it." 

"I feel like there are some things I should tell you." 

"Okay?"

A sigh. Remington, too, sits down, having failed to find the keys. "I tried to kill myself again."  

The information makes Andy's eyes widen. He has no response. 

"The same day you, uh, the same day you made me leave. I went home and tried to OD. Then I realised what I was doing and just felt, like, really alone, so I called Shy and told her. She called an ambulance, obviously. And I was fine. I didn't take enough. That made me feel even more stupid. Anyway, I was in hospital for a night and they made me talk to someone. A therapist, you know. So I did. She's nice. Nothing like the last one. I go twice a week now. She's diagnosed me with PTSD, which I guess I already knew I had, but kinda didn't want to know, if that makes sense. Anyway, I'm on meds which make me sleepy but they seem to work." 

"And you're telling me because..." 

Remington frowns. "Because you care? And I want you to know." 

"Well, I'm glad you're talking to someone about it." He gets up off the chair. "God, where are my keys?" 

"I thought you'd care, Andy," Remington says now.

"I do care. I do. I just..." He shakes his head. "I don't want to give you the wrong impression." 

"What impression would that be?" 

A hesitation, then, "That we can be what you want us to be." 

"I don't want anything, I'm just telling you what's been going on because I thought you might be interested in the fact that I'm not dead." 

"You want to push your way back into my life and I can't let that happen. I'm really glad that you're getting help and that you're okay, I am, but if I start having these conversations with you, we're gonna go right back to where we ended, and I don't want that. I just want to work on this album and be friends, okay? We can be friends." 

Remington could cry if he wasn't working so hard on keeping himself stable. "Okay," he replies. "Friends. We're friends." He lifts the sofa cushion. "Your keys are here," he says, puts them on the corner of the desk. "See you tomorrow."