Save me. (Remington Leith X Andy Biersack)

Chapter 17

Trigger Warning.

Andy guides Remington up the stairs and into the bathroom. He sits the boy on the toilet seat and searches the cupboards for the first aid kit. "What did she do to you, sweetheart?"

Remington looks down, exhausted and sore. "Doesn't matter," he mutters, not seeing why the man wants to know.

With a frown, he opens the box and routes through it for the antiseptic wipes. "Yes it does," he says quietly, concerned. He's never seen Remington like this before. Sure, he witnessed him having a panic attack, but this seems different, worse. The boy is really hurt this time, physically scarred.

"Threw some stones at me," the boy whispers, ashamed. He feels so weak. "And-and pushed my head under water."

Andy carefully wipes the wounds, cautious about not hurting him more than he already is. "That's terrible," he states, still quiet. He doesn't really know what to say.

Remington winces as the wipe makes contact with a particularly painful cut. "Can I stay here tonight?" As much he he would love Emerson's comfort he's not prepared for the drama it will cause, and he feels so safe with Andy.

"Of course, baby boy," the man responds, throwing the wipe away and helping Remington to his feet.

The boy is feeling a bit better now. "You didn't reply to my text," he says, needing an explanation.

"Oh baby, I'm sorry, I've lost my phone. I got a new one today but don't have the same sim card."

Remington feels stupid now. Of course it had a simple explanation. "Oh," he whispers, "sorry."

They make it to the bedroom, where Andy finds a shirt for Remington since his is wet from the river. "Here you are," he says sweetly, "I'll wash your shirt."

Taking the shirt, the younger of the two tugs his off, discovering the deep purple bruises Holly left on his arm when she grabbed him. He can't bear to look at them.

He gets the shirt on and quietly thanks Andy, so grateful that the man is helping him. God knows what he'd do if the man hadn't been home.

The day goes by slowly. Remington watches the television mindlessly, his head elsewhere. He can't get the image of Holly out of his brain. The way she looked at him, as if he were a dead rodent in her house that she had to dispose of. That's what it feels like. Like she's disposing him, making him useless to anyone else by ripping him up, trampling on him and then leaving him to wither away in the bottom of the bin bag.

Evening comes and the men retire into the big double bed. Remington doesn't want to be in Andy's way so avoids making any sort of contact with him despite how much he is desiring a cuddle. Andy, instead, wraps the boy in his arms and holds him into his chest. "Good night, sweetheart," he whispers, adding on, "I love you," because he can see how much Remington needs to hear it

With a quiet, tired, gasp, Remington snuggles into the embrace. "Love you too," he mutters in response, yawning.

Her eyes are so cold, so sharp. Her face so cruel, so deceiving. Her words so harsh, so mean, so angry. Fists colliding with his face, black eyes everyday, makeup to hide it. Nails scraping his hands and his arms and his back. Arms flinging him around as if he were a little child's teddy bear, fluff seeping out of the seams and sewn badly back together with the wrong coloured thread. Eyes weary, teary, dull. Lips swollen, red, bruised. Neck smeared with bruises that hold disturbing memories. Hands trembling, always trembling.

Bodies clashing, crashing, crunching. Skin bruised, bashed, burned.

The second night in a row, Remington wakes up from a nightmare. Tonight is much worse. He bolts up, gasping and panting. His wet skin sticks to the sheets and his throat burns along with his mind which encases the most destructive thoughts and the most damaging memories. The sore heart in his chest thumps hard enough to shatter his ribs and burst inside him.

Andy wakes at the sudden jerk beside him, flicking on the light by the bed to see what's going on. "Remington?" He sees the boy shaking and is overwhelmed with sadness. This poor man has experienced so much horror in his young life. Remington doesn't look at him. Andy places a hand on the boy's shoulder and Remington darts out of the bed, his eyes tearing up.

He stands with his back against the wall, shivering in fear. Suddenly he is terrified of Andy. "Please," he stutters, "don't." There is so much terror in his voice and Andy doesn't know what to do.

"Hey, baby, hey, it's okay," he tries, now sitting on the edge of the bed.

Remington shakes his head, staring at the man with such wide eyes. "Not okay," he musters out, sobbing. His chest is aching with ever heavy breath and he feels like he's about to pass out. Andy reaches for his phone. The simple action terrifies Remington, who slides down to the floor as his legs give way. "No, please-please don't- please don't hurt me," he begs, desperate and full of dread.

Wish his mobile in his hand, the older man, worried, calls Emerson. Luckily the younger brother picks up. "Andy?"

"I'm sorry if I woke you, Emerson, but I really need your help." He talks quietly, trying not to scare the boy anymore than he already is.

"What's up?"

He watches Remington sobbing on the floor, still stuttering out desperate pleas and begs. "It's Remington," he begins, "he had a nightmare and when I touched him he bolted out of bed and is now begging me not to hurt him. I can't help him, Emerson."

On hearing the news, Emerson slides out from under the covers, careful not to wake Shy. "He hasn't had one of those nightmares for months," he mutters to himself, "fuck." The man quickly gets dressed in the dark.

"He-he knocked on my door yesterday with bruises and cuts on his face and told me that Holly was back. He asked me if he could stay over and seemed okay last night." His words come out rushed and panicked.

Emerson listens while hurrying down the stairs. "Oh fuck," he says, "I'm coming now," and he hangs up.

Andy can't do anything but wait. He daren't move in fear of scaring Remington. The doorbell rings and Andy knows he has to unlock it to let Emerson in. He stands up and moves slowly, but the moment he steps closer to Remington the boy screams, shielding his face with his shaking hands and bringing his knees up to protect himself.

The man gets to the door, leaving the room and running down the stairs. He opens the door and steps to the side. Emerson dashes up the stairs to his brother.

He finds his best friend in an all too familiar state. "Remington, hey, it's me, it's Emerson," he whispers, crouching down. Remington cautiously looks up, the soft voice familiar and comforting. "It's just me," he assures the boy, "you're safe." Moving closer to his brother, Emerson carefully encases his trembling body, and Remington melts into it. Emerson always gives him an immense feeling of safety and comfort. "You're safe," he repeats, the boy now cradled in his lap."

Remington sobs into the man's shoulder. "'m scared," he mutters, voice breaking.

Drawing circles into his back, Emerson rests his chin on his brother's head, the usually spiky hair soft and dark. "I know," he says, sadness in his tone, "it'll be okay, Rem, I'm not going to let her get away with this. It'll be okay."

Exhaling, the older brother begins to calm down. "Thanks," he whispers, "love you."

"I love you so much," Emerson says, "it's going to be okay."