Fix Me (Alternative ending)

Chapter 11

Trigger warning. Homophobia, eating disorder mentions, mild panic attack.

The café Emerson wanted to meet Remington in is fairly busy, tourists and a couple of locals buzzing around, ordering coffees and hot chocolates and cream scones. Remington buys himself a tea, pulling the hoodie Andy gave him down as he waits for the barista to make his drink. He isn't sure how this is going to go, isn't sure why Emerson wanted to meet here and not just at home. Remington feels better at home.

With the drink in his hand, he finds an empty table and waits for his brother, who arrives just two minutes later, buying a coffee and joining Remington with a smile. "Hey," he greets, "it's been a while."

Remington nods. "Yep," he says awkwardly, circling a finger around the rim of the white mug.

"So...how are you doing? How's Andy?"

"Fine. He's fine. Everything's fine."

Emerson sighs. He wishes his brother would be more open with him. But he gets it, he really does. Remington doesn't trust him, not really. Not after everything that has been said. The times he told Remington to kill himself, blamed him for his eating disorder. He gets it. "What've you been up to? Any new songs?"

Remington shrugs. "We're recording one next week, remember," he says, "the one I wrote. About Andy. Come on, how can you not remember? I played it to you and Sebastian a few days ago."

The drummer sips his drink. "Oh, right. 'Course."

"Why'd you wanna meet me? Got something to say?" He's urging for an apology. Emerson knows he is. But he won't be forced into it. That's not how it works.

"Just to catch up."

"Why?"

"Because you're my brother and I wanna know what's happening in your life?"

Remington shakes his head. "Yeah, sure you do." He sighs, takes a drink of his tea, and talks again. "Fine, I'll tell you what's been happening. Me and Andy went for a picnic. We met a girl who was about to overdose. I stopped her. Her mother's a homophobic cow. I had a panic attack on the walk home. We played scrabble last night and Andy won."

"You stopped someone from overdosing? That's great."

"Is it? Or is it just depressing that a thirteen year old was thinking about it in the first place?"

Emerson doesn't know what to make of Remington. The boy has changed since they've been so distant. He seems more confident, more willing to speak his mind, to make it known when someone has done something wrong. It's odd. "True. It is depressing. Thirteen, really?"

"Mm. We called social services this morning about it."

"You did?"

Remington nods. "Well, Andy did."

"I see," Emerson mutters, almost spitefully.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

"No, why'd you say it like that? What's wrong with Andy calling them?"

Emerson shakes his head. "Nothing's wrong with it, Remington, it's just that-oh, forget it, you wouldn't understand."

"Why wouldn't I?" Remington asks, annoyed every time anyone does this when they're talking to him. Refrains from telling him something because they think he wouldn't be able to handle it. He's not a little boy.

There's a moment where no words are spoken between them, and then Emerson finally elaborates. "It's just that it seems like he's always the one doing everything, you know?"