Remdy one shots

Too Much Effort (Alt Ending)

Trigger warnings: Mentions of depression, suicide

Andy isn't answering the phone and that's not like him at all.

It's been a long night for Remington. He'd gone into the studio at just after midday and is still there at two in the morning, arguing with his brothers over which version of a harmony should be used for the chorus of a song. He called his husband at midnight, wanting to let him know he'll be a couple more hours, and sent a text when the man didn't pick up. He assumes Andy has just gone to bed early, though that's odd in itself. Andy likes to wait up for Remington, to ask him how his day was, before they go to sleep.

Remington is fighting sleep, blinking repeatedly as he tries to pay attention to what Sebastian is rambling on about. Something to do with distortion, but the singer isn't exactly sure. He could pass out if he let his eyes close for more than a few seconds. 

"Maybe we should call it a night," Emerson speaks up, cutting the older off mid-sentence. "As much as I love hearing about this, Rem's falling asleep."

"No I'm not," Remington mumbles, let down by a yawn. 

"Yeah, okay," agrees Sebastian. "We'll finish this tomorrow. Rem, you want me to drive you back to your place?" 

"What? No, I can drive myself," he protests, and as he's speaking, his phone begins ringing on the desk where the computer is set up. Remington gets up from where he's sitting, picking up the device, seeing it's Andy, and answering with, "Hey, sorry, I know I'm really late tonight. We were literally just packing up now." No response straight away, so he adds, "What's up?" 

There's an audible sound but Remington can't make it out. Something falling from a table, he wonders. "You're coming now?" Andy asks. He sounds preoccupied. 

"Uh, yeah. Just about. Why? What's that noise?"

"Like right now?" 

"Andy, what's going on? Are you alright?" 

"Right now?" The man asks again, now with desperation in the question. 

Remington glances at his brothers. His brows are furrowed. He yawns involuntarily. "Once we've packed up our shit, yeah. So in, like...ten minutes, we'll be leaving." 

"Oh." 

"Why?" 

"No reason," Andy says weakly, trying to sound innocent. "See you then, I guess." 

"Baby, what's going on? You don't sound like yourself. Has something happened?" Remington asks, beginning to collect his things from around the room. "You don't have to wait up for me, you know. If you're tired, go to bed. I won't be long." 

A long silence from Andy's end is, eventually, broken by the simple words, "I am tired." 

"Go to bed, then, love. I don't mind." 

"No, Rem..." 

"What?" 

"Nothing. Never mind. Drive safe." 

Remington is frowning. He grabs his jacket and heads for the door. "What're you doing, Andy? Why do you sound like that?" 

"Nothing." 

"Don't lie to me. You're worrying me. Are you okay? Seriously, are you okay?" 

There's another silence. 

"I'm getting in the car now. Can I hang up to drive?" 

"I guess." 

"That's not a comforting response, Andy. Tell me what's going on." He opens the car door and gets in. "Are you committing suicide? Is that what's going on?" 

"Rem..." 

He starts the car, puts the phone on speaker. "I'm literally ten minutes away, please, I beg you, don't do anything. When I get home we can talk about this, cuddle, whatever you need, just please, Andy, please, don't do anything." 

"Ten minutes is a long time." 

"I know. I know it is. But it's a hell of a lot less time than forever, which is how long I'll be stuck without you if you do something right now." He pulls out of the car park and onto the main road. "Listen, baby, you're worth more than to do this to yourself. I promise with literally everything I have, you're worth so much more than to go this way." 

"Remington..." 

"I'm so sorry you're feeling like you need to do this. Please wait ten minutes, I can't let you do this. You're gonna be okay, you just need to not do this right now." 

Andy is breathing heavily. Remington can hear him. "I want it to stop." 

"What do you want to stop, baby?" 

"Everything, Remington. Everything. All of this-this pressure, this fucking pressure all the time. I can't do anything right anymore. I always let somebody down and I can't fucking deal with it. I'm fucking exhausted. I just...I want it to stop." 

"You don't let anyone down, love. You're perfect. And I get it, I do. I'm sorry so much pressure is put on your shoulders and you have every right to feel this way, but please, please, don't do this, not tonight." 

"Why? Why not, Remington? What's stopping me?" 

Remington realises he's above the speed limit. He slows down, anxious to get home as quickly as he can. "You know that trip you've been looking forward to for months? You can't go if you do this now. And that new restaurant you've been wanting to try? Can't go there either. And what about the book you're reading? How will you ever know how it ends if you do this? Everything you enjoy, everything you look forward to...it'll all be gone, Andy. You won't ever be able to watch Batman again, or get another tattoo, or eat those waffles from the desert place. You won't be able to do any of that, Andy, not any of it. Is that what you want?" 

"No, Remington. No..." He sighs. "I want the pressure to stop." 

"And I get that. But there's so much more to your life than just the pressure you're feeling and if that's making to turn to suicide, then we can find ways to handle it, I promise. We can relive some of that pressure, but only if you wait for me to get home. Please, just a few more minutes." 

"I can't do this anymore." 

"And that's okay, baby, that's okay. It's why I'm gonna cuddle you and make you tea, and you can give all that pressure to me. I'll carry it for you. Hell, I'll carry you if that's what you need. I'll do anything, you know I will. Please, wait until I get home."

"Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"But...please get here soon." 

"Of course, I'm almost there. I'm so proud of you. I love you so much." 

 * * * 

The house is dark when Remington opens the door, and he shuts it, locks it, and descends the stairs all without bothering to switch on any lights, resulting in him tripping up the stairs and swearing under his breath. He reaches the top and practically teleports into the bathroom, only then turning on a light. 

Andy is slouched against the bathtub and there's a container of paracetamol beside him. He looks wearily up at Remington. 

"Oh, thank God," the younger breathes, relieved to see his husband still very much breathing. "Oh, baby, I'm so glad you're alive. I'm so proud of you." 

Andy sinks his head down and says nothing. He's crying, though softly, and his hands are shaking terribly in his lap. 

Remington kneels beside him and wraps his arms around his sad shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. "It's okay," he whispers. "Baby, it's okay. I got you. It's gonna be okay." He then helps Andy off the floor and across the landing, sitting him on the bed and retrieving a blanket from the wardrobe, sitting on the bed against the headboard. "Come on, sweetie." He pats his lap like he would for a cat and Andy, without a word, crawls towards him, settles for straddling the younger, and they stay like that, Andy leant against Remington's chest with his chin on his shoulder, until he's asleep. 

Because staying awake is too much effort, but tomorrow he'll be awake again.