Make Me (Remdy)

We All Wish Things Were Different

Trigger warnings: Mentions of death, depression.

Alone.

That's how Andy sits after he and his ex-wife sign the papers to confirm their parting of ways, the breakdown of their marriage.

He hoped it would be freeing, that he'd feel relief at having her out of the picture, but that's not how it feels, not at all. No, it feels depressing, draining, and he's heartbroken.

The love he wanted to last forever lasted barely six years.

He sits alone and the graveyard is as sad as ever.

People walking in solitude, carrying flowers, reading engravings and saddening at the thought of all these people just lying beneath the earth, dead.

Like Andy's marriage.

Dead.

She didn't even hesitate when she signed her name, didn't stop to lift her head for a second and take a last look at her husband before he wasn't her husband anymore. She just picked up the pen and sealed the agreement.

Andy found it harder, not that he would admit that out loud, to sign. He found he was shaking because he really did love her, and he really did try, and he knew she never did. It hurt his heart and it still hurts now, hours later, as he sits on a bench in the corner of the graveyard and watches rather solemnly as the occasional person goes by.

He looks at his hand, at his finger which no longer carries the ring, and sighs.

"You look like you're having the best day ever," comes a voice from down the path, and Andy turns to look at Remington.

"The divorce just went through," he says.

Remington joins him on the bench. "Sorry."

"She didn't even care, she just signed it and that was it. Like she never loved me at all."

"I'm sure she did."

Andy shakes his head. "I know she didn't." He sighs. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I guess. I've been worse. Thanks for dinner last night, by the way. You made me feel better for a while."

"Right back at ya'. I'm glad I could help."

Remington smiles and looks at Andy's hands, clasped together in his lap.

"You been to see your brothers yet?"

"No, I was on the way when I saw you here."

"Mind if I come with you?"

"Please do, I welcome the company." He gets off the bench and throws a quick smile behind him as he begins down the path towards his brothers. Andy follows him and they sit side by side on the grass quietly. "D'you ever talk to graves?" Remington asks eventually.

Andy glances at him. "I like to talk to my son sometimes," he says in a soft voice, "he's not here, obviously. Juliet scattered him and I still don't know where."

"Yeah? What do you say to him?"

"I like to update him on things, y'know? Tell him what's goin' on, how old he'd be, what his immature father has fucked up this week. Normal things."

Remington hums. "What was he called?"

"Lucas. Lucas Biersack."

"Good name."

"I think so."

The younger picks leaves form the flowers as he always does. "Does it, like, help? To talk to him, I mean? Does it make you feel any better?"

Andy carefully removes a leaf from the pot Remington is yet to tend to. "Yeah, it does actually. It's nice to acknowledge him sometimes." The man rests his forearms on his knees and adds, "sometimes I think it's good to remember him properly. I don't believe that when you lose someone, you should try and just 'get over them' because life doesn't work that way and you deserve to have the happy memories you made with them."

Remington glances at him and then looks down at the flowers. "You're clever for a dickhead."

"I get told that a lot."

"I've never, uh, talked to them."

"No?"

"I don't know, I thought it would be stupid. Like...what's the point of talking to someone who can't fucking hear you, y'know?"

The elder nods sympathetically. "I get that. It's strange at first. 'Cause you're just sorta sat there talking shit to the fucking trees. But then if you start believing what you're saying and you let yourself kinda separate from the real world for a bit, it's actually quite therapeutic."

Remington furrows his brows. "Really? It really helps?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Will you not laugh at me if I do it?"

"Why would I laugh? I can go if you want, I don't wanna make you feel uncomfortable."

"Are you sure?"

Andy gets off the grass. "I'll see at rehearsal tomorrow," he says, smiles, and walks away, leaving Remington alone with his brothers and wondering whether he should say anything or not.

Remington brings his knees into his chest and looks from Sebastian to Emerson. "Hi," he whispers, "I, uh, don't really know what to say, but, uh, I just miss you. Like...a lot. Like...all the time." He closes his eyes and mumbles, "this is stupid," before standing up and beginning to walk away. Then he turns around, looks at the gravestones again, and sits back down. "I woke up the other day and forgot you were dead, which sucked because it wasn't until I was showering that I remembered, and then I just fuckin' sat there, like, crying. Seriously, there was no need to leave me like this. You could've fucking warned me. Y'know, given me a week's notice or something. Like 'hey Rem, on the way to the photoshoot with that magazine, we're gonne get hit by a fucking yellow truck, but you're gonna have to survive and see us fucking die and then you'll have to live the rest of your life without us because we're gonna be fucking dead and gone and there ain't shit you can do about it.'

"Honestly, what the fuck? What'd I do to deserve this? Five months, you've been fucking dead, and I don't know how to deal with it. Like...like how do people do it? How do they lose family and just fucking-just fucking get over it and move on with their lives? I don't get it. I don't get what I'm doing wrong. I just wanna hug you again, please. You don't understand. I miss you so much, I don't know how I'm meant to fucking deal with it anymore."

Remington wipes his eyes and shakes his head.

"I literally just wanted to get my life on track and be in a fucking band with you and now I'm sat here most of the time fucking wishing you would come haunt me because at least then I could see you again, but you won't even do that. You won't even fucking haunt me, like...what the fuck is up with that? You're really passing up on the chance to freak me the fuck out? Seriously, why did you do this to me? Why did you leave me? Why did you have to fucking die? Why couldn't you just fucking live, for fuck's sake? Why did this happen? Why did it happen and how is the guy who fucking killed you still alive? How is that fair? How are you dead but he's not? How is that fair? How is that fucking fair? I don't get it. I don't get it.

"I just fucking need, like, one more hug from you, and then I swear, I'll start getting on with my life and leave you do be dead in peace. But that's not gonna happen, is it? Because you're dead. You're fucking dead! You're fucking dead and I'm not and I don't-I just don't understand how the universe worked this out. Like...why did it decide that you had to fucking leave me here on my own with this huge fucking fear of motorways and this confusing fucking guy who just convinced me to talk to fucking stones?"

He wipes his eyes again.

"Why couldn't I be dead instead?"