A/N: The feelings in this are based on my own struggles with depression. I tried to describe them as accurately as I could and hopefully I did okay.

This is my first modern AU, and it's ridiculously long, but I hope you like my interpretation anyways! Review please!

She feels dead inside, if that makes any sense. Like, she's not sad, really, but she's not exactly happy either. She's utterly indifferent to everything, even the things she used to love, and that's what hurts the most. When she's walking into her fencing lessons and Syrio is smiling slyly at her and she feels absolutely nothing, that's when her heart really aches.

She doesn't tell her parents how pointless life seems to her and they don't notice on their own, and that's fine. She doesn't mind. People always say feelings like this are a 'cry for help' or whatever, but she honestly doesn't want any attention. In fact, she wants the exact opposite. She wants to be invisible. Her mom and dad are free to dote on Robb and Sansa and Bran and Rickon all they like, so long as they leave her out of it. If they start keeping tabs on her like they do with her siblings, they'll find out about her various exploits, and ship her off to some fancy therapist, and she can't have that.

Catelyn and Eddard Stark would just about die if they knew the stuff their daughter was up to. It's almost funny to think of them walking into the slightly seedy pub down the street, only to find their little girl chugging beers and taking drags off of a joint. It's less funny to think of them rolling up her sleeves and finding the miniscule scars running up her wrist.

Their worry would be understandable, even to Arya. No one should do that to themselves, no matter what they're going through, but she needs to. It's the only way she feels anything anymore, and these days even pain is precious. Besides, she doesn't do it often. It's more like a prayer than anything. Just a prayer, for every person that's ever wronged her and every person she's ever wronged.

There's really no need for them to know, because she has it under control. She always does. It's not an addiction or anything, it's simply boredom. And as soon as she finds something she enjoys more, she'll stop. But that day hasn't come yet, and until it does, it's better that no one knows.

They find out, of course. Looking back, she's not sure how she expected to hide it, especially when she was so careless. It was Sansa's 21st birthday, for God's sake. The place was crawling with family members, all too quick to gossip, yet she still insisted Theon buy her more and more drinks, until she finally passed out. It was shameful, frankly, and it makes it worse that her parents have turned this all into some big family affair. Robb and even Jon have taken breaks from their respective careers to see their sister, and Sansa called in sick to her classes, and Bran and Rickon both got the day off from school. So now, the entirety of the Stark clan is huddled around Arya's hospital bed with confusion and concern in their eyes.

Robb sits right next to her, like the supportive, protective brother he is. Ned and Catelyn hover at the foot of the bed, holding the two youngest boys to them, despite the fact that they're both more than old enough to handle themselves. Sansa is perched on a chair all the way in the corner, gaze clouded over with unfathomable thoughts. Jon is the one that is hardest to look at; all she sees is disappointment and questioning on his expressive face.

"Look, it's not a big deal," Arya begins, tracing a scar on her arm. Something fierce - whether it's anger or love, she's not sure - flares up in Robb's eyes.

"Not a big deal?" he repeats incredulously. "You could have killed yourself, and it's not a big deal?" Arya winces.

"I wasn't going to kill myself," she insists, rolling her eyes. "I'm fine."

"Obviously not," Sansa blurts out, the same sneer she always wears on her face. "You're so desperate for attention that you ruined my birthday party!"

"Sansa," Ned warns, but he's too late. Arya is already brimming with rage.

"You think that's what this is about?" she demands. "You think I did this all because of your little party? Well, guess what, Sansa: the world doesn't fucking revolve around you and your social calendar! I did this because I fucking had to, and I honestly don't give a shit if it interfered with your plans."

Sansa whimpers, like she didn't realize her comment would incur all this rage. It's different than their usual fights, because this time it's obvious that Arya means every word. Robb, Jon, Bran, and her parents all look horrified, and Rickon can't seem to even comprehend what is going on. Arya can't bring herself to care. They should have known better than to start caring now, when she's so far gone. After years of not talking to her (except, of course, to scream or yell about grades), they can't be surprised that she's changed.

"Why, Arya?" Catelyn whispers brokenly, playing the part of the caring mother flawlessly. "Why did you have to do this?"

"Because I'm bored," she growls, flopping back into her pillows. "I'm so bored."

"That's all?" Ned says, something like frustration glinting in his eyes. "You hurt yourself and break the law because you're bored?" She can hear the exasperation in his voice and sighs softly.

"Yeah," she confirms after a moment. "I just need a distraction."

"This is not a distraction," Ned tells her gently. "This is destructive behavior." She scoffs. He sounds like he's taking the words right out of the doctors' mouths. He probably is.

"Whatever," she dismisses him. "Can you just tell the doctor I feel okay or something so we can go home?" The older members of the Stark family (and the single Snow) exchange nervous glances and shuffle their feet. The tension increases tenfold when no one responds. "I am going home, right?" she pleas, her voice a couple of octaves higher than normal. She reads the answer in their eyes before they even have a chance to open their mouths.

"You have got to be kidding me!" she whines, not caring how bratty she sounds. "This is ridiculous! I'm fine. Just because I don't spend my time at tea parties like Sansa, doesn't mean I'm about to throw myself off of a bridge!"

"Arya," Sansa intervenes. The youngest Stark daughter glares at her sister with fire in her eyes.

"Can you not?" she snarls. "If you didn't get the message before, this isn't about you."

"Girls-"

"God, and you wonder why I hate it here."

Sansa flinches back like she's been slapped and Ned's eyes turn steely at her proclamation. It's the same look he used to give Arya when she would run away to chase cats at restaurants - the look that tells her immediately that he's disappointed in her and that there will be consequences. Despite herself, she feels her heartbeat speed up in dread for what's coming.

"You are staying here until the doctors say you can go," he informs her firmly, making it obvious that the discussion is over. She looks away so no one sees her start to cry.

"Leave," she commands quietly.

"Arya," Catelyn begs.

"Leave."

They file out one by one in an orderly line, almost like they're a group of kindergarteners leaving lunchtime. She averts her eyes and crosses her arms stubbornly. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks to herself bitterly. That's all they are. She doesn't notice that Jon is still lingering in the doorway.

"They're trying to help, you know," he points out, alerting her to his presence. She rolls her eyes at him. If it were anyone else, she would scream and throw pillows and rage until they finally left. But this is Jon, and they understand each other to a certain degree. As Ned's illegitimate child, he's an outcast, and she fancies herself a bit of an outcast too.

"Trying, but not succeeding," she quips.

"Come on, Ar. You haven't even been to one of these sessions. It could work."

"It won't," she swears. He hesitates.

"Remember when Bran thought he would never walk again?" he asks. She nods. Of course she remembers. "He never wanted to go to physical therapy - ever. Remember?" She nods again. "But now he can play soccer again, and go skiing, and do all these things he never thought he would be able to do. Even though there was just the tiniest chance he would walk again, it worked."

"I'm not Bran," she reminds him. He smiles sadly.

"I know. But that doesn't mean you can't be like him." She doesn't say anything and he simply sighs. "What's going on, Arya?" he murmurs.

"It's like I said before," she mutters. "I'm bored. I mean, I know that's not what you want to hear or whatever, but I don't know how else I would describe it. It's like, I don't even care about anything. Nothing matters, and I just..." She shrugs. "I don't know anymore." He doesn't say anything, which she appreciates. He knows nothing he tells her will make a difference and he knows that she'll tell him more when she's ready. She doesn't trust anyone else to get her like that.

"You can always call if it's totally terrible." She arches an eyebrow.

"You think your commander will look kindly on you taking calls during your shift?"

"No," he admits. "But I don't mind. You're family, Ar, and I want to help you just as much as the rest of them."

He leaves before she can even insist that she doesn't need help.

Therapy is just as awful as she expected it to be. She sits in a room and listens mindlessly as some lady with a certificate in psychology chatters away about self-esteem and family dynamics. She only speaks when she's spoken to, and even then she says no more than she must. She becomes skilled at guessing exactly what the doctors want to hear and before long her efforts pay off. The staff deems her ready for group session almost immediately.

She doesn't really expect it to be any better than her one-on-one meetings, but at least she'll have something to do. Reading people has always been a hobby of hers and where better to practice than a room full of crazies? Her lips twist into a demented smile as she slides into her seat. The collection of psychos she's placed with ranges from a grossly overfed boy called Hot Pie to a practically emaciated teen named Lommy. With all this variety, someone's bound to be interesting.

Despite the wide array of people, her assumption is promptly proved wrong. Every single one of them is boring and obnoxious and rude. Hot Pie's there because his mum thinks he eats his feelings. Lommy is a kleptomaniac and hardly someone Arya could see herself getting along with. It's unclear how old they are, but it's immediately obvious that they're both mentally stuck at age twelve. They snicker to each other when she's introduced to the group and forced to tell her story. Apparently they think blacking out at your sister's wedding is even more pathetic than their tales of woe.

"What, were you drowning your sorrows because no one would want to marry someone as ugly as you?" Hot Pie mocks.

Arya bites her lip in frustration. She knows she's not as classically beautiful as Sansa is, but she used to be a lot worse. When she was a child she always wore her hair in a choppy bob, making her unnaturally long face look like a horse's. Her gray eyes were bug-like and she never had any curves. Now her hair curls softly down her back and she's grown into her body. Her features fit into her face and if nothing else, she can at least be described as exotic-looking. If she wanted to, she could certainly rope someone into dating her. But she has no need for love, so she stays alone.

"The opposite, actually," she replies smoothly, with a hint of malice in her tone. "I was celebrating because I wasn't marrying someone like you." To be honest, it's not her best comeback, but the boys still seem stumped by it. Lommy struggles for a suitable response.

"I bet your family was thrilled for an excuse to get rid of you," he blurts finally. Arya freezes. Insults about her looks, she can take, but never her family. Although she exiled them all from her room and openly declared that she hated them, they are all she has. Kids like her - pugnacious kids, in the words of her second grade teacher - don't make very many friends and blood ensures a bond with someone, at least.

"My family sent me here because they care about me," she hisses, but the words ring false, even to her. They sound too practiced to be true.

"Yeah, then why hasn't anyone visited you once?" Lommy shoots back. She's about to tell him it's because she told them not to, but a low, gritty voice stops her.

"You know what I'm here for?" it asks bitingly. Arya turns to look at the man with pitch black hair and striking blue eyes. He hasn't spoken once today, and although she can't imagine where he's going with this, she finds herself oddly intrigued. Maybe he is the interesting person she is looking for. "I'm here because I like to hit things. Do I have to hit you, too?" The boys look like they're about to pass out from fear and rightfully so. Mystery man is pretty big, and they are certainly not strong enough to stop him from beating them to a pulp.

She almost wants to congratulate him on shutting them up. The corners of her lips curl up and she opens her mouth to say something.

But he's gone before she can even begin.

His name is Gendry, and he is a regular, and he is here because he is angry. That's all she knows about him. Sometimes she wonders what makes him so angry, but then she asks herself the same questions and she realizes that his is not an anger defined by who's or why's. His a deep-seated, inconsolable rage that festers in the soul until it can't be contained any longer. She knows because she is angry, too.

He is interesting, yes, but he is also stubborn and bullheaded and far too like her for her own comfort. More often than not he disagrees with her for the sake of argument, and all their conversations end as shouting matches. The doctors seem to think they will destroy each other, but she decides she likes him. They are both moody and depressed and she guesses that makes them a pretty good pair. So she treats him the way she treats everyone she likes: she is rude and dismissive and perhaps even cruel.

They don't even communicate that often, at least, not in the way one would think. They exchange exasperated glances during group sessions and sigh at each other periodically. It becomes a language for them; with just the arch of an eyebrow, Arya can tell exactly what he is thinking. Of course, it is all very superficial. They don't tell each other their life stories or divulge their deepest secrets. They know next to nothing about each other and she wants to keep it that way.

"What are you even doing here?" he asks one day. She bristles. They mock the others behind their backs and rant about their hatred of everything having to do with their therapist, but they do not talk. Not about real things.

"None of your business, stupid," she rebuffs him. It has become a sort of nickname for him; they both know she doesn't mean it in a bad way. He is stupid, though.

"No, I mean, you're rich, right?" he presses. She shrugs.

"My dad is," she admits. She may not like the responsibilities that come with being Ned Stark's daughter, but she is proud of her father nonetheless.

"Then shouldn't you be with some fancy specialist from a top uni, instead of with the rest of us?"

"I'm not just some spoiled brat," she hisses. "And I'm not that crazy. I don't need special treatment." He looks doubtful, but doesn't press the matter, and for that she is grateful. She's sick of everyone insisting that she's lost it, that she needs help, that there's something wrong with her. None of them seem to understand that this recklessness is simply who she is, and maybe not even Gendry really gets that, but at least he's learning to accept it.

Sansa is the first to finally visit. She glides over to her younger sister in the small courtyard the patients are allowed to relax in, pretending not to notice the hulking man sharing the bench. But Arya knows her sister, no matter how much she dislikes her. She doesn't miss the way the redhead's eyes flick back and forth, and she can practically see wheels turning in the oldest Stark daughter's brain as she weighs the pros and cons of the friendship.

"Arya," Sansa nods. "The nurse told me you'd be out here." The greeting is just as awkward as expected.

"Well, she would know," Arya notes wryly. "You know, seeing as I'm barely even allowed to piss without supervision." Sansa flushes bright red and her eyes dart to Gendry once again.

"I was hoping we could speak in private," she hints.

"About what, dear sister?" Arya taunts, her eyes glinting mischievously. "How you're going to recover from the disgrace of your little sister going absolutely bonkers? Whether you'll be able to salvage my reputation once I get out?" Tears swim in Sansa's eyes and she fidgets uncharacteristically.

"I just wanted to..." she tries. "I wanted to talk, like sisters do." Her voice sounds awfully small for a twenty-one year old and Arya knows why. Blood binds them together but they are not truly sisters. They love each other, of course, but they don't giggle and gossip and braid each other's hair. Sansa coming to 'talk' is about as ridiculous as Arya competing in a beauty pageant and they both know it. It's not a bad fantasy to indulge in, though, so Arya humors her.

"Alright. So, tell me something sisterly." Sansa shifts awkwardly before leaning in, as if to tell a secret.

"I would prefer it if we could be alone," she whispers, glancing at Gendry. He looks almost as uncomfortable as she is, watching the confrontation with worried eyes and ready to run in the other direction at a moment's notice. Arya's never told him much about her family, so this is the first time he gets even the littlest taste of what the Stark household is like.

"Please," Arya scoffs. "In a place like this, we'll never be alone. Even if you rope one of the nurses into getting us a nice little room to chat in, there'll be a guard outside the door. You don't have a medical degree, you see, so you can't be trusted to stop me from breaking a window and slitting my wrists with the glass." Beside her, Gendry stiffens.

"Really, Arya, I wish you wouldn't talk like that," Sansa scolds.

"We don't always get what we want," Arya shrugs cruelly. The tears in her sister's eyes are threatening to spill over, and she feels the slightest bit guilty, but pushes it away. They betrayed her. She is angry, and she has a right to be.

"Please," Sansa begs. Her pleading is met with silence. Arya purposely averts her eyes as her sister rushes out of the courtyard, wiping at her cheeks furiously and biting her lip to hold in sobs.

"You could have talked to her, you know," Gendry points out.

"I don't see what it has to do with you," she counters.

"If you didn't want me to say anything, you shouldn't have done that with me sitting right here." It's a good point, but Arya's not going to admit that.

"It's just how I work," she explains. "Sansa should know by now." He thinks a moment before responding.

"Do you talk to any of your family members?" he asks. She eyes him suspiciously. She think she knows what he's doing, but it doesn't make sense. Not when he's just as angry and reserved as she is. He has no right to fish for information like this.

"My half-brother Jon, sometimes," she puts forth cautiously, not willing to share anything more. "What about you?" she retaliates. He shakes his head.

"Got no family," he says simply. "My dad ran off before I was born and my mum died a couple years back."

"So who do you live with?"

"Myself."

She wonders briefly if this is what sparked the fiery anger inside him, but decides it's not worth asking. Neither of them want to tell their secrets yet and she is fine with that. She likes the veil of mystery over their relationship; for a short while, she is no longer Arya Stark. She is whoever Gendry believes her to be, and revels in the freedom of it.

They don't talk much more about who they are and where they came from until a few weeks later. They are reading old, dusty books in the courtyard and she is occasionally reciting passages to him. Her voice is soft and she is tired, but she has (somewhat embarrassingly) always loved to read, ever since her father would tell her stories to put her to sleep at night.

"'I think everything's terrible anyhow... And I know. I've been everywhere and seen everything and done everything,'" she quotes, barely looking up from the copy of The Great Gatsby on her lap.

"Not everything's terrible," he replies after a moment. She arches an eyebrow.

"Then what isn't?" she challenges, folding her book over her chest.

"You're not that terrible," he mutters. She throws her head back and cackles sardonically. When she finally regains control of herself, her mouth is set in a harsh smirk.

"I'm the most terrible of them all, stupid."

From that point on, they figure out the puzzles of each other's minds piece by piece, slowly chipping away at the idealized versions of themselves they put forward. She doesn't mind as much as she expected too. She enjoys learning about the blackest, most vengeful parts of him just as much as she enjoys finding out that he is illogically terrified of dogs. She absently pictures what it would be like for him to meet her Irish wolfhound, Nymeria.

She imagines it is not as fun for him, figuring her out. There are no sweet, amusing parts to Arya as there are to Gendry. Every crack and crevice of her is filled with darkness.

Apparently, he doesn't agree, because he never leaves like she expects. They go on like they always have, joking and laughing with each other. People act like they're going to elope or something, but it's not like that at all. They need company and they understand each other and it works. Theirs is a friendship of convenience more than anything else.

It changes when he kisses her. It only happens once. They are arguing, as usual, over some unimportant comment one of them made. Her face is red and her hair is messy and she looks fierce, in a way, and he swoops down and he kisses her and it's over. Afterwards they just stare at each other until he storms away and punches a wall.

It's chaste as can be, but that doesn't matter. The atmosphere between them is forever altered. Not necessarily in a bad way, though; in a way that makes them know that they are together now and will be together later and this is not a fleeting dream. This is reality, and they can hold hands or fight, and none of it means anything. Their friendship is deeper than a crush and it is deeper than a spat. They can fall in love and out of love as many times as they please, and they can kiss anyone else they like, but they will always be Arya and Gendry.

He leaves first. The doctors sign a certificate saying he's better and he packs his bags and any seconds he's going to be gone. She wants to cry and scream but neither of those would stop him. He's normal again, after all.

He doesn't have anyone to come pick him up, so they are alone in the moments before he drives away. Selfishly, she is thankful for that. She doesn't think she could deal with meeting his entire family.

"You have my number, right?" she confirms. He nods.

"Yeah. I'm not gonna forget you," he reassures her, smirking. She scowls.

"Of course you're not gonna forget me, stupid." Secretly, she is comforted by his promise.

"I'll come visit."

"You don't have to." (She wants him to, though.)

"Take care of Hot Pie and Lommy." She rolls her eyes. Her former bullies have grown to accept her, sometimes even joining them at lunch. They're still annoying as ever, though.

They don't say anything for a while and an awkward silence ensues. Deep down, they both know this is not the end, but that does not stop the fears from creeping back into their minds. It would be stupid to say things won't be different after this. Everything will change, and change, regardless of what it is, is scary.

He fiddles with her braid and she pokes his chest and they both try to think of something to do. There is simultaneously nothing and everything to be said, if that is possible. Their words are meaningless because they both know already, but it would feel wrong to leave without some avowal of their everlasting friendship. Gendry is the first to start to say something, but suddenly Arya is grabbing his shirt to pull him down to her level and they are kissing. She pulls away breathlessly, eyes twinkling as she looks up at him.

"Would you just leave already, stupid?"

He grins and kisses her again and then he is gone. She watches him drive away because there is nothing better to do and tries not to show any sign of weakness and cry.

She cherishes the warm yet painful ache in her heart, though. It may hurt, but she decides it is nice to feel again.