A/N: I wrote this as a drabble request/prompt from a friend and thought I'd share it on here. Trigger warnings for this drabble include self-harm, depression, anxiety, and drug use.

Amelia Shepherd was never known for being a fearful girl. After her father was shot, to cure her fear of loud noises, she got hold of firecrackers, setting them off one by one in the backyard until the sound no longer sparked terror in her chest. She was seen as brave, a grave irony to her, all things considered. Because 'fearful' was exactly the word that would be to describe her, had anyone taken the chance to get to know her — to know what it was she hid on the inside.

Seventeen years into the world and she had already witnessed more than most could ever imagine, from the brutal murder of her father to one of her sisters doing a brief stint in the psych ward as a patient, though now when she entered, she held a much different title. She had seen the births of several nieces and a nephew. She had seen marriages and breakups and girls in her class prostituting themselves for heroin. And it terrified her; all of it — the good and the bad, until she could no longer separate one from the other. And the only thing she wanted was an escape.

The escape she chose was found at the bottom of her soon-to-be sister-in-law's bag; a scalpel designed to leave neat incisions. In a family of doctors, it scarcely seemed an odd choice to her, and she could almost tell herself it was just an experiment. She just wanted to see how it felt, or if it might give her the results she so desperately begged for. So as Addison left the room for a phone call, the teen quickly swiped her tool, shoving it in her pocket before waving goodbye through the window. Popping her bubblegum as she walked quickly down the street, she brushed her finger along the metal, almost stroking it for good luck.

Amelia went straight to her room when she got home, admiring the scalpel and relishing in its feel. Her breath quickened in anticipation. The small brunette pulled up her sleeve, deciding not to start with the wrists and choosing instead for markings across her forearm. Her movements were slow and precise, careful not to press very hard — just enough to draw a satisfactory amount of blood. Her brows knit together as she watched intently, studying the wound and almost indifferent to the pain. It was the adrenaline she craved. It wasn't much for her, but it was something, at least. She leaned back against the pillows, waiting for the rush to wear off before taking another careful swipe.

How much time had passed, she had no idea, but eventually a knock came on her door, and she shoved the bloodied blade into a ball of kleenex, quickly hiding it under her pillow and rolling down her sleeve. In came the red-haired beauty engaged to her big brother, and she let out a heavy breath, forcing a smile. "Addie, what's up?"

"I just came by to check on you," Addison replied, shooting a smile of her own as she sat across from the younger girl. "You left in kind of a rush, and you seemed a bit…different when we talked earlier."

"Okay, crazy. Well, I'm fine, see? I'm good. You're probably just PMSing and seeing stuff that isn't there or whatever."

"Amy, are you—"

"Yes, Addison, I'm sure."

"Good. That's a relief. I—" her words cut off and her blood ran cold. Instinctively, the older woman reached for the arm of the girl she considered her sister.

Amelia looked down, her own gut shooting with terror. She had bled through the fabric. "Addie, it's not—I can explain."

But it was too late. She had already begun to push up the soft material, exposing a sticky red mess. Blue-green eyes widened in horror. "Amy," she breathed. "Did you—did you do this to yourself?"

"No." The protest was instinctive, though both knew it was futile. "Please don't—don't tell anyone. It was the first time, I swear!"

Her lips pursing together into a thin line, the surgical intern replaced the sleeve and took her by the hand. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to fix you up. Just come with me."

"No hospitals. Please Addie. They'll call my mom. I can't—no hospitals."

Addison paused to look the younger girl in the eye. She studied her, then let out a weighted breath. "If you don't go to a hospital—Amy, I'll have to stitch you up myself and I don't have anything to numb the pain. You'll feel every stitch."

"I can take it."

"I don't think you—"

"I can take it," Amelia repeated, expression stern and determined.

She opened her mouth to protest, but she knew that look — it was the look that told her never to challenge a Shepherd — and she was already so far from her comfort zone that she had lost track of any idea what to do long before. "Fine. But if it gets to be too much, you have to tell me."

"Okay."

The pair approached the steps of Addison's home, and the intern searched for her keys, fumbling to shove the right one into the lock. Once inside, she ushered Amelia toward the dining room table, deciding it would be the best surface to work on. After sterilizing her materials as best she could — lucky she still kept supplies left over from med school projects — she carefully cleaned the wounds. Each scar appeared deep, though certainly not beyond repair. If she did it right, they may hardly leave a mark eventually; at least she hoped. But the more she examined them, the more she was sure it would kill without any kind of numbing, and she warred with herself over what to do. They were bleeding rapidly and her fiance's sister appeared paler than normal. She had to act.

On a whim, she reached into her bag, digging around for anything she could use to dull the pain and stumbling across a bottle of pills a patient had returned that she had forgotten to dispose of. They were strong, but it was all she had, and one couldn't do much harm, could it? She poured a glass of water for the injured teen and handed her the tablet. "Take this, okay? It'll help."

Amelia nodded, swallowing as Addison began her work. It took a moment for her to feel the effects, and she winced, letting out an involuntary yelp with the first stitch. But as the oxy kicked in, the pain became more tolerable, and her muscles relaxed.

"Amy, why—?" Addison asked. "Why would you—?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

"I don't know. I just—I felt like I wanted something. You know? Some kind of—I wanted everything to stop hurting," she admitted, averting her gaze toward the floor. "Any kind of distraction."

Addison gave a sharp nod, thankful that the stitches meant she wouldn't have to make eye contact. She hated to cry in front of people. "Kiddo, I want you to feel like you can talk to me. If you feel like this again… I want you to call me. I just got a cell phone, so you can get me at any time, okay? Day or night, just don't hesitate. The only time I won't answer is if I'm with a patient or in surgery, and then I'll call you right back. Do you think you can do that?"

It took a moment for her to respond, her mind becoming somewhat foggy from the medication. It was a strange feeling, and one she almost enjoyed. "I—yeah, Addie, I can do that." I won't, but I could.

"I love you Amy. You're like the little sister I always wanted, and I just… I hate to see you hurting like this, and I want to help. My family was never much for—I'm not sure I'll be much help, all things considered, but I'll be here for you, and I won't tell your mother or your brother or your sisters anything if you confide in me. I promise."

She slipped a soft smile across chapped lips. "Thanks Addie. I—that means a lot."

"Is there anything you want to talk about? I'm all ears."

"Not really. I'm kind of tired and I'm not really up for the whole girly-feelings thing." Besides that, the teen worried that the conversation might destroy the buzz she was starting to feel, and the feeling she had craved from the blade's touch seemed to take over. The first time she felt as if she could breathe since she was five years old in the back of her father's store, and she never wanted it to end.

Addison attempted to fill the silence with discussions of mundane topics while the other girl let her attention drift in and out of the conversation until at last the stitches were complete. She then discarded the young brunette's top, offering Amelia to borrow one of her own. Once dressed, the redhead insisted on walking her home, and she didn't mind enough to refuse. The walk was quieter, a fact which both seemed to appreciate until they arrived at the Shepherd family home, where five rowdy kids had once lived though now only two remained.

"Thank you, Addison," Amelia cooed. Though she was grateful for the stitches and the silence, by now she had decided her biggest reason for gratitude toward her future sister-in-law was much more to do with the small tablet that seemed to be proving itself her cure, a mild euphoria dominating what had once seemed a dark and lonely tunnel. "Seriously — thank you."

"You're welcome, Amy. Take care of yourself, alright?"

"I will." As soon as I find out how to get my hands on more of these things. She bent forward to give the taller woman a hug before stepping back and turning into her house. "Bye Addie!"

"Goodbye Amy."