Hey everyone. Yay, stats are fixed! It only took what, four months?

As always, thanks so much to my faithful reviewers, Idcam, Marrowsong, and BanannaSammich! They're the real ones.

I know I say it too often, but I'm not thrilled about this one. I just wanted to give you guys something. It's been 2 months and I really do hate leaving you hanging.

Heather had slept for nearly three days straight once she had finally come home. Barely speaking on the journey home she returned to her room almost immediately. There was a whirl of emotion when she entered the room where she had hatched her plan to end her life, a room she thought she would never see again. Yet somehow she was glad to see it.

To her agitation, her mother checked on her frequently over those three days. Heather was aware that it likely stemmed from genuine concern or the worry that there may be another attempt on her life. All the same, it was still quite irksome. The plain truth was that Heather was simply exhausted. She was exhausted from her mental load and her lack of proper nutrition and proper sleep during her stay in the institution.

Heather was finally forced from her languid stupor one afternoon around two o'clock. It was required of her to begin therapy sessions with a new doctor – much to her chagrin. When she had entered their shared bathroom, she had come face to face with Reves. Heather halted in her usual startled manner and wished to turn back to her room, but the look in her sister's eyes kept her tethered in that spot.

They continued to stare at one another for a moment and Heather noticed the tears beading in her sister's ocean blue eyes. The next instant, Reves charged at Heather and threw her arms around her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Reves knew she wasn't a hugger and much for physical contact but in that moment she didn't give a damn.

Heather was arrested at first, her heart leaping into her throat as she was somehow convinced that Reves was going to attack her in much the same manner that she had tried at the facility. When she fell into the older girl's embrace, Heather relaxed, her arms coming up tentatively to wrap around her. Heather gave consent for the tears to flow, reasoning with herself that if Reves was crying she must be granted permission as well.

Reves pulled away and then looked at her with a feigned glare as she wiped black streaks from her cheeks. "Don't you ever try to throw a fucking table at me again," the older girl warned her although she was struggling the keep the edge to her voice.

"Well, I wasn't trying to throw it at you," Heather admitted sheepishly as she dropped her gaze, "but it was obstructing my access to you…"

"Not on your life, little girl." There was a pause. Perhaps that wasn't the right thing to say, but Heather didn't seem to acknowledge it. "Hey, I'm sorry about, you know, saying what I said. I was just so worried and so pissed about it at the time. I still am, truth be told." Reves looked at her baby sister and swiftly turned away before she began tearing up again. "I just, I know it's selfish, but I don't want you to go. I mean, you are one of the few people who actually mean something to me on this Godforsaken piece of dirt. I know I am not very tactful in the way I say things and I often find myself eating my words, but it's not like I don't know what you're going through. I am the unwanted child; the black sheep, remember?"

Heather was about to refute that her last statement wasn't true, but there had always been a divide between the way she and her sister were treated, however small it may appear. It was another reason that Heather had attempted to take her life. She thought that somewhere in her sorrow-stricken mind if she were out of the picture perhaps things would be better for Reves as well as others in her life. Heather didn't voice this however and allowed her sister to continue speaking.

"I just don't want to see you let them win, if that makes sense? Because you deserve so much better and those assholes don't deserve to be fucking gum on your Chucks." The blonde was openly crying again.

Heather was certain that she didn't agree with her sister's last sentiment, but she felt it like a bullet to the heart nevertheless. "Thank you," Heather muttered. Her voice still felt strained from all the screeching and shrill cries she bellowed days ago. She had wondered whether she had not done irrevocable damage to her vocal cords by way of her banshee shrieks.

Heather bit her lip to keep it from trembling so. A tiny, noise escaped her throat as tears cascaded down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she croaked out. Heather was regretful due to the terror and the anguish she had caused. But mostly she was guilty because while she was astounded to find herself still alive, deep in her heart, she still wished more than anything to go.

Heather endeavored not to meet the gaze of her new therapist as the woman looked at her with patient expectance. This was her third session but for the past thirty minutes, the only sounds in the room had been the ticking of the clock and the creaking of leather as the woman shifted in her chair.

Heather sat on one end of a plush, oversized couch. She was curled up, her knees pulled to her chest. It didn't seem to be the most well-mannered position, but the other woman didn't appear to mind. In fact, it didn't appear that she minded much of anything, even to the point of letting nearly three sessions slip passed without urging Heather to utter so much as a sentence. What could there possibly be to concern herself with, Heather wondered? The woman was being paid handsomely by her parents; Heather was certain.

"I think we'll call it for today," the woman told her, breaking the silence. The woman, or rather Dr. Delinsky had a placid sort of tone to her voice, not exasperated in the least. "I know you're still finding it difficult, trying to open up to a complete stranger. We'll give it another shot next week."

Heather turned to look at the woman then. She had chestnut-colored hair pulled into a sleek and professional bun behind her head. She was lovely and elegant, Heather thought. Her blue eyes were fixed on Heather in silent empathy. Or pity, perhaps. That seemed to be everyone's choice expression when regarding her.

Dr. Delinsky stood and smoothed out her charcoal gray pencil skirt. Heather was perplexed by this action. The skirt seemed flawless, just like it's wearer. The young girl couldn't imagine the woman having any type of hardship in her entire life. She knew her thoughts were petulant and couldn't be further from the truth, but it felt as though those around her possessed a fortune that seemed to elude her.

The doctor walked a few paces to her desk which was situated on the left side of the room. Pulling open one of the drawers, she retrieved a plain, brown leather-covered book. She returned to Heather and held it out to the girl. "In the meantime, I want you to have this," Dr. Delinsky told her. Heather glanced at the book and then up at the woman with inquisitiveness in her green eyes, but said nothing. "It's a gratitude journal," the doctor continued, "I would like you to try to find at least three to five things throughout the week that you are grateful for and write them down in here." An apprehensive expression waved over Heather's visage. "This is for your eyes only. You don't even have to tell me what you put here. Unless of course, you would like to," Dr. Delinsky assured her.

Heather stared at the woman for a few moments and then down to the journal in her hands. The girl remained mum, but nodded her understanding and took it from the woman's hand. Heather leafed through its blank pages. It was simple, yet well crafted. Heather was doubtful that she would find much content to fill its pages with, but it was an enormously kind gesture nevertheless.

Heather stood from the couch and followed the woman to the door. "See you next week, Heather," the doctor told her. Their eyes met for a few moments and Dr. Delinsky smiled at her encouragingly before opening the door for her. Heather scurried away without a reply as she saw her mother in the waiting room standing up from her chair.

Sara swiftly approached the doctor. "How did she do this time?" she inquired nervously. Their session shouldn't have ended for another twenty minutes or so.

"It's a process. It will have to be at her own pace. Everything's not going to change overnight," Dr. Delinsky told her.

"I understand," Sara murmured looking almost sheepish.

"I did give her something that I hope will help, however. I'll see her next week. Same time, correct?"

"Thank you. Yes, same time," Sara confirmed before following her daughter out of the office.

When they got into the truck Sara couldn't help but ask, "So what did the doctor give you?"

Heather seemed to be keeping her vow of silence but held up the blank journal flipping through to display its empty pages. However, she said nothing about its intended use.

Sara furrowed her eyebrows for a moment. For as long as she could remember Heather had kept some sort of journal – diary, what have you. Truthfully, she wasn't exactly sure how that was supposed to help, but she didn't want to come across as skeptical. "Oh. That was nice of her," Sara remarked politely, before starting the engine and heading home.

Reves stood staring at the mug slowly spinning on the turntable as she heated up water in the microwave. The mug, a gift from Erik, featured Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Reves yanked open the door a second before the timer went off and took it out, plopping the tea bag into the tepid water. She wasn't one for extremely hot drinks, unlike her sister who seemed to prefer to scald her tongue.

To her great irritation, her father suddenly walked into the kitchen retrieving a beer from the refrigerator. Reves had been doing her best to steer clear of the asshole and they had not been on speaking terms for several weeks.

"You talk to your sister?" Mark asked her in a nonchalant manner.

Reves felt her anger well. What did he give a damn? She debated on ignoring him and walking away, but since he had actually addressed her, she figured that would not be the best decision.

"Yes," Reves answered shortly, trying in vain to mask the agitation in her voice.

"Thought she was gonna rip you to shreds for a second," Mark almost chuckled at his statement. Almost.

Har, har. Oh, that's so funny, isn't it? Reves wanted to ask but kept her mouth shut. She stared down at the brown liquid steeping into the water as she contemplated just walking out of the room.

To be perfectly frank, Reves wished he was still in jail. Seemed like a good place for him. Unfortunately, he appeared to have been released rather quickly. It seemed Sgt. Smith just so happened to saunter into the station as the Deadman was being booked. Once he heard what had happened, he promised Mark (on the down low, of course) he would clear up that little situation for him. All he had to do was come by his house so his kid could meet the one and only Undertaker. Talk about calling in a favor.

"What were you saying to her?" Mark narrowed his eyes, yet his voice wasn't exactly accusatory.

"I told her she was selfish," Reves spoke bluntly as she finally lifted her eyes towards him in a defiant glare.

"Ya shouldn't have said that," Mark chided her giving her the type of expression she was accustomed to.

"Why not, if it's the truth? Should I just lie to her?" Each of her words carried a venomous edge as her eyes cut toward him with a sharp glare.

The expression didn't go unnoticed by Mark who was sure that if looks could kill, she would be stabbing him right through the heart at this moment. She was definitely out to punish him and he couldn't exactly say he blamed her. This was normally the part where he would fly into a rage, telling her to shut her mouth and quit being so damn disrespectful. That approach, he realized hadn't been working very well for him all these years. Nevertheless, he couldn't help the irritation that rose up inside of him. Releasing a sharp breath, he stayed silent for a few more moments.

"You're sister ain't selfish. Christ, she's the least selfish person there is," Mark corrected her and even surprised himself with his words.

"Of course. Precious baby, Heather," The statement came out with more disdain than she had intended, but she had spent her life being compared to her too-good and obedient sister, a reminder that she was the outsider, the black sheep in this family.

"Hell, you thought so. Except the first time you met her in the hospital. Ya whacked her right on the head." Again, there was almost a hint of amusement in his voice, which was bewildering.

Reves had never heard that before. Well, I suppose that explains a lot, she pondered as a sheepish expression momentarily drifted over her visage.

"I wanted to tear yer ass up, but your grandad wouldn't let me since ya were only two."

He made that statement like he was proud of the fact. At least someone had the sense to stop child abuse. The words almost spewed from her lips as the glower returned to her features. Why didn't she just leave? Why was she standing here entertaining this jerk?

He continued to speak although she silently willed him to stop. How typical? "Later on when we left the hospital you were sittin' in your grandad's old lazy boy and your ma put her in yer lap." Mark paused and his permanent scowl softened a bit. "It was like you fell in love with her right there and that was your baby. Nobody could hurt her. Didn't even matter if I whooped yer ass seven ways to Sunday."

Reves had always protected Heather as if it was her God-given task. Another chuckle escaped him but he swallowed and his placid mood instantly turned somber. Even that night after Raw she had taken up for her sister while he had flown into a frenzy like a barbarian. Mark looked at her nose which was swollen and bruised at one time. It had mostly faded and healed, save the remanence of a yellowish tint.

However, Mark's guilt hadn't faded. He tried not to dwell on it, but as harsh as he could be, he never could have fathomed his actions that night. Sure, when they were young, he was not above tanning their hides if they needed it and he had no problem keeping them in line if he sensed disrespect. But even he knew he had gone off the deep end.

"Rev…girl, I-" he started to speak gently but she cut him off.

"Don't." Reves said through pursed lips as she openly glared at him. "Don't pretend to apologize for something we both know you are not sorry for," she told him boldly as she pleased. She was done cowering down to him. If he wanted to do it again, then so be it.

Mark stared at her, unsure of how to respond. He was sorry. Sorry in the sense of being an overbearing asshole. But at the same time, it's not like he could expect her to even want to forgive him or hear him out. He hadn't taken the time to listen to them, so why should they do the same for him?

If only Vince hadn't had that hair-brained scheme to bring back Hall and Nash, none of this would have happened. Who was he kidding? Yes, those assholes were at fault to a degree. If he ever ran into either of them in a dark alley, they'd be lucky to leave alive. But this all started with him. Reves was right, as much as it pained him to admit.

Mark looked into her eyes again and for all the brazenness to be found there, there was more swimming beneath the surface. Hurt, betrayal, and disdain. All things that he caused but didn't know how to fix.

"I'm heading to bed," Reves informed him as she picked up her mug and left the kitchen without glancing back.

Mark let her go, not sure what he could say to make her stay knowing she didn't want to.

This isn't how he had pictured things turning out when he learned he was going to be a father. His relationship with Jodi had been on the rocks for a while when he found out she was pregnant. He had been seeing Sara behind her back and although he knew it was wrong, he didn't have the balls to break it off for quite some time. That wasn't until Jodi expected them to be a happy family.

One of Jodi's biggest issues was that she refused to stop partying and drinking. She had told Mark it didn't matter what happened if he was going to refuse her and their baby. It was true, he no longer wanted her at that point, but damn it that was his kid she was carrying! She needed to act like she had some sense. When Mark chewed her out in front of dozens of people at a party one night, about how she needed to get her shit together, she told him the baby wasn't his and left in a rage.

After that, he hadn't seen or heard hide nor hair from her until he learned went into labor early. He had only heard from the state that the baby was born and he was named as the father. At least Jodi did one thing right in the midst of being a junkie as it turned out.

When they first brought Reves home from the hospital Mark vowed to be the best dad despite her rough start in life. He never wanted her to know all the pain and suffering that took place in the beginning. He had the best of intentions, but as he got bigger in the wrestling business and deeper into his character, it seemed to take on a life of its own and take over his personality as well until it was consuming everything about his life.

Alone, Mark cracked open the beer he had been holding for the past several minutes. Taking a long swallow he tried to push the thoughts of the things he couldn't control out of his head. He didn't know how to make them come around and he wasn't very adept at broaching overly emotional topics. Perhaps he could try again later? If only he could figure out how.

The next week, Dr. Delinsky ushered Heather into her office again. "How was your week?" she asked as the girl took a customary seat on one end of the plush couch. The doctor sat in her leather chair across from the girl and crossed her legs as she picked up her notepad. The girl shrugged apathetically as she folded her knees up to her chest. Dr. Delinsky didn't particularly like her beat-up sneakers on the sofa but decided to forego saying anything about it until she was able to build a sense of trust with the girl.

"Any particular thing you would like to discuss this week?" Dr. Delinsky attempted.

After a few minutes, Heather released a heavy sigh as she averted her gaze from the doctor to the arm of the couch and began toying with a snagged fiber that could be found there.

Reminding herself that she needed to remain professional, Dr. Delinsky had to refrain from letting forth an agitated sigh herself. It looked as if this was going to be another fruitless session.

"I'm…not supposed to be here."

The words were so faint, that the therapist was unsure whether they had been spoken at all. Attempting to mask her surprise she asked in a neutral tone, "What do you mean by that?" Knowing not to ask too many leading questions, she left it at that.

"My calculations, they were right," Heather muttered as her gaze shifted back to the doctor. "I did everything right," the girl cried almost frantically as her eyes welled. The dam had broken and a deluge of tears sprang forth.

Dr. Delinsky looked around for the tissues that were normally on the side table so that patients had them readily available, but for some reason, they were on her desk. She walked a few paces to her desk to grab them and handed the box to Heather.

"Heather, do you feel like you want to end your life right now, or have you felt that way recently?" Dr. Delinsky questioned in a calm and even timbre after she sat back down in her chair.

A tightness clenched inside Heather's chest as she thought it over. "I…I don't think I should be here," she admitted. "But…I'm too much of a failure to complete it," her voice fell back to a defeated whisper.

The doctor's eyes fixed on her. "Why do you think you shouldn't be here?" She already knew some of Heather's backstory from her consultation with her parents, but she wanted to hear it from her.

There was silence for several minutes as Heather did nothing but sniffle, wiping away her tears and wishing for the life of her that the doctor would do anything aside from keeping her eyes patiently trained on her, waiting for her response. Heather released a shaky breath and the words finally came. "I-it's that…I am n-nothing more than a burden on those around me. I have caused so much turmoil for those in my life, that I believe they could only benefit from my absence," Heather admitted in her usual whispering tone.

"Can you walk me through some of that? Would you like to start with your parents? Why would they be better off without you?" Dr. Delinsky asked.

Heather averted her eyes from the older woman's gaze as a sense of embarrassment washed over her. She had already divulged too much. She was nothing more than a blubbering fool and she was sure the doctor had heard it all before. It wasn't like she was some distinct case. Heather knew this and yet, it felt as if no one in the world could possibly comprehend all of the atrocities she felt she had committed against those around her.

Before Heather had a chance to speak the doctor inquired, "Actually, can you just tell me about them? What is your relationship in general like with them?" This too she had an inkling about, but it was always best to hear it from the client's perspective.

Heather bit her lip. This was not a subject she wished to discuss on any grounds. But she surmised that she had opened the floodgate, and now she had little choice. "They are...it's okay. They're fine. I suppose," Heather muttered flatly.

The therapist raised an eyebrow. "If that were the case, I assume you wouldn't be here, would you?" she stated.

Her words weren't condescending, but they certainly called Heather's bluff and the girl frowned.

"My mother is," Heather paused, searching for the correct terms to describe the woman. "My mother is certainly well-intentioned. I...I know she does care for me; I simply cannot release the contrition that I have caused her a great burden in her life."

"Has she ever expressed this to you?" Dr. Delinsky questioned.

Heather shook her head. "No. Not verbally." The young girl dropped her gaze again. "I would like to retract my previous statement. She is more than well-intentioned. Even for her misgivings, she is lovely really. I believe deep down she really does wish for the best for my siblings and me," Heather felt her heart swell as she admitted these feelings. "However, I..." Heather croaked as her words fell off and a fresh wave of tears overtook her.

"It's okay. Take your time. You are doing great," Dr. Delinsky encouraged her gently.

Heather pulled a couple of fresh tissues from the box to wipe away her tears and blow her nose. "I..." Heather swallowed hard. "I often think of all the aspirations I have impeded her from achieving. She became a mother very young. She was my age when my brothers – twins – were born. Yet even before that, she was caring for my sister."

The therapist looked a little confused at that statement. "She is not your sister's biological mother, then" she tried to clarify.

"That is correct," Heather nodded.

The doctor looked straight into Heather's eyes. "Do you feel that you are somehow at fault for your mother's decision to parent children at such a young age?"

"I...I am not entirely certain..."

Dr. Delinsky shook her head. "Heather, that was not your decision, nor is it your responsibility. Therefore it is not your burden to carry."

I think I know that - logically of course," Heather mumbled her response as she dropped her gaze, "And yet, I do feel the situation would be less worrisome if there was one less individual in the family to tend to."

She felt she didn't belong. The therapist got that. "And how about your dad?" the woman prodded.

Heather's face clouded over like a storm had just started brewing underneath. She gave a bit of a terse, scathing chuckle, certainly not one of amusement. "My father? He is distant, yet overbearing. Unyielding. Unsympathetic. In some instances bordering on barbaric. Shall I continue?" Heather's words spewed out with venom.

She hadn't even intended to be that harsh in her description of her father, but her residual anger at the situation took hold and she could only conjure disparaging descriptors at the moment.

Dr. Delinsky suppressed an inward sigh as she looked at the clock. Four weeks in and they were finally getting somewhere. She knew however, recovery was often a slow process. "Well, that is all the time we have for this week. Thank you, Heather. You did wonderfully. I know it's not easy opening up to people when you feel that you are never heard."

Heather's heart wrenched at her words and she bit her lip to stop a fresh wave of tears.

"I do have to ask though - and remember this is confidential, it will remain between us. Is someone hurting you right now? A parent, a friend anyone else you know?"

Heather considered her inquiry with a long pause before she spoke, "No. I mean my father is not the most affectionate or thoughtful man, but I wouldn't say he is hurting me," Heather felt as though that was half a lie, but she was also eager to leave. She felt she had divulged too much and was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable and exposed than she already did.

Dr. Delinsky frowned as though she could see right through Heather's facade. "I am going to speak with your parents first, but I have a colleague who specializes in family counseling. I'd like to refer you all to him. I think it would be beneficial for everyone," the woman told her.

Heather battled the urge to release a scathing snort. Best of luck getting the Deadman to agree to anything involving emotions, Heather wished to inform her but remained silent. Instead, she merely stood from the sofa and headed for the door.

The doctor stopped her once again before it was opened. "I really am proud of you today, Heather," she smiled at the young girl. "I don't know if you're using the journal as a tool, but please keep it up if you are."

Heather regarded the woman for a moment and then nodded her head slightly before scampering away in her usual flighty manner, desperate to escape the office.

I hope this wasn't too boring. Sorry if it was. Kev was supposed to have a scene somewhere in here, but I didn't have the strength tbh. Next time.