A/N: This is something I've written on a whim. Please, don't read if you are sensitive to suicide and depression. This story is heavy on those topics. This is also unbeta'd, sorry.


There was nothing more frightening and saddening than losing a family member. Leo knew that, now. When he was in high-school, the scariest thing he could've imagined happening to him was stepping into history without his textbook. It was a close tie with tripping on the stairs when all the popular people were around. He realized that it was silly - though perhaps very serious at the time - to think that those things were the worst that could possibly happen to him. There was nothing like waking up one morning when visiting your parents, walking into your sister's room to dump a bucket of ice water on her, and finding her on the floor in a puddle of blood. Her own blood. Her wrists were slit, razor blade centimeters from her pale, stiff fingers.

That was the girl Leo had grown up with. She was two years younger than him, not even an adult.

Leo felt like all the air had been sucked out of him. He'd never hear her loud, obnoxious laugh again . . . never see her smile around her braces . . . never tug on her frizzy blonde hair again. She'd never be there to fall flat on her face so he could laugh at her. She'd never graduate. She'd never get married or have a boyfriend. Leo stood in the threshold of his baby sister's room, shocked, staring at her body for the longest time. His heart was frozen in his chest and his skin was almost as pale as hers.

There was no fear like seeing the corpse of your sister, knowing that there was nothing you could do to reverse it. Nothing.

Andy was dead.