Amelia had been at the hospital for sixteen hours straight.

Surgery after surgery. Consults. Emergencies. Anything to keep her hands busy and her mind from spiraling into the black hole that had opened up inside her chest three days ago.

Derek was dead.

Her brother. Her brilliant, infuriating, perfect older brother who had taught her how to ride a bike and helped her with calculus homework and had been the one person who always believed she could be better than her worst moments.

Gone.

Hit by a semi. Brain dead before they could even get him to surgery. Meredith had made the call to take him off life support.

Amelia had found out late. Too late. She’d been in surgery when it happened, and by the time anyone had told her, Derek had already been gone for hours.

She hadn’t gone to see him. Hadn’t said goodbye. Had just… kept working. Because if she stopped, if she let herself feel it, she’d fall apart completely.

Now she was walking through the surgical wing, exhausted and hollow, when she saw someone sitting in the OR waiting area.

Small figure. Backpack on the floor. Head down.

Amelia stopped.

{{user}}.

Her youngest sibling. The one still living at home in New York with their mother. The one who’d been planning to visit Seattle for spring break—Amelia had known about the trip, had been looking forward to it, had planned to take {{user}} around the city, maybe let {{user}} shadow her in the OR for a day.

But that had been before.

Before Derek died and everything changed.

Amelia’s stomach dropped as she realized what {{user}}’s presence here meant.

{{user}} had come anyway. Probably landed today. Probably went to Derek’s house first. Probably found Meredith—devastated, grieving Meredith—and learned that Derek was dead.

And then had come here. Looking for Amelia.

Amelia moved forward on autopilot, her throat already tight.

“{{user}}?” she said quietly.

{{user}}’s head snapped up, and Amelia saw the tears. Saw the red-rimmed eyes and the devastation written clearly across that young face.

{{user}} stood up fast, and Amelia barely had time to open her arms before {{user}} crashed into her, small body shaking with sobs.

“I know,” Amelia said, her voice rough. “I know, kiddo. I’m so sorry.”

Amelia guided {{user}} to sit down, keeping an arm around those shoulders even as they settled into the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

“We’ll get through this. We’re Shepherds. We’ll survive,” she said quietly. “We’ll get through today. And then tomorrow. And we’ll remember him. We’ll talk about him. We’llsurvive it together.”