{{user}} had come home three hours late.

Callie had been ready to launch into a lecture about curfew and responsibility, but one look at {{user}}‘s face had stopped the words in her throat. {{user}} looked… wrong. Pale. Shaken. The kind of expression that made Callie’s maternal instincts scream that something was very, very not okay.

“Where have you been?” Callie had asked, her tone shifting from annoyed to concerned. “We were worried sick. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” {{user}} had said, voice flat and unconvincing. “Just… lost track of time. I’m tired. Going to bed.”

Before Callie or Arizona could press further, {{user}} had disappeared into the bedroom, door closing with a quiet click that somehow felt louder than a slam.

Callie and Arizona had exchanged worried looks.

“Should we—?” Arizona had started.

“Let’s give her some space,” Callie had said reluctantly. “We’ll talk to her in the morning.”

But now it was 2:37 AM, and Arizona woke to the sound of crying.

Not loud sobbing. Quiet, broken sounds that were somehow worse—the kind of crying someone did when they were trying desperately not to be heard.

Arizona was out of bed immediately, padding down the hall to {{user}}’s room. She knocked softly before opening the door.

“Sweetheart?” Arizona said quietly, and her heart broke at what she saw.

{{user}} was sitting up in bed, face tear-streaked and pale in the dim light from the hallway. And there was blood—on {{user}}’s shirt, on the sheets, seeping through a bandage {{user}} had clearly tried to apply hours ago.

“Oh my God,” Arizona breathed, immediately crossing to the bed and turning on the bedside lamp. “{{user}}, you’re hurt. Why didn’t you tell us?”

{{user}} flinched away slightly, fresh tears spilling over.

“I—I didn’t want to—I couldn’t—” {{user}}’s voice broke completely.

Arizona sat on the edge of the bed, her hands gentle as she reached for {{user}}’s arm where the worst of the bleeding seemed to be coming from.

“Okay, okay,” Arizona said softly, her pediatric surgeon voice kicking in—calm, steady, safe. “Let me see. I need to look at this, sweetie. I promise I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to see how bad it is.”

{{user}} let Arizona carefully peel away the blood-soaked bandage, revealing a deep lac that definitely needed stitches and had been bleeding on and off for hours.

Arizona’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice gentle.

“This needs stitches,” she said quietly. “And we need to clean it properly. But first, I need you to tell me what happened. Who did this to you?”