Title: iWanna Die For You
Category: iCarly
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Ship: Sam/Freddie
Rating: PG13
Challenge: Put your iPod/mp3 on shuffle and write to what you hear
Song: #06 – Running Up That Hill by Placebo
Word Count: 698
Summary: She laughs, blood spatters across her lips…

iWanna Die For You
-Drabble-

She laughs, blood spatters across her lips, and her eyes fall half-closed.

"Sam?" he chokes, terrified, wanting to shake her but worrying it might hurt her even more.

Her head lolls back and forth as if she's trying to shake it at him. "What?" she snaps with little anger, almost irritated, like he woke her up just to bug her.

"Keep your eyes open," he tells her. "Just… Just look at me, okay?"

She snorts. "Like I want your face to be the last thing I see, Benson."

He almost laughs, even manages a smile, but then he's holding her chin, turning her face to look at him. She's pale, hurt, and he doesn't like that she looks frail. He feels it in his chest, like a gash in his heart.

She grins toothily but her once white smile is stained a rusty red now. "You get the license plate of the truck that disfigured your ugly mug?"

"Not funny," he growls. He wasn't hit, it was close, but he got away with nary a gust of wind at his back and scraped knees from when she shoved him to the ground and out of the way. It was her that rolled across the hood, smashed into the windshield and then slid to the ground, left behind to die as the car drove away in a screeching mess of metal and broken glass.

He brushes her hair from her face, tries to tuck it behind her ears and away from her greying face. She's shivering, almost shaking, and her fingers dig into the pavement, pulling up tiny rocks that embed beneath her blunt nails.

"I called an ambulance," he murmurs pointlessly.

"No cops," she manages, screwing up her face.

He rolls his eyes. "Sam! You told me there's no warrants out for you!" It seems like such a stupid thing to say, such a ridiculous matter to fight over right now.

She smirks. "I don't… But ya never know…"

He can't stop touching her. He takes his coat off and lays it over her, tries to tuck it in around her to keep the chill off. He strokes her hair, tries to wipe the blood away from her mouth, her nose, but it keeps coming. She doesn't seem to care, just spits it to the side to get it out of the way, not caring when it stains her face, drips to the ground.

His eyes burn, his throat hurts. It was supposed to be him, not her, never her. There's a moment where he closes his eyes, prays, asks God to switch them, to put him in her place now. He gets angry when nothing happens. Screws up his face and impatiently curses the so-called Almighty. This isn't right. It's not fair. Yes, she was never nicest person, and yes, she constantly ribbed him, but she just saved his life. She just pushed him out of the way, not caring that it was her who would be broken and bleeding.

"Cut it out," she growls through grit teeth.

He blows out a shaky breath. "What?"

She glares at him, snarls, "You think praying it was different's gonna do anything?" She rolls her eyes. "It's done. It's over, Freddie."

He startles, his chest hurts. 'Cause she called him Freddie, not Fredweird or Freddo or Sir Dorks A Lot. Just Freddie. And that means this is serious, this is bad. So he glares back and he growls, "I'll pray if I want!"

She laughs breathlessly, tries to shake her head, stares up at the sky and sighs.

And he cups her face, strokes her wet cheeks. That's not blood, he knows, that's tears, that's giving in. The ever-stubborn Sam Puckett is dying and she knows it. But he won't accept it, so he holds her, he lays down next to her and he cups her face, he strokes her cheeks and he murmurs against her ear, all the while wishing somebody else might hear him. "Please, God, please… Just swap our places…"

But the deal never happens, never comes through, and he's left holding her as she dies on a slab of concrete, never to forgive himself or God.