Summary: "Funerals remind me why I don't like the color black." Puckentine angst.

Genres: Angst, hurt/comfort, friendship, romance.

Type: Oneshot, first person.

Warnings: Death, loss, and depression referred to and mentioned.

Author's Note: Sorry for the generous amount of angst I've been contributing to the fandom. I'll write brighter and happier stuff when I'm done mourning the show's cancellation. Again, sorry. But... enjoy?

. . .

It's so bright. So white. So clean it makes me sick, kind of.

Where am I?

I try to walk, but I don't know which direction I'm going to. It's all too white. Too empty.

There's nothing to see, nothing to show me where I'm heading or where I even am.

Nothing but a blurred figure in the distance. Familiar, but somewhat ghostly. Maybe it's all that whiteness surrounding it. Surrounding me, too.

Nothing feels real.

Come over here, Cat.

The figure calls for me. Or at least I think it's the figure that's talking. Otherwise that's just creepy.

Cat, come quick. It's so much brighter on this side!

Come where, I ask.

To this side. It's better here.

But that's too far away, I say. What if I can't go back?

Why would you want to go back?

Don't you want to, I ask. Aren't you scared of what's on that side?

The figure beckons at me again.

There's nothing for me on your side.

What about me, I ask.

That's what I'm saying, you come too! You're the only thing worth staying for, but look at this. Look at how much better everything is, on this side.

I start to take a few steps towards the figure, and for a while it begins to magnify in my view and look less blurried, the distance between us decreasing.

And then I remember something, and my feet stop.

Wait, I say. What about Nonna? And my friends? I can't just leave them. They'll have to come too.

The figure's head droops, its posture slouching, the way people's do when they're disappointed. I see that a lot, so I should know by now.

That's not how it works, Cat.

Well, I can't just leave them without saying goodbye, I say. I try not to sound like I'm picking them over the figure, but some things just sound the way they do.

Fine, then. I'll go myself.

The figure turns on its heels and retreats into the endless whiteness behind it, getting blurrier and blurrier.

I try to run after it but I don't know if I'm really running.

And then I remember. And I know who that figure is, and I realize what the other side means, and suddenly the whiteness seems to dissolve.

Wait, I shout. Sam, wait for me! Don't go to that side!

I'm running so hard, I don't think I've ever run so fast and so hard in my life.

I stretch my arm in front of me like I'm Harry Potter and she's the golden snitch, and for a second it looks like I might get her...

Sam, wait, I yell. I'm here! I'm still here!

My hand gropes wildly in front of me and I feel something and nothing at the tips of my fingers at the same time.

Please stay, I beg.

/ /

Funerals remind me why I don't like the color black. Or maybe it's the other way around. Maybe I don't like funerals because of all that black.

So much black.

The whole time I'm there I try to keep my eyes shut because at least then I won't see so much black. Black everywhere. Even the insides of my eyelids have hints of pink on them instead of total blackness.

When everyone begins to leave and they're all telling me they're sorry, all I can do is nod and remind myself how to breathe without crying.

Finally, it's just me and the blonde next to me, and we're both looking down at the tombstone trying to look for the right things to say.

"They told me it was quick," the blonde mutters, the look on her face uncharacteristically solemn.

I know, I say.

"So she didn't go through too much pain," she continues. "Some people have it harder. They struggle before they realize they're not ready to leave."

She looks over at me, and for a moment I wonder if she knew what I saw while I was unconscious in the hospital.

"That's what they say, anyway," she mumbles, looking away now.

I guess she was always ready, I say.

At this, Melanie Puckett puts her hand on my shoulder and looks me so straight in the eyes it's already getting hard not too cry again.

"You made my sister real happy, Cat," she says. "That's why she didn't mind going. She knew she made enough memories with you. With iCarly and everything, yeah, but you too. She cared a lot about you, you know."

How'd you know, I ask. My voice is shaky already. If she cared about me, she would've stayed, right?

"Because," she shrugs and turns to look at the grave. "You're here. And not down there with her."

And my heart gives me that lurching feeling for a split second because I remember the screeching of brakes and crunching of metal, and Sam's desperate yell and the way her strong body cushioned my fall, fitting snug between my more fragile self and the hard ground.

I remember it all, and that's why it hurts all the more.

She was always the strong one, I whisper. Anyone would have thought she'd be the one to survive a crash like that. Not me.

Why me?

She was gone before I even woke up in the hospital. I never had the chance to tell her how glad I was that we were friends. And to thank her for protecting me, like always.

"I think you're strong too, in your own way," Melanie smiles at me, a smile so genuine it makes me sad. "You'll get through this. We all will. You have good people in your life - Sam had only you here."

Before she leaves, she wraps her arms awkwardly around me and the whole thing just reminds me that I'll never again be able to hug the other Puckett twin, the one who's not a hugger.

I start to cry again when I see her retreating into her car in the distance because seeing Melanie in black really reminds me of Sam and her leather jacket. And it breaks my heart because seeing Melanie should make me feel like I'm seeing Sam again, except it's the other way around.

They're too different from each other - worlds apart - that being in the presence of one only reminds me of the other's absence.

/ /

Sam Puckett saved my life when she met me.

Sam Puckett saved my life when she left me.

Forever.

I can't breathe again.

/ /

I come home and wherever I go, wherever I try to hide from the looming sadness over me, all I see and hear and smell and touch just reminds me of Sam's absence.

At night, I sneak into her bed and pull her blankets over me like I used to. And I imagine her putting a single arm around me. And I try to put on a smile like I used to.

I don't leave Sam's bed until Jade and the others break down the apartment's door and come looking for me.

They all hug me and cry with me - even Jade! - but it doesn't help so much because my heart just keeps repeating not Sam, not Sam, not Sam.

When the kids come, they ask me where Sam is and all I can do is smile and tell them she's gone away for a while. I can't bring myself to say gone forever. Not out loud. I'm scared that if I do, she'll really be gone. Forever.

I'm not ready for that.

I guess there are things you will never be ready for.

Sometimes I like to think of what would happen if I'd come with her to the other side. The thought's particularly strong when I'm alone and there's no one around me to remind me that I have friends and family waiting and rooting for me.

If what Melanie said is true, that Sam felt satisfied with the things we've been through together, then could I have felt the same way about all the adventures I had with my friends and family? And then with Sam too?

Should I have gone with her, to the other side?

/ /

I have only two dreams when I do get to sleep now: the dream where I see Sam in all that whiteness, waving at me and telling me to come with her; and the dream where I live through the crash, again and again and again.

Some nights I feel glad because that way I get to see Sam and hear her voice again. But other nights - most nights - I wake up gasping for breath and choking in between tears because I realize I'm in Sam's bed again and she's not there and she's not rubbing my back and telling me I'm going to be fine.

Most nights, I end up on Sam's bed even when I don't want to.

/ /

Sam, you're allowed to haunt me, you know.

I'd appreciate you not popping in the bathroom, but everywhere else is fine.

You're allowed to scare me and play pranks on me once in a while, you know. Move the furniture around and turn the lights on and off. I'm sure the kids won't mind. They miss you too.

I miss you the most, though.

I hope you know that.

You know, we never got to buy a house in Oxnard. We also haven't gone to Mystic Mountain together. And remember that time we almost went to the Bahamas? And there's this thing we have in school every year called the Kick Back. I was going to ask you to come with me this year.

There's a lot we didn't get to do together.

I know you said the other side is a lot better, but if you're watching or listening by any chance, will you come by tonight?

They tried to get rid of your bed today, but I told them you wouldn't like them touching your stuff without permission.

PS, your motorcycle just got back from repairs today. I'm going to wash it everyday in case you want to check on it once in a while. I don't think I'll drive it, though. Unless you want me to come to your side. I don't think I'd mind.

Do you want me to?

. . .

Note: By "the kids" I mean the kids they babysit. Thought it was kind of vague. I don't know.