Author's Note: Not all of my readers know this, but I'm one of the admins on a blog on tumblr, called: icarlymemories. You can see my other bits of writing there, under the tag "mod: abigail". This fanfic was borne from a prompt submitted by i-will-stop-the-whole-world of tumblr.
Prompt: Sam is in a coma, and Freddie tells her how he feels.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, not even the prompt.
"I'm so sorry," Freddie says again, to the small blonde on the bed. Her eyes are closed, as they have been since three months ago, when she became a victim of a horrible car crash, putting her in a coma.
"This is my fault," He tells her, although he knows she won't respond. "If I was more careful, you wouldn't be here. If I was paying more attention to my surroundings, I—"
The image of the accident was still fresh in his mind. They were going to a movie, as friends, since Carly had to finish her Science project that was due the day after. He had a driver's license, and Sam did not, so she had no choice but to come with him.
They were laughing and fighting as usual, and the next thing he knew, a truck had hit the right side of his car; the side Sam was unfortunately sitting on.
Droplets of tears were falling now, from his eyes, and to the ivory blanket of the hospital bed. He doesn't try to wipe them off.
"Time to wake up, Sam." He says everyday to her still body. The doctor says he doesn't know when she'll wake up, doesn't know if she'll wake up, and it's too much for Freddie to handle.
On bad days, he still visits her, but the stress gets to him — it does to every teenage boy — and all he does is cry and scream at her to wake up.
He isn't the only one who worries, though. Carly comes in everyday, too. They've stopped doing iCarly for the time being, but that doesn't stop their fans from sending get well cards and videos that Sam would probably never see.
"We have the best fans ever," Carly concludes, and Freddie laughs; but it feels foreign to him, as if he's never laughed before.
He tells her he loves her from time to time, sometimes he means it in a friendship way, but most of the time he means it in that way. The last time he said it to her, was in an elevator in Carly's apartment nine months ago.
He takes her hand; remembers the way she smiled, the way her blue eyes lit up when she devoured any form of meat, and he says it again.
"I love you, Sam Puckett."
When suddenly, he feels her grip tighten slightly around his hand.
He's almost too overjoyed to hear her reply, "I love you, too, Frednub."
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