A/N: Hello, my lovelies. AVeryPotterFangirl here. This is my first iCarly story; however, I'm a huge Seddie fan and felt obligated to at least write one Seddie fic after watching iOMG the other day. So, this was the result. I hope you enjoy it. Review please! Reviews save the unicorns!

WARNING: Character death.

Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly. I also do not own a lot of things, like a car, or a watermelon, or a dolphin. But I do own a digital clock. It plays music and has an alarm. So that's pretty cool.

The Color White

Chapter One

Freddie reclined on the couch in his apartment, flipping the television to the Discovery channel. He was indulging in the Mythbusters marathon that was showing, as his mom was on an Obsessive Parenting retreat for the next five days. Freddie was enjoying the freedom, but he missed hanging out with his friends. Carly and Spencer were out of town visiting relatives in Yakima, and no Carly meant no iCarly, which meant no Sam. As much as Freddie admittedly hated her, he missed her company, no matter how dysfunctional and angry she was.

The phone rang, and Freddie groaned. He felt much too lazy to get up and answer it. After the third ring, he heaved himself off the couch and walked slowly to get his PearPhone. He finally reached it and put it to his ear.

"Hello?" he sighed into the receiver. The answer tone was the only response he got. Missed it, he thought. A second later, the phone buzzed again, signaling that the person had left a voicemail. Freddie called it, tapping his fingers impatiently on the counter.

"You have one unheard message. The following message has not been heard. First unheard message sent today at 2:03 PM." Freddie heard his favorite voice through the speaker.

"Freddie, it's Carly." He was angry that he was too lazy to answer her call. She sounded urgent. He listened intently. "The paramedics just called. Sam and her mom were in a car crash. Sam is fine, the doctors said that she is conscious and doesn't have too many injuries, but her mom... her mom isn't doing so well. She really needs someone there with her. Spencer and I will be home in a few days, but until then, can you just go and stay with her? Give me a call when you see her. Thanks, Freddie. Talk to you soon, bye."

By the time the message was over, Freddie had already tied his shoes and pulled on one sleeve of his jacket. No matter how much Sam hurt him, he still cared about her, and this sounded serious. He grabbed his keys and pocketed his phone, running out the door and down the stairs to catch a bus to the hospital.

Freddie walked quickly through the doors of the hospital, hands in his pockets, shaking his head to get rid of the rain in his hair. He approached the desk in front, where a middle-aged receptionist with graying hair sat, her manicured fingernails clacking against the keyboard at her desk as she typed. She looked up when he cleared his throat.

"Oh, hello," she said cheerily. Almost too cheerily for a hospital, Freddie thought. "How can I help you, dear?"

"I need to find Samantha Puckett, please."

The receptionist smiled. "Room 283, down this hall to your left." She pointed down a long, sterile, white hallway. Freddie nodded, thanked her, and began his walk down the hallway.

It was white. Everything was so white. Freddie shivered. He hated the color white. He hated hospitals. To think about how many people had been here, all the illnesses they had, how many people had died here... no. He wouldn't think about that now. This was about Sam.

He had reached room 283. The door was slightly open, and the tail end of a bed was visible from where he was standing. He took a deep breath and walked in.

There she was. As he quietly crossed the white tile floor, he examined the situation. Sam was lying in the hospital bed, the plain white sheets tucked around her body up to her stomach. There were three white bandages on her face: one on her forehead, and two on one cheek, covering three large cuts. Her right arm was in a white plaster cast. There was an IV stuck in her left arm, and other tubes sticking out from under the white hospital gown. Her eyes were shut, and her chest rose and fell softly to the beeping of the heart monitor next to her. She looked so thin. So pale, she was almost... white. She looked so vulnerable. Freddie had never seen her like this before. It was Sam, yes, but at the same time, it wasn't.

He reached the bedside, placing his hands on the edge of the bed, looking down at Sam with tears in his eyes. He pulled over a chair from the corner and sat next to the bed, silently vowing to the girl to stay with her as long as she needed him there.

Sam was aware of a presence in the room before she opened her eyes. She automatically assumed it was a doctor, so she kept her eyes shut, hoping that if they thought she was asleep, they would refrain from sticking any more needles in her. She instead focused on her other senses. She could feel the weight of a cast on her right arm. She wiggled her fingers. Nothing too extreme. Her head was pounding; she had probably suffered a slight concussion. Everything else seemed to be fine.

She turned her focus to listening. She could hear someone in the room breathing, close to the left side of her bed. She listened intently, but nothing changed for a few minutes. Then, she finally heard a voice.

"Hey Carly," a voice said quietly. Sam was still hazy from all the drugs she was on, and wasn't able to place the voice with a face or a name. Who would be talking to Carly? And why didn't she hear Carly's voice? "Yeah, I'm at the hospital now with Sam." She realized that whoever was talking must be on the phone. Carly and Spencer were out of town. She heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor as the person stood and began to pace around the room. "I talked to the doctor, he said that she'll be fine. A few small cuts, a broken wrist, and a minor concussion, so nothing too bad. He said they'll probably have her out of the hospital by tomorrow afternoon. She's sleeping right now," the voice said.

Sam finally opened her eyes, wanting to know who was in the room with her. The boy had his back turned to the window, a PearPhone held to his ear. He wore a blue plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of jeans. There was a black jacket draped over his arm, and he wore an old pair of off-white Chuck Taylors. His short brown hair was not perfectly combed as usual, but was stuck up in a few places, as if he had been running his hands through his hair a lot. Sam's heart fluttered inside her chest for reasons she didn't know. Freddie. Freddie came to the hospital to be with her. She smiled. For some reason, she felt... happy.

"Yeah, still no more news there," Freddie whispered. "They're still running tests on her, they don't know what's wrong, but she's lost a lot of blood. They're hoping to find a donor for a transplant. Until they know more they'll keep her on life support. I'll let you know when we find out more." Sam was confused. Who was Freddie talking about? "Alright, I gotta go. I'm gonna stay here with Sam, I'll tell her you say hello. I'll give you a call later tonight." He paused. "Okay. Bye, Carls." He ended the call and sighed, looking out the window. Sam heard him sniff before he turned around. His brown eyes went wide. Sam thought she noticed tears falling from his eyes.

Freddie hung up his phone and looked out the window with white curtains. He really hated those curtains, especially their color. He thought of his father, so many years ago. He didn't want Sam or her mom to end up like his dad. He let a few tears fall before turning back to Sam.

He gasped when he saw her bright blue eyes trained on him. She smiled weakly at him. He dropped to his knees beside the bed, smiling back at the now conscious girl through his tears. "Sam!"

"Hey, Fredweird," she replied in a raspy, weak voice. He smirked at the nickname. Here she was: lying in a hospital bed, barely conscious, bruised and beaten. Yet, she was still Sam.

"Hi," he breathed, grinning like an idiot. He was just happy to see her awake. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I just got hit by a car. Oh, wait..." she joked. Freddie laughed. Yep. Definitely still Sam.

"Seriously, though. Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, fine. My head hurts, but the painkillers are working, so I'm okay for now." Freddie lifted a corner of his mouth up into a little smile.

Sam reached up with her good hand and brought it to his face. "Why are you crying?" she asked. He realized that the tears were still on his cheeks. Sam wiped one away. For some reason, he shivered at her gentle touch. He couldn't remember the last time she had touched his face without her either punching, hitting, or slapping him with her hand or some other object. No, this touch was gentle, and caring, and sincere. Strange. He shook his head, trying to cover for himself.

"It's nothing. Just happy that you're okay."

"You're a loser, you know that?" Sam smiled.

"You only tell me every day," Freddie replied. Sam laughed her beautiful laugh. Wait, beautiful? Why did Freddie think her laugh was beautiful? No. This was Sam. Not that she wasn't beautiful, but Freddie didn't think of her that way... did he? Of course not. He was just her friend, and besides, she totally hated him anyways. And he pretty much hated her back. Right?

Freddie didn't have time to dwell on that question. The doctor, in his white coat, entered the room. He smiled, walking over to the bed. "Ms. Puckett! Good to see you awake. How do you feel?"

Sam repeated what she had told Freddie. The doctor wrote all of it down on his clipboard, nodding. He asked her some more general questions, and she answered them all, cooperating for once. He capped his pen and slid it in his pocket. "That's all good, it sounds like you're recovering just fine. I just need to check your eyes quickly to make sure the dilation of your pupils is improving." He pulled out a light, shining it in both Sam's eyes. He nodded again. "It's getting better, your concussion is nothing too serious." He patted her leg, offering a small smile to her and Freddie before he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sam shouted just before he closed the door. He stopped and turned around.

"Yes, Ms. Puckett?"

"What about my mom?"

The doctor sighed. He looked down at the white floor, not exactly sure how to tell her. "I'm sorry, Ms. Puckett. Your mother is in a coma."

As he watched the remaining color drain from her face, Freddie realized exactly how much he hated the color white.