A/N: Hiya! This is my first foray into iCarly, so please, give me a review telling me how it goes! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I claim to own nothing which may get me sued!
Freddie Benson:
I ease the door shut, quietly, easily, holding the knob in as I push it closed to dampen the noise before I retreating deeper into the iCarly studio. I debate shifting the deadbolt in, but I realize that she'll probably just shatter right through the glass to get to me, if she realizes I'm in here. My eyes flit back and forth through the studio, frantically searching for any spot where I can stay out of sight until the danger passes.
The ordinary wall of open brick and mortar suddenly looks like a paragon of safety as I throw myself behind it, pressing flat against the heavily shadowed wall, hidden from the view of the door. The rough and spindly brick digs sharply into my back as I push myself against it, but the sheer terror of the situation is enough to send the pain deep into the recesses of my consciousness. Anything, oh please, please let her not find me!
Maybe if she shoots in here, running after me, I'll be able to slip out the door before she realizes! Or, at least I'll have a head-start. If it comes to running, I'm pretty sure I can get away, because I have a distinct advantage: sheer terror. You'd be shocked at precisely how much energy that can jam into your muscles.
All sorts of prayers begging for my life float through my mind, almost without me realizing it. I've done it this time, I saw the sheer, unfiltered rage kindle behind her eyes, I saw her normally semi-lucid gaze shift into something far darker and more primal. Oh God, if she catches me I'm in for the beating of a lifetime. The beating to end all beatings: she won't stop until their picking out little Freddie pieces from the cracks in between the floorboards! And all over a stupid prank!
I screw my eyes shut, wincing against the pain of my own stupidity. Good job, Freddie, this is what happens when you give in to impulses! I really didn't think it would go this far... I knew the light would pop the balloon, but I had no idea it would wait until she put her face right into it!
Ok, so she's been leaving me different assortments of dead things in my locker all week, and I saw the balloons and the spray-paint can, and I had an idea! She's been pranking me all the time, it's about time I managed to get one in, right?
So I used the aerosol spray paint can to fill the balloon because those things are half air, and it got really really big and really tight like as if it had been filled with helium. Next, I jammed it into an overlarge funnel that Spencer is going to use for a sculpture, so I could kind of direct the blast at whoever popped it. Then, I realized that Sam will probably hit the refrigerator first thing after she gets in from school, like she always does, so I thought I'd rig it up so that it was touching the little light in the top of the refrigerator, to make it explode when she opened the door!
Ugh.... I worked so hard on it... I should have thought about what I was doing for five seconds! I unscrewed the lightbulb from the door and cooled it down (only to room temperature, to keep the glass from cracking when it started to get hot again!) with some ice in a plastic bag, so it wouldn't pop when I was setting it up, and screwed it in really fast so it wouldn't get too hot before I pressed the balloon-funnel thing into it, and shut the door.
Oh...why did it have to work? Why couldn't it have exploded in the refrigerator and gotten paint everywhere instead? But no, it worked perfectly, the rig was set up so the next person that opened it would get a perfectly aimed blast of paint and rubber.
I was so anxious when she walked through the door... Carly clattered noisily down the stairs when she heard her arrive, apparently having finished setting up the rehearsal stuff she had needed in the studio. I offered a half smile that was tighter and far more strained than usual, she made some snide comment that I didn't even hear, and brushed right past me over to the refrigerator.
I remember waving my hands frantically at Carly, signaling her to come down the stairs. She opened her mouth to speak, but I pressed a finger to my lips and she thought better of it. I guess she was curious to see exactly how stupid I am capable of being, because she eased down silently to peer around the corner of the wall over at Sam.
I could feel the nervous sweat dribbling on my palms as she finally wrapped her hand around the refrigerator handle, gripping it painfully slowly as she debated whether or not she was hungry enough to open the door. Her last words before I became a dead man were: "Hey, do you guys have any ham?"
The door opened. A big, half-retarded monkey grin pried its way onto my face. She bent down curiously, as if to inspect the odd metal/rubber contraption that was pressed into the little light. I brought my hands together in anticipation, short bursts of nervous laughter worming their way out from between my lips.
Then, it happened. The exploding balloon popped violently, firing off an incredibly loud, gunshot-like crack that sent shocks of pain through my ears. I caught the quicksilver spray of bright red paint flash across the edges of her figure, standing stock still in front of the deceptively calm scene.
"Ha!" I screamed, my jubilation total, "Yes! I got-"
She turned around slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked upon her hands, open and turned up into some sort of display. Violent red was streaked all over her face and shirt, arcing spastically into her golden blonde curls. I snuck a glance at Carly, standing to my left, saw her hands clasped firmly over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock and horror, and I think it was then that I realized precisely how much trouble I had gotten myself into.
The nervous swallow I made hurt, forcing its way through a throat that was tight and closed with fear. I turned back to face my victim, my smile and exuberance having evaporated into the air.
Her gaze flicked up towards me, fiery, dangerous, an open window into a blazing furnace. Her open hands clenched into fists and began to shake with effort as she opened her mouth to speak.
"I...just...bought...this...shirt," she hissed through clenched teeth, as blood began to rush to her face, coloring it deeply enough to match the hue of the paint that was splattered all over it.
And man, I was gone. Through the door and into the hallway faster than I'd ever moved before in my life. My feet were slamming against the floor as I threw myself down the stairs, panting heavily out of a mixture of effort and terror, not daring to even take a glance behind me. I heard primitive, animal-like roars blast behind me, and I knew that if I slowed down, even the tiniest bit, that the owners of the buildings would never be able to fully remove the stains from the walls. I'm talking closed-casket burial.
And somehow, I managed to slip away and put some distance between us. Somehow I managed to lose her, and I frantically tried to think of some place that she would never think to look, at least not until she'd calmed down somewhat. And it makes no sense for me to be hiding in Carly's apartment, right? So she won't possibly think to look here!
The sudden patter of footsteps outside the studio sends a shock of pure terror up and down my spine as I am jerked back to reality. Carly's voice, shrill and terrified hums through the walls, pleading for clemency, begging the paint-covered monster to spare my meek, undeserving life.
There is an unmistakable creak of hinges as she gets into the room. Oh please, please God, I'll do anything, just don't let her catch me! Please! My eyes are screwed shut, blocking off my sense of the world as I hear deliberate, slow, stealthy footsteps across the floorboards, squeaking softly. Every muscle in my body is clenched up, my breath is locked firmly into my lungs. Why the hell does my heartbeat have to be so loud?
The squeak of the door leaks back through the room, sending a warm, tender ripple of hope into me. Did she leave? Did she decide I wasn't here? I strain my ears, struggling to pick up any stray sound or activity that may be too faint for normal hearing.
Suddenly, a soft, smooth, paint covered hand shoots around the corner, clenching roughly around the collar of my shirt. Oh, hope. Isn't hope the worst?
This girl has incredible strength. I've known her for a long, long time, yet I am still amazed at just how strong she really is. I'm jerked roughly from behind my safe spot, jarred until my entire field of vision consists of the face of a pretty blonde girl, contorted with rage and fury. The Amazon clenches her teeth as she cocks her fist back, pulling it so hard that I can hear the faint whistle of wind in my ears. I feel more than see the fist slam into my face: a sudden explosion of pain rockets through me, flowering from the tip of my nose outwards as my head snaps back. I reel backwards, watching the image of the room around me dim and fuzz into an incomprehensible blur of colors and cubist shapes with no perspective.
The fuzzy lines have barely begun to solidify back into clear, distinct images when she plants another clenched hand deep into the center of my solar plexus. The air whooshes out of my lungs, dragging my shoulders forward until I'm doubled over. I manage a desperate gasp for air, opening and closing my mouth like a dying fish as I fix my attacker with pleading eyes. Her lips are twisted into a snarl, the white teeth gritting together with effort as she cocks her right hand back. I see the golden lashes of her eyebrows furrow, kneading the skin between her eyes together as she brings the attack forward.
The slender girl lets a grunt of anger leak from her throat, high-pitched and effeminate, yet not without a sadistic and wolfish fury as her clasped fingers trace an arc up through the air into my slackened jaw. My teeth clack together painfully as the uppercut lands, and suddenly I'm staring at the ceiling. An aura of darkness touches the field of my vision, leaking into my periphery as I struggle to stay conscious, staggering slightly as my balance weakens. A dull roar completely encompasses my hearing, painfully loud and droning, as though it's coming from somewhere deep within my ears.
"Mercy, mercy!" I squeak, though I'm amazed anything comes out at all. My face is frozen into a permanent wince, throbbing painfully in time with my heartbeat as I force myself to look at her. She glares at me balefully, the edges of her eyes tight and drawn. The streaks of red that arc up and down her face have taken on the image of war paint, smeared on by some crazed berserker Amazon preparing for war. I know before she speaks that I'm not done feeling pain for the day.
"Paint doesn't come out in the wash!" she shrieks, her hand shooting out and clasping around a fistful of my hair, "You... I can't believe you're even still standing!" A wimpy yelp bursts from my throat as she jerks, hard, sending ripples of pain down through my skin. Then, as I look back at Sam, seeing her free hand drawn back behind her head, I realize that this is going to hurt. A lot.
And it does. I think I say something like "I'll fall down, I'll fall down!" in some kind of last-ditch, brain-dead form of appeasement before she swings with all her considerable might, practically throwing her fist into my nose. A pang of nausea and sickness drops into my stomach as I feel the cartilage squirrel and warp around her bony knuckles; the feeling mixes with the sudden extremity of the shrieking from my scalp into an awful cocktail of suffering.
She lets go, and my knees give up on supporting me, bowing out as I collapse in a heap on the ground. I stare at the ceiling without seeing, struggling and failing to put strings of thoughts together. They fire spastically in my head, accompanying the spatter of glimmering lights that flit across my vision. I begin to become aware of the taste of copper in my mouth; a hot wetness has suddenly started to sprout across my face. I bring a cautious hand to my face, gingerly touching the tips of my fingers to my nose and lips before bringing them into my field of sight. Crimson blood gleams wetly on them, dark and insidious.
Suddenly, the glaring face of Sam becomes prevalent, sitting like a background behind the image of my blood-covered fingers. Her slate gray eyes glimmer sharply over me, and somehow, despite the fuzziness in my head, I know that she is thinking of pummeling me some more for good measure. Impulse suddenly takes over, struggling to do anything to compensate for my sudden lack of brainpower, and my non-bloodied hand reaches out to touch her face.
My fingers trace an arc around the curve of her cheek, softly grazing their way down to her chin. I'm surprised at how soft and warm her skin feels; I don't appear to be the only one, as the hatred in her gaze has leaked away into total surprise. Her eyes widen and her face takes on a...curious nature. I don't know, I'm too muddled to think of the word for it, but color comes to her cheeks, and the hardness of the crinkles between her eyes softens, and the muscles that were clenched up so angrily in her face relax.
I draw my fingers together, comparing the color of my bloody fingers to the paint that my hand caught on Sam's face. I smile, or at least I think I do, as small, wet gurgles of laughter leak out of my throat.
"What?" she demands, her voice taking on an edge that is no longer present in her facial expression.
"It's...." I struggle, swallowing some of the blood that my nose has dribbled into my mouth, "It's the same color." The words are thick, and muddy, reflecting the way my brain is working, but they're apparently legible, as she cocks an eyebrow up, curiously.
I show her my fingers as the laughter continues to dribble from me, displaying the identical colors of the blood and the paint, and a slow, unwilling smile begins to infect Sam's face. Her girlish giggles begin to burst like popcorn, mixing with my wet, beaten-up ones as she starts to laugh, all thoughts of rage gone. She drops to the floor to sit beside my sprawled-out body, clutching her chest as the fits get harsher and harsher. My ribs begin to hurt almost as much as my pulsing, swollen face as I sit up, guffawing loudly and watching gravity draw drips of blood from my chin to my shirt, matching Sam's.
Carly suddenly bursts through the door, her eyes widening in shock as she stares at the carnage and war that has swamped the iCarly studio; immediately, our laughter fades and dies at the expression written on her features. I realize that my face is probably a mess of bloody, swollen flesh, but for the life of me I can't begin to feel self-conscious, even as my ability to think progressively strengthens.
"Oh my God! Freddie!" she gasps, almost as if she can't fully comprehend the situation, "What... what happened? Sam, you've gone too far!"
A chuckle escapes my throat as my hands shoot out, held out in front of me in the way that a child displays clean hands to a parent. "Carly, look! It's the same color!"
At this, Sam bursts out laughing, which gets me laughing again. The room pulses with the sound as Carly's expression slowly melds from one of horrified surprise to one of nonplussed incredulity. She stares at us like this for a little while, before letting out an exasperated sigh, saying "I'll go get the ice."
Sam suddenly stands up, looping her arms underneath my shoulders as she drags me to the wall. I lean up against it as she plops down next to me, relaxing the muscles of my tortured neck and allowing my head to lay back against the prickly brick. The chilled air from the vent blows against my face, causing a small unpleasant stinging, but overall soothing the awful pulse that Sam's punches have created. Sam sits there, mercifully quiet as the nausea fades away, and my sensibilities return.
"Sorry I set up that trap," I say.
"Yeah, sorry I beat you retarded," she responds. Then, an impish half-smirk flits across her lips, and she adds, "You know, I should be glad I scrambled your brains. Your little joke there got me out of a lot of trouble with Carls."
I cock a half-smile to match hers, letting a small chuckle escape my throat. "I just hope you didn't break my nose. This is going to be hard enough to explain to my mom without having to go to the doctor."
She draws her mouth together into an empathetic "o" as she realizes the hell that my mother is going to give me about this. A dainty hand, devoid of the violence that previously defined it, rests sympathetically on my shoulder as she says, "Yeah, sorry about that. Maybe I'll avoid your crazy mom for a little while. No way I broke your nose though, just... bloodied it up a bit. You'll be fine."
"Great," I snicker, "how kind of you."
She squeezes on my shoulder before patting me a little too hard with an open hand. Suddenly, her expression becomes thoughtful, as she begins to look me over with appraising eyes. The harsh, icy gray has melded into an easier, warmer blue: instead of violence and harm, they now reflect care and affection, and I don't know how to react. I realize that a similar feeling has bubbled up into my throat, fighting through the tightness and the aftertaste of blood. Uncomfortable, I glance over at her, shifting awkwardly in my seat.
"What?" I ask.
She smiles, but its not impish and playful like her smiles normally are, so much as it is nervous and contemplative. "It's nothing. I just think I've toughened you up a bit, Fredwierd. Used to be that all it took was one hard punch to knock you out. This time, it took a good, what, four? Most guys don't last past two with me. I'll admit, I'm a little impressed."
With that, she hops to her feet, and leaves me resting against the cool brick of the iCarly studio. I watch her as she leaves, seeing her gilded curls bob happily behind her as she walks, and, for some reason, some reason I can't fathom, I feel a fuzzy burst of warmth seep through my chest at the compliment. A soft smile flowers across my pulped face, almost subconsciously, because the feeling is almost enough to make me forget about the pain.
Almost.
A/N: Well, there it is! Now, my main love is for chapter fics, and I have some ideas buzzing around in my head, so probably before very long, I'll get a chapter fic started up here (Seddie, of course, haha). Actually, this has been a totally fresh experience for me, because I've written fics for a couple of different things on this site before (under different pennames), but they were all kind of set in much more violent settings (AtlA, LOZ, etc) with a lot more action in them. This was actually pretty hard, because I had to write the violent part violent, but keep a hold of the comedy aspect, too, and keep that going throughout the entire fic. I'm worried, the more that I think about it, that I wrote the violent parts too violent for iCarly... but I'm not sure. Help me out, review, please! :D
Anyways, I love Seddie, and I love the dynamic that the characters have with each other, and I wanted to fully write Sam's "beating to end all beatings" to kind of give a feel for the type of relationship I think that they have at this point. I think Sam's personality tends to make her more affectionate the more she's destroyed somebody, and I kind of liked the flow that the "inside joke" gave. Anyways, I'm rambling, so leave a review if you're feeling generous, and if this story does ok, I'll start working up a nice long chapter fic rife with Seddie goodness.
Thanks!
RockaRoller88