A/N: Just a couple of more updates to go. Trigger Warnings: Sam being a lunatic because of having to watch and recall his mother being stabbed to death, and I am trying not to tell Mercedes you in danger girl, Sam is a psycho, and then I remember the movie A Time To Kill and I can understand how people can try to take justice in their own hands like Barry wanted to do with killing Thawne on The Flash. Sam is having his Barry Allen moment. The song Sam is playing while he is driving is Skylar Grey ft. Eminem, Kill for You, and Mercedes has got to stop sipping that Kool-Aid and listening to that music when she is with him cause she is about as crazy in love with Sam by the end of this brief chapter. Thanks for reading I own none of this believe me I would have never written most of this just a little bit of it is mine to make Sam make sense in my eyes I changed the story early on.

Chapter Ten

Sam heard his phone hand flapped about, searching for the device he kept on his nightstand. He finally gripped it and held it above his head, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light that snapped through the darkness.

Mercy's picture flashed across the screen. His heart thudded when he saw the image. Sam remembered the day he'd taken that photo. It was his birthday and Mercy drove all the way to his college to light candles in his room and surprise him with a cake.

She ended up almost burning his entire dorm down and nearly got him kicked out of the building. While they were cleaning the charred curtains and ash-filled carpets, he ended up laughing his head off at the streaks of grime on her face and neck. He asked if he could take a picture and she said he could if he'd consider it his birthday present.

Sam had kept the photo as her caller ID, hoping the goofy expression and mussed hair would make her less attractive to him. He'd failed miserably. Even with a potato sack over her head, he'd still find her appealing.

Sam set his phone underneath his pillow and let it ring out. The night was almost over and the sun threatened to rise. Its rays would tiptoe past the heavy curtains, gaining strength until even closing his eyes wouldn't be enough to restrain it.

Mercy was like that to him—mercy to give him the strength to be strong enough to shatter his blackest nights. But Sam did not want to hide from the darkness any longer. He did not want to fight it. He wanted to embrace it the way his father kept goading him to do.

All his efforts would be in vain if he heard Mercy's sweet voice in his ear. She was more than his first and only love. She was his conscience. What Sam planned to do today went against everything Mercy believed in. But it was the only decision he could make.

Sam inhaled a deep breath and let the bitterness stewing in his chest have full reign. He'd never allowed himself to wallow in resentment. Correction… Mercy never gave him the time to do that. When he was around her, he kept coming up with reasons why he was grateful to have survived that night.

As morning approached, he pushed her influence aside and focused on that night, October 25th. He was a child again, reliving the sequence of events right there in the apartment. His tongue darted out to lick his lips as he descended into the memories.

Sam saw himself getting roused from bed. Heard the thoughts that rushed through his head as it all unfolded. He let the past crawl into his present. Felt the snap of his eyelids as he looked up into his mother's face.

She takes my hand. Tells me to put on my shoes. Mom looks so pretty.

She'd worn a dress. He remembered it because it sparkled like a black disco ball. Her strawberry blonde hair lay in glossy waves down to her shoulders. Chandelier earrings swayed lightly as she pulled him up and out of the bed.

Mom says we're going for a drive. I'm glad she didn't ask me to dress fancy like her. I had to wear a tie at grandma's funeral. I hate ties.

He remembered finding it strange that she was helping him into the backseat of the car. As if he were a child. He'd let her tend to him because he was sleepy and he didn't want her to scold him. Something about her movement warned that she could snap at any minute.

Mom's hands are shaking. Should I help her buckle the seatbelt? She knows I can do it on my own. Oh, it's in. Before she gets in the car, I can hear her screaming. Stop screaming mommy.

What happened? Mom? Why is blood on her face? I have to get out of the car and get help for her. Wait… she's not moving or making a sound. Blood is everywhere. Help! Someone! Anyone! Help!

Sam's breath came hard and fast as he pictured his mother's pale face. The blood sprinkled across her face and hair. It didn't seem real to him back then. Not the fact that his mother was dead.

Are those sirens? Mom, hang on! I see Dad and why does he have a knife why is it covered in blood why am I remembering daddy hurting mommy. Dad! Dad! Stop!

He shot up, trembling from the rush of emotions that the memories stirred up. His father's face that night, full of hate, full of bitterness, was imprinted in his memory. Maybe DH was right. Maybe he was cursed. He'd watched heard his father kill his mother and watched her die right in front of his eyes.

"I can't let anything happen to Mercedes," he whispered to the sunlight creeping past his windows. "I'll do anything to protect her."

Sam stood and strode out of the room, running from the light. He got dressed and slipped into his car, heading straight for the prison. His eyes dipped to the knife he'd brought from his kitchen. Its sharp tip glinted, winking at him, taunting him with the promise of what he had to do.

Sam didn't care who he would become when this was all over. He didn't need to see past the storm of his resentment or his bitterness. His father deserved judgment and the courts had failed to deliver. How could Sam sit back as D.H. threatened his Mercy? How could he do nothing like he did when his father killed his mother?

He arrived at the prison faster than usual. Or maybe the miles had blurred as he drove with his mind occupied. Sam checked his watch. His father should be released right around now. The knife called to him warned that he should act now before he lost his nerve.

Nausea rolled in his gut. His fingers hesitated over the handle of the knife, fingernails rasping over engraved metal. He forced himself to snatch it up and hide it in his jacket. Sam wasn't doing this for him. It was for Mercy. He loved her. Would die for her. Would kill for her.

He climbed out of his car and saw the prison doors opening. Saw his father, escorted by prison guards, stumble into the lot. D.H. lifted his head to the sky and took a deep breath as if the air in prison and the air outside held two different scents.

Sam strode toward the man who had threatened his world. Everyone he cared about would be better off if D.H. wasn't breathing. The knife pierced through the material of his jacket and shirt. Sweat slicked the palm of his hand and made grasping the butt of the weapon a challenge.

D.H. heard his footsteps. His eyes burst open and he pinned cold green eyes on his son. Sam knew, at that moment, his father hadn't changed. Not in the slightest. A roar tore from his lips. He started jogging. Running. Fingers tightened on the knife.

"NO!" Mercy slid into his path. Sam corrected the angle of the knife, aiming it toward the ground before it injured her. Her hair splayed in the wind, flying wildly over a face more determined than he'd ever seen.

"I won't let him hurt you," he said. Sweat streamed down his temple. Gathered in the base of his neck. His heart thumped a million miles an hour, from fear or anticipation—Sam couldn't even tell. "I have to stop him before he hurts you."

Mercy stepped into him, her thigh pressing against his. She cupped her hands around the knife hidden inside his jacket and said firmly, "Look at me."

He refused. Those chocolate eyes would soften him, force him to yield to the gentler side of his love. He couldn't be swayed. Not now when he was so close to his goal.

"Sam." She left one hand on his red knuckles and the other gripped his chin. She yanked his face down until their eyes locked. Her nose flared. Her lips flattened into a thin line. She looked about two seconds away from giving him a butt whupping. "Stop."

His Adam's apple bobbed. He struggled to resist her. "Why? Why should I give him a free pass when he doesn't deserve it?"

"If you do this, you're no better than him. Why do you think he stabbed your mother? He justified it with his love. Because he loved your mother so much he couldn't stand the thought of her with another man. How is that any different from what you're doing?"

He blinked. Was it the same thing?

Mercedes saw that she was getting through to him and pressed. "It's okay to hurt. It's okay to lash out but think again if you're doing this to protect me. I don't want to live a life where I have to visit the man I love in a prison cell."

His eyes flickered to her.

"You heard me." Her eyes were clear and bright when she said, "I love you, Sam. Now… let the knife go."

Mercedes was glad she'd followed her instincts and rushed to the prison instead of trying to find Sam at his apartment. She shuddered to think of what would have happened if she hadn't listened to the still small voice inside that woke her at sunrise. What if she'd been a second too late?

Sam's hand trembled so hard she feared he would stab himself with the knife by accident. She curled her fingers around his. Why wasn't he listening? Why wasn't he dropping the weapon? What could have possibly driven him to the point that he would consider murdering D.H. as his only option?

"My mother…" His voice warbled. "I watched her die. Saw the moment the life drained out of her face. It is," he sniffed, "tattooed on the back of my eyelids. And it hurt. Thinking of her. But I couldn't even mourn. Couldn't even pay my respects at her funeral. I hated her. Because of him."

"Sam…" Tears flushed her eyes. The news that he hadn't cried at his mother's funeral had rippled through the town back then. She could understand why, in the heat of his anguish and loss, Sam blamed his parents for his misery. Her heart broke for him, but it didn't make his actions right.

"This is who I am, Mercy."

"Fine." She dropped her hands and stepped back. "You want to stab your father and become a murderer too? Have at it." She tore her T-shirt off to reveal the tank top underneath. His eyelashes fluttered when she rolled up the stretchy material and showed her cute pudgy stomach and narrow waist.

"What are you doing?"

"Here." She took his hand and tried to veer it in her direction. "Stab me first."

"Mercy—"

"Your tragedy is my tragedy. Your pain is my pain. I can't stand to see you suffering like this. I can't live if you lose your soul after all you've been through. So go ahead and kill me in your father's place. I give you permission."

She heard the clatter of the knife falling to the concrete. Sam teetered, stumbling to the left and then the right as if he was drunk. Mercedes cupped her hand around his neck and brought his head to rest on her shoulder.

"It's okay." She soothed. "You're okay, Sammy. Nothing's going to happen to me. You'll protect me. You've always been my shield. And I am yours."

"We all are." Her father who had been waiting on the sidelines and watching over her from afar put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "We've got you, son."

Fran wrapped her arms around Sam and together they held him while the sun rose high in the sky.

"Well, wasn't that… entertaining," D.H. said. His voice had suddenly cut through the air like a sword slicing fabric.

Her parents released Sam, but Mercedes wound her arms around his waist and held him up, refusing to move an inch. D.H. swaggered closer to them. He wore a plain white T-shirt and jeans. Deep wrinkles carved lines through his face. He looked older, harder, and more wizened than she remembered as a child.

She could feel Sam's muscles coil beneath his shirt. Mercedes tightened her hold on him, praying that D.H. didn't say or do anything to set him off. She'd snapped Sam out of his rage, but those wounds ran deep. One talk wasn't going to fix it. He was going to have to go back to therapy.

"Did you come to welcome me home?" D.H. asked.

Her father stepped in front of their family and raised his chin. "I came to deliver a warning."

"Yeah?" D.H. tilted his head and his green eyes flitted to him. "What's that?"

Patrick lowered his voice to a menacing whisper, "You stay away from my people. I don't want you so much as sniffing in their direction. Do you understand me?"

D.H. pulled the strap of his bag closer and walked toward her father. They tensed, holding a collective breath until the ex-inmate stood in line with Patrick. D.H. grabbed her father's shoulder and spoke loud enough for them to hear, "You can have the girls, but Sam, well… Sam is mine."

"D.H.—"

"I'll see you at Thanksgiving, Fran!" He waved over his shoulder and trotted off.

Patrick went to his wife. "Are you okay, honey?"

"I'm pissed, that's what I am." Her mother shot darts at D.H.'s back. "Are you just going to let him go?"

"If we make a big stink, he can throw it back in our face. Sam didn't exactly arrive here with innocent intentions."

"Sam?" Mercedes whispered, drowning out the sound of her father's words. She looked at him, but his gaze was not on her. He stared at the knife that landed close to his feet. At least he'd stopped trembling. She'd call that progress.

Her father's phone chimed and he walked away to answer it. Fran gave Sam's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You know I'm always here to talk. Whenever you need it." She smiled and returned to the car.

Left alone with Sam, Mercedes struggled to come up with something to say. He blew out a breath and glanced at her, his eyes clearer than they were when she'd found him ready to launch a knife into his father's gut.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey."

"Thank you."

He arched an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For sparing me."

Sam ducked his head. "Don't say that."

"I love you."

"Don't say that either."

"What am I supposed to say then?"

"I don't deserve you. I'm just like him." He raised his hands. "I'm just like D.H.."

She slid her fingers through his and locked their hands together. "You are nothing like him. You wanna know why?" He didn't seem to hear her above his self-bashing but she continued anyway. "Because your love is not selfish. Hey." She chased his gaze until he looked at her. "My life is better with you in it. You are my sunshine, Sam. You are my hero. You are stronger than the darkness."

His thumb ran down her cheek, gently, tenderly. His eyes devoured her face. She'd gotten through to him. He believed her. Trusted her. But Sam's road to fighting instead of ignoring his darkness was going to be a long one. She planned on sticking by his side through it all. No matter how difficult it became.

"Hey, guys?" Patrick's shoes crunched the gravel. He stopped in front of them, lips quirked in confusion.

"What's with the face, Dad?"

"That was Johnson on the phone. They nabbed Penny's attacker and they're holding him at the station. I need to head down there. Think you could drive your mother home and then the two of you escort Penny to the station?" He eyed Sam. "You up for it?"

"Yes, sir."

Patrick trotted off and returned a moment later with Fran in tow. The women followed Sam to the car, both remaining silent and respecting his space. Sam smiled a little when he opened the door for Fran. "It's okay to breathe around me. I won't break."

"I see the cracks." She got in and held his face before he closed the door. "I'm sorry you've been suffering alone."

"I wasn't alone." He took her hand and squeezed it. "I had you and your daughter to fuss over me and make me feel cared for and safe. The whole thing with my parents didn't make sense. The truth is… I hated my mother for what she did. Like why leave him after admitting she was going to her lover, why couldn't we sneak out when he was at the hospital? But I now know that she loved me or she would have been intending to leave me with him. I can respect that and respect her because of you."

Mercedes saw Fran's eyes turn glassy. Her mother hated 'petty' emotions and refused to cry, even when a movie worth bawling over was playing on TV. To see her struggling to hold back her tears meant she'd been truly touched by Sam's words.

He closed her mother's door and opened hers next. "You too." He chucked her chin. "We're not going to a funeral. No need to be so solemn."

She thought of the knife she'd handed over to her father when Sam wasn't looking. They would have been clearing their schedules for D.H.'s funeral if things had gone south. It made her sick to think of Sam trapped in a place dark enough to consider killing acceptable.

It's okay. It's still him. It's still Sammy.

She didn't really feel like smiling, but Sam looked like he needed something to hold on to and Mercedes would die before she left him hanging.

Pasting a grin on her face, she said, "Just drive. I'll handle the rest."

On their way home, Mercedes filled the cab with chatter. She knew Sam wasn't listening since he barely said a word, but Fran got the hint and they began a rousing conversation about nothing in particular.

As soon as they arrived home, Mercedes darted inside and headed straight for the kitchen. Talking nonstop had torn her throat to shreds. She slid a water-filled glass Sam's way. He accepted it gratefully and watched as Fran headed to Penny's room.

"I'm glad they caught the guy," Mercedes said when she'd drained her glass.

Sam arched an eyebrow at her. "Why do I get the feeling you're happier that Penny can go home now?"

She shrugged.

Pounding footsteps made them both turn and stare at the woman skidding into the room.

"Mom, what's wrong?"

Fran pasted her hair back and yelled, "Penny's room is clean. All her luggage is missing." Her eyes darted from Mercedes to Sam. "She's gone."