As it turned out, Sam didn't have to go all that far. The boy had run like a terrified rabbit, but he'd tangled himself up in some undergrowth only about four hundred yards from their original position, and had fallen hard. Hurting far more inside than he was outside, Shawn had stayed where he was, unable to get up. Unable to do anything but sob uncontrollably.

It was the tears that led Sam to him. He was a little boy and was so hurt by what he'd done and the hate that Jack had for him that he couldn't have kept his hurt to himself. Sam followed the crying until she at last came to him, lying full out facedown in the middle of a tangle of weeds, and crying as though his heart was broken completely in two.

"Shawn?"

"Go away!" The words were a mere croak through a throat closed with more lumps than imaginable.

Carter came closer. Shining the flashlight along his body, she looked for any sign of broken bones or injury, but his limbs seemed to be all intact. She came over and sat down next to him, not touching him, but close enough that she could feel his body heaving with the sobs that were tearing at him.

"He hates me," Shawn wailed, realizing that O'Neill wasn't with her. Not that he expected him to be. Shawn knew Jack wouldn't care if he were dead or alive. He hated Shawn.

"No, he doesn't," Sam said softly.

"Yes, he does. You saw him yell. He hates me." This produced another round of sobbing, and this time Sam couldn't stop from pulling him into her arms. He was hurting so badly, and he didn't even understand why.

"You scared him, Shawn. That's why he yelled. Not because he hates you. Some people, when they get scared, the fear turns to anger."

"I didn't mean to point the gun at-"

"That isn't what scared him." Sam tucked Shawn's head under her chin and gathered the boy even tighter into her arms, feeling his tears drenching her neck immediately. "Jack isn't afraid of being shot. He knows you'd never shoot him." She shook her head. "What were you thinking?"

"I-I just wanted to... to be like him. I wanted him to like me." He whimpered again a he remembered the anger in O'Neill's voice and face. "Now he hates me and I'll never-"

"He doesn't hate you."

"Yes, he does. You heard him."

"No one likes to be scared, Shawn," Carter told him, running her fingers through his hair as she pressed his cheek closer to her and started rocking him in an attempt to soothe him a little.

"If he wasn't afraid to be shot, why was he scared?" the boy asked, confused. He was holding Sam tightly, certain that she was as close as he'd ever get to Jack again. Suddenly Shawn wished his parents would come get him right then, and take him home. Then he wouldn't have to watch Jack be with the other boys and not want to be with him. The thought hurt, and he moaned softly into Sam's shirt.

"You scared him," Sam repeated. "He was afraid for you."

"I was holding the gun," the boy told her, confused. "I couldn't get hurt."

Carter sighed inwardly, unsure what she should tell the boy, and wondering if Jack would forgive her if she told Shawn about Charlie. Feeling the wracking sobs, though, Sam knew that Shawn needed to be told. He needed to understand why Jack had turned on him so utterly and ruthlessly.

"Shawn, listen to me, okay?" She shifted into a more comfortable position, and pulled him up a little, so she'd know she had his full attention. He was quiet, and she had to take that as meaning that he was going to do as she told him and listen.

"Jack had a son. A long time ago. He was about your age."

"What was his name?"

"Charlie."

She felt him nod, and continued. "Charlie got hold of Jack's gun one day, just like you did."

"And Jack yelled at him?"

Sam shook her head, tears in her eyes at the memory of the few times Jack had ever allowed her to witness the sorrow he felt at the loss of his son.

"No. He didn't know about it. Not until it was too late. There was an accident, and Charlie shot himself."

"Was he okay?" Shawn asked, looking up at Sam. He could tell the answer by the tears in her eyes.

"No, honey. He died."

"Did Jack cry?"

Sam nodded, stroking her fingers through Shawn's hair.

"He thought it was his fault, Shawn. He blamed himself because it was his gun."

"He didn't give it to him, though."

"I know. It took him a long time to stop blaming himself. I think he still does, though, sometimes." Sam was quiet for a moment, to let that sink in. It was a lot for a little boy to try to understand. Even one that was smart, like Shawn was.

"Why was he afraid, though?" Shawn finally asked in a small voice.

"He saw you with his gun, and was afraid it might happen again."

"I wouldn't-"

"Charlie wasn't planning on hurting himself, love." Sam interrupted. "Accidents happen when people who don't know how to use a gun get their hands on them. You don't understand how easily you could have hurt yourself. But Jack does. Because he's seen it done. It scared him."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Jack won't forgive me. He hates me."

"He's angry. When he cools down, he might. He loves you very much, you know?"

Shawn shook his head. "Not anymore."

"You can't stop loving someone just because they do something you don't like," Sam told him, hoping it was true. O'Neill could hold a grudge longer than anyone she knew. But she had to hope that he wouldn't hold one against Shawn. The boy was so good for Jack. And vice versa.

"What do I do, Sam?" Shawn asked her in a small voice.

"Nothing, yet. Let him cool off, and get over his fright, then we'll see what we can do." She gave him a hug, holding him close, then kissed his cheek softly.

"We should get back to camp, Shawn. I want to talk to Daniel and Te- Murray."

Shawn nodded, and stood up, wiping his eyes as she stood up, too, and taking her hand.

One down, one to go, Sam thought grimly to herself.