A/N: this is a very old story that I posted years ago, but it somehow went missing from this site. I finally found a draft of it at the end of about four layers of folders of my computer.

Missing scene to After School Special

It's not that Sam cares more about these things than I do, it's just that he lets himself feel more than I do. I couldn't tell you one name of one other student from the seventeen days we attended Truman High School, but Sammy could. He had friends here. One friend anyway.

A friend who died.

(And that list gets longer…)

So we're digging up the kid's grave, Barry, and Sam's got that look that always makes me ask, "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"I can do this. You don't have to - "

"I'm fine," he says and stabs the shovel into the earth so hard that if he misses he'll take his foot off.

"We're supposed to be digging the grave, not beating it into submission."

I think he mutters 'shut up' but I don't answer him and we keep digging. When the coffin is finally clear, I jump down to open it before Sam can. Most salt and burns are pretty straightforward – dead body, bones and rags. But sometimes we get a surprise and I don't want Sam surprised on this one.

But – no surprises, just bones and tatters. Above me I hear Sam let out a deep, painful sigh. He helps me out again and we grab the salt and gasoline but before we start pouring Sam says,

"You know, I can't help thinking -."

(Yeah, I've known that about him for twenty-five years.) "Thinking what?"

He gestures down into the grave. "Being driven to suicide. Having nothing that makes surviving worth it. Hating every day, every morning. Hating having one more day you have to get through and having nobody, when hell comes calling, having nobody to tell you it'll be okay, nobody to make it better. Nobody who cares. Nobody who's even willing to try."

I'm thinking that he's thinking about last summer and the misery he went through when I was in hell and he was alone.

But then he says something different. He's not looking at me so I know he's not saying it for my benefit, he's looking down at his friend, what's left of his friend before we torch his bones.

"I can't help thinking – if only he'd had a big brother, he woulda been okay."

Then he pours the salt and I pour the gasoline and we send Barry to hopefully some lasting peace.

The End