There's no honor among thieves.
Who said that? Probably some dead guy, a jerk-off who thought he knew everythin'. Griffin's motorcycle raced across the freeway, swerving left into the oncoming lane of traffic before tilting back to the right to pass a slow car. Griffin was speeding out as town as fast as his bike would carry him. The weight of the paper sack was tucked inside his jacket, pressing against his chest in reassurance. He had done what she had told him to do. Sam would understand.
"This won't be like the last time," Sam had proposed, her hip jutting to the side, hugged tightly by her low-rise jeans. She stood there as though she owned the place. "If you get caught, I'm running as fast as I can and I am not looking back."
"I don't believe that!" Griffin professed incredulously.
"Believe it, boyo. And I would expect you to do the same." Sam rationaled. "It's better if one of us rots in jail than both of us, right?" She chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Let's make a deal. Whichever one of us doesn't end up in handcuffs sends the other to therapy after being released from prison all traumatized because we ended up becoming some big buff convict's unwilling sex monkey."
"It's gonna be you." Griffin reached out his hand, hooking a finger onto one of Sam's belt loops. He pulled gently on it and she fell onto his lap without so much as whimper. "I'm nobody's bitch."
"Oh yeah?" Sam giggled before lowering her eyelids in a sultry stare and deepening her voice in a husky male impersonation. "You fer suree got sum purdy lips there son."
Griffin relinquished a smirk, "Smartass. You know Puckett, you're going to end up on the FBI's top ten most wanted list someday. And me, I'm gonna think about all the times you teased me and maybe the cash reward looks more appealing, yeah?"
"What?" Sam squawked, breaking character.
"Mmmmhm," Griffin made a show of taking his sunglasses out of his front pocket and breathed on them hotly, polishing the lens with finesse.
"Oooh. You wouldn't dare." Sam challenged, "Fine, do it. But you know that as soon as I broke out of that popsicle stand, I'd hunt you down and kick your ass. It's not like I wouldn't know exactly where to find you. You'd be here in your living room, scratching yourself and surfing auction listings on pee-wee babies…What the heck is with your obsession with those little stuffed critters anyways?"
"It's… it's just a financial plan, okay?" He responded defensively. "You're a woman. You wouldn't understand. I'm playin' it like the suits on wall street, investin' now so I could sell the whole lot in ten years and become a millionaire."
She didn't look convinced.
"Pee-wee babies are cotton gold." He reaffirmed.
"Oh. So that's why you spent last weekend making out with them..." Sam drawled.
Griffin glowered. He glowered at the world. He glowered at the universe.
"Griff, you and me, we're kindred spirits." Sam affectionately pinched at his scruffy chin.
He grunted at her.
"It's true, caveboy. Our friendship is one of the ages. The day you and I met, destiny laid a hand, the stars aligned, the heavens parted and something beautiful was created. We're something to be envied by the gods." Sam nodded her head convincingly at him.
He groaned. Why did he have to listen to this? Sam always launched into flatter-mode when she wanted something from him.
"But despite that Hallmark card I just ripped off, you and I are business partners first. We can't let concern and sentimentality cloud our judgments when we have so much green to gain. If one of us gets in trouble, the other looks out for themselves. We'll rendezvous later, no guilt about doing what we had to, to save our own butts, capiche?"
"Alright, alright... I'm in. What do I gotta lose? I'll agree, but I don't like it, Sam. I don't like it at all." Griffin frowned. "This place you're thinkin' of heistin', do you have a plan, blueprints, a photo, anythin'?"
Sam's eyes sparkled. This boy had no idea what he was in for.
Griffin flinched as a mosquito splattered onto the visor of his motorcycle helmet. He wiped it away with a gloved knuckle. "Damn bloodthirsty parasites."
Carly and Freddie ran through the hospital's hallway, out of breath when they spotted Gibby leaning against a wall, wrestling awkwardly with his denim jacket. "Hey, we got your text. What happened?" Freddie asked as he approached the spiky haired boy, offering his hand. It was taken and given a strong shake.
"'Sup guys. Um. I really don't know." Gibby greeted Carly with a half embrace. It was quick. He was really sweaty. "I was halfway done building a doghouse for Tasha's new puppy and was on my way to the lumber yard to pick up some more wood when I found him. He was just laying there, under all of this trash." Gibby's chubby features twisted in concern. "I figured I'd wait with him until you guys got here. Uh… It's been for a couple hours. Do either of you know how to get blood out of your clothes?"
"Hand wash with cold water instead of hot." Freddie, who was prone to excessive bleeding, instructed.
"Who?" Carly asked, confused as to why they were told to meet here.
"Spencer… it's Spencer and he's not doing too good." Gibby's gruff voice grated out.
Carly's heart dropped into her stomach. "Where can I see him?" she asked. He pointed to the entryway behind her. She took no time to hesitate as she threw open the door and rushed in, apologizing briefly as she bumped into a nursing assistant.
"So, I'm gonna hit the road. There's a plumber expecting me in the morning." Gibby explained, taking his jacket off to sling over an arm.
"For what?" Freddie took a passing interest.
"He's going to show me how to install a toilet in the doghouse. It's a three bedroom, one and a half bath." Gibby replied, as though it was obvious.
"Oh." Freddie uttered, mildly confused. He called out once again as the good samaritan began walking towards the exit. "Hey Gib… thanks for looking out."
Gibby turned around and saluted him respectfully. "It's no problem. You and Spencer are like brothers to me... I'll always be here to watch your back, man."
"Spencer?" Carly approached her brother's bed, anxious about what she would see.
"Carlay." Spencer's voice rang out loud and clear, a hint of whimsy resonating through his voice. She followed it, around a curtain and found him in a medical bed, his leg elevated in a cast, his hands wrapped in bandages.
"What happened?"
" Well, I was walking along the street when like, these TEN NINJAS JUMPED OUT from behind a bush and started nun-chucking me in the face!" Spencer exaggerated, his voice pitching higher and higher for effect.
Carly blinked at him.
"I'm kidding. That's not what happened." He smiled bashfully.
"Oh," she responded leniently.
"I was walking along the street when like, these SEVEN LITTLE DWARVES grabbed me and took me into their cottage in the woods and made me wash the dishes! And when I asked the dwarf boss, "Hey Doc, can I go outside with Happy and Dopey and frolic with the forest animals?" Grumpy stomped into the kitchen, picked up a pan and started smacking me around!"
His sister didn't smile.
"I'm kidding. That's not what happened."
Carly sensed a pattern. She was not amused.
"There was like THIS BEAR that escaped from the zoo! RAWR. And I was carrying this jar of honey minding my own business whe-"
"Why can't you ever be serious?" Carly asked, aggravated by his antics.
"I… I was just trying to lighten the mood sis." Spencer's voice softened in remorse.
"It's not helping! You're broken… You're all broken, head to toe and no amount of band-aids are going to fix you. Not the strip ones, not the square ones, not the knuckle ones or the fingertip ones…"
"Adhesive bandages."
"What?"
"Adhesive bandages. Band-aid is a brand name, and to be fair to the market consisting of competitors and more generic producers, you should say, "adhesive bandages," he corrected. "It levels the playing field." He nodded sagely.
"…Spencer."
"Here's the truth, Carly. I have two fractures in my leg… it'll heal in a month. I have stitches on my chest and my back. I'm bruised all over. I had a concussion. It might be slight brain damage. The doctors don't know yet and honestly, I wouldn't know how you'd be able to tell. All of that… it doesn't matter. I'm young, I'm healthy, I'll get over it." Spencer's tone reflected the honesty and severity of his condition. "What I may never get over is that my hands are mangled… My attackers broke every single finger. They're never going to grow back right. I don't know how I'm going to feed myself." He gestured toward a tray of hospital food, uneaten. "I've seriously been staring at that pudding cup for five hours straight."
Realization hit her like a ton of bricks. "You'll never sculpt again," Carly whispered as she picked up the pudding cup, peeled the wrapper off and dipped the plastic spoon into it.
"No, see that's what I thought too when I found out. But I will. This won't stop me. I'll learn how to sculpt with my feet if I have to. I'll be the first foot-sculptor. I'll be famous!" He proclaimed optimistically.
"Oh, Spencer. Who did this to you? And why?" Carly brought the spoon to her brother's mouth and he accepted it. A smudge of the chocolate cream trickled onto his chin. She reached for a napkin and wiped it off.
"I don't know… I don't know and it doesn't really matter. I'm still here Carly, I'm alive."
He heard the softest sound of sniffling. Carly had ducked her face behind a curtain of raven hair.
"No, don't cry. Please don't cry. Wanna hear something funny? When I first got here, they did a blood transfusion on me. Bet you can't guess what my blood type is."
"O?" Carly dolefully ventured. Her brother was a one-of-a-kind, rare and special person. It would be fitting that he'd have a one-of-a-kind, rare and special blood type.
"No, B +." Spencer chuckled, before wheezing as a shock of pain thundered through his chest. He grimaced before smiling at his sister once more. "Get it? B Positive? Be positive. Isn't that funny, sis?"
The Shay brother looked at his younger sister and knew that she didn't hear what he was saying. She wasn't paying attention to him anymore. She was too busy bawling into his shirt.
Spencer's mouth tightened at the corners. His eyes grew watery. He began crying too.
Author's Note: I recently was sent a few messages that said something along the lines of, "For a Cam fic, you sure included a lot of Freddie," and, "WTF, is this Cam or Creddie?"
I felt like I had to crawl on top of a soapbox for this. ^_^ I am not a shipper whatsoever. I can say that my favorite scenes are the ones between Sam and Spencer but I enjoy the show in its entirety. I'm writing this fic and sweating to showcase as many elements and characters as possible because they are all equally awesome and make this show what it is. (Seriously, I've been racking my brain to figure out how to include Magic Malika in here because she's insane/amazing/underrated.) I also see loads of real and potential chemistry in the relationships between all of the characters.
So yes, after much indecision/deliberation on my part, you can classify this as, "just a Cam fic." But I feel like all of my efforts are kind of cheated by that description. I consider this to also be a Creddie fic, a Siffin fic, and on a smaller note, a Sparly and (to be expanded upon) Seddie with a mention of Tibby fic. If you can figure out what kind of crazy portmanteau you can mash together for that, tell me because it's what I'd like this to be labelled as.
Honestly, shipwars ruin the fandom for me. We all like iCarly, so what is there to argue about? Be friendlier and more openminded, goshdarnit.
Thank you to Toki Nakama and JohnFreemanOverHere and all of my repeat reviewers. Honestly, it may seem like a trivial act, but it's what makes a writer feel relevant.