Hello guys!

Sorry about updating this 4 days after we said we would, but the plane was delayed and we just got back to the island we live in... So sorry!

However, we decided to give you more inside on Sam's past! WIIIIIIIIII!

We were going to uncover some of it later, but it just came to my mind and I decided to put it here!

Yeaaaaah- Hey, hold on a second! YOU decided? YOUR mind? Have you forgotten that we ARE the SAME mind? Huh? I also had a part in this, you know?

*rolls eyes* Just shut up. *shoves cookies on inner self's mouth*

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Bookfan22, xXMidnightFireHeartxX (It isn't her evil self but it's close to it... Althought I have an oncoming story featuring Sam's evil self and it's a DanxSam fic ^.^), Looka'sMagicHell, piequeenthegreat (glad we make you laugh ^.^) and Jimmie130! You guys rock!

*coughs and splutters* You will pay for this! On with the fic! *throws other self of a cliff* I'M EVIL! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-cough-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! *falls*

Read, Enjoy and REVIEW! (HAH! NOT MY OTHER SELF!)

Sam + Twin = Trouble

Chapter 8 – Down The Memory Lane

It was a stormy night, and the weapon room was faintly lighted by the flickering flame of a single candle in the hands of a young girl. It was obvious that she shouldn't be there, since she tried to conceal the candle light to a minimum and crept along the floor while making as little noise as possible. Royal purple eyes shifting wildly, as if expecting someone to appear out of nowhere and catch her in the forbidden room, she silently, painfully slowly, pushed the curtains to prevent any light to be seen from the outside and closed the doors with care, jumping with her own respiration.

Finally sure that no one could see her, but with her senses still on complete alert, she finally put the candle down, careful not to let any drops of molten wax fall, and allowed herself to examine the room with the faint light the candle provided.

Every single wall in the room was painted black, as were the ceiling and the floor. White circles, each one slightly bigger than the previous one, like the ripples in the water after a droplet broke he surface, were engraved on the floor, as were various runes with different colours, positioned in a manner that would seem random to most people, but had an hidden meaning for those who were instructed in the Arts. The knowledge of the little girl, unfortunately, was limited to the lessons she had watched while hiding in the shadows and to her own intuition.

The walls had various weapons hanging from it, half from which the girl didn't even knew the name and could only imagine its uses. There were at least one from each type. From fancy swords that were completely unpractical, only meant to show-off, to ancient weapons that were used centuries ago, from leather, three-pointed whips, to Japanese katanas, from emerald-incrusted silver daggers to rusty Viking war hammers, there were basically every type of weapon you could think of. Torture tools, fencing and archery material, halters and chains... Hell, even a Jack-in-the-box they would have if it could be used as a weapon!

Two ropes dangled from the ceiling, one with knots all way from the floor, and the other shorter, with the end in a hoop, which the young girl knew that was used to do one-handed lift-ups and other strength (and even flexibility) exercises. Bars occupied one side of the room, close to an empty space in the wall, and other equipment was placed so most of the floor was unoccupied.

With curious eyes, the little girl let the hood that covered most of her head fall, showing a dark, rich auburn coloured hair fall down her back in cascading waves. It was quite long, even for a girl, and the silky mass almost reached her knees. The ends were almost black, for the girl always liked that colour, even though her mother always disliked her uncommon tastes, but she didn't care.

Young Sam Manson, who obviously was the little girl, furrowed her brows while she grabbed a pair of woo diep do, a weapon that somewhat resembled those used in the Aladdin Disney movies by the bad guys. Testing its weight, and finding it slightly heavier than she expected, mostly because of her own age, she shifted them experimentally in her petite hands, all thoughts of being caught leaving her mind. With her eyes bright, she assumed a defensive stance, twisting somewhat awkwardly the swords, one in which hand.

Attacking an imaginary enemy, young Samantha lunged forwards, twirling, ducking and crossing both woo diep do above her head, blocking an imaginary attack. Advancing and backing off, always fighting, little Sam practiced her use of the weapons the whole night, acquiring more confidence with the beforehand unknown fighting tools. Now that she understood the basics of the woo diep do, her graceful and agile demeanour returned, replacing the awkwardness that she always experienced when trying an weapon for the very first time. She was a natural at fighting and she knew it. After getting the hang of the tactics of the fighting techniques or weapons she was trying to use, it was immensely easy for her to master it. She was born to fight, and she knew it. It had been forbidden to her, but since when had that ever stopped her? The answer was simple: never.

Sam had always been fascinated by weapons, the shiny metal so beautiful and smooth; yet so sharp, so deadly. So... alluring. A dagger covered by velvet, so enticing and dangerous. It had some sort of attractiveness to it, a touch of seduction. It called Sam to feel the weight of the metal, to try to run her fingers across the blade, to smile at the drops of the dark blood that proved that it was well-sharpened. Beautiful, yet deadly – just like young Samantha wanted to be.

When her instincts told her that the sun would be rising soon, she carefully hung the woo diep do in its rightful place in the wall, opened the curtains, grabbed the candle and crept silently out of the room, the small 'click' of the lock echoing softly in the dark room. She didn't notice a single drop of wax that had fell to the floor while she was practising. It was still there when the first persons went to the weapon room, right after sunrise.

"Sam? Sammy? Can you hear us?"

"She doesn't seem like it... Do you think she's going to be OK?"

Sigh.

"I don't know. When I found her, she was just closing her eyes. I can only imagine what would have happened I had come later."

The two boys and the red-headed girl were sitting next to the hospital bed of a very pale and weak-looking Sam Manson. The machines were beeping rhythmically, and it would be a comforting sound if said girl was actually asleep and not in a state such as the one she was in.

"Goodness, she almost died of blood loss. I-I don't know what I would have done if she died."

With a grim look, Tucker agreed.

"I know." He sighed. "Well, but she isn't much better than dead now, or is she?"

In synch, they all turned their eyes to the blood and IV machines, tubs and needles that connected to the girl's life, and then to her pale face.

Danny Fenton, the girl's best friend and oh-so-secret crush, caressed her face softly, taking in every single detail in case he wouldn't see her alive again. If only she was just asleep... It would be a lot easier to bear.

"Samantha."

The voice was female and familiar. Young Sam gulped. It was the voice her mother used when she had done something she wasn't supposed to – a curt, brusque tone that cut short every hope of escaping unpunished. With a supposedly angelic smile, she turned around to face the woman she feared and loved at the same time.

Little Sam's mother was a beautiful woman, but also a dangerous one. She was the type of woman that commanded men, rigid, short with words, and not fond of loving gestures. Sam had done everything in her power to gain a single compliment from the woman, but she wasn't succeeded; the only thing she did that was against her mother's wishes was her secret use of the weapon's room, but Sam hadn't exactly told her. She wasn't stupid, you know, since it was forbidden to her since she was old enough to walk.

Sam's mother was a petite woman, although she seemed to tower above everyone else when she wanted. Short, chin-length black hair shaded her amethyst coloured eyes, which were shaded by long, dark lashes that made men fall at her feet with a single blink. Her nose was slightly crooked, result of a fistfight that had ended in a broken nose on her side and many broken bones on the other, and her full, rosy lips were set in a thin line – one which little Sam knew to fear. Her dark purple clothes hugged her thin form, which seemed fragile but actually hid a great strength and agility.

"Samantha." She repeated. "Your pose is unbalanced. You have more strength in your left side, so you should compensate your right while fighting."

And she left, leaving a shocked little Samantha behind.

Back in the hospital room, only one person remained. Holding her cold hand in his, Danny caressed her skin lovingly. Sure that no one could see him, he deposited a kiss on her forehead, sighing sadly before leaving.

He just wanted for Sam to wake up from her comatose state so they could be happy again.

And Sam continued her trip down the memory lane.

OOOOOOOOHHHH... I put Little Sammy-kyns in coma! *gasp* How could I have been so EVIL? *smirks* Oh, well.

This has got to be the shortest A/N I ever made.

Luv u guys! (not my other self!)

Auf Wiedersehen! (still not my other self)

GoThYk SyA (NOT MY OTHER SELF! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)