AN: i'm not dead! lol. life's been hectic and my muse for flashpoint kind of died when i couldn't get my weekly fix of flashpoint. i had to spark it with repeated reruns haha. and my computer crashed so my outline disappeared D:

anyway, enjoy! (warning: pretty heavy angst).

XXX

Sam was there again - in the burning desert where it was scorching hot but he couldn't feel a thing. There was sand beneath him, rolling up and up, so much that it would blur his vision and burn his eyes, at least that's what he told himself he should feel. He was holding his trusty sniper rifle and everything was in place again. Scott was nodding at him.

"All clear."

No, Sam thought, this isn't right. Stop. Matt's in there - Stop! Not clear not clear not clear-

Except he couldn't control himself. He couldn't control anything at all. His fingers tightened on the trigger and all he could do was scream at himself, Stop, no don't do it Matt's in there he's going to die dammit don't pull the trigger look carefully can't you see him can't you see -

The shot rang out, echoing over and over again in the empty desert.

No, not again, Matt don't die, Sam thought but it was all in vain because Matt was dead again. There he was, standing six feet in front of him (how he got there Sam doesn't know) shining green eyes wide open and brown hair wind-swept. His face was pale and slack and right in the middle of his forehead - the bullet.

Except he wasn't dead because he blinked. And his eyes slid to Sam.

This isn't happening, he's dead, why isn't he dead?

"Hey buddy!" dead-Matt said. "It's a beautiful day to die isn't it? The sun's shining, bright and hot. My body would smell for days. Probably the best day to get betrayed by my best friend. The one person I trusted would end up shooting me. How's that for irony?"

He laughed, but it sounded wrong. It was too happy, too unnatural. Sam couldn't move a muscle, but his mind was screaming, I'm so sorry, I didn't know -

"How could you? I thought we had each other's back. I'd die for you and you'd die for me... except I died because of you. What happened to our brotherhood? Was that all a lie? Are you a liar Sam? I think you are. You lied to me about our friendship. And you're lying to your so-called friends at the SRU about who you are. They think you're a patriotic sniper who quit the JTF2 but they're wrong aren't they? You were kicked out because you're a murderer Sam."

Sam wished he could say something, apologize, scream, anything to get something across to Matt. But he couldn't, and all he could do was think I'm so sorry, please forgive me.

"Forgive you? I don't think so. You killed me Sam, you have to suffer the consequences."

Sam looked up and all he could see was the cruel smile on Matt's face. The dead man raised his arm, his hand clutching a pistol.

"You know what they say... an eye for an eye, a life for a life."

The shot rang out -

XXX

Sam woke up, gasping for breath. His hand flew to his chest, searching for the non-existent bullet hole. He sat up slowly, one hand still clutching his chest, the other sweeping through his damp hair.

"Fuck," he swore, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

He glanced at his bedside table clock. 3:28. Groaning, he peeled the blanket off of himself and staggered to his bathroom. He splashed some cold water onto his face, relishing the sting of the water hitting his heated skin. Feeling refreshed, Sam left the bathroom and collapsed back onto his bed, his breathing still ragged.

He couldn't keep this up. It was too draining, this repetitive cycle of lack-of-sleep and nightmares. But how do you move on from something like this? Not just a death of a best friend, but the death of a best friend at your own hands. Do you ever get over it?

Sam steeled himself. He has to get over it. He can't live like this, with the guilt as a constant companion all the days of his life. But he deserves it, doesn't he? Deserves the suffering, deserves the sleepless nights, deserves the tears, deserves the guilt. it's the least he should get for committing such a big mistake. For killing a man that was so much better than himself.

He groaned and slid to his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of prescribed sleeping pills. He rarely used them, just because he felt like he should remember. Dreams (nightmares really) and memories are the only thing he had left of Matt. But he really needed the sleep so he popped two and dry-swallowed them and laid back down on his back.

Sleep washed over him in under a minute.

XXX

The second time Sam woke up it was nearing noon. He stretched contently, feeling so much better than he had in the past week. He was starting to feel glad that Ed made him take this vacation time. It was so relaxing and peaceful, a huge contrast to the high-strung lifestyle he led with the SRU.

But this vacation was given for a reason, Sam had to remind himself, so he forced himself out of bed and got ready quickly. He tried to ignore the way his hands shook while he dressed.

It's going to be okay, he reassured himself. You're doing the right thing - they deserve to know. They need closure just as much as he did, so he's going to try and give it.

With his renewed confidence in mind, he ate a quick breakfast and searched the telephone book for Evelyn Johnston. He took down the address on a scrap piece of paper and hurried out of his apartment. He needed to do this before his confidence ran out.

The car ride to Matt's old house was spent in complete silence. Sam usually put on the radio when he's in the car alone to fill in the emptiness, but this time, he needed a clear head. He needed the quiet to think about what he was going to say. Is there a right way to tell someone you had killed their son? Probably not.

By the time Sam had reached the rundown house, he was already thinking about leaving. What would this accomplish? Maybe nothing, but it might help them cope. They deserve the truth.

He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before ringing the doorbell. He could hear the loud creaking of someone walking on old hardwood floors as he or she came to the door.

"Coming!" A female voice called out.

A moment later, the door opened and a friendly, elderly woman smiled up at him. His throat suddenly clogged up at her smile. If only she knew...

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Um yeah," Sam said quickly. "I'm... Sam Braddock. Do you remember me?" She tilted her head and scrutinized him. "I'm... I was a friend of Matt's."

At the name, she completely sobers up. "Oh, yes. I remember." Her eyes misted up. "He brought you here to meet us the day before you left."

Sam remembered that day. He remembered thinking how it was so unfair that Matt had such a perfect family - a loving mother, an accepting dad, a wonderful brother - and all Sam had were two people he would much rather not see. He remembered wondering why Matt would risk his life when he had such an amazing family, why would he risk it?

He closed his eyes away from the memory and smiled weakly at the woman. "Sorry about the sudden visit-"

"No! It's fine," she said and stepped aside to let him in. "Come on in. I was just going to make some lunch. Would you like some?"

"I just ate thank you," he said and quickly stepped out of his sneakers to follow her in. The house was vastly different than he remembered. Back then, everything was crisply clean and full of life. Now, it's like the house had lost its life. The house was messy and dirty, with darkened tiles and spotted hardwood floors.

"I'm sorry about this," she said, as if reading his mind. "After what happened with Matt, keeping this place clean just didn't seem to have a meaning. What a silly reason."

"Everyone deals somehow," Sam said and sat down when she motioned him to. She placed a glass of water in front of him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said. "Now then, not that I don't appreciate this, but why did you come?"

The words were at the tip of his tongue, but Sam just couldn't bring himself to say them. "Just checking up on you. It was what Matt would've wanted," he quickly lied.

Mrs. Johnston smiled sadly. "He was such a wonderful boy. Always thinking of others first."

"Yeah," Sam agreed softly. "He was an amazing person."

"It's been three years and it's been a hard three years, but I'm dealing with it," she said. "It's just so hard you know? With Roger gone, and Tyler off to the army as well."

Sam was surprised. "Tyler went into the army after what happened."

"You would've thought Matt's... death would turn him from the army for good, but Tyler was adamant. He seemed to think that this way, he could avenge his brother or something. He had always been brash, never thinking, always feeling. Nothing I said could hinder him so he just left."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Oh honey, it's not your fault," she said, but Sam knew it was. It was completely his fault. "Matt chose this path, and we all knew the risks. We should've been ready for this."

"Nobody should be prepared for this," Sam said.

"You're right," she said. "But that's just how things are sometimes. I got through this, damaged, but still whole."

"How about Mr. Johnston? And Tyler?" Sam couldn't help asking. He had to know.

Mrs. Johnston looked down at her own cup of coffee and sighed. "Roger didn't take the news well. He was angry at the world for taking away his precious son and we were all hurting but I think he was hurting the most. He had encouraged Matt to join, and was bragging about his assignment in the JTF2. So it hit him the hardest. He turned to alcohol. I - I just watched him fall apart because I couldn't deal with his grief, I was dealing with m y own, so I just watched. Then one day, he went to a bar and didn't come back. " She wiped a tear from her eye. "Liver failure."

Sam felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Another one dead because of him.

"And Tyler was just pissed," Mrs Johnston continued, not aware of Sam's sudden change of demeanour. "We never got any details of how Matt died, and Tyler couldn't deal with that so he joined himself, made it to JTF2. He wanted revenge for Matt's death, for his father's death. I think he also wanted to go to find out the truth. But he never found it and so he's still struggling."

Her words pierced Sam's heart and he felt himself choke up. I have to tell her I have to tell her -

"It would help so much if we knew how it happened," she begged him. "You were on his team - you would know. Please Sam. I just want Tyler home."

"I - " Sam stuttered. Just say it, just say it. Don't be a coward Sam. "It was an accident," he whispered softly.

"What?"

"We were taking out a stronghold. A-and Matt was part of the recon team. We were told that it was all clear to shoot, that the team was out of the stronghold. We were told it was safe to open fire," Sam said, voice shaking almost as much as his hands. His throat and eyes were burning from the tears. Oh god I'm so sorry. "I - I was cleared to shoot, I'm so sorry, so sorry."

The coffee cup clattered from her hands to the floor. The cup shattered with a loud noise and Sam looked up into the shocked eyes of Mrs. Johnston. "W-what?" she whispered. "What are you saying?"

"I... I was the one who shot him," he confessed. "I'm so sorry. We were cleared to shoot-" stop making excuses you murderer-

"Why would you?" she asked softly. "I don't understand - you were his best friend!"

"We were cleared to shoot," he said, but it sounded weak even to his own ears. "I'm so sorry Mrs. Johnston please-"

"Get out."

Sam stopped talking at the pure coldness of her tone. "I didn't want it to happen, you have to believe me!"

"Get out!" She screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You killed my son you murderer!" And she stood up so fast her chair fell over but she didn't seem to care. "You disgusting monster! You killed my son!"

The guilt that had held onto him tightly throughout the whole conversation completely overwhelmed him at her words. Murderer. He got up quickly onto his shaking legs. "I'm really sorry," he said, tears streaming down his own cheeks.

He left before she could start throwing things at him.

He drove back to his own apartment, hands shaking and vision blurring so much that it was a miracle he hadn't crashed. He was shaking so much, he was overwhelmed by the pain and guilt, held back by only his will.

Once he parked the car, he got out and collapsed by the parking lot's wall. He just let it all out, until his sleeves were wet with tears and his knuckles bloody from punching the wall.

XXX

end of chapter four.