This is a very short one-shot (Let me repeat--ONE-SHOT!) inspired by a particular peice of artwork on DeviantART called On Fire by Oncassette. (If you want to see it, go to DeviantART, and type in these keywords in the search box: on fire seddie ) iCarly belongs to the great victorious Dan Schneider!

Freddie's Perspective

I was sitting on the stairs of this all-too-familiar place, watching this all-too-familiar girl cry her eyes out as it got colder and colder out as the sun set behind the horizon.

"Sam?" I asked, staring at my feet. "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer. She just kept crying. God, poor thing... I watched her for a moment, not knowing what to say. It's hard to know what to say when the girl who torments you for the fun of it on a regular day to day basis is curled up alone on the rail of the fire escape, bawling her eyes out. And, to make this situation even harder... She wouldn't freaking answer me!...

"Sam? Please talk to me..."

She didn't even look at me. Didn't even acknowledge the fact that I was sitting right in front of her, watching her, trying, just trying to help...

She went into a coughing fit, tears still pouring down her face.

"Sam!" I shrieked with urgency, jumping down to her side. I wrapped her in my red hoodie; she was freezing! Then my hand subconsciously made its way to her face, which felt as if it were on fire.

"Sam, what's wrong?" I whispered, still holding her close.

She just sighed, wrapping her arms around me—Which is how I know she is most certainly sick as a dog—and started crying harder into my chest.

I rested my chin on her head. "Shhh..."

She started hiccuping as she tried to hold the tears back. She gave up after a minute, and let them flow. I didn't oppose. I just held her, kept her warm, and rubbed her back.

Eventually, she was able to stop crying, and I was able to actually talk to her.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

There was a short moment of silence, then she said, "I can't take it anymore..."

"You can't take what anymore?"

"My mom..."

My eyes widened. "What did she do to you?"

I felt Sam shudder. "I-I... She, just... Makes my life miserable, all the time..."

"What is she doing to you?" I asked again.

"She's physically hurting me, Freddie... And her new boyfriend... He's... worse..."

"What do you mean?"

"He... He... Did something to me... That... I don't want to talk about it right now... My head's spinning--"

She gasped, and held on tight to me.

"Sam?"

She whimpered, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Come on—You need to lay down..."

I picked Sam up, assuming she probably couldn't stand, let alone walk, and carried her inside to my apartment. I set her down on my couch, and grabbed a wash-cloth. I dampened it with cold water, and placed it on her forehead. Then I went to the bathroom closet and grabbed an extra comforter from it, and placed it over her body.

I knelt next to her. "Try to get some sleep, okay? You need it."

She nodded without saying anything. I hugged her as best I could, and made my way to the recliner, grabbing my book from the side table.

"Freddie?" she whispered.

"Yes?"

She was silent for a moment, then she said, "Thank you..."

I gave her a smile, and said, "There's no need for thanks, Sam... Now get some rest."

She obeyed, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

Then something dawned on me. Sam Puckett, in the worst condition I've ever seen her in in my time of knowing her, told me "thank you." That stunning little fact made me smile.

Soooo... What do you think?...