It was dark when she woke up.

Empty.

Alone.

Gone.

Mallory started crying again. Something soft and warm brushed against her cheek but she didn't bother opening her eyes. It was a damp cloth, soaking up her tears as they ran warm and viscous down her cheeks.

"Mal...hey, Mal, don't cry. You can't cry. You're still crying blood. C'mon, you gotta stop."

It was Sam. She felt one of his huge hands holding her head steady, which was resting against something round and firm...his lap, she guessed. He continued to wipe her face as she continued to cry. She couldn't stop.

Amitiel was gone.

She remembered, now. Everything. Every day of the last three weeks. Every injury, every moment of pain, and every second of Amitiel's presence glowing warm inside her. It was cold, now, and empty. Deep, tearing sobs kept rising from her chest despite her best efforts.

"Maybe we should take her to a hospital," she heard Ellen say softly.

"Can't," Dean replied. "The BOLO on her went nationwide after our stunt in the Detroit police headquarters. Her picture will be in every hospital from coast to coast."

At that moment, Mallory realized she would never be able to go home. Not after what she'd done. They'd lock her up, in a prison or an institution. There was no going back for her, now. That only made her cry harder.

"Aw, dammit," Sam muttered somewhere above her. "Mal, please. Try to calm down. This isn't helping. I know it's hard...I know. But you can't keep doing this. You're losing blood."

She wanted to curl up in a ball, hide in the darkness and make the rest of the world go away.So she drew her knees up to her chest and did just that.

XxxXxxX

It was still dark when she woke up next, even though it felt like hours later. Mallory stirred faintly. She recognized the scent and feel of Bobby's couch, and the threadbare afghan pulled over her shoulders. Sam's lap had been replaced by a pillow and it sounded as if she was alone in the living room.

She reached up and rubbed fitfully at her eyes. They ached: dull throbbing balls of pain. She could still see the light of Amitiel's true form, just the briefest glimpses before she'd screwed her eyes shut. Now she felt dried blood flake from her eyelashes. She blinked them open and frowned.

Didn't Bobby have any lights on? She sat up slowly, reaching out with one fumbling hand until she encountered the lamp on the side table. She clicked it on. She clicked it off. She clicked it on again, fighting against the rising panic bubbling up from her stomach. Closing her eyes tightly, she turned the light off and then on. She slowly opened her eyes.

"Sam!" she shrieked. "Sam! Dean! Cas!"

Footsteps pounded on the wooden floor and someone skidded to a halt in front of her, thunking loudly down onto knees. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. "Mallory?" Sam asked breathlessly. "Mallory, are you okay?"

"I can't see," Mallory panted. "I can't see. Sam, why can't I see? Oh, my God, I can't see!"

"Mal, I need you to calm down, okay? Just try to calm down."

Something inside Mallory finally snapped.

"The best friend I've ever had is dead and I can't see!" she snarled, ripping one arm out of his grasp and striking out blindly. "You calm the fuck down!" She felt her hand contact flesh with a loud slap and Sam's grip on her other arm vanished. Mallory collapsed backwards against the sofa and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as if that would keep in the sobs choking her.

The couch dipped next to her and Sam's arm slipped around her shoulders. She turned and buried her face against his chest, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Her tears felt normal this time, cleansing water rather than sticky blood.

Voices babbled around her and people came and went, hands touching her, her face and her eyes, but she didn't care. She sat through it all, oblivious and silent once her tears dried up. The darkness wasn't comforting anymore. It closed in around her, pressed against her until she was gasping for breath. She felt her hands being clenched in a warm grip.

"Mallory!" Ellen said sharply, her voice close and in front. "Mallory, listen to me. I know you're scared, but you gotta breathe, okay? Can you do that for me? Can you breathe for me?"

Mallory struggled for a moment before managing to take a uneven breath.

"Good girl," Ellen continued. "You just keep doing that. Deep breathes, in and out. Bobby, you got any tea in the house?"

"No. Hot chocolate work?"

"That'll be fine. Jo, make Mallory a cup, would ya? That's it, Mallory. Keep breathing. You're gonna be okay."

Mallory shuddered. "No, I'm not," she whispered. Ellen's hands tightened over hers.

"Now don't you be saying things like that," the older woman replied firmly. "You're gonna be just fine, we'll make sure of that."

"Ellen," Mallory breathed. "Ellen, I'm blind. How am I gonna be fine?"

Ellen didn't reply. After a moment she released Mallory's hands and placed a warm mug in her grip. "Careful, it's hot," Ellen warned. Mallory didn't feel like hot chocolate, but she took a couple of sips to appease Ellen. She burnt her tongue.

Mallory closed her eyes, not that it made a difference, but for some reason it made her feel better, as if the darkness was explainable with her eyes closed. She could hear Sam and Dean somewhere distantly, not talking but she'd become accustomed to the way they moved over the past week. Ellen was still in front of her and Jo sat beside her on the couch. She couldn't locate Bobby.

"Where's Castiel?" she asked abruptly, still cupping the mug in her hands. There was a long silence filled with awkward shifting. Mallory frowned. "Where is he?" she demanded again.

"Uh," it was Dean who finally spoke. "He, uh...had to be somewhere. He left."

The feeling of abandonment hit her like a blow, bringing more tears to her eyes. She screwed her eyes tightly shut against them, focusing on her breath in order to calm down. Really, she shouldn't have expected differently. After all, Amitiel was gone, so there was nothing keeping him around. Why would he want to stay with her? She took another sip of chocolate to hide the emotions warring on her face, and then held the mug out in front of her. Someone took it from her grasp.

"I'm tired," she said quietly. "I want to go to sleep, now."

They left her without another word and she curled up under the afghan, face buried in the pillow.

XxxXxxX

Ellen and Jo had left sometime while she was asleep. Dean and Sam had gone out on an errand, Bobby hadn't mentioned where. Mallory sat on the couch for an hour before finally beginning to move. She reached up and touched her face, then her hair. Someone had braided her hair neatly to keep it out of the way. She didn't recognize the any of her clothing, other than the fact it was a button-up shirt and jeans. Her feet were bare, and cold. She could feel the scars on the bottoms of her feet.

She placed her feet carefully on the floor and wiggled her toes against the wood planks. Then she slowly got to her feet. One shuffled step forward and she encountered a rug. She stood on the rug for a moment, burying her toes into the soft fibers. She extended her hand in front of her, groping in the darkness. Feeling nothing, she cautiously stepped forward, wracking her memories for the layout of Bobby's cluttered house.

Mallory made it out of the living room with only a small bruise on her shin and a stubbed toe. She was now in the study, if her memory served. She started by the door and began to feel everything, running her fingers over the covers of the books piled on every flat surface.

Books. Would she ever be able to read again? Many of the books were dusty, coating her fingertips. She encountered several things she didn't recognize, turning them over and over in her hands, trying to picture them in her mind. Most of them she gave up on, replacing them as best as she could. One of them she knew the instant she touched it.

A gun. To be more specific, a revolver. The metal was cold and slick as she felt it. Short barrel, rough grip, ridged sights, and by the weight of it, loaded. Mallory carefully closed her hand around the grip and picked it up. She'd never fired a pistol before, only shotguns on her uncle's ranch. It was slightly too large for her hand, but she could still wrap her fingers around it, index curling over the trigger. Her thumb found the hammer but merely rested there.

A strange rushing feeling surged through her stomach. There was something...comforting about the gun. As if it gave her control. Yes, control. She had control now. She blinked against the darkness that refused to lift. She had control over her life. It was simple, really. Such an easy choice.

Live in the darkness, empty and alone.

Or end it. Right now.

Mallory lifted the gun to her face, pressed the side of it to her cheek to feel the cold metal. It smelled of oil; recently cleaned. So she knew it would work. It would be quick. Put the barrel to her temple and pull the trigger. No pain. Just...ending. It sounded nice. Just to be gone. For it to be over.

Her hand started to shake and she lowered the gun from her face. She pressed her thumb harder against the hammer, pulling it back. It clicked once, kept going, and clicked a second time before stopping. The trigger had moved under her finger as well, pulling back, making it so easy to press it just a little further.

Mallory's heart started to race. Fear pooled like ice water in her stomach but rage heated it to boiling. She was going to spend the rest of her life blind. She was useless. Nobody wanted her anymore. Not even Castiel, who she'd thought...No. It didn't matter what she thought. Nothing mattered anymore.

It just needed to end.

She clenched her jaw and lifted the revolver again, bringing it up to her head.

XXXXX

A/N: Yes. A short chapter. I sincerely apologize. However, my plot bunny seems to have run away and the missing posters I've put up have not yielded results. Fear not, though! I have not given up the search!