(no subject)
The motel room is dark and quiet, save for the soft sound of breathing.
Sam had claimed exhaustion and gone to bed early. Dean had kept an eye on him until Sam had been still for half an hour before lying down on the other bed himself.
Now, an hour later, Dean's asleep on his side of the room.
Sam's only pretending to be.
He follows her into the living room and away from Dean, still pleading with her to reconsider. The gun in his hand drags at his arm with a cold weight.
"Madison, no -- we can find a way, all right? There's this place, Dean and I both know it-- I can take you there, we can --"
"So I can be locked up like a monster in a zoo for the rest of my life?" She's crying openly; he can still feel the touch of her fingers as she reaches for his wrist. "I don't want to live like this, Sam. I won't."
His fingers tighten convulsively around the gun as she lifts his hand, bringing the weapon up between them, raising it until the barrel is pointed at her heart.
"Madison--"
She reaches up and puts her free hand over his mouth, stopping the frantic flow of words.
"Please, Sam. Help me. Don't make me have to do this alone."
He searches her face for long seconds before he nods.
"Close your eyes, Madison," Sam whispers. "I'm here. It's okay."
The sound of the gunshot echoes through the apartment.
In the darkness, Sam opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling.
Five minutes later, he slips silently out the door.
Sam had claimed exhaustion and gone to bed early. Dean had kept an eye on him until Sam had been still for half an hour before lying down on the other bed himself.
Now, an hour later, Dean's asleep on his side of the room.
Sam's only pretending to be.
He follows her into the living room and away from Dean, still pleading with her to reconsider. The gun in his hand drags at his arm with a cold weight.
"Madison, no -- we can find a way, all right? There's this place, Dean and I both know it-- I can take you there, we can --"
"So I can be locked up like a monster in a zoo for the rest of my life?" She's crying openly; he can still feel the touch of her fingers as she reaches for his wrist. "I don't want to live like this, Sam. I won't."
His fingers tighten convulsively around the gun as she lifts his hand, bringing the weapon up between them, raising it until the barrel is pointed at her heart.
"Madison--"
She reaches up and puts her free hand over his mouth, stopping the frantic flow of words.
"Please, Sam. Help me. Don't make me have to do this alone."
He searches her face for long seconds before he nods.
"Close your eyes, Madison," Sam whispers. "I'm here. It's okay."
The sound of the gunshot echoes through the apartment.
In the darkness, Sam opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling.
Five minutes later, he slips silently out the door.