Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

f o u r

"This is a place where I don't feel alone"
To Build A Home - The Cinematic Orchestra 

Amara stumbled slightly as they led her down the hallway, her legs still shaky, her mind spinning with everything they'd just told her. The shadows of the motel room clung to her thoughts, dark and oppressive, but the cool air of the hallway was beginning to clear her head. The entity was still out there, lurking, but Sam and Dean moved with purpose, keeping her between them like they knew exactly what they were doing.

And maybe they did. They'd been tracking this thing, after all. For months.

Amara glanced up at Sam, who was walking beside her, his hand still gently gripping her arm to steady her. His expression was focused, his eyes scanning ahead, but there was something in the way he moved that made her feel... safer. Calmer. Like maybe—just maybe—she wasn't in this alone anymore.

But the relief was fleeting, quickly replaced by the heavy weight of confusion and fear. How could they have known all this time? How could they have been tracking her without her even realising it?

"Wait," she said, her voice still shaky as they reached the front door. She stopped, pulling back slightly. "I—I don't understand. How did you—why were you—"

"We'll explain everything, I promise," Sam said softly, his voice calm and reassuring. "But right now, we need to get you somewhere safe."

Dean was already by the door, peering out into the parking lot before turning back to them. "Come on. It's clear for now, but we don't know how long that'll last."

Amara hesitated, her mind racing. She could feel the tension in the air, the urgency in their movements, but everything was happening so fast. Too fast. She wasn't sure if she could keep up.

Dean's sharp gaze met hers, and for a second, she felt the weight of his presence—intense, focused, but somehow grounded. He wasn't trying to scare her, but she could feel his urgency, the need to keep moving. "We can't fight it here," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Not without a plan. We need to regroup."

She nodded, though her mind was still struggling to catch up. Her body moved on autopilot as Sam gently led her out into the cool night air. The parking lot was eerily quiet, the sky above overcast and dark, the rain from earlier leaving everything damp and slick.

And then she saw it—the black car parked just a few feet away, its sleek frame gleaming under the faint streetlights. A Chevy Impala.

Dean hurried ahead, unlocking the doors with a quick flick of his wrist. "Get in," he muttered, glancing around as if expecting the shadows to start moving again. "We're getting out of here."

Amara slid into the back seat, her hands still shaking as she buckled her seatbelt. The leather was cold against her skin, and the familiar scent of old car and gun oil filled her senses. It should have been comforting, but everything still felt surreal, like she was watching all of this happen to someone else.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine with a low rumble. Sam slid in beside her in the back, his presence steadying her even though her heart was still racing. She barely registered the motion of the car as it pulled out of the parking lot, her mind stuck on the events of the last hour. The ritual. The shadows. The voice—Evangeline—echoing in her mind.

Her hands trembled in her lap, and she stared down at them, trying to make sense of the whirlwind she'd been thrown into.

For a while, no one spoke. The low hum of the engine filled the silence, broken only by the occasional thud of rain against the windshield as they sped down the empty highway.