Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

e l e v e n

"You've got me shaking from the way you're talking
My heart is breaking but there's no use crying
What a cyanide surprise you have left for my eyes
If I had common sense I'd cut myself or curl up and die
Sticks and stones could break my bones
But anything you say will only fuel my lungs"
Sarcasm - Get Scared 

The air in the bunker's training room was thick with tension, the sharp sound of feet shuffling against the mat and the heavy breathing of exertion filling the space. Amara stood in the centre of the room, sweat slicking her skin, her muscles burning from the relentless pace of the training session. She was tired—more than tired—but Sam and Dean showed no signs of letting up.

Dean circled her slowly, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he watched her, waiting for her next move. Sam stood on the sidelines, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze calm but intense as he analysed every step, every twitch of her muscles. They were pushing her harder today, more than they had before, testing the limits of her endurance and instinct.

Amara's heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in short bursts as she tried to focus, tried to keep up with the pace they were setting. Dean's moves were fast and sharp, leaving her barely any room to react. Every time she thought she had an opening, he was there—faster, stronger, cutting her off.

"You're hesitating again," Dean barked, his voice sharp, cutting through the fog of exhaustion clouding her mind. He feinted to the left, then darted to the right, forcing Amara to spin out of the way, her feet barely catching her balance.

"I'm not—" she started, but her words were cut off by a quick jab from Dean, forcing her to block clumsily. Her arms shook from the effort, her muscles burning as she tried to hold her ground.

"You are," Dean countered, his voice low but relentless. "You see the opening, but you don't take it. You can't hesitate in the field, Amara. It'll get you killed."

Amara gritted her teeth, frustration boiling in her chest. She knew he was right, but the constant pressure, the never-ending pace, was wearing her down. She couldn't think straight, couldn't move as fluidly as she had in the beginning. Her body felt sluggish, her mind clouded with exhaustion.

Sam's voice cut through the haze. "Focus, Amara," he said quietly, his tone calm but with an edge of intensity. "You're doing fine, but you need to push past it. You've got more in you."

Amara let out a shaky breath, trying to shake off the exhaustion. She couldn't stop now, not with both of them watching her so closely. She had to prove herself, had to show them she could keep up, even when her body was screaming for rest.

Dean lunged again, faster this time, and Amara reacted on instinct, dodging to the side and countering with a quick strike. She caught him off guard, her hand connecting with his side, and for a moment, she felt a surge of satisfaction.

But it didn't last.

Dean recovered quickly, his hand grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward him with a force that made her stumble. He twisted her arm, bringing her to the ground in one swift motion. The impact sent a jolt of pain through her, and she gasped, trying to catch her breath as the world spun around her.

"Enough!" Dean growled, releasing her wrist as he stepped back, his expression unreadable.

Amara lay on the mat, her chest heaving as she stared up at the ceiling, frustration and exhaustion mingling in her veins. She had tried—she had pushed herself harder than ever before—but it still wasn't enough. It never felt like enough.

Dean's voice was quieter now, but still firm. "You need to stop holding back, Amara. You're stronger than you think."

She wanted to argue, to push back against the frustration bubbling inside her, but the exhaustion weighed her down. She stayed there on the mat, her breath ragged, her body aching from the intensity of the session.