Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

t h i r t e e n

"I need relief (a failure's coming on)
Just breathe in deep (it's taking far too long)
I had you in my grip but you're starting to slip
Bring out the worst in me"
The Worst In Me - Bad Omens 

Amara's eyelids fluttered open, the dim light of the bunker casting soft shadows across the ceiling. For a moment, she lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, the ache in her muscles a dull reminder of the battle she had just survived. Her mind was foggy, but the memories of Paimon's voice—his twisted, mocking claim over her—came rushing back with terrifying clarity.

Her breath hitched in her throat as her senses slowly returned. The warmth of the room surrounded her, grounding her. She blinked, trying to focus, to push away the lingering darkness that clung to the edges of her mind.

"You're awake."

Sam's voice was soft, filled with concern. She turned her head slowly, her muscles protesting the movement, and found him sitting beside her bed, his intense gaze locked on hers. He looked relieved but tense, the worry etched into his features unmistakable. His hand rested lightly on the edge of the bed, as if he needed to be close enough to touch her but was holding back.

"Sam..." Amara's voice cracked, the effort of speaking almost too much.

Sam leaned forward slightly, his presence comforting despite the tension that hung in the air. "Take it easy," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You've been out for a while. You're safe now."

Safe. The word echoed in her mind, but it felt foreign, distant. Paimon's voice still lingered, whispering in the corners of her thoughts, reminding her of his claim on her. She swallowed hard, her throat dry as she tried to push the fear away.

Her eyes drifted to the other side of the room, where Dean stood, arms crossed, his back leaning against the wall. His posture was rigid, his eyes fixed on the floor. Unlike Sam, who was laser-focused on her, Dean seemed lost in his own thoughts, his frustration palpable even from across the room.

"Dean..." Her voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Dean's head snapped up, his green eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he looked away again. "You're awake," he muttered, his voice rough and edged with something unspoken. "That's good."

There was something different in his tone—something heavy. The tension between them felt like a weight in the air, but Amara couldn't quite grasp what it was. Maybe it was the aftershock of everything that had happened, or maybe it was something deeper.

"Is it over?" She asked, her voice weaker than she expected.

Sam's hand rested gently on her arm, grounding her in the moment. "Paimon's gone," he said quietly, though his voice was tinged with uncertainty. "You're safe now. We're back in the bunker."

Amara blinked, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the ritual, of Paimon calling her Evangeline and claiming she belonged to him. She shuddered at the memory of his voice, the way it had cut through her, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn't been prepared for.

"He said... he said I was his," she whispered, her voice trembling. "That I always belonged to him."

Sam's brow furrowed, and his grip on her arm tightened slightly. "He was lying. Paimon's hold on you—it's broken. Castiel broke it."

Dean pushed away from the wall, his voice harsher than Sam's. "You should never have had to go through that," he muttered, his eyes dark with anger. "That was too close."

The weight of his words pressed down on her, but she could feel the frustration radiating from him. It wasn't just worry—it was something deeper, more complicated. Dean was holding something back, and even in her weakened state, she could sense the conflicting emotions swirling around him.