Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

t w e n t y - o n e

"I'm locked in this house
It don't feel like a home
I should open the door and just go, go, go
My head is a madhouse
It lives inside of me
Yeah, I'm feeling trapped now
I can't escape my dreams"
Madhouse - Call Me Karizma 

The low hum of the bunker's lights flickered softly as Amara walked into the kitchen, her mind still racing from the almost moment with Sam in the training room. Her heart had barely settled, but the energy from their near-kiss was still buzzing beneath her skin, her thoughts spiraling in ways she couldn't quite control.

She hadn't expected things with Sam to escalate like that, and now she was caught between the intensity of what had almost happened and the nagging sense that something more was coming. Her powers had always been unpredictable, but the way they seemed to flare up after moments like this—moments when the connection between her and the brothers was at its strongest—was starting to scare her.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she froze. Dean was there, leaning casually against the counter with a glass of whiskey in hand, his green eyes locking onto hers the moment she walked in. The air between them seemed to shift, the tension that had been simmering since their earlier training session now bubbling to the surface.

"Hey," Dean said, his voice low and rough, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You alright?"

Amara blinked, her pulse quickening as she met his gaze. There was something different about the way he was looking at her tonight—something deeper, more intense. She swallowed hard, nodding slightly as she moved further into the room, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled under his gaze.

"Yeah," she said softly, though her voice wavered just enough to betray the nervous energy humming inside her. "Just... needed a minute."

Dean's eyes followed her as she made her way to the counter, the playful edge in his expression giving way to something darker, something that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the counter, stepping toward her with a smoothness that made her breath catch in her throat.

"You sure?" Dean asked, his voice lower now, rougher, as he stopped just a few inches from her. The familiar scent of whiskey and leather clung to him, wrapping around her senses and making it harder to think straight.

Amara swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at him. The air between them felt thick, charged with something unspoken but undeniable. She could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on her, the heat of his body so close to hers that it sent her pulse racing.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dean's eyes darkened just slightly, his gaze flicking down to her lips for a moment before snapping back up to meet hers. "You don't look fine," he muttered, his voice edged with something that made her stomach twist.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the space between them growing smaller with every passing second. Amara could feel the tension thickening in the air, her skin buzzing with the weight of it. She knew she should say something—anything—to break the moment, but the words wouldn't come.

Dean's hand came up, brushing lightly against her arm, the simple touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. His fingers lingered, warm against her skin, as his eyes searched hers, the intensity of his gaze making her breath hitch.

"I'm not sure I believe you," Dean murmured, his voice dropping even lower, rougher now as he took another step closer. His hand slid up her arm, his thumb brushing lightly over her shoulder, and Amara's breath caught in her throat.