Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

t w e n t y - s e v e n

"And I think you ought to stay away from here
There are ghosts in the walls and they
Crawl in your head through your ear
I think I saw you in my sleep, lover
I think I saw you in my dreams
You were stitching up the seams
On every mangled promise that your body couldn't keep
I think I saw you in my sleep"
Such Small Hands - La Dispute 

Amara woke up with the faint light of morning filtering through her room, the soft glow easing her from the tangled dreams that had plagued her through the night. Despite the restless tossing and turning, her body felt surprisingly refreshed, the heavy tension from the night before now replaced with a strange sense of calm.

The moment she opened her eyes, however, the memory of everything that had happened came rushing back—Sam's teasing words, Dean's dark smirk, the way they had toyed with her, leaving her frustrated and aching for more. She could still feel the heat of their presence, the weight of their voices hanging in the back of her mind. But for now, it was quiet. She could breathe.

She slipped out of bed and padded across the room, the cool air sending a shiver down her spine as she made her way to the small bathroom attached to her room. The hot water of the shower was a welcome relief, washing away the lingering tension from the night before, but no matter how much she tried to push it from her mind, it was still there—quiet, simmering, but there all the same.

Once she was clean, Amara dressed quickly, choosing a simple white blouse and jeans. She didn't feel like putting much thought into her clothes today, especially considering the ruined state of her dress.

The dress.

She glanced down at the torn fabric, still crumpled in the corner of the room, and let out a soft sigh. It had been her go-to, but now it was nothing more than a reminder of the chaos from the hunt—and everything that had followed after. She couldn't bear to keep it any longer.

Gathering the dress in her arms, she quietly opened the door and stepped out into the hall, the fabric limp and ruined in her hands. As she made her way toward the kitchen, her footsteps light, she felt it—a shift in the air. A presence.

When she turned the corner, there they were.

Sam and Dean sat at the kitchen table, both nursing cups of coffee. The moment her eyes fell on them, she could feel it—the heavy, charged atmosphere that hadn't quite dissipated from the night before. They didn't say anything, didn't outright tease her about the dress she was holding, but she could feel it. The smug, flirty tension was thick, and it hit her full force through her empathic abilities, amplifying every flicker of amusement they were radiating.

Sam took a slow sip from his cup, his eyes catching hers over the rim as his lips quirked into the faintest of smirks. Dean, leaning back casually in his chair, arched an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he was trying to suppress the smugness that practically radiated from him.

They didn't need to say a word.

Amara's cheeks flushed slightly, but she kept her expression neutral, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much the unspoken tension was getting to her. She stepped past them toward the trash can, the ruined dress limp in her hands, but she could still feel their eyes on her, the teasing air between them hanging heavy.

She tossed the dress into the trash and turned to leave, but the atmosphere lingered, thick and undeniable. Neither of them had mentioned last night—not yet—but it was there, palpable, wrapping around them like a heavy fog.

Just as she was about to slip out of the room, Castiel strode in, his trench coat billowing slightly behind him as he glanced around, his eyes landing on the three of them.