Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

t h i r t y - e i g h t

"I know you think I'm holding you down
And I've fallen by the wayside now
And I don't understand the same things as you
But I do
Don't laugh at me
Don't look away
You'll follow me back with the sun in your eyes
And on your own
Bed shaped
In legs of stone
You'll knock on my door and up we'll go
In white light
I don't think so
But what do I know
What do I know" 
Bedshaped - Keane 

Amara stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection as the weight of the day settled heavily on her shoulders. The morning light streamed through the window, casting soft shadows across her face, but there was nothing soft about how she felt. Today was the day they would attempt to sever Paimon's connection to her, and the reality of what that meant was beginning to sink in.

She'd been through dangerous hunts before, but this was different. This was personal. Paimon had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, lurking in the shadows, influencing her decisions, haunting her every step. And now, she was about to face him head-on, using herself as bait to draw him out.

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, but she forced herself to breathe, to stay calm. She had to do this. She had to trust Sam, Dean, and Castiel. They wouldn't let her face this alone.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Amara glanced up, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Dean standing in the doorway. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by something darker, more serious. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Ready?" Dean asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Amara let out a shaky breath, turning to face him. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Dean stepped into the room, his presence filling the small space as he moved closer to her. "You're sure about this?"

She nodded, though the tightness in her chest remained. "We don't have a choice, Dean. This is the only way."

Dean's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with something unreadable as he looked at her. "I hate this," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I hate using you as bait."

Amara's heart twisted at the raw emotion in his voice. She stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. "I know. But I trust you."

Dean's eyes softened at her words, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to melt away. He raised a hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary. "You better."

Before the moment could go any further, Sam's voice echoed from the hallway. "We're ready."

Dean's expression shifted back to something more guarded, and he pulled away, turning toward the door. "Let's do this."

The group gathered in the war room, the Blade of Belial resting in the centre of the table like a silent promise of what was to come. The energy in the room was thick with anticipation, the weight of the ritual hanging over them like a storm cloud ready to break.

Sam, ever the strategist, was focused on the ritual details, going over the steps they'd need to take with Castiel. The angel stood stoic and calm, but even he seemed more on edge than usual. There was something different about today—something darker.

Amara stood near the table, her fingers brushing lightly over the Blade's hilt. She could feel its power, the weight of its purpose pressing down on her. This was it. The tool that would sever Paimon's hold on her, if they could make it through the ritual without something going wrong.

Sam glanced up from the ancient texts spread out in front of him, his eyes meeting hers. "You're going to be fine," he said softly, though there was an intensity in his voice that belied his calm demeanour.