Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

f i f t y - s i x

"Did you think you had us fooled?
And, baby, I know that I told you I was out of the woods
But I still left a kеy under the mat for the wolvеs
So maybe I should drop dead, eat shit, go to Hell
I could jump headfirst out the window
Dark thoughts keep on filling up in my mind" 
n/A - Bring Me The Horizon 

The church shifted around them, the warped space twisting reality into something unnatural. The air was thick, heavy, charged with a dark energy that seemed to grow stronger with every second. Amara stood in the centre, her heart pounding in her chest as Paimon's presence loomed closer, suffocating her thoughts.

"Born for this," Paimon hissed, his eyes flickering with a cold, cruel blue. "Do you think you can escape what's been written for you, Evangeline?"

Amara swallowed hard, the sound of her birth name slashing through the air like a blade. She felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, and for a moment, doubt crept in. What if he was right? What if she had been marked by him all along?

No. She pushed the thought away, clinging to the connection she felt with Sam and Dean.

But Paimon wasn't finished.

"Your powers... the visions you've seen... you think they were your own?" His smile widened, sick and twisted. "I gave you those visions. I shaped them. You've never been in control."

The blood drained from Amara's face as his words sank in. No. No, it can't be true. But the truth flickered through her mind, and she saw it—how some of her visions had felt... tainted. How they had pushed her in ways that led to this very moment.

Sam's hand tightened on her arm, but she could feel his uncertainty. His anger. They all sensed it now—the overwhelming realisation that Paimon had been pulling strings in ways they hadn't seen before.

Dean took a step forward, the blade clenched tightly in his hand. "She's not yours to control. Not anymore."

But Paimon's laughter echoed through the church, chilling them to the bone. "You still think you have control here? Let me show you what true control looks like."

Suddenly, the air crackled with dark energy, and the shadows around them grew deeper, denser, until they swirled into shapes—figures. Illusions. Amara's breath caught in her throat as the shadows began to take form, twisting into people.

Familiar people.

Her mother, her father—faces from her childhood stepped out of the darkness, their eyes cold and hollow. But there was more. There were others too, people from her past she barely remembered, all staring at her with accusing eyes.

"You were always cursed, Evangeline," one of them whispered, their voice distorted. "You were always a burden."

Amara's chest tightened, the words slashing through her like knives. Her parents' voices, the ones who had cast her out, telling her she was cursed—there they were again, twisted and distorted in Paimon's illusions. They stepped closer, their voices growing louder, accusing her, taunting her.

"You were never meant to be saved."

Amara staggered back, her vision blurring as the illusions closed in around her. Her breathing quickened, panic gripping her chest like a vice. "No... this isn't real."

But it felt real. The voices, the faces. They were all so painfully real.

Dean lunged forward, trying to slash at the illusions with the blade, but it was like trying to cut through smoke. The figures shifted and reformed, swirling around them with every movement.