Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

s i x t y - s i x

"Thought I heard the door open
But I only heard it close
I thought I heard a plane crashing
But now I think it was your passion snapping"
Such Small Hands - La Dispute 

Amara stood in front of the mirror, her heart pounding as she watched Sam and Dean's reflections flicker in the cracked glass. The ancient symbols etched into the surface seemed to pulse faintly, as if the mirror itself was alive, feeding off the tension in the room.

"Let's get this over with," Dean muttered, his voice still laced with frustration, though there was an underlying edge of exhaustion now. His usual bravado was wearing thin, and Amara could sense the weight of the curse pressing down on him, pushing him toward a breaking point.

Sam stepped forward, raising a crowbar he'd found in the corner of the room. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at Amara as if to gauge whether this was really the right call.

"You sure about this?" He asked, his voice softer now, more cautious.

Amara swallowed, her instincts screaming at her that this wasn't going to end well. But there was no turning back. The curse was already wreaking havoc, and they couldn't just walk away without trying to stop it. "Do it," she said, her voice firm despite the knot of unease tightening in her chest.

Sam nodded, tightening his grip on the crowbar. In one swift motion, he swung it forward, shattering the mirror with a deafening crash. Glass exploded outward in a burst of jagged shards, raining down around them. The symbols etched into the mirror glowed brightly for a brief second, then disappeared, leaving only the scattered remains of the broken glass.

For a moment, there was silence. Amara's breath caught in her throat as she waited for something—anything—to happen. Had it worked?

But then, a low, guttural sound echoed through the basement, like the growl of something ancient and hungry. The air grew colder, so cold it hurt to breathe, and the oppressive weight pressing against Amara's chest intensified, doubling in force. She staggered back, clutching her head as a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her.

"Amara?" Sam's voice sounded distant, distorted, as if it was coming from underwater.

She blinked, trying to focus, but the room was spinning. The shattered glass on the floor seemed to writhe and shift, as if something unseen was moving beneath it. And then, she felt it—an overwhelming surge of dark energy, rippling through the room, curling around her like icy fingers.

"No," she gasped, her eyes widening in horror. "It's not over."

Dean let out a curse under his breath, backing away from the broken mirror. His face was tight with barely contained anger, but there was a flash of fear in his eyes too—fear that he was losing control. "What the hell did we just do?"

Before Amara could answer, Sam suddenly lurched forward, clutching his head as if something was stabbing into his skull. He let out a low, pained groan, his knees buckling as he collapsed onto the floor.

"Sam!" Amara rushed to his side, her heart racing. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but the moment her fingers brushed against him, she felt it—a dark, twisted energy pulsing through his body, coiling around his mind like a vice. It was suffocating, pulling at his emotions, warping them.

Sam's breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as if he was fighting against something inside him. "It's...in my head," he muttered, his voice strained. "I can't...I can't stop it."

Amara's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to focus, her abilities flaring to life. She could feel the curse now, stronger than before, feeding off their emotions, sinking its claws deeper into Sam and Dean. Smashing the mirror hadn't broken it—it had only made it worse, amplifying the curse's power.