Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

s e v e n t y - f i v e

"She wanna move around and hold on to the dreams
That she's dreaming
She wanna lose the frown and turn it upside down
And start living"
Honey - Swim Deep 

The late afternoon light filtered softly through the bunker's windows, casting a warm glow over the living room. Amara was comfortably nestled between Sam and Dean on the large, worn sofa, her legs stretched out over Sam's lap while her head rested on Dean's chest. The familiar warmth of their bodies surrounding her made the world outside feel far away, distant and unimportant. Here, she was safe, loved, and exactly where she wanted to be.

Dean absentmindedly played with a strand of her hair, twirling it between his fingers as he and Sam engaged in light banter. The TV flickered in the background, but none of them were really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, they were trading jokes and pop-culture references, filling the room with easy laughter and affection.

"So, remind me again, why is there a talking raccoon in this space movie?" Dean asked, clearly still skeptical of the Guardians of the Galaxy movie Amara and Sam had convinced him to watch.

Sam grinned, shaking his head as he leaned back into the cushions. "Because he's not just a raccoon, Dean. He's Rocket. It's part of the charm."

Amara snorted, unable to resist chiming in. "Dean, you of all people should appreciate a talking raccoon. I mean, you've literally been on hunts with weirder things."

Dean huffed, but there was a playful smirk on his lips. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Amara giggled, snuggling deeper into Dean's side as she wiggled her toes in Sam's lap. "You just don't get it, Dean."

Sam's chuckle rumbled beside her, and he shook his head. "You two are ridiculous." He paused for a second, then, as if inspired, looked at Amara with a glint in his eye. "'You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Paris?'"

The line from Pulp Fiction made Amara freeze for a split second before she shot up from her comfortable spot, nearly knocking Dean's arm away as she jumped off the couch.

"Oh my God!" Amara exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. "Dean, get up! We're doing the dance!"

Dean blinked, clearly caught off guard, but there was no mistaking the grin that spread across his face. "Wait, what?"

Before he could protest, Amara grabbed his hand, pulling him up from the sofa with surprising strength. "Come on, we're doing the Pulp Fiction dance. You're Vincent. I'm Mia. Let's go!"

Sam, still sitting on the couch with Amara's legs having left his lap, burst into laughter as he watched her drag Dean into the centre of the room. "I knew that line would get her. I didn't think it would work this well, though."

Amara was already in position, standing in front of Dean with her arms raised in the classic pose from the movie. She was still wearing Sam's oversized flannel shirt, which hung on her petite frame, giving her an even more perfect Mia Wallace vibe than she'd realised. She wiggled her fingers at Dean, ready for him to mirror her moves.

"Alright, alright," Dean said, holding up his hands in surrender as he took his place in front of her. "Let's do this."

Amara grinned, and without missing a beat, she started the iconic twist, her feet moving in sync with the music playing in her head. Dean followed suit, mimicking her movements with a little extra flair, his finger-pointing exaggerated and over the top. They were both laughing now, unable to keep straight faces as they moved through the dance, channeling their inner Travolta and Thurman.