Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

e i g h t y - o n e

"'Cause I'm fucking losing it, get a grip, ignore all the signs
The voices in my head keep telling me I'm fine
Out of luck, what the fuck?
What am I gonna do?
Where did it go wrong?"
n/A - Bring Me The Horizon 

After Amara's confession, the room was filled with a heavy, quiet understanding. The weight of her past lingered between them, but the warmth of Sam and Dean's presence was enough to keep her grounded. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't carrying it alone.

Dean sat beside her, his hand still resting protectively over hers. His eyes were dark with the anger of knowing what she had gone through, but beneath that was something gentler—an unspoken promise that he would keep her safe, no matter what.

Sam sat across from her, his gaze soft and full of empathy. He hadn't spoken much after she told them the truth, but the understanding in his eyes spoke volumes. He had always been the more sensitive one, the one who knew how to reach her when words weren't enough.

Amara felt the tension in her chest slowly begin to ease. She had been running for so long, and now—finally—it felt like she could breathe again.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning her face, as if checking to make sure she was really okay. "You good?" He asked quietly, his voice softer than usual.

Amara nodded, her heart aching with gratitude. "Yeah... I think so."

Dean gave a slight nod, his thumb brushing over her hand. "Good. We're not letting anything else happen to you."

Sam's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. "He's right. We've got your back."

Amara's gaze shifted between them, her chest tightening with a mix of emotions. The protectiveness in Dean's eyes, the gentleness in Sam's... it was overwhelming in the best way possible. She had never had anyone care for her like this, never felt this kind of love.

For a moment, the three of them sat there, wrapped in the quiet warmth of the moment. Dean's hand on hers, Sam's comforting presence—it was enough to make her feel like everything would be okay, even though the weight of the past still hung over them.

Just as the tension seemed to ebb, the soft sound of footsteps echoed through the bunker's hallway. Amara turned her head, and a moment later, Castiel stepped into the room, his usual stoic expression softening when he saw her.

"Amara," Cas greeted, his voice low and filled with concern. He glanced at Sam and Dean, then back to her. "Dean said something is happening."

Amara took a deep breath, her hand still trembling slightly as she sat up straighter. "Yeah... it's... it's complicated."

Dean stood, giving Cas a quick rundown of everything that had happened—the Bible, the objects from her past, the visions, and finally, Amara's confession about her childhood.

Cas listened carefully, his eyes darkening with understanding as Dean spoke. "This entity," Cas said slowly, "it's not just haunting you. It's drawing power from your fear, from your past. That's why it's using the memories of your mother—it's a way to keep you vulnerable."

Amara's stomach churned at the thought, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. "So what do we do?"

Before Castiel could respond, Amara's vision began to blur. A strange coldness washed over her, and the edges of the room seemed to melt away. Suddenly, she wasn't in the bunker anymore.

She was back in her childhood home, standing in the bathroom—the cold, sterile scent of holy water filling her senses. Her mother's voice echoed through the air, sharp and unyielding.