Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

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

"This house has never been the same as before
It's never felt warm, never felt warm"
Paint - The Paper Kites

The Impala's tires hummed against the cracked asphalt as they drove deeper into Amara's hometown. The air felt heavier here, the familiar buildings and streets stirring up memories she had buried long ago. Her gaze flickered out the window, recognising faces—people she had grown up with, people who had watched her suffer through her mother's strict, oppressive rituals. She hadn't seen them in years, and yet the sight of them made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Dean kept his eyes on the road, though he was aware of Amara's silence. Sam glanced back at her, sensing the tension that had built in the car as they neared the centre of town.

"You okay?" Sam asked gently.

Amara swallowed hard, nodding slightly, though the knot in her throat tightened. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just... feels weird to be back. Again."

Dean glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his voice low. "Weird's one way to put it. You look like you're about ready to punch someone."

Amara huffed a humourless laugh, but there was no joy behind it. "Not quite."

As they drove deeper into the town, past the small shops and houses she used to know so well, her eyes landed on the church. It loomed in the distance, its white steeple reaching toward the sky, a painful reminder of everything she had been forced to endure. Her heart clenched painfully as they neared it, her breath catching in her throat.

The church doors swung open, and Amara's pulse quickened as she saw a group of familiar figures stepping out—her family. They hadn't changed much in the years since she'd run away, though the sight of them made her heart race in ways she hadn't expected. She recognised her cousins, her aunts and uncles, all leaving the church like they did every Sunday.

But it wasn't them that made her stomach twist—it was the woman in front, her mother's sister, who looked so much like her mother that it made Amara's breath hitch. For a moment, it felt like time had reversed, like she was that scared little girl again, trapped in a world of prayers and punishments.

Dean noticed her shift in the backseat and followed her gaze. "That your family?"

Amara nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The sight of them was overwhelming, dredging up feelings she thought she had locked away forever.

Sam turned to look as they passed the church, his eyes softening as he saw the way Amara tensed. "You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

Amara shook her head, her voice quiet but firm. "I have to. I need that Bible. It's the only way."

They drove past the church, and Amara felt a strange sense of relief as the building faded from view. But her relief was short-lived as they turned down the street leading to her old house. The house stood at the end of the block, just as she remembered it—modest and unassuming, paint peeling and porch sagging, with a white picket fence and a well-kept lawn. It looked exactly the same as it had a week before.

Her heart pounded as Dean slowed the car, pulling up to the curb in front of the house. The sight of it sent a chill through her, the memories of her childhood flooding back in painful waves. This was where she had grown up, where she had been shaped by fear and control. And now, she was back.

Dean turned off the engine, the silence in the car deafening as they sat there for a moment, staring at the house.

"You ready for this?" Dean asked quietly.

Amara's hand clenched around the strap of her bag, her pulse racing. She wasn't sure if she was ready, but she knew she had to be. "Yeah," she whispered, though her voice betrayed her anxiety. "I'm ready."