Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

n i n e t y

"Don't make no difference babe – no, no, no
And it never ever will, hey
I wanna talk about a little bit of loving ya"
Kozmic Blues - Janis Joplin

The evening had settled quietly over the bunker, the usual hum of activity muted as Sam and Amara found themselves in the comfort of his room. The door was half-closed, casting soft shadows across the space as the warm glow from a single lamp bathed the room in a golden light.

Amara's head rested on Sam's chest, her body curled into his side, one of his shirts draped over her small frame. The fabric was soft and oversized, hanging loosely on her as it carried the familiar, comforting scent of Sam—something earthy and warm, like worn leather and the faintest hint of the outdoors. The shirt fell just above her knees, and her legs were tucked beneath the covers, one arm draped across his chest as they lay in silence.

His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath her ear, grounding her after the whirlwind of emotions that had plagued her earlier. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, a soothing cadence that matched the calm settling between them.

Sam's room was understated, much like the man himself. The walls were bare except for a few scattered bookshelves, filled with worn volumes of lore and old mythology texts. The bed they lay on was simple—functional—but the small, personal touches made it his. There was a small stack of papers on the desk in the corner, some research, some sketches of symbols and sigils. She smiled faintly at the sight of them. He was always working, always searching for answers.

Above the desk, a single photograph was pinned to the wall—an old picture of him and Dean from what must have been years ago. They both looked younger, more carefree, their arms slung around each other as they grinned at the camera. It was a reminder of a time before the weight of the world had settled on their shoulders.

Amara's gaze drifted across the room, noticing the small details she hadn't paid attention to before—the sturdy wooden chair pushed against the wall, the worn boots tucked under the bed, and the familiar leather jacket draped over the back of the chair. It all felt like Sam. Simple, steady, comforting.

In the quiet, she let herself relax into him, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. The silence between them wasn't heavy or uncomfortable—it was a shared quiet, the kind that came after long days and even longer battles, when words weren't needed.

Sam's hand rested gently on her back, his fingers trailing through her hair in slow, comforting strokes. Neither of them spoke, and neither felt the need to. It was enough just to be there, to exist in this peaceful, fleeting moment together.

Amara sighed softly, the tension she'd been holding onto all day finally starting to melt away. Lying there, wrapped in Sam's warmth and surrounded by the quiet familiarity of his room, it felt like the outside world had been pushed aside for just a little while. Here, there were no threats, no entities clawing at her mind, no powers she couldn't control. Here, there was just Sam, the steady thrum of his heart beneath her, and the simple comfort of his presence.

Sam's voice broke the silence, low and soft. "You okay?"

Amara nodded against his chest, her fingers still idly tracing patterns on his skin. "Yeah," she whispered. "I am now."

Sam's hand continued its slow path through her hair, his touch gentle, reassuring. "Good."

They fell back into silence, but it was a silence that spoke volumes. In the stillness of the bunker, in the safety of Sam's room, Amara found a brief reprieve from the storm swirling around them. The weight of the day, the entity, her evolving powers—it all seemed distant now. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to just breathe, to be present, and to let the quiet moment linger.