Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

n i n e t y - t h r e e

"

Amara stood in the bunker, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the empty space ahead. The weight of her abilities pressed down harder with each passing moment, an invisible burden she didn't know how to carry. She was supposed to be practicing, to learn control, but the cost—seeing into Sam and Dean's worst memories—felt like too much. She was afraid to hurt them, afraid to violate their deepest, darkest pain.

Behind her, Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, their faces tense but determined. They'd been through hell—literally—and they had scars, both seen and unseen. Offering Amara a window into those scars wasn't easy, but they needed her to master her powers before the Primordial Entity could exploit her.

Amara finally turned to face them, her voice soft and hesitant. "I don't want to hurt you. I... I don't want to see things that you don't want me to."

Dean, leaning against the edge of a nearby table, let out a low, bitter laugh. "Amara, hurting's kinda our whole thing." His eyes softened, but the gruff edge in his voice stayed. "We've seen and done things no one should ever have to see. But if this is what it takes to keep you safe during that ritual, we'll do it."

Sam nodded, though there was an unmistakable tension in his posture. "It's not about hurting us, Amara. It's about what you might see. There are things in our past that... well, they don't go away. Not easily."

Amara's heart clenched at his words, guilt gnawing at her. "I've already seen some things, but I never wanted to. It feels... wrong. Like I'm invading your privacy."

Dean pushed off the table, his expression darkening as he crossed the room toward her. "Listen, we've both got skeletons in our closets. Hell, it's practically a graveyard at this point." His voice dropped, growing serious. "But this power of yours—it's not going away. And if seeing some of the crap we've been through helps you control it, then so be it."

Amara looked between them, her hands trembling slightly. "You're sure? I don't want to... I don't want to break you."

Dean's jaw tightened, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with something darker, something haunted. "Sweetheart, we're already broken."

The silence in the room grew heavier. Amara swallowed hard, feeling like a weight was pressing down on her chest. "What if... what if I see things that... that you don't want me to see?"

Sam took a step closer, his voice low and steady. "We've been through a lot, Amara. Things that... no one should ever have to see. But we trust you. That's why we're here."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair as if he were debating whether or not to say what was weighing on him. His voice dropped to a gruff whisper. "You need to know what you might be walking into." He paused, meeting her eyes. "I spent 40 years in Hell."

Amara's breath caught in her throat, her wide eyes locking onto his. She knew pieces of what had happened, but hearing it—knowing how long he had endured that torment—shook her.

"I held out for 30," Dean continued, his voice like gravel. "But after that, I... I broke. For 10 years, I tortured souls. I became what I swore I never would."

The rawness in his voice cut deep, and Amara's heart twisted painfully as she watched him struggle to hold it together. "Dean, I—"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice rougher than before. "You don't need to say anything. I'm just telling you so you're ready. Because if you touch me, and this power of yours flares up, you might see it. And trust me, it's not pretty."

Amara's chest tightened, tears stinging at her eyes. The idea of reliving his suffering—of seeing that side of him—was overwhelming. But before she could speak, Sam's voice broke the tension.