Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

o n e - h u n d r e d

"Goodnight
Sleep tight
Don't let anyone bite
She will leave you deaf and bewildered
Oh how she floats like a butterfly
Stings like a killer"
Small Cuts - The Brobecks

Amara sat at the edge of the long wooden table, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the surface. The room felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken tension. Crowley lingered near the far wall, his presence uncomfortably persistent. The others had left, each to their own tasks—Dean to brood, Sam to research, Castiel to strategise—but Crowley remained, watching her with a keen, knowing gaze.

She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath his silence.

"I know you know more than you let on," she said, her voice a quiet challenge.

Crowley's lips curled into that familiar, arrogant smirk. He pushed off from the wall, striding toward her with an ease that made her skin prickle. "Ah, there it is. That spark of curiosity. It's what makes you so... interesting."

He stopped just short of her, eyes gleaming with a mixture of mischief and something darker. "And yes, you're right, darling. I always know more."

Amara swallowed her irritation, meeting his gaze with steady resolve. "Then tell me. What is it? What aren't they telling me?"

Crowley tutted, circling her now, his tone almost playful. "Oh, they've been telling you the story—a version of it, at least. A sprinkle of divine blessing here, a dash of ancient lineage there. But the full picture? The truth?" He let out a soft chuckle. "That's the part they're keeping close to their chests."

Her heart gave a nervous flutter. "What truth?"

He leaned down, his lips near her ear, voice low and laced with a dark amusement. "The truth is, your precious Winchesters and their angelic pet have been shielding you from the very thing that makes you dangerous. They think they're protecting you, sweetie, but in reality, they're just afraid."

Amara's brow furrowed, his words like poison sinking into her mind. "Afraid of what?"

Crowley pulled back, giving her a pitying look, though his eyes danced with amusement. "Afraid of you. Of what you could become." He stepped around her, tapping the table as if punctuating his next words. "You see, your bloodline... it's not just blessed. It's marked. Chosen for something far greater than a mere hunt for demons and entities."

Amara's breath caught in her throat, unease creeping up her spine. "What do you mean, 'chosen'?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking almost disappointed at her lack of understanding. "You really don't see it, do you? You're not just another hunter, or some girl with powers. You're a key, my dear. A key that unlocks doors even Heaven fears to open."

Her pulse quickened, but she masked it behind a calm exterior. "And what doors are those?"

He leaned closer again, his voice turning conspiratorial, dark. "The Entity—this thing you've been so desperately running from—it's been waiting for someone like you for centuries. You're the culmination of a pact made long ago, one even your dear Castiel hasn't fully grasped." Crowley's smirk grew, his eyes narrowing as he saw her defences falter. "Your ancestors didn't just receive a blessing—they made a deal. A deal that ties you to the Entity's power in ways they never anticipated."

Amara's eyes widened, her mind racing. "A deal? Why haven't they told me?"

Crowley's grin deepened, his words slow, deliberate. "Because they don't trust you with the full truth. They think you're fragile, that knowing too much will break you. Poor Amara, the damsel in distress." He tilted his head, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "But I know better. I know what you're capable of."