Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

o n e - h u n d r e d + s e v e n

"I need relief (a failure's coming on)
Just breathe in deep (it's taking far too long)
I had you in my grip but you're starting to slip
Bring out the worst in me
And now it's come to end, I think I'm giving in
You set my demons free"
The Worst In Me - Bad Omens 

The war room had never felt this heavy before.

As dawn slowly crept closer, a quiet tension settled over the space. The air was thick with anticipation, with the kind of heaviness that made every breath feel a little too tight, a little too sharp. The symbols had been drawn—meticulously, carefully—around the room in a perfect circle. Everything had to be exact. One mistake, one misplaced mark, and it could all fall apart.

Amara stood at the centre of it all, her gaze fixed on the Bible in her hands. The pages felt heavy now, the words still lingering in her mind from the passage she had read earlier. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, but she was determined. She wasn't the frightened girl she once was. This time, she wasn't facing it alone.

Sam and Dean were off to the side, speaking in low tones as they checked over the Blade of Belial. Dean's face was set in that familiar, focused determination, his jaw tight as he ran a thumb over the blade's edge. Sam, ever the steady presence, was more controlled, but there was tension in his movements. They both knew what was coming, and neither of them was taking it lightly.

Jack stood near the edge of the circle, looking down at the small vial of his own blood that would be used to stabilise the ritual. His youthful face was drawn with quiet concentration, though there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. This wasn't just about power—this was about trust. He had to trust that everything would go right, that his part in this would work.

Castiel, standing stoically near Jack, watched over the room with his usual solemn calm. His trench coat hung heavy on his shoulders, and though his expression was impassive, there was a sharpness in his eyes. He was ready to act if something went wrong. Castiel had always been their safety net, and tonight, that role felt even more pronounced.

And then there was Crowley, lingering by the edge of the room like a shadow that didn't quite belong but was necessary nonetheless. He looked almost bored, his arms crossed, but his eyes flickered with amusement every now and then as he watched them prepare. He had made his motivations clear—this was about getting rid of a problem that threatened Hell itself—but there was something else there too, a quiet interest in how Amara would fare.

Amara's eyes met Crowley's briefly, and she felt a strange mix of annoyance and gratitude. He wasn't her ally, not in the truest sense, but she couldn't deny that he had helped in his own way, even if it had been for his own selfish reasons.

Dean's voice cut through the silence as he stood, gripping the Blade of Belial tightly in his hand. "Alright. Is everyone ready?"

Sam gave a small nod, his eyes flicking toward Amara. "We've got everything we need. We just need to start."

Castiel stepped forward, his voice calm but commanding. "Amara, you'll need to centre yourself first. The connection between you and the Entity will be the hardest part of this. Once we begin, the chaos essence will amplify that connection, and you'll feel it trying to pull you back in."

Amara swallowed hard, nodding. She had expected as much. The Entity had been whispering to her for days now, its presence always lurking at the edges of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike. But she wouldn't let it. Not this time.

"I'm ready," she said softly, her voice steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides.

Dean glanced at her, his expression softening just slightly. "You've got this."