Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

o n e - h u n d r e d + n i n e

"It's getting dark too dark to see
Feels like I'm knockin' on Heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door" 
Knockin' On Heaven's Door - Bob Dylan 

The room was deathly still in the aftermath of the battle, the last remnants of chaotic energy flickering away, leaving behind only the dim, artificial light of the bunker. Amara lay motionless on the ground, her body broken and bruised, her breathing shallow and laboured.

Sam knelt beside her, his heart pounding in his chest, his hands trembling as he gently touched her arm. "Amara... please," he whispered, his voice thick with fear. "Stay with us. Come on."

Her body didn't respond, her chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. The bruising across her ribs was dark and deep, her bones twisted in ways that made Sam's stomach churn. She was so fragile, like a broken doll, barely hanging on.

Dean was crouched on the other side, his hand gripping hers tightly, his jaw clenched in frustration and fear. "Come on, Amara. You can't leave us now," he muttered under his breath, his voice edged with desperation.

Castiel, his face drawn and pale, knelt beside her, his hands hovering over her torso. His eyes flickered with deep concern as he concentrated, a faint glow surrounding his fingers. The glow faltered almost immediately, his grace too depleted to do what was needed.

"I can stabilise her," Castiel said, his voice heavy with frustration, "but... she's in critical condition. Internal bleeding, fractured ribs, broken bones... it's too much for me to heal all at once. If I push too hard, I could do more damage."

Sam's heart sank at Castiel's words, his hand still gripping Amara's, as if his presence alone could somehow keep her tethered to them. "Just do what you can, Cas," Sam murmured, his voice breaking slightly.

Castiel nodded, his expression grim as he placed his hands over her chest once more. A faint, trembling glow surrounded his fingers as he focused on the most severe injuries. The bruising on her chest lightened slightly, and her breathing began to even out, but the deeper injuries—the broken bones, the internal damage—remained.

Dean let out a frustrated breath, his thumb brushing across the back of Amara's hand. "She's not gonna make it like this," he muttered, his voice tight with worry. He glanced up at Sam, then over at Castiel. "We need to move her. Get her to her room, let her rest."

Sam nodded in agreement, his mind racing. Amara needed time to recover, but with the extent of her injuries, that recovery would be slow and painful. The weight of it pressed down on him, the fear that they might still lose her gnawing at his insides.

But before they could move, Jack, weak and pale from blood loss, staggered forward. His eyes were wide, his face drawn with determination, despite the exhaustion written across every inch of his body. Without hesitation, he unsheathed the knife he'd used before and sliced a fresh cut into his palm.

"Jack, no," Castiel said sharply, reaching for him, but Jack shook his head, determined.

"She has divine blood," Jack rasped, his breath shaky as he let his blood drip onto the floor beside Amara. "And so do I. It might help... even a little."

Castiel's eyes softened, understanding the desperation in Jack's actions, but he hesitated. "Jack, you've already lost too much blood. This could weaken you beyond recovery."

Jack shook his head again, stubborn as ever. "I'll be fine. She needs this."

The glow of the blood didn't activate any symbols or power, but it mixed with the faint energy still lingering in the room. The essence of Jack's divine blood seemed to pulse, resonating faintly, and as it mingled with the remnants of chaos, it seemed to calm the swirling energy around Amara, offering her some relief. Her breathing steadied, just slightly, her body no longer wracked with the same painful spasms.