Small Cuts (Supernatural Dark!fic)

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

"And I'm in so deep
You know I'm such a fool for you
You got me wrapped around your finger" 
Linger - The Cranberries 

Amara wasn't sure how much time had passed. 

The pain was still there, deep and throbbing, but quieter now. Amara lay still in her bed, the familiar dimness of the bunker surrounding her. The battle was over, the Entity banished, but the aftershocks of what had happened clung to her, echoing through her broken body like a lingering storm.

Her ribs ached with every shallow breath, her limbs heavy and stiff from the injuries that Castiel hadn't yet been able to heal. The room was quiet, save for the soft shuffle of footsteps nearby. She didn't need to open her eyes to know who it was. She could feel them—Sam, Dean. Their emotions rippled toward her like a gentle tide, wrapping around her as if to shield her from the darkness she had barely escaped.

Sam was closer. His presence was warm, steady, though tinged with a familiar guilt she had come to recognise in him. He was sitting by her bedside, his hand resting near hers on the blanket, as if afraid to touch her for fear of hurting her fragile body. His emotions were carefully controlled, but she could feel the sharp edges of his worry, the soft hum of relief that she was still breathing.

Dean was further back, pacing. She didn't need to feel his emotions to know how hard this had hit him. His frustration, his anger—it was all there, simmering beneath the surface. But she also sensed something deeper in him. A quiet fear, one he rarely let anyone see. He had almost lost her, and that weighed on him heavier than anything else.

Amara shifted slightly, wincing as the pain in her ribs flared up. The soft movement caught their attention immediately.

"Amara?" Sam's voice was gentle, his worry bleeding through the controlled calm he tried to maintain. He leaned closer, his hand brushing lightly against hers. "How are you feeling?"

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light as she tried to focus. The pain was still there, a dull ache radiating through her body, but she managed a small smile. "Still... here," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Sam's eyes softened, his grip on her hand tightening just slightly. "Yeah. You're still here."

She could feel the flood of emotions from him—relief, guilt, gratitude—all tangled together, but beneath it all, there was something steady, something strong. He was grateful she had survived, even though he blamed himself for her suffering.

Amara swallowed hard, her throat tight from the strain of the battle. "You're... okay?" She asked, her eyes flickering between Sam and Dean, who had stopped pacing and was now standing a few feet away, watching her with that same intense, guarded look.

Dean didn't say anything at first. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes flicking to the floor before finally meeting hers. "We're fine," he muttered, his voice rough. "You're the one who got messed up."

His words were gruff, but she could feel the depth of his emotion, the way it twisted inside him, making his chest tight. He wasn't angry with her—he was angry with himself. And she could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.

"Dean..." Her voice broke, barely more than a whisper. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that she had made the choice to protect them. But the pain in his emotions was hard to ignore. She knew he wasn't just frustrated—he was scared. Scared because he had almost lost her.

"I'm okay," she said softly, though the strain in her voice made the words sound hollow.

Dean scoffed, his jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, sure. You're just lying there with broken ribs and God knows what else, but you're 'okay.'"