Amara absentmindedly filed away at her glossy nails, thoughts drifting. She missed her Dean. She missed the way his green eyes sparkled when he was happy, how the skin crinkled with soft lines when he smiled. She missed him holding her in his warm strong arms. She missed his laugh. She missed the way he spoke to her, all gentle and deep. She hoped he wasn't mad at her. She couldn't bear the thought of him being angry with her. Surely he understood?
Or perhaps not. She should talk to him about it. Amara smiled to herself, humming lightly. That's what adults did, right? Talk about things. Explain stuff. She was more grown up now. Her little body was currently that of a fifteen-year-old, her curly brown hair falling to just above the middle of her back. She had exchanged the bright red dress for a darker crimson one that ended a few inches past her knees and had a modest v neckline. Hopefully, Dean would like it. She certainly hoped so.
Amara heard the door creak open, and she felt a familiar presence. She set the file aside and stood up. She drank in the sight of his dark blonde hair and apple green eyes. His stance was tense. She stepped closer.
"I knew you'd be here," Amara said. Dean swallowed.
"I'm sorry, Amara," he murmured. She tilted her head.
"For what?" the teenage goddess asked.
"For what I have to do," Dean said.
She glanced down and saw the knife in his hand. His hand was trembling slightly. Amara looked back up into his eyes.
"Hello, Dean," Crowley greeted.
Amara felt the nasty urge to snap his neck. Or make him explode. The demon waved his hand, and Dean smashed into her mirror, falling to the floor in a heap of shattered glass. Crowley sauntered over to him.
"The girl's all grown up. Should have known it wouldn't be long before the boys came sniffing around."
Dean stood up, clutching his knife. Crowley flung him against the wall and pinned him there with his power. Dean grunted, the knife falling to the floor with a clatter.
"What do you want with her, Crowley? What, do you think you can use her? Control her?" Dean scoffed. "You're an idiot."
"I'm not trying to control her," Crowley said. He bent down to pick up the knife from the ground. "I'm helping her to realize her fullest potential. Do you know how disturbing it was to for me to realize that I couldn't kill you? I've had plenty of chances over the years, some you don't even know about, but I made my peace with it. Embraced my softer side. Just learned to accept that there was too much going on between you and I. Bromance. But you know what? I think I am going to kill you today. I feel different, somehow. Ready. What can I say? Fatherhood changes a man."
Amara grabbed the heavy tome from her table and brought it down hard on the back of the demon's head. Crowley grunted in surprise and pain, stumbling back. She extended her hand and curled it into a fist, twisting her fingers in a sideways motion. His wrist bent until he dropped the blade. Then, she flicked her other hand, and he screamed as his wrist snapped. Amara shoved at him with her power, and he went flying into the wall. She tightened her fist. Crowley gasped in agony, his insides twisting together.
"It's time. Time for you to move your tired *ss back to your throne and lick your wounds. I'll spare your life on one condition," she said. "Safe passage for Dean. Out of here."
Crowley didn't answer immediately, so she squeezed harder. He groaned, choking up blood.
"Yes! Yes," he coughed. Amara smiled.
"Good."
She released her grip, and the demon collapsed on the ground. Dean also landed, but he managed to stay on his feet. Amara glared at Crowley.
"Now... get. Out. Of my room," she commanded.
Crowley nearly tripped over his own feet trying to leave. When the door slammed shut, she heard the sound of a knife being picked up. She turned around.
"You won't," Amara said. "You can't." She stepped closer to him. Dean's eyes were wide, the nearer she got, the larger his pupils dilated. She quickly reigned in her power, and they returned to almost normal. He was still shocked, there was nothing she could do about that.
"What is going on here? Between us?" Amara whispered, voice soft. "You save me. I save you." She cupped his lightly stubbled cheek with a gentle hand. "You were the first thing I saw when I was freed. It had been so long. Maybe that's it. My first experience of His creation. You can't help but represent that for me. The sweet triumph and the even sweeter folly of what He's wrought. There's no fighting it. I'm... fascinated," she admitted.
The expression of love and confliction on his face struck a chord in her heart. She let out a tiny sigh, reluctantly dragging her hand off his cheek. He observed her in silence.
"It's been great seeing you again, Dean, but I have to go. There's a whole world out there for me to explore, and I can practically taste it." She bit her lip. "Soon I'll be strong enough to do what I came here to do."
"What's that?" Dean asked softly.
"To settle an old score. The oldest score."
Amara looked at the knife in his hand, and he followed her gaze. He touched the tip to the base of her neck. She saw his blade shake before he dropped his hand back to his side.
"See?" Amara murmured. "You can't. Just like I can't hurt you."
"Please," Dean breathed. "Don't go."
She blinked at the desperation in his voice, the loss.
"You... want me to stay?" Amara said. A shout stopped him from answering. The door broke open, and the taller Winchester ran in.
"Dean!" Sam cried.
Her dark blue eyes widened, and she held her hand out in front of her. She was about to throw him aside when a hand wrapped around her wrist. Amara looked back at Dean.
"Please not him ''.