"Dean." The voice was warm, low, amused. Feminine. Familiar. He turned to it, his mind slipping into a haze, the world around him fading away, his focus solely on the figure in front of him. He dimly felt resentment at the hold she had on him, the bond that had been forced on him without his consent.

"Amara."

She smiled at him and her dark eyes pulled him in, deepened his mental haze.

"You've been thinking of me. That makes me happy, that there is one being out there - " She waved vaguely. "One being that thinks of me. Since my brother is too busy to acknowledge me." She moved closer and reached up a hand to cup his cheek, the fingers gentle and warm and alive. Then she slid the fingers down to his jaw, traced his jawline, then let the hand drop to his chest. His own hand moved up automatically to cover hers; it felt right, natural.

It also felt desperately wrong.

"Yes, I've been thinking of you. But not in a good way."

A faint frown crossed her face, then vanished. She regarded him gravely. "It doesn't matter what manner of thought it is. I feel it." She gave her own chest a fleeting touch. "Here." Then her hand slid across her forehead. "And here." She pressed it back over his heart. "You are troubled. Sad. Hurting. Remember, if you want to flee the sadness, to feel only bliss, I am here. Everywhere. Waiting for you." She swayed forward, her breath ghosting across his face. "Only say the word, and you will be part of me forever, and there will be no more heartache." Then she pressed her lips to his, and his arms slid around her without volition, pulling her close.

They tasted like stars. Like nebulae spinning in the depths of space. Like perfectly ripe cherries. Like everything. Like nothingness. His eyes slid closed and he drowned in the darkness that she radiated. Then he released her lips, drew in a breath, and stepped back.

"No," he said firmly. She just smiled, like a mother indulging a stubborn child.

"It will happen, Dean."

Then she vanished. His head spun and his surroundings faded back into focus, along with his feelings of trapped desperation and helplessness.

Why?! Why are we bound like this? What the hell does she want from me?

He shook his head sharply to clear the last of the haze, and he looked around, gathering his bearings again. The meadow outside the bunker. He had wandered out here at noon, coffee in hand, enjoying the changing light and the birds, and then Amara had just - appeared. He shuddered, hating the way his very self seemed to vanish when he was near her.

The cup lay at his feet, the last dregs of the coffee still spilling out. That was another thing about Amara, the way time seemed twisted or halted when they had an encounter. He looked down at the cup with pursed lips, then shrugged, stooped to pick it up, and headed back down the concrete steps to the door.

At least she doesn't seem to be able to read my thoughts, we'd be in deep shit if she could.

He was in the kitchen, staring blankly down at the coffee cup, struggling to remember just what he was doing, when Sam wandered in.

"Hey." Sam popped open one of the doors to the old-fashioned industrial refrigerator and peered in. Dean blinked, brought back to the moment, and glanced at him.

"Hey. Just had a visit from our friend, The Darkness." It was difficult to even say it. Admitting his weakness, his bond with her, was hard. It had taken him a long time to get to the point of talking about it at all with Sam. But they had had enough experience with the kind of damage keeping secrets from each other could do, and he was glad he had finally opened up about it. Still. The hold she had on him - it made him feel weak. Ashamed. Fearful that there was something deep within him that longed for darkness, leaned toward evil.

Sam stood up so abruptly that he banged his head against the open door. "Ow!" He frowned at his brother while rubbing his head. "Amara. What was she doing here?!" His eyes widened with a hint of panic. "Think she knows what we're up to?"

Dean leaned against the sink counter and sipped his coffee, eyes brooding. "Nah. She says I've been 'thinking about her', but doesn't seem to know why."

Sam, relieved, returned to the contents of the fridge, rummaging around, then emerged with both hands filled with spinach and fruit. Dropping the smoothie makings on the counter next to Dean, he nudged him with an elbow. "Outta the way." He dumped the fruit and veggies into the blender and flipped the switch. Forehead furrowed with thought, he spoke loudly over the racket. "So. I've been wondering just how we'd get to Amara, but this..." He turned his head to look at Dean. "You think you could...call her? Kind of like praying to Cas?"

Cas. Dean's heart clenched. Amara had said he was troubled, sad, hurting. Oh, yeah. He had a constant, gnawing worry about what was happening to Cas with Luci riding him. So, not surprising that Amara picked up on it. He pushed the thoughts down, took another sip of coffee.

"I was wondering, too. But I think you're right. Call her to me. Then we whammy her with the Hands, stuff her back into the Empty. Hope to God it works." He watched Sam pour the revolting green concoction into a glass with a grimace. "Dude. That's disgusting. How can you eat that shit?"

Sam grinned. "Health and wellness in a glass," he said smugly. He started drinking, Adam's Apple bobbing with each gulp. Dean shuddered.

"Blissful domesticity." Crowley stood in the doorway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets jingling keys or coins, and a sour look on his face. "A million paper cuts with salt rubbed in them would be better...and we all know how much demons love salt." He sauntered in, peering at Sam's smoothie through hooded eyes. "Poison for lunch, Moose? Too much to hope for, I'm sure." Ill will oozed through every word. Sam glared at him, finished the drink, and pointedly turned his back, rinsing the glass out in the sink.

"Nobody asked you, sunshine," Dean said. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

Crowley hitched a hip onto the kitchen table and crossed his arms, transferring his brooding gaze to Dean. "Boys," he drawled, "Just when are we all getting down to business? I want this thing done. I'm tired of this plebeian bunker of yours, tired of being 'nice'." He bared his teeth at the two of them. "Tired of brotherly love. It's like drowning in treacle."

Dean drew his head back a bit, eyebrows raised. "Whoa. Sorry to harsh your groove, man." Crowley snarled.

Sam leaned on his fists on the edge of the sink, staring down. "Dean got a visit from Amara," he gritted out. Crowley's attention snapped to him. He waited, but when Sam said nothing more, he focused back on Dean.

"And what did our lovely Auntie deity want with you, eh, Squirrel?"

Dean started to speak, closed his mouth, and frowned. "A...uh...chat?" He shrugged helplessly. "That was it. I think." Crowley blinked at him.

"A chat. A celestial deity on a par with God just wanted to...'chat'." He mimed the air quotes. "With you." He looked skeptical. Dean squirmed and shrugged again.

"Don't look at me, dude, I don't have the foggiest! I dunno what makes her tick!" He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling, lips pursed. "If anything..." He paused, then threw up his hands. "Hell. If anything, I think she's...uh...lonely." Sam swiveled around and joined Crowley in an astonished stare at him. "What?!" he said defensively.

"Lonely." Crowley snorted. "Let's set up a God-level lonely hearts club!" He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You don't think that maybe, just possibly, she has an inkling of what we're planning?" Dean shook his head. "Really..." Crowley purred. "You don't think that she might have, oh, gotten the information from you while 'chatting'?" Again with the air quotes. Crowley's eyes glittered dangerously. Dean's jaw worked. He stepped forward and abruptly yanked Crowley toward him by the lapels of his suit jacket. Sam took a quick step forward.

He leaned his head in to Crowley's and growled, "Y'know, asshole, it sure sounds like you just accused me of double-crossing you and selling out my brother." Crowley's eyes drilled into his. For one tense moment, they were all poised on the edge of violence. Then Crowley puffed out a small laugh, gently pried Dean's fingers loose, and re-settled himself on the edge of the table. He dusted off his sleeve and peered back up at Dean, all easygoing charm once again. Sam relaxed and backed off.

"No. No, you wouldn't do that; you're like a knight what with your noble dedication to ridding the world of supernatural evil," he said lightly. "So. Aside from the info that she's lonely, did you get anything useful?"

"We think he can call her to us," Sam said flatly. Crowley blinked again.

"Call her?"

Dean nodded.

"Well, well, well. Isn't that interesting. And, yes, very useful," Crowley mused. Dean nodded again, wordless. A thoughtful silence fell on the group. Dean could see Crowley's mind ticking away, turning over the possibilities.

Sam broke the silence. "So, since we're just as eager to get you out of here as you are to be gone...now that we're pretty sure he can bring her here, to us...we can get started." Crowley's eyes slid to him, considering. After a moment, he gave them a quick nod.