11x01 tag. Meant to get this out earlier, but I wasn't totally happy with it yet. This whole storyline is super intriguing to me, and I wanted to make sure to get it right.

Whispers in the Dark

They meet under cover of darkness, and Dean almost laughs at the irony of it.

"I like your smile," she purrs, stepping out from the shadows. The smile she mentioned fades, but he has to force it to leave his lips, and that bothers him. He shouldn't be happy to see her again. He shouldn't. This is just business, just gathering intel until he understands enough to destroy her.

"You wanted to talk?" she prompts when he says nothing. She slinks up to him like one of the shadows splayed along the wall and stands at a distance that should be uncomfortably close, but isn't. It's close enough that he can feel that energy he tried to describe to Sam—that complete focus that radiates out from her in waves; ocean lapping at the shore. Dean supposes that makes him the sand.

"I just...want to understand." This is the truth. Dean desperately wants to know more. To know her. Her intentions, her reasoning, her desires. He tells himself it's because she's evil, because he has to find a chink in her immortal armor and use it to his advantage. He tells himself that all he wants is to kill the Darkness.

"You understand more than you give yourself credit for," Amara croons, shifting even closer so that her breath whispers against his lips. "You can feel it, can't you? How deep it all runs? It's okay."

She reaches out slowly, and he lets her, forgetting to breathe as her fingers brush against his cheek, down to his collarbone. She's right. He feels it. He's not sure what it is, but there is something that runs along the edges of her fingers and zig-zags its way through the sharp planes of his face, spreading throughout his entire body like a shiver of electricity, a spark of power that tastes like something between life and death. Dean catches her hand with his own, but keeps it close to his chest, staring at her. She stares back.

"What do you want?" he asks finally, letting her hand drop. She examines her own fingers, as if his touch has changed them somehow.

"It's not that complicated, Dean," she says, letting her gaze drift back to his face. "I want what everyone wants. I want to be safe. I want to be allowed to stay here without the constant threat of an ending waiting for me the moment I take a step."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got. And unfortunately, that's all the time you have to ask."

Dean's eyes narrow and he reaches for the gun in his jeans automatically, despite knowing it won't do much good against a force like her. Amara laughs and shakes her head, and Dean is thrown by the sound of it, a low rumble from her chest. He stops reaching for the gun.

"That's not what I meant," Amara says, still shaking her head, as if gently scolding a wayward child. "I just meant that Sam will be waking soon. And you will want to return before that happens."

"When…" Dean blinks, and Amara is gone, just another shadow sliding along the wall once more. He clicks his teeth together and rolls his tongue over them, still frozen with fingers half-reaching for the colt at his back. It takes him another long moment to shift from his position, to straighten up and start walking back the way he had come. It is still dark out and Sam should still be sleeping, but Dean doesn't question Amara's insistence that he will awaken soon. Sleep is a luxury that comes in short spurts for both of them these days.

Dean reaches their latest motel and takes his time opening the door, making sure not to wake his brother. Sam is a restless heap in the far bed and he shifts upon his brother's entrance, but doesn't wake. Dean toes off his boots and rolls back onto his own thin mattress, knowing he won't be sleeping anymore tonight. It's not because of anything Amara said. She didn't say much of anything anyway. And though Dean still can't quite wrap his head around having a conversation with Darkness itself, that's not what bothers him.

He shifts onto his back and stares up at the blank ceiling, counting breaths and blinks and trying not to think about the question he had been about to ask before Amara disappeared. Because that is what scares him more than anything. It is not Amara's unknown intentions, nor the destruction she is bound to cause that has Dean shifting again, this time rolling onto his stomach and burying his face into an uncharacteristically soft pillow. It is that, in an encounter with God's oldest curse, Dean's most pressing question had been:

When will I see you again?

Thanks for reading, and please leave your thoughts if you have the time!