1. Escape to Pain and Lonliness (1/1)

remembering

dean was sitting against his work bench trying not to be overcome by memories. here he was in his garage, in the house that he now shared with lisa and ben. sitting here staring at his beloved impala held captive under a

own covering. he had come out here looking for, privacy, a moment away from lisa and her caring eyes. eyes that held too many questions that he would be unwilling to answer because he was not ready. however, he couldn't stop himself from uncovering the trunk just to make sure everything was still as he left it when he moved in last month.

a month? is that only how long it's been? a month since he lost his baby

other to that pit of hell. looking at the impala he didn't want to believe it. it seemed so much longer then that...an eternity. his 40 years were nothing. this is his true hell. sammy gone and him here trying to live the apple pie life. how many miles had he passed on the road with his

other? sammy was the one who desperately wanted a home with the woman he loved. how many burgers and beers? here he was instead of sammy, living with a woman that no doubt loved him and yet it wasn't what he needed. how many? not enough. never enough.

he had been doing a damn good job of being here and keeping promises. promises made in hushed whispers in the cool of the night before the final battle. yet, it was slowly starting to get harder to keep those promises. he wanted to be able to keep living in this house with lisa and ben. then all those thoughts went away in one second. as soon as he opened the trunk. in one second the forced calmness shredded into nothing and his

eathing became labored all because of that folded up musty slightly bloody garment. dean winchester was losing control over a god damned shirt, a shirt of all fucking things. why? simple it was hers. that's what she always claimed anyway, it had at one

ief moment been his...but it was always the one thing she grapped when she'd "bitch" about it being cold even if it was a hundred degrees outside, the one she would sleep in everynight and would still pretend it was in the car...he could clearly remember the night it had become hers. he was just choosing not to because dean does not admit fear and he had been terrified that night, terrified over losing a woman he had known half his life. who? ice...his ice.

it wasn't supposed to happen this way. he was supposed to be shit faced drunk and wallowing in whisky when he thought of her. that way it was a dulled pain and not this; heart shattering, life altering,

eath stealing torment. however, the damage is done and he is reaching for the shirt, where it's covering her favorite knife and his gun that he had given her after she pouted, when he said that is wasn't her birthday gift when he knew it was the entire time and her set of sai's. before he can stop himself he is clutching it for dear life against his face willing the lingering mingled scent of the two of them to calm the raging emotions running through his body. his very being is shaken to the core and he is desparately trying to contain the sobs that are willing themselves to be heard. he can't scream out his rage at her being gone, can't curse castiel for being unwilling and unable to help her. he can't because that would

ing lisa in here with good intentions about his well being and he will not talk about ice to her.

he remembers everything about her in that instant; the crooked smile, the temper, the cascade of raven red hair that flowed around her shoulders and down her back, the tattoos that covered most of her, the contagious bubbling laughter, the scars, the eyes that calmed his soul. he smiles a little despite his pain at the memory of the night they met. she wasn't ice that night but she had been his angel, a blade whielding leather and lace covered vampire killing angel. he cant help but be taken back to that night in la.