Chapter song: C'est la Mort by the Civil Wars

A/N: Normally I put lyrics that really speak to me, but this song … guys this song couldn't be more Dean and Bella at this particular moment. Especially the lemon part. Did I say lemon? Yes, there's a lemon. Enjoy.

PS. I'm trying to get chapters out asap, so they haven't been beta'd. Please forgive me.

Bella held the tip of her pocket knife to the palm of her hand, wincing as she pushed down and drew blood. Holding her hand over the copper bowl, she stared intently as each scarlet red drop fell. A tiny fist held over the bowl, she squeezed and squeezed, trying to get as much blood out as possible—partly for the ritual but mostly just to feel pain.

With her free hand, she brought a pack of matches to her teeth and tore one out. Instead of using the strip on the back of the package, she struck the match against her jean-clad thigh. Tossing the flame into the bowl, the frustrated cop began to chant familiar Latin.

"Hello, Bella."

Despite the peaceful look on Mary Winchester's face, Bella dug right into her.

"What the hell!"

Mary's lips twisted into a side smirk, lighting her eyes. "You sound a lot like my son."

"Stop. I don't want to hear it. Why did you tell them about the spell? This is going to ruin everything."

"I had to give the boys something. By the time they figure it out, it will be too late. You'll be in the Hellhounds' sights and there's no reversing it once they've caught a whiff … unless you have the Duke of Hell in your pocket or a direct line to the big man himself."

Gripping a kitchen towel in her hand to stop the bleeding, Bella said, "Dean knows."

"No he doesn't, dear." Mary sighed. "He only speculates you're up to something. I saw the whole thing."

Bella huffed. "You were watching us?"

"I don't mean to pry into your lives … I just needed to make sure you stuck to the plan."

"Plan? We still don't have a plan. I'm just supposed to wait around until you or some of your angel pals give the go-ahead." Bella started to pace across the kitchen floor. "Which will be when exactly? The way I see it, Dean has a month tops."

"You'll know when the time is right."

Mary vanished with her words lingering heavy in the air. "Thanks for all your help," Bella muttered to no one in particular.

She stalked over to the kitchen sink and stood on her tiptoes to reach the cabinet above. Swiping her hand around, she smiled once her fingers contacted with a smooth, glass bottle. The really good stuff, she thought to herself as she pulled the bottle down.

The eighteen-year-old scotch was a present from Charlie when she graduated the academy. That was several years ago, and as the saying goes … it only gets better with age. She didn't really know what she was saving it for, but now seemed like as good as time as any. It's not like she had anything to celebrate or look forward to. She had one mission tonight: drink so much she'd forget about ever loving Dean Winchester.


The nearly empty bottle of Johnny Walker Platinum sat on Bella's living room coffee table. The pounding on the front door made the bottle vibrate but did nothing to wake up the passed-out, brokenhearted girl on the couch.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Is that pounding in my head? Bella asked herself as she started to rouse. One eye open, one eye closed, she held her head trying to fill in the missing pieces.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Was her heart racing? Sometimes drinking did that to her. She covered her chest with her hand and slowed her breathing.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Bella, open the freakin' door before I break it down." Dean's thundering voice was muffled, but whatever he said, she knew he meant business.

"Fuck," she said on a sigh.

Staggering, she walked over to the front door, grasping various pieces of furniture for either support or to avoid walking into it. She unlocked the chain and slowly opened the door, using the doorjamb to prevent her body from collapsing into a drunken pile on the floor.

"Yesss," she slurred, trying her best at a come-hither smile, but instead looking like she was holding back vomit.

"You're drunk." Dean pushed his way in, slamming the door shut in the process.

Bella still remained in place, this time using the wall to hold herself up.

"Did you need something?" She asked, looking at him through one eye.

Even though she was extremely inebriated, Bella could feel the fight going on inside of Dean. She could tell by the tick in his jaw and the hard glare of his eyes that he didn't want to be there … so why was he?

"Why …" hiccup "…are you…" hiccup "…here D-D-Dean?"

"I don't fucking know, Bella. I shouldn't be … I don't want to be … but here I am …" He took two steps to close the space between them.

If he reached out, he'd be able to touch her. Please touch me, she begged silently. She hated him with everything she was but loved him with everything she had. There was no ending things with someone like Dean Winchester. Even death—his or hers—wouldn't stop Bella from needing him.

She could feel herself sway, and just as she was about to tumble on unsteady feet, Dean reached out and scooped her into his arms bridal style. He looked down at her flushed face and glassy eyes and she smiled. A real smile filled with love. Bella didn't hate him, couldn't hate him. They could go back and forth forever, pushing each other away just to save the other person. What was the point? If this was all they had, all they'd ever had … they couldn't waste any more time playing these games.

"Take me to bed, Dean."

And with a soft kiss on her forehead, that was exactly where he carried her.


Dean pushed his fists into the plush mattress, his slick, naked body hovering over Bella. The soft, gentle scraping of Bella's short fingernails turned desperate as she gripped his lower back and dug into flesh.

"More," she cried.

She might have been shitfaced and glassy-eyed, but the want and need in her eyes had never been clearer.

Closing his eyes, Dean stilled himself, savoring the feel of his broken but brave girl around him. With Bella's dark hair splayed across the pillow case, vanilla drenched patchouli engulfed his senses. He took a long inhale, searing the smell into his memory. As skilled a lover as he was a hunter, Dean was starting to fall apart … and not in the good way. Refusing to believe this was the last time he'd have her—heart, body, and soul—Dean thrust his hips and the moan that fell from her plump, pink lips urged him on.

A bead of sweat fell from his forehead and landed between Bella's breasts. It took everything in him to keep rhythm, not stopping to trace the trickle running between the valley with his tongue. He loved that spot on her, and he never hesitated to touch it—with his tongue, fingertips, any part of his body really—because that was where her heart was. As long as he felt her heartbeat, everything was okay. They were okay.

He took soft, slow strokes, grinding his hips into her as he went. Resting his weight on his left arm, he reached down with his right hand. His fingertips felt the creamy, smooth skin of Bella's calf and worked their way up to her knee, where he gently lifted and placed her leg behind him. The angle changed and he was able to get deeper, but it still wasn't enough for him.

It wasn't until Bella reached up and caressed his brow, forcing him to look at her. She held his stare, lust-filled espresso boring into evergreen. She brought her hand down to his cheek, and he tilted his head into her touch.

"I love you. I'll love you until my last breath."

Air rushed out of his chest, Bella's words threatening to suffocate him. Dean didn't ever want to think about the moment Bella stopped breathing, but luckily he wouldn't have to. He wouldn't be around to see her die, and that was a blessing in disguise. He could do this. He could be with her and love her the way she needed, even if it wouldn't be long enough. Life was short and hard, like a bodybuilding elf, so he might as well enjoy what was left of his.

The truth was he tried not to love her. He might have been infatuated with what she represented: a life without hunting. But then he met Bella, not just through Charlie's letters and pictures, but the real-life, living, breathing version of his dream girl. Busty Asian beauties only took him so far. She was as real as the steel on the handcuffs she slapped on him that fateful day in Forks. Dean never entertained the thought of finding someone. Life as a hunter wasn't exactly conducive for relationships, not knowing whether you'd come back in one piece or at all for that matter. Not to mention the danger it put your loved ones in. Not Bella. She was fierce, sexy, and a helluva shot. Demons and run-of-the-mill ghosts wouldn't scare her off. Falling head over heels, giving up her bruised and tattered heart, that shit was enough to make her run, but she didn't. The confident, sexy hard-ass stayed, and Dean had no fucking clue why, but he thanked God—if there even was one at this point—that she had.

A very small part of him wondered if it what they were destined to be together. He shrugged that thought off before it had time to take hold of his heart. Asshole hunters with daddy issues didn't get the luxury of having his own destiny or believing in some crock of shit like fate. If there was one thing Dean was going to believe in, it was Bella.

With one final stroke, he pulled her body as close to his as physically possible. It still wasn't close enough. He wanted to be the air she breathed and the blood in her veins, but this … right here and right now … was the best he was going to get.

Dean let himself spill inside of her and allowed himself one last selfish thought: he was going to love her and accept her love … because if he didn't, they were both better off dead.

Holding her as tight as he could, Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck. "I love you, Bella. I'll love you for eternity."


The searing pain of the sun's morning rays drilled straight into Bella's brain. A feeling of being trapped came over her. She tried to sit up, but a weight on her chest held her down. Shifting her eyes to the side, her gaze landed on the reason she was unable to move. Perfect, pursed lips. Eyelashes so long they almost grazed his freckled cheeks. A worried, furrowed brow. Even in sleep, Dean was tortured. Despite the hammering in her head, she snuggled a little closer. Wrapping his arm around her even tighter, Bella could feel his hardness pressed against her back. Flashes from the previous night assaulted her senses. She had never felt closer to him, the words that were always skimming the surface finally broke through loud and clear.

Hot breath tickled her neck, and she started to squirm. Dean moved his hand lower, gripped her by the hips, and stilled her against him.

"Unless you want what I'm offering, I suggest you stop moving."

A smile spread across her lips. She managed to turn in his arms and faced him. "Good morning."

"Is it?"

Were they doomed to the never-ending battle between love and hate? At night, under the cover of darkness they were to free to love and be loved, but in the harsh light of day it was back to the push-and-pull war no one would win.

Just as she was reeling back, ready to fight, Dean tugged her close. "Nothing has changed for me, Bella. I love you. That doesn't go away overnight."

"But …"

Dean let out a dark chuckle before pushing up and resting his head on the bedframe. The gray sheet fell around his waist, leaving his chest bare. Bella was finding it hard to concentrate.

"No but this time. I just want to make sure we're on the same page. I've got a little more than a month left. I want to spend it with you. Loving you."

Bella looked down, picking at a loose thread on the sheet. "I'm not going to stop trying to find a way to save you."

"You wouldn't be you if you did." Crushing Bella to his chest, he placed a kiss on the top of her head before tucking her under his chin and holding her tight.

Content she hadn't exactly lied to him, Bella smiled a sad smile. She'd already found a way to save him, and her parting gift was letting him love her.

"I have a pound of bacon in the fridge that's just dying to be fried." She raised her brows, trailing a finger down his chest. Remembering the time he cooked bacon shirtless and bitched the whole time as bacon grease spit and spattered on his bare chest, she stifled a laugh before asking, "Wanna help?"

"How can something so delicious hurt so badly?"

"Never thought I'd see the day … Dean Winchester brought to his knees by bacon."

Rubbing his hands over his chest, Dean laughed. "And risk scarring this masterpiece? I think I'll take a shower. Feel free to join me when you're done slaying the mighty bacon beast."

Things were light … until they weren't. They couldn't pretend to be this normal couple that joked around and ate breakfast together. After a quick peck on the lips, Bella hopped out of bed. Though shower sex sounded amazing, she didn't want to push things. If she went with him, she'd never leave. They'd be holed up in her bedroom, speaking in a language only their bodies and hearts could understand. Time was running out and she had a spell to find.

E/N - It's the home stretch, kiddos. The big questions is will Bella be able to save him and herself? I'd love to hear your theories.