***Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Supernatural. The only thing I lay claim to is Mic and her penchant for setting things on fire.

Unforgettable

It was a year later. Sometimes when she thought about it, Mic couldn't believe it had been that long. If someone would've told her the day she left Hell that she would end up falling in love with a Prophet of the Lord and he would love her back and she would be happy, Mic would have laughed in their face and probably peeled it from their skull. For good measure.

Except here she was, her hand entwined with Chuck's, as they drove back home. They had gone dancing. This time it had been her idea. Mic always remembered dates and when she had told him that morning she wanted to go dancing because, didn't he know, it was a year ago they had danced together for the first time. He had laughed at that, kissed her on the head, and made her promise to wear the red dress. She gladly obliged.

That was what Mic was thinking about as they drove. She was thinking about how her feet were sore and she couldn't wait to get into bed with him as the light changed from red to green. She was singing 'Unforgettable' in her head and thinking how damn lucky she was when the other car ran the red light and slammed into them.

The sound of sirens was what brought Mic out of her daze. Her vision was clouded red and she realized it was because of the blood pouring down her face from the gash on her head. Voices outside of the car were telling her to stay calm, they were going to help her. She wanted to tell them not to bother with her, a car crash couldn't kill her, but a year of pretending to be human made her hold her tongue. A car crash couldn't kill her but… Her thoughts turned to panic as she turned to check on Chuck. He was slumped over the steering wheel. There were noises behind her, sounds of rendering metal, but she didn't pay attention to them. Her only thought was to make sure he was still breathing, that sound of the beating heart she fell asleep to was still there. Hands grabbed her, pulling her from the wreckage as she struggled against them, trying to make them understand that she was fine, that he was the important one. Someone put a mask over her nose and mouth then Mic blacked out.

When she woke up, she was in a hospital bed. The harsh white light hurt her eyes and there was a dull itching in her arm from the IV. She pushed herself up, ignoring the pain that shot through her body and the loud beeping that started when she began tearing away the wires. A nurse came rushing into the room.

"Miss, please," the woman said with a hand on Mic's shoulder. "You need to lay down."

"Where's Chuck?" Her words sounded slurred.

"Miss, you need to stop. You've been in an accident. We need to get information from you."

Mic looked at her blankly and sank back down. "What?"

The nurse grabbed a clipboard from the end of the bed. "Your full name, age, and date of birth."

"I…Mic Shurley. I'm…32. My birthday is March 31st." She was making all that up. She just wanted to placate this woman so she would tell her where Chuck was.

"And the man who was with you? Was he your husband?"

She almost said that they had never gotten married. That they each had rings, ones they had given each other on the anniversary of the day they fell in love. (Mic remembered it so clearly, even now.) She almost said that it didn't matter what you called him, he was hers. But she didn't say any of that because her heart felt like it had just been ripped from her chest.

"Was?" she repeated numbly.

The nurse didn't have to say anything; it was written all over her face. Mic grabbed the IV cord and jerked it out of her arm, stumbling to her feet. She pushed her way out of the room, not knowing where she was going. All she wanted to do was find him and prove them wrong. People shouted at her and some even tried to stop her but she kept going. She had to.

It seemed to take her forever to make her way to the morgue. At one point the nurse from earlier gently took her by the arm and told her that she would take her to him. Mic followed her. The room was cold and it smelled stale. She could feel the bile rise in her throat as the nurse nodded at a man in a white coat and he pulled back the sheet on one the tables. Her vision swam with black and she probably would have fallen if it wasn't for the nurse steadying her. When she regained her footing, she slowly made her way to the table. Everything from the past year flashed in her mind the way they tell you it does when you're dying. I'm not dying, she thought, but I might as well be.

Hesitantly, she reached her hand out to touch his cold one. A choked sob escaped her as she took it in her own. She was speaking now without realizing it, "You were the first person to ever hold my hand. I fell in love with you in that moment, oh god, I didn't even know it. I could've told you a million times how much you mean to me, I'm so sorry I didn't. I'm so sorry, Chuck." She laid her head on his chest like she always did one last time and cried.

The funeral was a week later. It was small. He had no family besides her anymore. When he was alive, that had been enough. Now Mic thought it was pitifully inadequate. He deserved more than this, more than the barely twenty people that stood around watching the coffin being lowered into the ground. Mic hadn't given an eulogy. She could have never done him justice. He deserved better than her. Watching the coffin lower and the men begin to throw dirt on top of it with a hollow thud, Mic wished she could crawl into the hole herself. After all, her heart was already six feet down. What was her body now? She wouldn't dance again or hold someone's hand or feel the pleasure of making love. She had all of eternity in front of her and it might as well be a grave.

People came up to her and murmured words of sympathy but she merely glared at them, hating them for not really knowing him. They would leave here, have some drinks, and talk about the small man in the shabby clothes. The only reason Mic didn't kill them all was because she knew Chuck would disapprove. The thought of the face he'd always made when she said things like that made her smile even as she started to cry again. She stood there until everyone had gone and the grave had been filled in. Then she sat down in the dirt, not caring about the dress she had bought just for this, her hand on the chain his ring was on. She tightened her hand around it until the metal left an impression in her palm. It wasn't until the sun went down that she stood up.

The tree next to his grave burst into flames as she walked away. Mic didn't even notice; she had a job to do.

It took her two months to find what she was looking for. Two months of living in motel rooms once again. Mic never went back to their home. It was too painful for her. She spent two months tracking down leads and doing things that she never thought she'd do after she met Chuck. None of it effected her. She was cold and dead, focused only on her goal. Anything she left in her wake was collateral damage.

The gun in her hand wasn't her first option. She had gone to every demon that didn't hate her on principal and some that did, trying to strike a deal. She wasn't asking for them to bring him back so they could be happy again. What she was offering was a fair trade: Bring Chuck back and they could have her. No one took the deal. Pulling people drown from Heaven was a lot harder than pulling them up from Hell.

She turned the gun over, running her finger along the barrel. It was her salvation from this empty life that she'd been living. The night was clear and she looked up at the sky as she lay on the ground. It was the closest she could get to him. Mic checked the bullets in the barrel as she started to sing Nat King Cole softly. Her left hand held his ring and with her right she pressed the Colt to her temple.

"Never before has someone been more unforgettable in every way."

Then she pulled the trigger.