A/N: The second prompt I chose was Paradise. Let me just say I'm sorry in advance. I promise the final prompt I chose is worth the angst of this one!
The smell of her was always first. A spicy feminine scent mixed with just a hint of nature after a thunderstorm. She'd said it was ozone, that smell. He'd asked her once, when they were sitting around the campfire, what to call it. He didn't tell her why, of course, just that he'd always liked being outside after a thunderstorm.
The vision of her came next. She was utter perfection. An angel sent from heaven. He knew she had scars, he'd stitched her up out in the field too many times to count, but he could never find them. Not that it mattered. He loved her, imperfections and all.
Which is why he felt so guilty when he started dreading the sound of her voice. It came next and with it the knowledge that pain would soon follow. Her voice, calling his name, beckoned him to stay, to fight, to accept the pain when he wanted nothing more than to surrender. He knew the promise of paradise awaited if he didn't listen, but he would never willingly leave her. So he stayed and suffered and fought.
Finally came his sense of touch and with it the pain. Always pain. It made him almost hate his other senses. How they taunted him with the memory of her only to snatch her away as the hard planes of the sarcophagus bit into his flesh, bringing him back to reality. He woke up almost hating her and that broke his heart. Because he knew there was a fine line between love and hate. A line that Ba'al pushed him closer to each time he had him thrown into the sarcophagus and brought back to life.