Chapter Twenty

Oklahoma had been a bust. Nothing there at all, not even one lousy demon that he could get information from. Crowley was still in the wind; Dean hadn't heard from him since they'd separated after he'd gotten the mark. He was starting to think Crowley wouldn't—or couldn't—get the First Blade.

The last thirty six hours had been worthless, so now they were headed back to the bunker, driving through the cold night. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. Which wasn't exactly where he wanted to be. If his brother wasn't sleeping, Dean would have turned the music up to drown out everything running through his head.

More than anything, he wished he and Amie hadn't left things the way they did. He just wasn't good at laying his feelings out, baring his soul. She knew that about him, she knew he kept things bottled up inside. She knew the only way he would be able to deal with what had happened to Mary Grace was to kill everything and anything responsible for her death. That's what he did. That's who he was. He understood that she didn't want to hunt anymore and he had no problem accepting that, but he needed her to accept that this was what he needed to do. They were going to have to have a serious talk when he got back.

Dean glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. He could see the pain and anger from the loss of his daughter in every plane of his face. His heart ached every time he pictured her beautiful little face, or thought about the way she wrapped her tiny fingers around one of his large fingers or the way she snuggled against his chest while she slept. He quickly pushed those thoughts out of his head, before they dragged him into the despair he was fighting desperately to keep at bay.

He pulled his phone from his jacket and brought up Amie's number. He hadn't talked to her since they had left and he wanted to hear her voice. He didn't know what he would say to her, he'd cross that bridge once she answered her phone. Which she didn't.

"Dammit," he muttered, ending the call when her voicemail message started. That wasn't going to cut it on the 'hearing her voice' plan. It was three in the morning, why the hell wasn't she answering her phone? He'd have to wait to talk to her when they got back in a couple of hours. At least it would give him a chance to figure out what he wanted to say to her. The right thing to say to her, not his usual half assed apologies and grunts. He was going to have to talk and listen to her. They needed to see if they could come to some kind of compromise that they were both comfortable with, because they certainly couldn't keep going on like this.

He waited about twenty minutes then tried her phone again and once again, it went straight to voicemail. This time he waited for the beep. He took a deep breath before speaking. "Hey baby, it's me. I'll be back in a few hours and I think we should talk. I love you, honey. You have to know that, okay? I love you." He tossed his phone onto the seat beside him. Where the hell was she?

He and Sam stopped at a little café on the outskirts of town and picked up breakfast for themselves and the girls. Dean got everything he knew Amie liked, hoping she would appreciate the gesture. He even made her coffee with the perfect amount of sugar and that nasty flavored creamer she liked so much. He'd never understand why she liked the stuff.

It was still early when they arrived back at the bunker. There was only one light on in the library next to a chair where Shannon was curled up with a book on her lap. She looked up as they came through the door and started down the stairs.

"Hi," she grinned as she set her book aside and stood up.

Sam got a huge grin on his face and in just two steps he was by her side, pulling her against him. Dean smiled along with his brother; at least he was happy.

"Is Amie up?" Dean asked Shannon.

Shannon shook her head. "I don't know. I haven't seen her since last night. She went to bed really early, said she was tired."

He nodded his thanks then slid past Sam and Shannon, intent on checking on Amie. He hurried down the hall, not only anxious to talk to her, but to see her as well, even though it had only been a day and a half seen he'd last been with her.

As soon as Dean opened the door to his and Amie's room, he knew she was gone. Before he saw that her clothes had been packed and her weapons were missing, he knew that she had left. It was a stillness, an emptiness he felt, yet couldn't explain. His eyes searched the room, taking in everything. The ratty sweatshirt Amie kept on the back of one of the chairs in case she got cold was gone, the pile of hair ties and bobby pins that was usually on the top of the dresser was no longer there, and her gun wasn't laying on the bedside table. In the middle of the bed was a sheet of notebook paper, folded in half, his name on the front in Amie's handwriting. He crossed the room, sat on the bed and picked it up. He held the paper in his hand for several minutes, just staring at the familiar loops and swirls of his name. He wasn't sure he wanted to read it. When he finally opened it, his hand was shaking slightly.

Dean-

So by now you know I'm gone. Knowing you, you knew it about two seconds after you came through the door. I hate doing this in a stupid letter, but honestly, there's no way I could say this to your face. I love you, Dean, don't ever think I don't. But that's part of why I have to leave, why I can't stay. I can't stay here and watch you destroy yourself out of some desperate need for revenge. Don't get me wrong, I know why you're doing what you're doing, I understand that this is how you come to terms with what has happened. But Mary Grace is gone and no matter what you do, no matter who you kill, you can't bring her back.

We aren't good for each other right now. The only thing we share is grief, misery and the death of our daughter. I'd like to think we could someday get back to where we were, before all of this, but who knows if that's even possible. So for now I'll walk away. This is the best thing for both of us. It may not seem like it right now, but I really believe it is. I'll be okay, I promise. You know I can take care of myself. Please try not to worry about me. I love you.

Amie

Dean crumpled the note in his hand, anger flooding him yet again. He took his phone out and called Amie. It went straight to voicemail. Now he knew why she wasn't answering her phone. He'd just have to go find her and drag her ass back to the bunker and force her to stay. He was not ready to throw away everything. But he also knew that he wasn't willing to turn from the path he was currently headed down; he wouldn't be satisfied until he had gotten revenge for the death of his daughter. He was in a no-win situation, damned no matter what he did.

He stood up and squared his shoulders. He had a lot of work to do; not only did he have to find Abaddon and everyone responsible for what happened to Mary Grace, but now he needed to find Amie and bring her home.

He looked at the note wadded up in his hand, ready for the trash. Instead of throwing it away, he straightened it out and folded it neatly in a square. He pulled his wallet out and tucked it behind a small stack of business cards he kept in there. He shoved it back in his pocket, took a deep breath and left the room, turning off the light and shutting the door behind him.

The End

Author's Note: I know, crappy way to end it. Sorry! But, it had to be done. Never fear though, I have started the third story in the saga of Dean and Amie. I will start posting that one soon. Tentative working title is "Missing You." Thanks to all my readers, I appreciate you sticking it out. Please, let me know how you like my stories, either by reviewing or PMing me.