A/N: So, I know I have two other stories to write...but I've been on a Twilight kick lately. So, here's this. I honestly don't know what this is...or where it's going...just follow with me. Also, I own nada :)

Prologue: The Devil's in the Details

He walked into the bar, worse for the wear. He'd been through a war, and the battle had not been kind. The leather jacket he wore hung off his back in tatters and his jeans caked with dried blood and mud. The boots on his feet about falling off, his skin battered and bruised. He was a soldier, it was obvious to anyone who spared a glance his way.

Sitting down at a booth nestled in the corner, he rested his head on the sticky table and closed his eyes. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. The next thing he knew he was hearing a bell ringing and the yells of "Last Call" coming from the front of the room. He stood and roughly raked his hands over his face, heading towards the exit.

As he was reaching the door, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned, bracing himself for some type of fight or alteration. He'd made friends in this town, but also many enemies, and he wasn't shocked that someone recognized him.

"So it is true," the frail female before him whispered, "You are back."

He nodded sharply, "Yeah. I'm back." His brusque voice startling against the quiet of the now deserted bar. "So," he looked at the brunette before him, "How are you, Bella? It's been awhile."

She glared up at him and scoffed, "How am I," she yelled, "That's the only thing you can think to say to me? It's been over a year since I've seen you, and all you can think to ask is how I've been?"

"Look, I'm sorry. Okay?" He looked away from the woman before him. "I know it wasn't fair to you. I shouldn't have left the way I did. I owed you some sort of explanation."

"Yeah, you did," Bella shouted, "You really fucking did. But you didn't, and I've tried to move on with my life. So if you think you can weasel your way back into it," she shook her head, frustration radiating off of her, "You can go to hell."

He chuckled, an ominous tone to his laugh, "See, that's the thing. Hell and me. We go way back."

"What are you talking about?" Bella looked at him perplexed.

"You told me to go to hell. Well here's the thing. I've been there, and the devil didn't like me so he spat me back out."

Bella gasped and took a step back, "You're joking, right? Please tell me your joking." She paused for a moment to think. "You are joking, right?" She asked him again, but this time her voice was slow, hesitant.

"No, Bella," he shook his head, "I'm not joking. I, really wish I was. I wish I could say that I left because I was scared of us, of my feelings for you, of putting you in danger." He reached to open the door of the now deserted bar and gave Bella one last glance, "Bella, I get it if you hate me. If you want me to keep my distance, I will."

She shook her head, "No. You don't have to do that." She placed her hand on his back, "But I need you to tell me everything. Don't leave anything out. Okay, Dean?"