Note:
When I was sixteen I read a book called One Summer by Karen Robards and I loved it. This story is inspired by that novel, but I have made numerous changes of course. The title of the story is inspired by Tracy Chapman's song of the same name.
Prologue
Dean zipped up his jeans and looked at Cassie once more as she lay only partly dressed on the blanket at his feet. He smiled at her as he knelt down and kissed her once more, revelling in the soft, little moan she made as his tongue explored her partially open mouth.
"You should be getting back," Dean said. "Your papa will wonder where his baby girl is."
Cassie shrugged and idly played with Dean's belt, "I don't care. He should learn to mind his own business."
Dean titled her chin up so that she'd meet his gaze again, "He's your father, Cassie. He should care about you. It's right that way, not like with my dad."
"I guess," she sighed. "I just don't understand his problem with you and me."
"Yes you do," Dean softly replied. "You're the preacher's daughter, and I'm the son of the town drunk. You're precious goods, and I'm trash."
"Don't say that, Dean," Cassie pouted. "You're not trash."
"That's real sweet. Now come on, let me walk you back."
Cassie pulled her pristine white blouse back on and straightened her checked skirt, "You'd better not. I don't feel like having another blowout with my dad because some nosy asshole sees us together, and he hears through the grapevine."
Dean nodded, "Okay, baby, but be careful."
"I promise," she smiled.
Dean kissed her one last time, long and deep, before playfully tapping her nose and making his way back to the decidedly less classy side of town than where Cassie lived.
She watched him walk away until her disappeared behind the fringe of trees, and then she turned to gather the blanket she'd brought.
She got a fright when she saw that she wasn't alone, and said, "Oh shit. You scared the bejesus out of me!"
The other person didn't respond and Cassie frowned slightly in confusion, before she saw something glint in the sunlight, and she felt a strange pain and warmth at her throat. Dazedly, she brought her hand to the source of the strange sensation, and realised with a kind of detached horror that her hand was soaked in blood, and that the front of her blouse was, too.
As she collapsed, and her attacker laid into her with vicious stabs of their long knife, she thought how sweet the air smelled, and then blood flowed into her eyes, before darkness descended behind her eyelids.
Chapter One: Dean Winchester
Sam Singer nervously tapped his foot as he waited for the bus to arrive at the stop. A cloyingly sweet odour filled his senses suddenly, and he shuddered at the realisation that there was a bush of summersweet swaying in the hot breeze. He had never been very fond of the smell, but it had seemed to become even more suffocating after featuring in Cassie Robinson's tragic murder.
Sam had just secured a job at the local high school at the time, and he was heading to the school to prepare for the first day of school the following year. He had been one of the first unwilling witnesses to Cassie's flower christened corpse. The sweet smell had mixed in with the pungent odour of the blood which covered her body, and made everything more vivid, more horrific.
Sam looked about himself to see who was near the bus stop. Ruby Davies, the secretary to the local dentist was standing at the ATM, and her boyfriend, Luc Phillips was waiting in his shiny green pick-up truck. They had both matriculated the year before, and Sam had taught them English, like he had taught many of the other barely post-adolescent members of the town.
He thought back to that day when he had seen Cassie, glassy eyed and dead in the summer sun. When he had heard that Dean's semen had been found in the girl's body, he knew that Dean would be convicted for the grisly crime. He had been right, although they had eventually dispensed with the rape charge, because the entire town knew that Cassie had been willingly involved with Dean in that regard. Sam had never been able to believe that Dean was capable of either of those unforgiveable crimes. Dean Winchester, who Sam had taught high school English, and who despite his belligerent image and undeniable sexuality, Sam knew to be clever and capable of wonderful insight. Eleven years ago, Dean had been convicted of murder, and today, with Sam's help, he was coming home. Sam just hoped that his decade long instincts about Dean were right, and that Dean did indeed have some place within this rather narrow minded community.
The sound of the bus' roaring engine roused him from his thoughts, and he unconsciously held his breath as he watched it stop. The large door swung open and an old lady, followed by a tired looking salesman type, and a yawning young woman descended the steps and made their way away from the bus across the sizzling asphalt. Then Sam saw him. Dean Winchester. His heart squeezed tightly for a moment before it released and began to pound in an unnerving rhythm.
Dean stood on the top step of the bus for a moment, before he descended the stairs and stepped onto the road. Sam couldn't help but let out a soft gasp at how much Dean had changed. He was no longer that beautiful boy who wore a leather jacket to make himself look older. He was a man now, and his leather jacket made him look dangerous and disturbingly sensual. His hair was even shorter than it had been when he was a teenager, with almost shaved sides, and spikes of dark blonde on top. He was still beautiful, but his emerald gaze was harder and steadier in its unrelenting assessment of his surroundings. His long legs were clad in dark blue jeans, and every ridge of his hard body was outlined by his thin white t-shirt. He looked slim- no that wasn't the right word for what he was, his physique was too hard and masculine. Lean, Sam's heat fogged mind supplied, and his skin momentarily tightened at the suggestiveness of the word.
He suddenly realised that Dean was staring at him, and mentally shook himself before he made his way towards the other man. He didn't realise the pavement was so high, and just saved himself from a graceless face dive onto the black top. When he regained his footing, he was caught in the scrutiny of those green eyes once more, and he swallowed nervously.
"D-Dean," he stammered. "Welcome back."
Dean inclined his head slightly and made a non-committal sound before he replied, "Hello, Mr Singer."
Sam bit his lip before he re-joined, "M-my car is parked over there."
"Let's go."
Sam nodded and started to walk in the direction of the old blue Mercedes he'd inherited from his father. He cringed slightly as he saw that Ruby Davies and Luc Phillips were both staring at Dean as he swaggered behind Sam. Ruby still had her money and card in her hand as she gawped at Dean, and Luc had a can of Pepsi suspended half way to his lips, as if he was frozen in time. Sam straightened his shoulders as he slid into the driver's seat, and then his eyes widened as he realised that Dean was throwing a zap sign at the scandalised witnesses. Sam groaned inwardly, there was no doubt that the whole town would be aware by nightfall of the infamous return of Dean Winchester, thanks to Ruby's back biting and gossiping mother, Lilly Davies.
"Did you have to do that?" Sam hissed as Dean gracefully slid into the passenger seat.
"Sure did," Dean smirked, tossing his duffel bag into the back seat.
Sam rolled his eyes, "Put your seatbelt on, please. I don't want to get a fine."
"Yes sir," Dean replied, making a big show of complying with Sam's request.
Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes again as he put down the hand break and applied pressure to the accelerator. The car sped onto the road, leaving the smell of burnt rubber in their wake.
"Jesus!" Dean snapped, smirk vanished. "Would you slow down?"
Sam braked jerkily, causing Dean to swear softly, and grate out, "Where the fuck did you learn how to drive? The Indie 500?"
Sam clenched his jaw, "Don't swear at me, Dean. I won't allow it."
Dean looked out the window, his fists unclenching and clenching until he flattened his long fingered hands on his thighs, "Are you nervous or something?"
Sam frowned, "No. Why should I be?"
"Oh I don't know. Maybe you figure I'd try and rape you or something."
Sam clucked his tongue, "I hardly think you'd try such a ludicrous thing, Dean. Besides, I'm taller than you and I can hold my own."
Dean looked at him again, his heated green gaze travelling over Sam's slim frame, and he slowly licked his lips as he replied, "I'm sure you can."
Sam felt himself flush, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened at Dean's suggestive tone and demeanour. He refused to reply, and silence filled the car for the rest of the ride, but Sam couldn't miss the small smirk that played on Dean's full lips the entire time.
He felt blessed relief when they pulled up next to the bookstore on the high street.
Killing the engine, he turned to Dean and handed him a small bundle of keys, "The two silver ones are for the bookstore and the bronze one is for the flat you'll be staying in."
Dean nodded, and then asked, "Why did you give me this job? Aren't you nervous that I'll attack someone else now that I'm out of my cage?"
Sam frowned, "I don't think that at all, Dean. You and I both know that you didn't kill Cassie Robinson."
Dean gazed out of the windscreen for a while before he leaned back and retrieved his duffel bag. Sam watched with a strangely tight feeling in his stomach as Dean climbed out of the car.
He stopped on the sidewalk and leaned into the open car door, "I thought you should know that you look just as hot as you did when you were my teacher."
With that parting comment, he slammed the car door and descended the stairs that led to the flat beneath the bookstore. Sam stared after him until he realised his mouth was wide open, and he promptly shut it before he gunned the ignition once more and sped away from the curb.