Author's Note: Things are coming down the pipe that will set the timeline for all of you so you can better understand the setting and situations that led up to this. It suffices to say that John Winchester left his sons in the watchful care of the Blackburns in the summer of 2000. This is Dean's perspective as the summer ended quite abruptly.

"Last Time"

It should have bothered him more.

It had been weeks since he, or anyone, had heard from his father.

And it did bother him.

Just not as much as it should have.

Everyday his dad delayed his return was another day he could spend in her house, amongst her things, even if he couldn't spend them with her.

It had been an hour since he'd finished the short list of chores Emma had assigned him when he'd woke up that first morning in June after his father had left. In the past two-and-a-half months, they had become second nature and he went through the motions easily and without complaint. Upon finishing them, Emma had fixed him a sandwich and a glass of lemonade which he'd thanked her for and consumed slowly. Sam and Sophie had finished their own chores and he had watched them head for the orchard through the open window.

The August sky was overcast, but the air was warm and had an electric quality. In another hour, a light rain would be probably falling and another hour after that would come the storm; a boisterous, black clouded summer storm that the gods of the wind had been brewing since the spring.

Dean hated thunderstorms.

He could never say how he knew, but he did.

He knew that day was not going to end well.

Just as he drank the last of his lemonade, he caught the faint scent of lavender and vanilla and heard shoes on the gravel path that led from the drive to the back of the house. They walked with a familiar gait and he held his breath, waiting for her to appear in the window. He waited until his lungs burned and exhaled, pushing away from the table and peering cautiously out the screen door.

She was sitting on the porch steps, hugging herself in spite of the heat, loose curls from her ponytail blowing in the breeze. The look in her eyes told him that though he could see her there, her mind was somewhere else. A sad smile played across her lips as she wiped something from her cheek.

He immediately pushed away the thought that she might have been crying.

Ace never cried.

At least, not that he'd ever seen.

They'd been friends a long time, if you could call the few broken weeks per year they spent in each other's company a basis for a friendship. Sam and Sophie had written letters, made an effort. He and Ace had spent most of their teenage encounters trying to out-do one another.

Before, anyway.

That was all before everything had changed.

Before she had dragged him onto their pond to 'ice skate' in sneakers in the coldest winter he could remember.

Before she had smiled in that new way.

Before she had kissed him.

Before she had held him in the back of that pick-up truck and given him the one thing she could never take back.

Before she had taken his heart.

Sometimes, he wondered if she could feel it in there, his heart beating beside hers.

He hoped not.

If she did, she would want to return it to him.

He wanted her to keep it.

It wasn't his anymore.

"Hey," she said, not looking at him.

Dean blinked and glanced back at the window. He didn't remember coming outside, but it was too late to turn back.

"Hey."

She gave no verbal invitation, but slid over on the step to make room for him and he sat as far away from her as he could stand.

"Storm's coming," she said after a long moment.

"Yeah."

He chanced a look at her and she met his gaze, but only for a second. A heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach when he realized that maybe she had been crying after all. It took everything he had to not take her in his arms and kiss away every tear.

Tell her that nothing mattered except her.

Tell her that it was all going to be okay again.

But it wasn't.

Maybe never.

From the look in her eye, she knew it, too.

"Where are my parents?"

"The store."

"And my aunt and uncle?"

"In town."

"Sophie?"

"With Sam. They were heading for the orchard, last I saw of them."

Ace laughed once, ruefully, "A month ago, I'd have dragged you upstairs and taken your breath away."

"You've never stopped taking my breath away."

Their eyes met again and there it was.

She'd found his heart.

He looked away.

"You ever wish we could go back?" she asked and Dean figured this was the longest they'd spoken without arguing in a few weeks. He could almost feel the softness of her fingers as they wound around his heart.

"Maybe. Guess it depends on how far we're going back."

"To that day you came looking for that book."

Sticks and stones could never have hurt him as much as that one sentence.

"Only to relive it."

"The same way?"

"Every minute."

"You don't think we could have handled that better?"

"How?"

"You don't think we could have started slower? Taken our time?"

"No."

"No?"

"I don't think we could have done anything but what we did. That's you and me. We've never taken our time."

"You don't think we should have?"

"You worry too much about what we should have done." The young woman fell silent and he scooted closer as he went on, "You want some should-have's? I've got some that I've worn out. Ones like, I should have held you longer in the bed of that truck. I should have kissed you more. I should have followed you to your room. I should have driven that six-hour drive in three."

She shook her head as he spoke, arms tightening around her body as though she was protecting herself, "No, Dean."

"It doesn't have to be this way. You want to go back so bad? Okay. Fine. So long as you let me take you." That's when he touched her, fingertips barely brushing against her exposed arm, "Amelia."

Ace looked at him and he was lost in the green of her eyes.

There, in that place, time stopped.

There was no past and no future.

Every moment spent there happened all at once.

Memories became reality, mingling with new experiences, new sensations.

Her skin was soft and warm against his, brunette tresses spilling over her pillow. Long legs wrapped around his waist, his lips finding a favorite spot on her neck. She sighed his name, fingers twisting in his hair as he kissed his way to her breasts, every precious inch sweeter than the last. Sweetest of all, her smiling kiss erased every thought that wasn't shaped like her. When she came, her back arched, pressing her body against his and he followed her willingly, hoping neither would ever come down.

In that place, she held him and never let go.

She stroked the small hairs on the back of his neck as they kissed, each kiss new and exciting.

He watched as she brought each of his fingers to her lips in turn and he prayed.

One prayer.

Dean prayed that this moment would last forever.

There, in that place, it did.

In that place, he could say everything he wanted.

He could tell her that they could go anywhere.

Do anything.

It didn't matter, as long as they were together.

He could tell her that he dreamed of a house.

Far away from anything that could hurt them.

A home.

With her.

In that place, he could tell her.

It should have taken days.

Maybe years.

It should have taken years to tell her all the things he needed to.

But, that place was special.

In that place, it only took a second.

That place made it sound so simple.

So short.

So right.

"I love you," he whispered, touching her cheek with his fingertip.

The world shifted.

"No, you don't," she said evenly.

"Yes, I do," he promised. "If you'd let me."

"I won't."

The green world of her eyes had hardened.

Banished him.

Betrayed him.

There was a growling rush in his ears as she pushed him away, leaving him on the bed, confused while she tossed his clothes to him.

"They're back," said Ace, pulling her hair into it's ponytail.

Slowly, he realized the sound he was hearing was coming from the pick-up trucks pulling up to the house.

Just as he pulled his jeans up to his hips, he heard something else through the pitter-patter of rain that had started to fall.

The most familiar noise in the world.

"Dad," said Dean.

Ace held the door open for him as he tugged his shirt over his head. He was halfway to the stairs when he noticed she wasn't with him and looked back.

He wished he hadn't.

In his chest again, his heart was heavier than he remembered, the jagged edges cutting him as the broken pieces settled into place.

"Goodbye, Dean," was the last thing she said to him before the door closed.