Defining Factors, a supernatural fanfic

A/N: **TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM** Based on this prompt. I don't know how or why it is so long, but I felt that the beginning part was a very important lead up to the ending. I hope you like it! xo

"You will never be good enough, do you understand me? You are nothing and never will be!"

Rejection.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not into you like that…"

Realization

"How did you get these scars?"

Release

He finds you, the man with the green eyes, shivering in the rain after one of your shifts at whatever run down bar you're working at now. He asks a couple of questions, normal ones but still you don't really know why he stopped to talk.

"Do you need a ride?"

I need help.

"No I'm ok," you lie, "I'm just waiting for my bus."

He eyes you.

"The buses stop running after one am, y'know," he jerks his head towards his impala, "so let's try this again, do you need a ride?"

You shake your head again. He sighs and pulls out a piece of paper, scribbles something quickly, and shoves it towards you. You don't know why he's so upset with you. All you've ever been taught is to not get into cars with strange men.

"Well if you find out you do actually need something," he taps his pointer finger against the paper, "you call this number, ok?"

You nod, his green eyes illuminating everything around you, taking all the dark inside you and burning it away. Smiling, he turns on his heels and strides towards his car.

"Wait!" you shout, or at least you try. It comes out more like a squeak, and you curse yourself for opening your mouth. Never the less he stills, slightly turning his head over his shoulder to show you have his attention. You clear your throat.

"Why did you stop?"

A chuckle ripples through his lips while he shrugs, "I honestly don't know. Don't lose that number, got it?"

You blink. He's gone.

ii.

You didn't get the job.

The law firm called this morning. The woman with the velvet voice said many nice things but all you can hear, over and over again is 'we're sorry but we've decided to go in a different direction.'

You didn't get the job.

Pressure, intense pressure, begins to build in your chest. You heave, everything you've worked for. All that time and effort working dead end jobs and studying your ass off to pass the LSATs. It just...doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

Doubling over you gasp for breath as the tears spill down your cheeks. Your lungs burn but you can't seem to get enough air to diminish the flames.

You can't breathe, but you somehow make your way to the bathroom.

You didn't get the job.

Silence.

You wipe the blood away from your thigh, along with the crushing anxiety, and breathe.

You walk out of the bathroom, dropping the razor in the drawer as you go.

You carry on.

iii.

The crushing anxiety comes again one night after work. Your 'friend' calls you out in front of the rest of the staff while getting drinks at the local bar. She slurs and spits about how annoying and entitled you are.

Your face burns. Your chest tightens.

Run.

You have your hand tight on your wrist.

Scratch

You have to get out of here.

Scratch

You have to get home.

Scratch.

You have to get to—

You are brought out of your thoughts when you run smack into someone. You release your wrist and blink back your tears before mumbling a short apology and glancing up.

Green eyes.

If you could barely breathe before, you definitely couldn't breathe now.

"I—"

He touches your wrist, "You're bleeding."

Shit.

"Am I?" you choke on the wordsas they spill over your lips like acid, "Oh yeah I am…I must've cut myself on the bar earlier. I—I fell into it. Damn heels."

You force a laugh, adverting your eyes while his scrutinize every inch of you.

"Let me drive you home," he says, "You shouldn't walk alone this late."

"No."

He nods and heads towards the bar. He pauses a moment before calling over his shoulder

"My number hasn't changed."

iv.

Who is he?

And what does he want with me?

"I don't know man, this might be a lost cause."

"Be patient, Dean," Castiel advises before pushing a beer his way. Dean sighs before taking a swig. He slams a twenty on the counter and leaves. Cas follows close behind and once they are in the impala he says,

"Destiny cannot be rushed."

vi.

You wake up earlier than usual and decide to go for a run.

You're half way through when everything goes black.

vii.

You come to in the back of a car, and the first thing you see are big green eyes staring down at you.

You should feel terror, but instead a feeling of pure relief spreads through you.

"Who—"

"Dean."

"Why—"

"Not important right now."

"Debatable."

He runs his hand through his short dirty blond hair, before placing his hand on the small of your back and helping you sit up.

"Now will you let me drive you home?"

You nod.

Is there really any other choice?

viii.

You were possessed half way through your run, that's why you passed out, that's why it all went black.

The man with the green eyes—Dean – saved you…with the help of his Angel best friend, Cas, and his partner in crime and brother, Sam.

Reality sets in while lying on Dean's rickety motel room bed.

"It was very important that you were saved," the angel had explained, "Your path is very…important."

Important.

You think for a minute.

It's the first time anyone thought you were important.

It's that, and your sheer curiosity, that keeps you from running and never looking back.

viiii.

Dean teaches you how to shoot a gun so that when you are by yourself he doesn't have to worry.

He guides your hands into place, keeping one of his on your waist to steady your stance. You feel something deep inside of you begin to manifest and spread throughout your entire body. A feeling of warmth and need and want.

"Exhale."

You feel his breath against your ear and you have to remember you're holding a gun in order to focus.

"Shoot."

The kick back surprises you a bit, but you still manage to hit the target. You turn around and smile excitedly at Dean, who is smiling back. You throw your arms around him.

"I did it!" You feel genuinely happy for the first time in years, and when he chuckles it only intensifies that feeling. He pulls away but keeps his hands on your waist.

Breathe.

"You're a natural," he declares with a wink before leaving the room. You watch him go.

You feel something deep in your stomach again, and a thought creeps into your mind so powerful you have to lean against the wall for support.

I'm falling in love with Dean Winchester.

"You're the key to getting the Angels back to heaven," Castiel explains, "You are from the blood line created to serve as a sort of loop hole. God himself created you in the rare care Heaven fell."

You blink at him.

"Did I go too fast, or—"

You shake your head, "What do you mean loophole?"

Sam shuts his laptop and glances in your direction, "You are the only person in the entire world capable of withstanding the task of restoring Heaven.

Wow.

You realize this is it. This is your purpose, the reason Dean, Sam and Cas followed you around for so long. Why Dean continuously tried to give you a ride home. You look over at Dean, who hasn't taken his eyes off you since you sat down for this impromptu meeting. His eyes look concerned, but he's spent the most time training and preparing you. If anyone knows your level of readiness, it's him.

"She's ready," he says, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. You smile back before turning to Cas and accepting your orders.

xi.

The boys take you out for drinks on your birthday.

A few drinks in, you are hazy and feeling confident enough to accept an invitation to dance from another man in the bar. He is sweet and attractive and whispers really nice things in your ear, but he's not Dean, so you thank him for the dance and go to find him.

You almost drop your drink when you find him pushed up against the back wall with his hand up some blonde's skirt.

"You have got to be kidding me!" is all you can manage before storming out of the bar. You hear his foot steps behind you, but it sounds like they're getting farther away rather than closer.

You feel tightness in your chest and you feel that all too familiar feeling of anxiety creeping into every inch of your body.

Of course he doesn't like you. Why would he like you?

"(Y/N), wait!" he grabs your shoulder and turns you around to face him. You instinctively throw your drink at his face, half because you want to half because you've seen it on TV so much.

"You know, you pursued me for over a year, Dean," you feel your anger grow but it is quickly diminished by your anxiety level. Your hands shake, "You came after me. You flirt with me. You made me—"

You blink angrily. No you will not tell him you are in love with him. No.

You feel your heart break.

"Just…just stay away from me." Crack.

"(y/n)"

"No…" you start to back away, "I was wrong to think anything. I will do what I need to do to restore heaven, and that's it."

You turn and start walking, and then you are running, running away from it all. Away from him, away from whoever you were with him, away from it all.

And towards the only thing you've ever known.

xii.

Dean finds you on the bathroom floor, rich red dripping down the side of your leg, which is attached to your still body.

"(Y/N)!"

It was the only thing you could think about when you left the bar. The anxiety, it was too much for you. You tried to focus on Dean's voice, but it only made you sink deeper into oblivion. It's hard to figure out when you went too far, lost too much blood, went too deep, but you did and you passed out. You consider letting yourself lay there forever, letting the blackness close around you…but those green eyes drag you back to the land of the living. You let him help you up, and sit silently while he stitches you up.

He sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder, and takes a swig of the whiskey he used to sterilize your wound. Your heart beats so hard against your chest you think it might burst out.

You find that you would rather have that than answer his questions.

"How long?" he asks, running his hand over his hair.

"Since sixth grade."

He shuts his eyes.

"I am not going to sit here and lecture you on this, or tell you that it's wrong and you need to stop immediately or else,"

You stare at him eyes wide and wait for him to continue.

"You know I—" he shakes his head and stares at the ground, "You know I'm here for you if you…you know…need to talk."

You squeeze your eyes shut as tears begin to brim. He shouldn't see you cry. He doesn't care about you like that. He never would, why would he?

You're mad at him.

"Just…please," he lifts his head and connects to your gaze. It's so strong you feel like it could suck you in, body and soul. He blinks back tears, "Please don't-"

He drops his head to his hands, and you find yourself thinking that you've never seen someone look so beautiful while crying.

You're mad at him. You're mad at him.

Suddenly his eyes are on you.

You're mad at him. You're mad at him. You're mad at him.

"Don't leave me. You're," his voice cracks, "too important to me."

Speechless.

He brushes a stray tear from your cheek, and you find the words spilling out like water, taking all your anger with them.

"I won't."

He searches your face, looking for any sign of distress or hesitation before crashing his lips against yours. You dig your fingers into his back, feeling the muscles contract, and pull him closer to you. When you finally break apart for air, he holds you until you feel like you've become one, unable to find where one ends and the other begins.

xiii.

It's hard. Really hard, but Dean helps.

You've gone to the doctor and they have helped too.

You cry a lot and Dean more often than not has to stay with you for a long time to keep you from doing anything drastic.

"You don't have to skip this hunt, Dean…I'm fine," you had told him the first time he sat out on a hunt.

"Sam and Cas can handle it," he kisses the top of your head, "Besides…someone has to make sure you don't burn the bunker down."

That comment had earned him a swift smack to the chest.

It isn't easy, but it's getting easier.

xiv.

You decide if you're going to continue hanging with this crowd you need to get in better shape. You start training every morning before anyone else is awake, and you find it really helps with your anxiety.

Your old habits begin to fade.

Your thigh, though peppered with scars, begins to heal.

Youbegin to heal.

xv.

You succeed in restoring Heaven exactly one year after you accept your role in this plan.

Sam smiles and hugs you with one arm, while Castiel clasps me on the back. He nods to us, tells us he will be in touch, and in a blink he is gone.

You turn to Dean.

"Well…I guess that's—"

He grabs your face with both hands and holds your stare. One day you are going to ask him how he gets his eyes so green because there is no way that is normal.

"Listen to me, ok?" you nod, and a smile creeps across his face, "You are amazing. Wow. I've seen a lot of chicks fight in my life, but you…you restored all of heaven!"

His eyes, so wide and bright and awestruck, turn to his brother, "Isn't she just…just…a bad ass?"

Sam chuckles and nods.

"Damn I was so proud of you, baby, and all I could think was—" Dean stops short, his face turning red. He clears his throat.

"You what?"

He rubs the back of his neck and mumbles something you couldn't understand even if you have super human hearing.

"What was that?"

"I love you! Ok?!" He throws his hands in the air and then drags them down his face, "I love you and I think I always have and…and…dammit…"

He slides his hands up your neck, resting them on your cheeks again, only this time he's run out of words so you simply reach up on your tip toes and press your lips against his.

The world melts around you until it is nothing but Dean.

You stay like that for a long time.

xvi.

He gets down on one knee in the middle of Christmas dinner, in front of all your friends.

"Baby, will you—"

"Yes!"

The room laughs but your focus is on the man sliding his mother's engagement ring onto your finger.

That May you vow to be together for life, and you remember the time you thought he was some creepy guy trying to kidnap you.

You laugh against his lips as you kiss him for the first time as Mrs. Winchester.

xvii

"Happy anniversary, baby."

A soft kiss on the cheek and his voice pulls you from your sleep. You roll over, a smile plastered on your face, and mummer the same. You notice that candles and flowers are strategically placed throughout your room, while a plate with what looks like breakfast is placed on the nightstand next to the bed. You put your arms around his neck and pull him down into bed with you.

"Dean Winchester, did you do all this?"

His cheeks flush pink while he grumbles, "yeah well…I figured five years of marriage requires something a little more special than a nice dinner."

You laugh at his expression and pull his lips to yours, "Well I love it."

Kiss.

"And I love this house."

Kiss.

"And our life."

Kiss.

"And you."

His smile expands before it turns seductive, his hooded eyes connecting with yours and sending chills down your spin. He presses his forehead to yours, the space between your faces microscopic, yet still too vast.

"I love you," he breathes before brushing his lips against yours.

He kisses you softly before becoming greedier, cradling the back of your head with his hand while pulling you closer with the other. Gently he rolls you over so he is hovering over you, balancing most of his weight on his forearms. He stares at you, outlining your entire being with those green eyes. You arch yourself into him, a simple act of desperation that has proven effective over the years. He smiles a bit and begins to pepper your face with slow, sweet kisses.

He trails down your jaw line, taking his time when he hits that sweet spot under your ear, which never fails to make you quiver. You run your hands through his hair and try to pull his face back to yours, but he just kisses your cheek before moving back to your ear.

"I am going to show you just how freaking beautiful you are," he murmurs before grazing your earlobe. You shiver involuntarily and arch your back into him. You are suddenly very aware of the space between you and him.

He works his way down your neck, silently slipping your pajamas off your body. His hands trail down your body, leaving traces of love and fire on your skin that can only be quenched with the kisses that follow. You sigh his name when he moves to your breasts, pay each one equal attention while simultaneously slipping your pants off.

"Dean—oh" you are cut off mid sigh when he dips one long finger into your core and then another. He kisses back up your neck, landing on your lips and tracing the outline of your lips. You grant him access and allow the sensation of his fingers to overtake you.

He trails his tongue down your torso, and when he pulls his fingers out, you're almost at your breaking point. You almost cry out in frustration, but he simply kisses you hard on the mouth and returns his attention back to your body.

His hands run slowly up your thighs, brushing lightly over your middle. You shudder.

Then he stops, and your eyes snap open to find out why.

Oh.

He's staring at the dull white lines that run horizontally over your thighs.

"You're the strongest person I know," he whispers as he traces the lines as if they are series of stars that make up one big constellation. As if they are special to you, to your story instead of something that is self inflicted and frankly something you are not proud to admit.

It's only when he leans down and kisses each and ever line that you fully understand the extent to which this man, one so guarded and so damaged by forces out of his control, loves you. How much he's let you in and how much he's given to you so that you would feel comfortable giving at least a part of yourself to him.

"If only you had let me give you a ride home the first day I met you in the rain," he says between kisses as he moves back up your body. He drops back down and dips his tongue into your folds before darting back to your mouth. You moan in protest. He laughs, "Then we could've gotten to this part much earlier and possibly be on our sixth anniversary by now."

You roll my eyes, "If you don't stop talking—"

His lips crash into yours, and for a millisecond he pulls away to mumble how much he loves you.

And then, oh..

You focused on the way he feels inside you and sighing his name as he enters you. You immerse yourself in the feeling of his body against yours, his lips clinging to your neck, your fingers digging into his back. He moves slowly at first, sincerely meaning every move, every kiss, every touch. You close your eyes, mouth falling slightly open as you begin to feel the fire ignite in your core. You pull him closer and graze his ear.

"Please Dean," you beg, "I need you."

He kisses your neck again before beginning to move faster.

It doesn't take long, the foreplay had to on your brim, and all at once you come undone around him. Your release provokes his own and soon Dean peaks, your name falling off his lips over and over again as if it were the most reverent prayer he knew.

When he collapses next to you, he pulls you close and kisses your forehead.

When you were younger, before you met the Winchesters and their crazy angel best friend, you never really understood your purpose. You were stuck in a never-ending cycle controlled by a razor hidden in your bathroom drawer. It was in no way an over night process, but if anyone asked you how you over came and continue to over come your demons, you would undoubtedly point to the man next to you. His love is what keeps you strong. You place your ear over his heartbeat, trying to memorize it.

"I'm going to love you forever, you know that right?"

You feel Dean smile against your brow, and you look up to see his expression. He kisses you as if he's trying to convey every feeling of love and admiration he's ever had for you through it.

"I think I can live with that."