A/N: Okay, so this is one of those new things I told ya'll I'd be working on over this summer. Don't worry the other stories I have going are coming. I just have a LOT to type up. This is just one of those that got stuck in my head months ago and had me writing chapters for, this is chapter 1 of many, and they will be long. Like the chapter of Together, if you read that, if not longer. So if you get hooked on this, don't expect regular updates due to the length, but I will try. But enjoy…

BTW: Pretty much every chapter of this story is titled after a song or song lyrics because I listen to a toy of music when I write because music is my inspiration, though the story is not based off either.(Chapter 1is based off The Scientist by Coldplay though I personally prefer the Glee version) I changed the age Azazel came for Sam in order to make up for the age of the reader, who is 30 months younger than Sam.

Forever

My life has never been easy, no matter what anyone says. Since the day I was born my life has been one misfortune after the next.

When I was born, the doctors didn't think I was gonna make it because of some anomaly they found in my brain. An adult that had developed this kind of problem would have been able to live without issue, but a newborn baby didn't stand a chance. Someone up top must have been looking out for me, though, because a few weeks later, John and Mary Winchester took home their miracle daughter. They had to take her home with a hell of a lotta of medication, but at least they got me home.

Home to a place where my brothers say I would have loved. A steady place in Lawrence, Kansas that we wouldn't have had to worry about leaving for any reason. A place where we would have known and loved people and had friends who were absolutely ordinary. A place where our parents didn't have to worry about safety, be it from everyday people or the monsters under our beds. It was a home I didn't get the pleasure of getting to know.

On the eve of my brother's two and a half birthday, a demon came in and ruined our lives forever. My mother had gotten up in the middle of the night to check on us, but what she found changed all our lives forever. The demon killed my mother and burned the home we were supposed to grow up and be a family in down to the ground.

At the time, Sam – that's my older brother – and I shared a bedroom because apparently, I would cry all night long if I was left alone. At first, my parents moved my crib into their room, thinking that would ease my discomfort and fears, but they soon realized one night when my crying still refused to cease and Sam was brought in, crying himself, that it was him that I really wanted. My dad placed the two of us side by side, and we immediately quieted down, much to the surprise of our parents.

They thought the two of us would be a handful being in the same room because if I started crying, I would wake Sammy. But never that happened. If anything, Sam seemed to sleep sounder with me in the room, and our parents found that to be a blessing. Same vise versa. But when the fire happened, it was anything but.

My crib was closer to the window, which was opposite of the door and Sam's directly to the right of the door, which made him easier to get to when Dad rushed in. He gave Sammy to my eldest brother, Dean, and told him to get out as fast as he could while he tried to get to me.

The curtains over the window had been entirely engulfed in flames and dropped into my crib and burned my right shoulder down to my elbow pretty bad before Dad got me out. I still have the scars to this day as a reminder of what my family lost and how we will never be normal ever again.

I was only eleven months old at the time, so it's more like a memory from a past I wasn't privy to and a morbid reminder of how I lost my mother. But I find myself looking at it more often than not because it's the only memory I have of her. Morbid or not.

Sam understands how I feel; that what I have isn't something I take immense pride in having. At least not in the way that some of my family might think. He knows that the memories I have of then are extremely little to none and that this mark keeps me connected so that I don't forget our mother, even if I don't really remember enough to forget.

But not all my family thinks or feels the same way.

I watch the light leave Dean's eyes anytime he catches a glimpse of the horrendous mark that I'm forced to bare. I know he doesn't realize the faces he makes when he looks at them, how they make me feel like a freak both on the inside and out, because I'm sure he would stop if he did. Our father makes me wear long sleeve shirts and jackets to cover my arms because he can't look at it. I mean he doesn't say that's the reason, but I know that it is.

For the longest time after we left Lawrence, Dad couldn't look at me because of the scars. He only held me when it was absolutely necessary, and pushed me off to Dean or whoever he could whenever he got the chance. Especially after he met Bobby.

I don't know about Sam and Dean, but sometimes I feel like the older hunter is more of a real father to us than our actual dad is, not that I'd ever say that to either of my brothers or the veteran hunter.

Dad met Bobby six months after the 'incident,' and the older man was immediately taken with us. He hated Dad for leaving us for weeks at a time at his house without a word before coming back in the middle of the night to retrieve us, but that never stopped him from loving the three of us to death.

When we were with Bobby, he would play all kinds of games with us and teach us hunting techniques that even Dad had yet to learn. Dad would never let me hunt, though, only teaching me enough to defend myself because he always wanted my brothers to be with me, to protect me. He trusted Bobby to teach me everything there was to know about supernatural creatures so that the boys would be able to kill them with ease.

Bobby thought that was bullshit, so he trained me when Dad left me and took the boys with him – something else that pissed the more experienced hunter off about John Winchester, like he needed another reason to resent the man – and would sometimes even take me on small salt and burns to give me some field experience.

Bobby treats me like a person. An equal. Dad treats me like some fragile porcelain doll, and the worst thing about that is he taught Dean to do the same.

There was a time when I younger that I would ask questions about vampires and werewolves and the boogeyman. This was just after Dean accidentally spilt the beans about the monsters under my bed being real, yelling it out in frustration after I kept telling him I was scared of the monsters in the horror movies he would watch late at night when we were all supposed to be asleep – Dad really kicked his ass for that one, and not just metaphorically speaking. Not just because of the late night monster movie marathons; he did it way worse than when the eldest Winchester child told Sam – and neither Dad nor Dean would discuss the subject with me after that. Either getting mad or blatantly ignoring me.

It wouldn't be until I got older that I would understand why they did that. But being a ten-year-old with your father and oldest brother blowing up in your face and acting like you don't exist every time you asked them a question isn't very encouraging or comforting. I thought that they didn't like me – Dad, because I wasn't a boy like Sam and Dean who didn't get scared of the monsters in movies and was too young and a was morbid reminder of the love of his life whom he had lost so tragically, and Dean because I got him in trouble with Dad, and the same reminder, except it was his mother – but Sammy says that was never the case. And I'm inclined to believe him.

Sam has never steered me the wrong way. He tells me things how they are and makes sure the things Bobby teaches me never fade. He kept mine and Bobby's secret when he found out about it, reassuring me that Dad and Dean would never find out because he agreed it was necessary and that I deserve better and comforts me when my thoughts turn sour due to the way I'm treated by the rest of my family.

Sam has always said those types of things to me. He makes me feel more special than any person ever has; he has taken on the unofficial role as my guardian and protector. Whenever people at school talk about me and my scars, Sam is always there to defend me and kick the ass of anyone who isn't smart enough to back the fuck off. He stands up to Dad for me whenever I can't do so for myself, which is pretty much always.

But with all of this, he sees that I need something else because it can't go on forever. So he teaches me to defend myself and stand up for myself as well. He does more for me than Dean and Dad combined.

He makes sure I keep up with my school work when we move and take my medicine on a regular basis, even though as the years go on it gets more and more evident to me that it isn't his job.

Even when we were younger, Dad was the one who needed to make sure to keep track of my meds, but no. Sammy took charge in that department, as well as pretty much every other one that had to deal with me. He did it because he knew that if he didn't, no one else likely would have, and I love him for it.

He is my light in the dark. My safe haven. And it doesn't surprise me in the slightest when I find myself falling for him.

In my heart of hearts, I know that the feelings I have developed for Sam are more than what a sister should feel towards her brother. Like I said, that doesn't surprise me in the slightest, but the more I think about it and consider Sam and how he might think about it, the thought of what might happen to us if he doesn't reciprocate my feelings freaks me out worse than anything has in my whole life. And one day to make it all worse, Sam notices.

"What's wrong (Y/N/N)?" He asks, his face showing nothing less than concern. I'm sitting on the bed closest to the bathroom door, where Sam has just emerged from behind, having been taking a shower.

Today is one of those days where Dean and Dad left the two of us at the motel while the two of them went to handle a hunt a few hours away, and with Sam almost being sixteen, Dad figured he could handle a thirteen-year-old me by himself for a little while. Dean had done it for years before, with both Sam and I as his charges.

I don't see him frown at my flinch to his touch after he comes over to the bed when I don't respond to his question, what with my face being buried in my arms which are wrapped around my knees on the bed.

"(Y/N)," He says more cautiously this time, and I can hear the small tinge of fear in his voice, and I suddenly feel guilty for acting this way, and he has no idea why.

"I'm fine Sammy," I say, my voice as calm and level as I can make it, but that isn't good enough because even I hear the quiver and potential for tears coming on.

I feel the bed dip as Sam sits all the way down in front of me, but he doesn't touch me, probably fearful it may set me off, which isn't untrue.

"Please talk to me." His tone is desperate, not use to his little sister not telling him all her problems so he can handle them and make her feel better. He is especially not used to her flinching away from his touch, and it makes him wonder what he did wrong.

"I'm sorry," He says after a moment of silence, and I can't help myself when my head shoots up to look at him in confusion. "Whatever I did, I didn't mean it, and I'm sorry, (Y/N/N). Tell me how I can make it better."

Immediately, I feel the tears I didn't even realize were forming, fall down my cheeks at his words. Classic Sammy, always thinking that something or another has something to do with him; the pain in his voice breaks my heart.

I launch myself into his arms and cry into his shoulder.

"No, Sammy! It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. It's all me. M-my fault." He tenses up at my sudden movement, but instantly snaps out of it and wraps his arms around me as I start to cry hysterically and ramble to the point where my words come out completely incoherent.

He just sits there and holds me on the bed as I continue to sob and cry for however long. This isn't the first time this has actually happened – us sitting around as he holds me while I cry, I mean.

One day in 2nd grade, this group of kids picked on me and made fun of my scars when one of them pushed me to the ground at recess and my sweater ripped.

Sam was in 4th grade at the time, and the older kids hadn't been outside yet, so I had to fend for myself. What I did was run into the building and hide in one of the janitor's closets and cried.

The teachers tore up the school looking for me, going so far as putting the building into lockdown to find me. None of them did, though. Sam did.

One of the girls in his class saw the fight – not that you could really call it that – with the other kids and me and told Sam he thought I might be the one everyone was looking for because she saw me running away, crying.

Sam had waited until his teacher wasn't paying attention to go looking for me. It didn't take him long because he could hear me crying when he turned a corner. He got into the closet with me instead of trying to get me out after seeing how distraught I was, and sat and held me until Dean opened the door, the principle having called Dad after no one could find me.

Neither of us got in trouble for what happened because I had explained to Sam who explained to Dad what happened, but Sam did get in trouble for yelling at Dad when he told me to fight back next time instead of running away. That was the day Sam decided to become my protector and guardian because he felt Dad wasn't doing a good enough job. Dad never holds me while I cry. Sam does. Like now.

He waits until my cries and sobs have died down to small hiccups and stuttered breathing before he addresses what I said.

"(Y/N), what do you mean it's you? What's your fault?" His voice is low and as soothing as he can make it so as not to get me going again.

I don't actually know if I want to tell him my thoughts. He more than likely doesn't feel the same way because what guy has a crush on his little sister?

No. He would probably tell Dad who would kick me out or send me to Bobby and never see me again. Bobby might keep me out of pity, but he would look at me in disgust and hate me too.

Or, best case scenario, Sam would take pity on me and not tell anyone, but he would never be able to look at me the same way ever again. He would distance himself from me and eventually see the freak I know everyone else does, and that would be the worst thing that could ever happen. The worst, worst case scenario.

I don't even know what I would do if I lost Sam. He's my brother and my best friend. I would much rather keep what we have now as oppose to losing him to something that I know can never be.

I squeeze him tighter in response, not wanting to say anything, but knowing I had to after all of this. And Sam doesn't push me. He patiently waits for me to pull back and meet his warm hazel eyes with my own.

Those same eyes that hold so much compassion whenever their gaze is upon me. The way they change colors depending on the light and sometimes even the mood of their owner. I may see those same green-hazel eyes in the mirror every day, but Sam's have always been so much livelier than mine. They have this ability to pull you in and just…

Before I know what I'm doing, I have leaned forward, closing the distance between us until our lips are touching.

I almost immediately realize what I have done and when I do, I tense up and notice that Sam has done the same.

I go to pull away from him, embarrassed out of my mind and wanting just to die – debatable and to be heavily considered when I bolt far away from here – but before I can move farther than an inch, Sam pulls me back in for my first earth shattering kiss.

This time around, the shock wears off almost immediately, and we are kissing each other as though the other is going to disappear into thin air.

I don't know how long this will last so I take the time to document the moment mentally. His hand has moved into my hair, and it feels really warm and is extremely comforting. His lips are as soft as I thought they would be, not chapped like I know mine probably feel. He has to have done this before because he is moving with a grace and flow that I don't have – I'm trying not to envy the girl(s) he practiced this with.

Sam is the one to pull back after a while of our lips merely moving together. My eyes are still closed as I release the breath I hadn't realized I had been holding. I put my hand up to my lips as if the pads of my fingers can mimic the feeling of Sam's lips.

That was not how I had heard kisses to be described by girls at school. They all talk about how dirty their boyfriends kiss them. Lots of tongue and little of anything else. More like them eating each other's faces is what it sounds like to me.

But the way Sam just kissed me was nothing like that. It was sweet and innocent, like in one of the kisses in those romcoms I catch Dean watching sometimes. I'm not saying I don't want to be kissed like those girls at school boyfriends' kiss them, but that was a nice first kiss.

When I open my eyes, Sam is staring at me with slight apprehension, but there is something else in his eyes that is fiery and full of want and…is that what desire looks like?

I smile slowly at him, and the apprehension instantly disappears, replaced with relief as a smile appears to mirror my own.

"You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that," Sam says as he moves a few loose strands of hair behind my ear; I can't help but nuzzle into his hand, so familiar with his familiar touch.

"Seriously?" I ask through a flustered smile.

"For a while now, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, and I was so scared it would ruin our relationship if I told you. I mean what kind of freak tells his little sister that he thinks of her more than a sister?"

I narrow my eyes in disdain at the word choice Sam uses to describe himself. He's anything but a freak. Sometimes I hear people from his school call him names like that, but he never says anything back. He keeps walking with me down the street to my middle school until someone says something about me. Only then does Sam react.

He nearly beat this one boy's face in when he saw him push me on the ground on his way to get me from school one day. Dean had to physically remove him before he broke the boy's jaw. That made him kind of a hero in my eyes, though the level of violence was a bit over the top, but that shouldn't have deemed him a freak. A lot of kids are overprotective of their little siblings, even Dean is, and even more have anger management problems.

That's not how the students at both the middle and high school saw it, though. Some were scared of him, while others glared in hatred at his actions. But still Sam didn't react, and people knew he wouldn't unless someone messed with me. So no one in that town bothered me, picking on Sam instead, well, the bolder ones anyways.

I never knew Sam took all of that stuff personally until now.

Apart from the mixed emotions about the name calling, I just want to scream; I'm so happy and relieved. Here I am, freaking out about how negatively Sam would react if I told him how I feel and he has been doing the exact thing for God knows how long.

"Wait, is that why you were crying? You thought I was gonna get mad at you or something?" I don't respond verbally, but something on my face must tell Sam all he needs to know because realization spreads across his face, with his eyes hardening as a hint of sadness, anger, and self-hatred flashes through his eyes all at the same time.

I can relate to that. I hated myself too for my emotions when I realized them. I guess the two of us are more alike than I thought.

"I didn't believe that you would feel or even think the same way I did. Like you said," I look up shyly at him, unable to hold eye contact for more than a few seconds at a time. "what kind of freak thinks of their sibling that way?"

Something flashes through Sam's eyes for a split second before they soften and it's gone, and they're back to the loving orbs they normally are as he speaks, "I guess we'll just be freaks together." His words make me smile and giggle as he leans down to kiss me again.

A/N: R&R, please!