Note: This story was inspired by the movie TiME. I wanted to write this during the summer, but...well, I just couldn't resist anymore. The chapters won't be long, but they won't be as short as this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it and comment your thoughts. If you've got any questions, don't hesitate to ask. All the mistakes are mine, so I'm sorry.

The moon is glistening through the window as the skies darkened to a deeper shade of purple. The night air is silent, leaving an almost deafening noise if it wasn't for the occasional branches of the trees, scratching at the windows.

Inside the room, the silence is broken by shuddering whimpers. There is a boy sitting up straight, cross legged, on a bed. He has dark brown hair and eyes. His face is flushed from crying, eyes red and puffy as well. His bangs are sticking on his face from the sticky, wet tears. His sobs are cut short when the door creaks open. He looks at the door, blinking back tears.

Another boy had entered the room. He has dirty blond hair and hazel green eyes. He has freckles covering his face and a concerned smile plastered on his face as he carries a tray in his hands. He tilts his head a little as he watches the boy before he shakes his head slowly.

"Just as I expected," he mumbles, setting the tray on the bedside table. He sits at the edge of the bed, running a hand through the other's hair. "Does it hurt?" he asks.

The other bites his lower lip before he shakes his head fervently.

The blonde-headed boy laughs. "Sammy, you don't need to pretend. I know how it feels. I've been through it myself," he explains.

Sam had been looking away from his brother before he turns his attention back to him. "Dean... Did you cry too?" he asks.

"What? No, crying is for wu- I mean, of course," he answers. "Come on, lemme see it, Sam." He reaches his hand out to the other, expecting Sam to give him his hand.

Sam hesitates, looking at Dean for a moment as if seeing if he'd try anything. When nothing happened and Dean looks at him expectantly, Sam sighs and gives him his arm. Dean smiles faintly before he turns his brother's hand around, exposing his wrist. On Sam's wrist, there was a straight line running through his wrist. A scar was forming on the red cut.

Dean analyzes the cut before he releases the Sam's arm. He turns his attention back to the bedside table, grabbing the bowl sitting on the tray. He faces Sam once more, who seems to be shaking his head and retreating from him in fear.

"Dean, no! I'm fine, really. I-I don't -"

"Come on, Sam. I don't want it to get disinfected," Dean replies.

Sam sighs before he gives Dean his arm once more. Dean grabs his arm, facing his wrist up. Dean damps the cloth in the warm water before rinsing it. He looks at Sam before he dabs Sam's wound, causing the other to retreat his hand from the other.

"Sorry," Dean answers, meeting his brother's gaze.

Sam shakes his head before he returns his hand to the other.

Dean huffs silently as he pats Sam's wound gently. Sam bites his lower lip, trying to keep himself from jumping backwards again.

"You know," Dean begins, still cleaning Sam's wound, "it may hurt like hell right now, but the pain - this pain you're feeling, it is worth it. Sammy, I mean it. You're going to find your soulmate."

Upon hearing his brother's words, Sam looks at his brother, a small, childish smile forms on his lips.

"There's the smile I've been looking for!" Dean exclaims, chuckling lightly.

Sam's grin widens, and he laughs with Dean. Dean wraps an arm around his brother, holding him closer.

Suddenly, their chuckling was interrupted by a beeping sound. Dean's eyes widened as he looks down at his brother's wrist.

"Sam! Sammy, look!" he replies.

Sam, with excitement, looks down at his wrist, seeing the scar transform. He gasps in amazement when the scar widens and is replaced by a digital watch. The screen of the watch is the color of a mirror, transparent almost. The watch reads: 11:12:12:10. Another gasp is uttered from Sam as he grins happily.

Dean reads the numbers, seeing the numbers countdown. "Well," he says, after a brief pause, "in eleven years, you're going to meet the love of your life."

Dean looks at his own wrist, seeing his own countdown: 15:96:11:16