If you guys haven't realized who my favorite character is, I don't know what to say.
I've been writing this nonstop, and I'm almost done with it, just trying to get everything chronologically in order.
This is actually written in a different style than most of my work, so sorry if some of you follow and are familiar with my work, I was trying something different.
This fic is going to go through the seasons, and starts off with season 1 with some canon pre-series mishaps, but just letting you know that there is a lot of time skip within this fic.

Thank you for those who read this, and I especially thank those who have been following me as an amateur writer.
(I should be writing my other fics... but school, and stress, and life.)
Anyways, enjoy!


Being raised a Winchester, you knew the risks of having any sort of romance outside of hunting. Not only was it dangerous, but it was also impractical—I mean, why in the world would you drag an innocent from their poor excuse of a "trouble-free" world into a perpetual nightmare filled with demons, gods and everything that goes bump in the night?

Knowing this helped you realize, that maybe you weren't cut out for any romance at all.

With the illegible mark on your ribcage, looking more like a smudged compilation of symbols, you were slowly becoming at peace with the thought that maybe, just maybe, that your soulmate was either dead or not out there, and honestly it made you feel better about the constant emptiness in your heart.

You might not have been born a Winchester, but you saw what it did to those who lost their mates.

John Winchester, during one of his hunts chasing after the Yellow-Eyed Demon, found you in your crib amidst a burning home, exactly six months after the day you were born. You later ask him. "Why me? Why did you choose to keep me?" John later tells you that your parents died in a mysterious fire like the one that killed his wife and soulmate. That you reminded him of Sammy because he was exactly six months old that night, too.

Still, every night he would apologize for not making it on time, the fire leaving a good bit of your skin marred and slightly disfigured. But, you would always just shake your head and put your arms around him lovingly, in the darkness and silence of the motel room. You would wait patiently as he wept quietly in your arms.

You knew, in the deepest part of your mind, that every time he looked at you, you reminded him of his failures to keep his mate safe.

You knew your life was not "normal" by any means. You jumped from hotel to hotel, your oldest brother, Dean, fed and clothed you, even going so far as to stealing in order to take care of both you and Sammy.

Over the years, Sam would be the one to tutor you, seeing as how he was only 4 years older than you were, and he was more familiar with the curriculum than Dean was.

Dean didn't find academia as important as hunting.

Night after night, you would watch your foster father troll in and out of the rooms with his scary looking gun hidden underneath his leather jacket, keys to the Impala in his hand. Sometimes he would avoid your questions when you ask him where he was going. Sometimes he would walk in smelling like perfume and adult drinks that Dean says are not good for you.

The man you called Father tried his hardest to make you lead as normal of a life as you could without directly dragging you into the life of hunting. It was about the time that you were around 7 years old that your Father grew tired of your questions and taught you the ways of the trade.

"The family business," he would say.

From that point on, you learned that no more questions would be tolerated by John Winchester's little soldier.

Except at night. Occasionally.

You noticed it before, and you always hated the smudge under your breast. You were 9 when you asked,

"Daddy, why do I have a mark like this?"

Showing him, his eyes would cloud over with guilt.

"Is it like yours and De's and Sammy's? Does it mean anything?"

John would shoot up in anger and annoyance, telling you to stop asking so many god damn questions and to go practice field stripping your weapon.

You would go to your station in silent tears while he would storm over to the mini fridge or the nearest bar. It's later when Dean explains to you everything.

With downturn eyes, he explained how his mom was killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon and that's why his mark is greyed out.

"But what exactly is the Mark, De?"

He would then tell you how it was the Universe granting humans the knowledge and gift of love and prosperity. To know what it feels to belong.How the Mark was a sign at birth to guide you over time to the one who belonged to you.

"So where's my Mark?"

Dean could only look down at his feet in silence.

The night that Sam left for Stanford, you were quiet. In a sense, you knew that it was inevitable.

Sammy was the smartest of you three, followed by Dean, and then you.

You always thought that you were the least intelligent of your siblings by far.

The younger brother was always curious, thirsty for knowledge. He was also always searching for his soul mate wherever your Father took you.

The mark on his inner bicep named Jessica Lee Moore.

That night, you stood frozen in the corner, torn between your loyalties. You understood Dean and your Father, but you supported Sam's decision.

With a timid nod, he understood your silence.

"Good luck, Sammy. I hope you find her."

But, what else could you have said? you would ask yourself. You knew that you weren't his real family.

So you did the only thing that you could do. You turned away from the look in his eyes, the pity, and walked away, going over to sitover quiet and still on the lumpy couch. Staring at the Blank TV, you blinked away the tears as you heard the door slam shut.

At least Sammy had something to look forward to.

"Unlike yourself, (Y/N)."

Unable to cope with your feelings, you threw yourself head first into hunting, and every night, you would look into the mirror and trace the smudge on your ribcage, then drag your finger along the pink, wrinkled tissue across your body, snorting at your reflection.

Your non-existent soulmate is lucky to not have someone like you.

"Damaged goods," you called yourself.

Over time, Dean began to notice the change.

You stopped smiling and laughing. You would listen to your Father's orders without complaints.

The real (Y/N) would never do that.

You stopped talking as much, becoming nothing but a cold copy of who you used to be.

It never went unnoticed to him that you weren't eating as much, and he knew. He just knew that you were shitting on yourself day in and day out, because that's exactly what he would do to himself, too.

But that didn't mean that he didn't miss your old self.

You were always bubbly and always joking around. You were sweet and considerate and just generally a loving, little sister.

Once in a while, he would notice how you would stare blankly at the name written across his collar bone.

Lisa Braeden.

He would try his hardest to keep it covered, but staying in a tiny motel together nearly 99% of your time together, it gets kind of hard to hide.

The biggest kicked is that he knew that you knew that he had met his soul mate, back in 1999 when he dumped you at the hotel with 50 bucks for the whole weekend.

"Camping," he said.

But knowing him, you knew that he dipped out of her tent, literally and figuratively, at an opportune moment before questions were asked.

"I don't do parents. Or commitment, you know that."

Sometimes after you would see his Mark, he would watch as you looked down at your ribs, scratching at yours absentmindedly with the tip of your nails.

It never escaped Dean's attention that there would sometimes be bandages across your ribs from all the scratching, even though you would pull it off as another hunting injury.

It was the night that Dean packed you into the Impala to head for Stanford that you felt the awful feeling in your gut. Your body felt like it was burning and voices screeched in your head, penetrating your dreams.

For the first time in three years, you saw Sam again, and for a moment it felt like things were going to be good again, until they weren't.

Sam avoided you as much as possible, and when he mentioned his interview, your hopes of becoming like before quickly withered away.

For a moment, your insecurities came back, rearing its ugly head again.

"You will never be one of them."

You knew why your brother was acting the way that he was. He had a future, he met his soulmate, and you had to come along and drag him back into the very thing he was running from.

"Unlike you, (Y/N). No future, no soulmate. Just hunting."

It was the night of their mother's 22nd anniversary that you dropped him back off at Stanford, expecting to never see him again.

"After all, we never found Dad, so why would we bother him?"

Moments after driving away, you couldn't help the scream that bubbled out from your throat. You felt the pain, the flames melting the flesh off of your bones. Only then did Dean understand. Sam was in danger.

That night, the smell of sulfur and burnt flesh thick in the air, Sam was left with a clenched jaw and a hardened heart, and for the second time in your life, you were glad that you had no real mark.

Dean never asked you what really happened in the car.


Phew, end of chapter 1.
I hope you guys enjoyed that, I am finished with the second chapter, working through the errors and some other stuff.
If you guys enjoyed it, Comments and Kudos are most welcome!
If you guys did not enjoy it, well I don't know what to say, but Kudos are still appreciated for those who are still trying to pick up back onto their feet in the world of writing. (:
Anyways, I appreciate your times and attention, catch you later!
Peace out, bitches!