A/N: I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Tell me what you think of it.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours first,

Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse,

Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words."

— Swing Life Away, by Rise Against

Dean was two when he got his first mark. It took a minute for Mary to notice. He protested loudly when his mother took him into her arms, and away from his toys. Dean scrunched his face when she fussed over him. He brought a small hand up where she looked. A rigid patch of skin had appeared on his forehead. Nimble finger traced down the new scar. Dean pictured it as a symbol he'd seen on some of his superhero toys. He wondered if this meant he'd get special powers now. When his mother put him down to meet dad in the doorway, he forgot the thought.

"Daddy!" He squealed.

His dad gave him a smile and a wave eliciting a childish giggle. Dean watched as his mother started to talk frantically with his dad. He wondered why they glanced at him so much. It gave him an uneasy feeling. However, that melted away when his mom offered some mac and cheese for dinner. Adults were always so weird anyway.

The next day he squirmed while his mom talked to a doctor. The man had been prodding at him and Dean didn't like him one bit. He tugged at his mom's hand and she gave him a stern look. Dean looked around the pastel colored examination room while he waited, wishing he had brought his superheros with him.

The next time, his mom's the one to tug his hand as they left. Dean got a lollipop from the front desk lady, which makes the ordeal worth it. They got home and Dean rushed to greet the toys scattered across his room. He payed special attention to the superhero with the lightning bolt on his chest and traced his forehead every few minutes to make sure the mark is still there.

When Harry was eight he got the lesson in school. Most of the children around him zoned out; they'd all heard it before. He was the only one who sat straight, even leaning forward slightly, as the teacher talked.

"Any permanent markings to your body will appear on the body of your soulmate." Mrs. Jones said. "This includes scars, piercings, and even tattoos. Be careful and think twice before making changes to your body, as it will affect them as well."

A rush of bodies crowded the door when the dismissal bell rang. Harry stayed in his seat, rolling the lesson around in his mind. He left slowly, but stood taller than that morning. Maybe he wasn't alone after all.

That night, the small boy rested alone. He listened to the loud noises of his aunt, uncle, and cousin watching the telly. Enough light spilled from the vent on the door for him to see inside his cupboard. Harry examined his skinny limbs.

Every now and then, he would come across a line or mark, and stared at it. Sometimes he remembered where it came from; like with the scar on his leg he got while trying to escape his cousin. He labeled these remembered blemishes as mine.

Still, there were some he couldn't remember after concentrating on them; like the thin silvery line on his left side. He labeled those marks he couldn't recall as theirs.

After Harry had settled under his old, moth eaten blanket, the lights flicked off in front of his door. The tell-tale thudding and bits of plaster flaking off his ceiling let him know his family had gone upstairs to bed. His last thoughts awake were wishful; he hoped with all his heart, that when he met his soulmate, mine and theirs would simply become ours.

Dean spread out on the ratty hotel couch next to his baby brother, who slaved over homework. As much as Dean teased the kid for being a nerd, it always cheered him up to see that Sam kept up with school. It meant that his little brother had more of a chance.

As he flipped through the channels on the tv, the older boy noticed something on his right arm. Dropping the remote in shock, he observed with captivated eyes. Sam looked up when his brother shifted position.

"Dean?" the younger boy questioned as he lean closer toward where Dean had fixed his wide eyes.

An angry red mark formed on Dean's forearm. The brothers shared a concerned and fascinated look.

"Do you think she's okay?" Dean asked. He felt the rise of fear for his soulmate as the mark grew redder. He wondered if she was older than his thirteen years to have gotten such an injury. Maybe she was a hunter too. That thought gave him worry, rather than reassurance.

"Look!" Sam pointed at the edges of the mimicked wound as they receded.

The two brothers sat in stunned silence as the red disappeared from Dean's skin. The older boy moved his arm around to see it in different light. It was as if the mark had never even appeared.

"Should we tell dad?" Dean spun to face Sammy when he asked.

He'd learned the hard way that solemate scars were not a welcome topic to discuss with their father. Dean used to brag to him every time he noticed a new mark until one day his dad had enough. John Winchester redirected him with a firm hand. Pulling up his shirt, his father displayed a scar drawn across his stomach.

"One day, Dean, they'll get a wound you can't heal." John said, he pointed to his son and continued. "You'll carry that mark for the rest of your life. No matter how many times you try to wash it off. That scar will stay and remind you every damn day that you failed to save them."

His father's last words on the subject replayed in his mind as he rubbed his arm.

"Every new scar is one closer to the last."

Needless to say, his father had gotten drunk that night. Dean didn't want Sammy to get the same harsh lesson. He shook his head with vigor, hoping the kid would avoid it.

Voldemort was back. Harry couldn't shake the thoughts from intruding, even after two weeks into summer. He attacked the weeds in his aunt's garden in a weak distraction attempt.

Was it too much for someone to talk to him? His best friends wouldn't surrender any information. Everyday the Daily Prophet continued to print slander against him. Labeled a maniac for warning them, how kind. Life was utter shit, and he still had to live on Privet Drive with his hateful relatives.

Harry threw the bags of weeds into the bin and escaped to his room upstairs. He pounded a fist into the mattress of his bed. Feeling no better after the temper tantrum, he slumped in defeat. Eyes moved of their own accord, and he found himself staring at his arm. There, Fawkes had healed the gash from the Basilisk in second year.

He'd managed to get another one in the same spot.

The wound was still red. Madam Pomfrey shot several spells at it, after the initial healing, in vain. The witch said it would fade soon, but Harry saw her nervous fidgeting. The streak of marred flesh had haunted him since the night in the graveyard. Not only had it hurt like all hell, the cut Wormtail made had resurrected his worst enemy. Cedric's face came to mind. An innocent life taken, snuffed out, by someone who should be dead. Harry would never be able to forget. The angry, red reminder was a permanent fixture on his body...and someone else's.

Who the hell would want him for a soulmate? He had insane dark wizard after him, a public reputation that teeter-tottered between extremes, and gained a new scar every year. It wasn't like he added to the collection alone. Spots popped up from time to time without Harry's aid. Yet, he still gathered the noticeable, ugly ones. He was probably paired with some active quidditch player that fate wanted to piss on.

Harry buried his face in his pillow. His first words to the person who was supposed to complete his life were going to be "I'm sorry." How pathetic. He wasn't sure he'd forgive himself in that position. It would be just his luck to get rejected by his own soulmate.

Dean woke up with a spiking headache. He couldn't remember if he was hungover or not. Which meant he most likely was. Hey, how could he miss the opportunity to introduce himself to their new town? The party was a blur, but he guaranteed he'd gotten a few numbers from the local hotties.

Certainly, he deserved it after that last shitty girl experience. She somehow gathered the guts to call his personality fake. No, he was cool. He was really cool. Emma - Andy- Amanda? Whatever her name was, could suck it.

After fishing around in the bathroom he gulped down the Advil like it was gourmet steak. Not that he knew what that tasted like. The digital clock told him that he was late for school. Sammy, the angel, hadn't woken him up in time. Might as well not go then.

Lounging on the motel bed he'd claimed, Dean flipped through the newspaper looking for hints on the case. His dad wasn't sure what they were hunting, only that it was nasty. It was always nasty. Why couldn't they run into something cute and cuddly? Like a unicorn. Dean snorted at that idea. While flipping the page, the young hunter sprang up like a startled cat.

"Holy shit!"

There was writing on his hand. Not the typical digits or test answers either. Words were engraved into the back of his right hand. In cramped cursive "I must not tell lies" was carved, as neatly as if it had been written.

Skin didn't work like that, the hunter knew. The scar must have been created by some kind of supernatural mojo. Fucked up as it was, Dean felt some relief. This confirmed his ongoing theory that his soulmate was a hunter. Meaning, they would understand. Life was doomed for them, but they would understand each other.

It was a pleasent night to be strolling to your death. Just the right degree of cool in the air...

Who was he kidding, Harry thought, he was terrified. His instincts screamed warnings to turn back, but he'd made a decision.

The most prevailing feeling though, was loneliness. Even after speaking with the dead and getting their support, it was lonely. However much Harry didn't want anyone to be here, his chest still ached. All his thoughts surrounded what he would leave behind. The people he loved...they were the reason he underwent this after all.

Before his eyes closed, Harry thought about a stranger. The person he hadn't ever met, who was destined to be with him. He'd never find them. A strong desire filled his heart in it's final beats. Please, he prayed, give them another chance. He wanted the soulmate he'd never meet to be happy. They deserved that. Please.

Counting had started tasting sour months ago. Now, with less than 24 hours left, the numbers suffocated Dean. He showcased his best brave hunter face, even if Sam saw through it. Enduring all of this was worth every breath his baby brother took. That wouldn't change for a second, even if it would save his life.

He wouldn't resort to using Ruby. He'd already dealt enough with demons and so had Sammy. They would take out Lilith the hunter way or they'd fail trying. Of course, the fact that failing meant a one way trip to hell didn't leave his mind.

Holy water, hellhounds, headaches, everything was going as smoothly as it could. If Lilith wasn't already a demon, Dean would damn her to the lowest point in hell. Torturing people while the little girl whose body you possessed watches was above and beyond fucked up. The hunter could see why she was the boss of the fucked up crew.

He crossed the salt line with Sam and Ruby, who had decided to show up anyway. They were at their last defence. Howling rang in his ears. Realization came to Dean too late. Lilith had tricked them and possessed Ruby's former vessel.

He was a dead man.

He'd been one for a year.

Hellhounds jumped him faster than a bullet. Dean blocked out the pain and Sammy's screaming. The kid should let him go. Dean had known what he was in for from the start. He didn't want to die, but Sam would live from the sacrifice. He would always be the big brother, no matter Sam's insistence on growing taller than him. Big brothers protected little brothers. The world just worked like that.

Sam deserved a good life. He should've gotten a law degree, a nice gal, and more. Dean could hear the snarls once the hounds bit down. Life ended today for him.

His mind remembered his dad's words from when he was a kid. Dean prayed that whoever had matching lightning on their forehead wouldn't share the rips and bites. He hoped, whoever they were, that they had a safe life now. There hadn't been any new marks on the 'other end' in years. They'd both be safe, that was the final comfort he got. Sammy and his soulmate would be just fine.