Bred in Bone Verse

Leashed
Please remember the warnings this deals with a dark subject matter and won't be for everyone


Leashed

The first time Sam Winchester went to his knees for money he was fourteen years old and the smell of the garbage behind the gas station almost overpowered the terrible stench of crotch. The fat mechanic he was about to blow really needed to learn about personal hygiene. His stomach clenched at the smell but his mouth watered at the thought of all the food he could buy with this single act of humiliation. He concentrated on the pain of the rock digging in to his knees to put his mind in a different place than the sweaty blue jeans and curling pubic hair his nose was being pushed into.

Sam thought of how disgusted he was when he caught Jason, his only friend in this shitty town, doing this very thing. Jason had taken his tirade in stride, hadn’t defended himself in any way. He hadn’t even had the grace to look ashamed when Sam had called him a whore. Jason had smiled sadly as he offered him a cheeseburger bought with money he had earned on his knees. Sam had been so hungry he hadn’t even thought about saying no to the food. Hours later sitting in the dark of his nice, clean, too clean, motel room, stomach growling, with no food or money in sight, the shame had hit him. Jason earned the money that kept him fed. He hadn’t even thought about how until he had caught him at it.

Harsh words thrown between the two of them had led to Sam on his knees. Jason finally had enough of Sam’s self-righteous attitude and yelled that if Sam wanted food-- and didn’t want Jason whoring-- then Sam needed to find his own way to earn money. He’d swallowed his pride, or gained it, he wasn’t sure which, he decided that no way would he let Jason whore so that Sam could eat. Jason stood at the side of the building now, half watching for cops, half watching out for him.

The ache in his jaw brought his mind back to what he was doing. The smell of engine oil and gasoline used to remind him of the Impala, of home, but now it would forever remind him of the pain in his knees, the ache in his jaw, shame, and hunger. Jason had said that the first time was always the hardest and he believed him, had never really doubted it. He thought of all the firsts in his life.

First time separated from Dean, shoved in the trunk of the Impala so Dad could train while Dean was in school. He was two.

First day in school, Dean walking beside him, grin huge because he felt big walking next to his big brother. Even then Dean was his hero. He remembered walking into his classroom, holding Dean’s hand, not a care in the world. He was five.

First time holding a gun-- a shotgun, too large and too powerful for him to hold on his own. Dean, standing behind him, whispering in his ear, holding him up. He was seven.

First time Child Protective Services picked him up, and he was sent to a foster home. They had picked him up at school, he hadn’t seen them coming, hadn’t known enough to be scared. Dean had seen them and had run, being older and in a different school, he had been able to get away. It was several days before he found Sam and was able to get him out. He remembered being terribly scared of the man coming into his room at night. He had hurt him in ways Dean had warned him about. It was the first time Dean had been unable to fix everything with a few whispered words and a gentle touch. There were a lot of first time memories of that foster home. All of them terrifying and imprinted soul deep in his memory. First time his ass was used, first time his mouth was used, first time Dean’s halo tilted, first time he was glad his dad was his dad and not that fat bastard that liked to hurt little kids. He was eight.

First time he killed a monster. Dad had given him a .45 to take care of the monster in his closet. He’d shot it right between the eyes, just as it sunk its teeth into his ankle. He looked up after his ears stopped ringing and the monster goo had stopped dripping from his hair, to see his dad holding Dean back by the scruff of the neck. This had been a test to see if he could do it. He wondered vaguely as Dean finally wrenched free if Dad would have stepped in to help if he hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. He was nine.

First time he went hungry. Dad left them alone in a cabin back in the woods in Georgia with enough food for a week, but didn’t come home for two. Dean hunted rabbit and squirrel to keep them alive. He was ten.

First time he and Dean used magic. After the third time CPS had taken them away from their dad and separated them Dean decided that he needed a sure fire way to track Sammy, so that no matter how far away they were they would be able to find each other again. He didn’t actually remember the ritual-- just a haze of smoke, blood-letting, and a foul tasting liquid. And possibly sex, but his mind shied away from that thought.

He couldn’t think about sex with his brother while giving head behind a gas station. Dean would kick his ass if he could see him right now. The scar on his wrist was already burning. The scar was his leash: he knew it, Dean knew it. It was the only reason Dean had agreed to go on the hunt with Dad’s friend Caleb, leaving Sam in the sole care of their father. He was forever linked to Dean through the ritual and the mark left behind. It ached and burned and eventually bled if Sam did something Dean wouldn’t approve of.

The guy finally came with a grunt and shoved him away. Sam gagged on the bitter oily fluid when he didn’t get away fast enough. Two twenty dollar bills hit the ground as he sagged, forward attempting to keep the bile at bay. He didn’t look up at the man as he grabbed the bills and stuffed them into his front pocket. The man finally stumbled back around to the front of the store. Sam wilted for a moment before his gut clenched in hunger again. He glanced down at his arm. The intertwined D and W scar was a deep blood red but it wasn’t bleeding. Dean might not like what he had done to survive but he would have liked it even less if Sam had given up. The pain receded as Sam’s resolve that he had done nothing wrong grew. He would not let his father, this shit hole of a town, or what Dean might think of him break him.

“Let’s go get some food,” he said as he rose to his feet and faced Jason. They walked around the side of the building and down the sidewalk. As he opened the door to the fast food place and stepped aside to let Jason in first he took a deep breath and met Jason’s eyes. “My treat.”


tbc...