Bred in Bone Verse

Sittin on the Dock







Sam sat at the end of the pier gazing out over the lake with bored empty eyes. Everything was hazy in the gloaming. The sun fading behind the mountain could have been romantic if he were someone else, but for him it was just another end to the day. The water lapped gently against the wooden structure in the wake of a speed boat long gone. The cheap Styrofoam underpinnings of the floating pier squeaked, a comforting sound; familiar. Teenagers screaming and laughing as they swam and played in the water, enjoying spring break as much as they could while stuck in the middle of Georgia. Their sounds were a lot less comforting.



Dad’s big idea when Dean had been hurt in a hunt in Alabama was to let the two of the take a ‘vacation’. Sure, the marina they had been stashed at was haunted by a kid that had been buried next to the boathouse, but once they had taken care of the salt and burn the owner let them pitch their tents for a few months rent free. The electrical outlet sat back to back with the water faucet, two pipes coming up from the ground a whole foot. Yeah, this was great fun.



He felt like he was just marking time, wasting days until his real life began. Somehow, though, he didn’t think he was ever going to have anything but this. Wasted days, wasted life. It was the end of April now and there was really no reason to start a new school with so few days remaining, or so said The Dean. He would wait until next year to forge Sam’s school transfer papers. He’d be sixteen in another month, old enough to drive, get a job, to fuck in most states. Not that he really cared except that he had been thinking of the future more and more. Ways to get out, ways to make something better for himself.



The way he had it figured his choice was either military service or college. And quite frankly Sam Winchester had had enough of people telling him what to do to last him a lifetime. It seemed that every time he turned around there was someone else, some adult or someone who thought they had some bit of power over him telling him what to do. As always though he couldn’t please any of them no matter how hard he tried, so he just stopped trying. Dean was the only person he even listened to anymore. More and more, though, Dean just wasn’t there. Pretty much like now.



Across the lake was another campground. KIA had a huge spread lots of amenities- a real pool, a clubhouse with workout room, a bathhouse with an actual hot shower, oh, and most important, to Dean at least, girls. Yeah, there was an entire senior class of girls staying the week. Sam sighed. If it hadn’t been them, his brother would have been at bar or diner or some other arbitrary place. The nineteen year old was finally spreading his wings after far too many years of watching Sammy. Sam tried to be understanding. He told himself over and over that Dean had sacrificed himself enough for him. He’d given up his own childhood to make sure Sam had some type of stable influence in his life. Yeah, that was Dean, way more of a caregiver than Dad had ever been. But damn it that was part of what made growing up and apart so much harder. For him, Dean was everything he wanted and everything he wanted to be. His world was so much colder, starker and bleaker when Dean wasn’t around. Like he was just a satellite to Dean’s sun. And Dean just wanted to get away. Sam understood that need. Wanting to get away, but unable to do so. But this felt like, Dean wanted to get away from Sam. Sam wanted to leave this life, he wanted to be safe and normal, but he wanted Dean to go with him. He thought about leaving, about just packing his bag and walking away. His wrist burned, reminding him of why he stayed.



He knew Dean was looking for something else in life, just like he was, always looking for something meaningful to fill up the time between killing things. For Dean it was girls, lots of girls--he didn’t even have to be fucking them--just being with them was enough sometimes. Sam didn’t have that outlet. Every time he even thought about getting close to a girl, the mark on his arm burned. He didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know why Dean didn’t seem to have any problems with the bond. In fact most of the time he acted like he didn’t even remember it was there, hell, Sam nearly forgot sometimes.



Nearly. As long as he didn’t pull on the leash too tight.



He heard a shuffling step behind him and slid over to make room on the edge for the only person he had spoken to besides his brother in weeks. He should have known she would find him. Della Poor, a scarred and lonely girl. She had taken one look at him and said they were meant to be friends. She went to the local high school and lived just outside of the marina. He would normally have met her after school. He didn’t know much about her real life. He only knew this private her, the one most people only wrote about in diaries in the middle of the night. He didn’t know her school friends or her parents. He mostly didn’t mind being a secret friend, he knew her well enough to know he wasn’t some type of embarrassment kept away from people she cared about. No, they were the ones she was hiding, keeping him tucked safely into a corner of her thoughts so he wasn’t tainted with the scorn she was normally shown.



Del had been badly burned as a small child and had scars covering most of her face, arms and upper body. Her beloved parents had tried to talk her out of going to public school, citing what horrible creatures teenagers could be to each other. Del didn’t care, she was tired of being the monster in the basement, tucked away and hidden away in shame. She said shame tasted like ash. He told her it smelled like garbage and gasoline fumes. In spite of what everyone might say, she wore sleeveless tank tops and kept her head shaved. Because fuck them if they were uncomfortable looking at her.



She sat beside him on the dock, letting her bare legs and feet hang over the edge. Something was different some electric tingle along his skin told him that. Something had happened to her. He didn’t know how he knew that; he just did. He felt the sudden urge to sob, but then he heard his father’s voice echoing in his head to just suck it up, he was a Winchester, damn it. He turned and met her gaze.



Her eyes were blacker than night. None of the light blue that turned nearly aqua in the right lighting remained. Her scarred face normally soft and smiling was sneering, hard and cruel. Demon, then. He felt his heart lurch. God, how long? How had he not known? She reached for him, her hand dipped down to cup his dick through his jeans. Pain lanced through his groin. He screamed. It felt like lightening and fire, rain and blood. His vision grayed out and his back arched, laying him out flat out along the wooden platform.



He sat up gasping, twisting and kneeling. He ignored the scraping of his shin against the edge breathing hard and looking around. He was alone. What the hell? His heart beat frantically in his chest. He shook as he stood on coltish legs. Swallowing convulsively, he looked back to the horizon. The sun was just setting behind the tree line. He could just make it back to the tent and the comfort of the salt lines before darkness set.



He stumbled down the dock and back toward their campsite. Don’t think, don’t think. Della hadn’t been at home today, she had another doctor’s appointment. She didn’t live in his world, she would be fine. There was no need to go check on her. She was fine, innocent of all things supernatural. The demons that haunted his friend were all too human. She was fine. His thoughts kept circling as he redressed. The cut-off shorts were fine for hanging out on the lake but not so good for sneaking around someone’s house. Black jeans and a black long sleeved t-shirt were much more appropriate. 9mm, iron knife, silver knife, crucifix, and salt; the Winchester survival pack, never sneak anywhere without it.



The walk to the entrance of the camp park cleared his head, the steady thump-thump of his booted feet ordered the chaos in his mind. As he neared the office he veered off into the woods, stealthily approaching the back of Del’s house. This was not the first time he had snuck in from this direction. He braced himself for the bounding and licking of her German Sheppard as he neared. The dog never appeared, and the acid in his stomach seemed to boil with each passing moment. His arms felt weak, he didn’t know what to do. Go further, confirm that something had happened or go back and wait for Dean. Wait for a Dean that might not be back for a couple of days or check on his friend that might be perfectly fine.



Maybe the dog was inside, maybe the family was still gone into the city. Maybe they’ve all been slaughtered and were now waiting for some unsuspecting soul to venture into their ghostly territory. With the life that they led, why the hell did he still read Stephen King?



The light was on in the kitchen, the rest of the house was dark. It was still early, nowhere near bedtime, only just now dark enough for the lights to stand out. He circled around the side of the house just enough to see the car in the driveway. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember any of the Latin prayers for lost souls; it was as if they had been pulled from deep in his chest. He should go, he knew--knew beyond any doubt--that something bad had happened. His feet carried him to the back door. He didn’t bother knocking, though he did palm his iron knife.



Copper and iron and ozone, urine and shit. The smell of death hung low in the air. He had to see. The kitchen was spotless. Living room empty. He padded up the stairs, his hand on the banister in a crushing grip. The mark on his wrist burned, making blood seep into the cuff of his t-shirt. He ignored it. Every breath sounded like a gunshot.



Skip the forth riser, Del had said.



At the first door he found her younger brother, eyes open, throat creased by a stainless steel knife. The knife left behind in a pool of blood beside the small body. Sam flinched as he closed the boy’s dry blue eyes.



At the second door, Sam found her parents fully dressed, holding hands on the bed, eyes already closed, again stainless steel knife left behind. He wondered if he would find the full set. The next door, just a bathroom; he skipped the fourth door, too-just a linen closet.



Her room was at the end of the hall-so no one had to see the monster. The door was already open. He wasn’t ready- not nearly ready to find his friend dead. And by this point there was no use lying to himself he knew he would find her dead; had known since the vision-or what the fuck ever that was on the dock. He forced himself through the doorway. He had to see, had to know beyond any doubt. And she was his friend he felt he owed her this much at least. Both of her wrists’ and stomach were ripped open muscles, tendon’s, internal organs-exposed. Della, the only friend he had allowed himself since leaving Jason forever ago in Texas, dead with a stainless steel knife still clutched in her fist, a full set of kitchen knives accounted for. Yellow powder dusting her face. Sulfur burned his eyes and steeled his nerves.



Sam didn’t see any blood, or any signs of a struggle. He wiped his prints off the door knobs and silently left, numb. Somehow he should have known, should never have spoken to her. He retraced his steps out the back making sure to obscure his footprints. The dog, neck broken from the looks of it lay half in, half out of the dog house.



He was cold, his sweat soaked into his shirt but he felt cold. Numb. Shocky. He should have known. He headed back for the dock, sat at the end and dangled his feet.





tbc...