Bred in Bone Verse
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
5,176
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
5,176
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Supernatural, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Magic Carpet Ride
Magic Carpet Ride
Sam stood staring at what he supposed should be a fascinating display of history; instead, it looked like a bunch of broken pottery. He should be interested; he knew he should be because Dean had told him so. Geek-boy should be in Geek-boy heaven because they were after all at a museum.
One week ago he had found an entire family dead.
The broken pottery just sat there getting older, gathering dust. The museum was full of old things--Native American ingenuity. Rocks and clay, bits of bone and animal hide. Fascinating stuff.
Sam and Dean had fled Acworth, Georgia in the middle of the night. Dean had heard about the deaths on the radio and had finally come back to check on Sammy. Sam had already pulled down the tent and packed up their duffels. Dean hadn’t asked, hadn’t needed to. Sam’s friend was dead. He didn’t need to know why or how or that Sam had Seen his friend’s death. Sam hadn’t spoken a word since.
Dean had left a message on their dad’s phone letting him know they were on the move and why. A day later coordinates for Blanding, Utah showed up on Dean’s phone. No message, just a string of numbers. He was sixteen now. Dean had bought him ice cream and a beer for his birthday. He wanted a joint and to go to his knees; loose himself in the humiliating act where he could shut off his brain even for just a little while. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted his knife and some time without his brother watching him. He got a cross country trip and dry air.
They were camping again. Edge of the Cedars State Park. He didn’t know if it was legal, didn’t really care. He wanted a bed.
One week ago he had found an entire family dead. They were all in bed.
Dean found a bar, made some money while Sam stayed back at the site. He tried to read, but ended up walking instead. There was a gas station and a tire repair shop less than a mile down the main road. He could be there and back in ten minutes if he wanted.
The mechanic smelled of Budweiser and oil. Cat litter spread out on the concrete hurt his knees. It soaked up the engine grease and oil, let him focus on nothing but the ache of tiny rocks and if he tried really hard he could taste ash and smell garbage, not copper, iron, and ozone. He didn’t ask for money and none was offered. He took a beer from the cooler as he left.
The Navajo Reservation nearby had a problem with ghosts. He spent hours learning about Native American rituals. None of it mattered in the end. It was a simple salt and burn. They celebrated by sampling LSD, PCP, acid, mushrooms, peyote, and Sam didn’t know what all, that Dean found from group of guys. The drugs had Dean seeing scorpions crawling all over the tent. When he took to stabbing them with his knife, Sam started walking. A tiny tab of paper dissolved on his tongue as he went.
Three weeks ago he had found an entire family dead. Her wrists had been sliced open. Her so had her stomach just above her belly button.
There had been no blood.
Sam stared at the dying sun, red streaks in the desert making the earth bleed. So, this is where her blood had drained to--the desert floor. He stood and watched his shadow.
She had been covered in a fine dusting of yellow demon powder.
Sulfur.
Brimstone and Ash. Garbage and gasoline.
He spit the taste of come out of his mouth. The orange dust settling on his boots fascinated him. There was no blood on the horizon when he looked back, his shadow settling somewhere behind him. His back ached from tight muscles. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees the taste of come and bile on his tongue. His ass ached in phantom sympathy. He had lost the night; he didn’t even know where he was. He stayed where he was in the middle of nowhere at the side of the road. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do when you were lost? Just wait. Someone will find you.
The sun was high in the sky when Dean found him, still kneeling in the dirt. They checked into a cactus themed motel. Dean put him in the shower. He stood under the spray, letting it soak into his dry skin.
Sam flinched as he closed the boy’s dry blue eyes. Three weeks ago he had found an entire family dead.
He was tired. So fucking tired. Tears sprung to his eyes washed away with the cooling water. Dean held him as he sobbed.
tbc...
Sam stood staring at what he supposed should be a fascinating display of history; instead, it looked like a bunch of broken pottery. He should be interested; he knew he should be because Dean had told him so. Geek-boy should be in Geek-boy heaven because they were after all at a museum.
One week ago he had found an entire family dead.
The broken pottery just sat there getting older, gathering dust. The museum was full of old things--Native American ingenuity. Rocks and clay, bits of bone and animal hide. Fascinating stuff.
Sam and Dean had fled Acworth, Georgia in the middle of the night. Dean had heard about the deaths on the radio and had finally come back to check on Sammy. Sam had already pulled down the tent and packed up their duffels. Dean hadn’t asked, hadn’t needed to. Sam’s friend was dead. He didn’t need to know why or how or that Sam had Seen his friend’s death. Sam hadn’t spoken a word since.
Dean had left a message on their dad’s phone letting him know they were on the move and why. A day later coordinates for Blanding, Utah showed up on Dean’s phone. No message, just a string of numbers. He was sixteen now. Dean had bought him ice cream and a beer for his birthday. He wanted a joint and to go to his knees; loose himself in the humiliating act where he could shut off his brain even for just a little while. He wanted to be left alone. He wanted his knife and some time without his brother watching him. He got a cross country trip and dry air.
They were camping again. Edge of the Cedars State Park. He didn’t know if it was legal, didn’t really care. He wanted a bed.
One week ago he had found an entire family dead. They were all in bed.
Dean found a bar, made some money while Sam stayed back at the site. He tried to read, but ended up walking instead. There was a gas station and a tire repair shop less than a mile down the main road. He could be there and back in ten minutes if he wanted.
The mechanic smelled of Budweiser and oil. Cat litter spread out on the concrete hurt his knees. It soaked up the engine grease and oil, let him focus on nothing but the ache of tiny rocks and if he tried really hard he could taste ash and smell garbage, not copper, iron, and ozone. He didn’t ask for money and none was offered. He took a beer from the cooler as he left.
The Navajo Reservation nearby had a problem with ghosts. He spent hours learning about Native American rituals. None of it mattered in the end. It was a simple salt and burn. They celebrated by sampling LSD, PCP, acid, mushrooms, peyote, and Sam didn’t know what all, that Dean found from group of guys. The drugs had Dean seeing scorpions crawling all over the tent. When he took to stabbing them with his knife, Sam started walking. A tiny tab of paper dissolved on his tongue as he went.
Three weeks ago he had found an entire family dead. Her wrists had been sliced open. Her so had her stomach just above her belly button.
There had been no blood.
Sam stared at the dying sun, red streaks in the desert making the earth bleed. So, this is where her blood had drained to--the desert floor. He stood and watched his shadow.
She had been covered in a fine dusting of yellow demon powder.
Sulfur.
Brimstone and Ash. Garbage and gasoline.
He spit the taste of come out of his mouth. The orange dust settling on his boots fascinated him. There was no blood on the horizon when he looked back, his shadow settling somewhere behind him. His back ached from tight muscles. The next thing he knew, he was on his knees the taste of come and bile on his tongue. His ass ached in phantom sympathy. He had lost the night; he didn’t even know where he was. He stayed where he was in the middle of nowhere at the side of the road. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do when you were lost? Just wait. Someone will find you.
The sun was high in the sky when Dean found him, still kneeling in the dirt. They checked into a cactus themed motel. Dean put him in the shower. He stood under the spray, letting it soak into his dry skin.
Sam flinched as he closed the boy’s dry blue eyes. Three weeks ago he had found an entire family dead.
He was tired. So fucking tired. Tears sprung to his eyes washed away with the cooling water. Dean held him as he sobbed.
tbc...