Bred in Bone Verse
folder
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
5,170
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Supernatural › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
5,170
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.
Growing up Creepy
Growing up Creepy
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize from any fandom known to man
Warnings include slash, possible wincest in future, underage hustlerSam this means Sam/omc, abusedSam, cutting, badness, h/c, little bit of drugs, a lot of beer, strong language, as much as I hate to put it on any fic because if it is fan fiction in my opinion it is automatically au but yeah this is going to be au, I hope to blend the universe with the show but the whole stanford thing just isn’t going to happen the same way, but the show and the story will eventually meet back up.
Summary: A darker take on growing up Sam Winchester.
***
Growing up Creepy
Nov 1983
John placed the small baby on the bed next to his big brother. The motel room on the outskirts of Lawrence was stifling hot or maybe it was just him. He couldn’t forget the horrible heat, fire burning so hot that nothing had been left of his beautiful wife but a few bits of bone.
Dean snuggled his baby brother closer at his hoarse sounding cry without waking up. John smiled, Dean was going to be such a good big brother. He frowned as Sammy moved around restlessly and gave another whimper. The doctors at the hospital had assured him that the toxin they’d found during their screening was harmless. But he was a single father now; it was his job to worry.
Jan 1984
John woke up shivering and sweating like he hadn’t since leaving the Marines. He was still hot, could still feel the heat from a fire that was reaching out for him. Flames caressing him like he used to caress his wife. He could see them reaching down from her body on the ceiling. On the fucking ceiling.
May 1984
There was something wrong with Sammy. Something that had cost him his wife, cost him his innocent sons’ laughter. Dean, innocent beautiful Dean, growing up too fast. Dean needed a reason to talk. He was too quiet. The small apartment he had moved them to never rang with high pitched giggles. John made him responsible for his brother. Had to give him a reason to get up in the morning. The serious little boy would come home in the afternoon from school and go to sleep immediately and sleep until the next morning if John hadn’t put the care of his brother in his hands.
John had Dean as his reason for living. Dean had Sammy. And Sammy could move things; toys, his bottle, his blanket, without touching them. That tiny bit of resentment that was born when he had to chose the baby’s life over that of his wife, his wonderful Mary, blossomed into hate. He could care about Dean. Dean was his innocent, too grown up son. But every time he looked at Sammy he saw her. Fear of flames and heat haunted him. Sightless eyes. He couldn’t look at him, those rosy cheeks and bright green eyes. He would forever see his wife’s eyes sightless and staring when he looked at his youngest.
June 1984
He left Dean at the tiny apartment with Sammy. They had only been apart for pre-school since the fire, Dean took the responsibility of being a big brother seriously now that his mother was no longer around and he didn’t have to fight for her attention. Dean’s world was all about his brother.
John found a psychic named Missouri Moseley; she opened his eyes to the truth of the world. He rushed back home suddenly worried that if things like demons were real, then what did they want with his son. Was Sammy even really his son? What would a demon want with a tiny baby boy? Why kill Mary? And the most important question of all, how the hell was he going to find and kill the bastard?
September 1985
Dean pitched a fit at leaving his brother to go to school after having taken care of him all summer. Just like last year. Dear God he missed Mary.
“First grade is important, gotta learn to read, kiddo,” he said, putting as much affection as he was able to feel into every word. I don’t want you to go, either. I want you to stay home and take care of your brother.
Dean, in school for the next six hours, left Sammy to John to take care of. He laid the back seat of the rental car laid down to give Sammy room to play while John worked on the Impala. Modifications had to be made. He’d met a man, Bobby Singer, a hunter like he was determined to be. Bobby ran a salvage yard, lived in the middle of the junked up cars as if they would offer protection of any kind. There weren’t many cars yet, couple of dozen, but the numbers would grow, he could feel that in his bones. This business. Hunting down creatures that had no right being in the world. This thing that had taken his Mary. This business was dangerous and yeah he could see the yard overflowing with the wreckage of this new life.
February1986
He moved them again. Third time this school year. Dean didn’t even protest this time. He stayed quiet, playing outside in the dirt while John practiced with the crossbow. He rolled the windows of the Impala up so he didn’t have to hear Sam crying -- damn that boy, he was distracting.
October 1986
Dean handles the shotgun like he was born with the thing in his hand. John has to brace his son against his knee, hold him up, hold up his little arms after the second shot. But the aim is all Dean. The determination to do this, to be this person, that is all Dean. John’s never been so proud.
January 1987
Dean decides it’s time to start teaching Sammy how to draw his letters. Sam is smart and takes to it like Dean took to the shotgun. Dean takes pride in how well his brother is doing, his little fingers wrapped around the fat pencil. He sits next to his brother at the coffee table at Pastor Jim’s, quiet while Dean does his homework, copying Dean movement for movement with barely a word spoken between them.
John looks on, his gaze softening as he stares at Dean. It’s rare that he lets them have this peace. The acid in his stomach is building again, nearly time to move but Dean deserves this so much. His eyes brush over the smaller figure hiding in his sons’ shadow. He didn’t have to think about Sam, he left that for Dean to do. He forcibly pushed any stray thoughts of the boy away. He turned away; there had to be a hunt somewhere.
September 1987
He’s modifying the Impala again, getting rid of the space Sammy took up in the trunk where John had him safely tucked away during the day. He doesn’t need the space anymore now that the kid could be watched by teachers. He debated whether or not to fill up the air holes he had drilled in the bottom. He sighed as he scrubbed out the smell of old urine with lemon cleaner. Damn, he might have to rip out the carpet back here.
November 1990
They were hold up in an efficiency motel room in Wisconsin rented by the week, while he hunted a Shtriga. He watched from across the road as Dean left the arcade and made his way safely back across the parking lot. He ghosted behind his boy, wondering how would he handle this. Would he be able to step up and take action? He hated testing his son this way, but he knew the metal of a man could only really be seen in the heat of the moment. It has to be this way, he reminded himself, there is no other option.
Tbc…
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize from any fandom known to man
Warnings include slash, possible wincest in future, underage hustlerSam this means Sam/omc, abusedSam, cutting, badness, h/c, little bit of drugs, a lot of beer, strong language, as much as I hate to put it on any fic because if it is fan fiction in my opinion it is automatically au but yeah this is going to be au, I hope to blend the universe with the show but the whole stanford thing just isn’t going to happen the same way, but the show and the story will eventually meet back up.
Summary: A darker take on growing up Sam Winchester.
***
Growing up Creepy
Nov 1983
John placed the small baby on the bed next to his big brother. The motel room on the outskirts of Lawrence was stifling hot or maybe it was just him. He couldn’t forget the horrible heat, fire burning so hot that nothing had been left of his beautiful wife but a few bits of bone.
Dean snuggled his baby brother closer at his hoarse sounding cry without waking up. John smiled, Dean was going to be such a good big brother. He frowned as Sammy moved around restlessly and gave another whimper. The doctors at the hospital had assured him that the toxin they’d found during their screening was harmless. But he was a single father now; it was his job to worry.
Jan 1984
John woke up shivering and sweating like he hadn’t since leaving the Marines. He was still hot, could still feel the heat from a fire that was reaching out for him. Flames caressing him like he used to caress his wife. He could see them reaching down from her body on the ceiling. On the fucking ceiling.
May 1984
There was something wrong with Sammy. Something that had cost him his wife, cost him his innocent sons’ laughter. Dean, innocent beautiful Dean, growing up too fast. Dean needed a reason to talk. He was too quiet. The small apartment he had moved them to never rang with high pitched giggles. John made him responsible for his brother. Had to give him a reason to get up in the morning. The serious little boy would come home in the afternoon from school and go to sleep immediately and sleep until the next morning if John hadn’t put the care of his brother in his hands.
John had Dean as his reason for living. Dean had Sammy. And Sammy could move things; toys, his bottle, his blanket, without touching them. That tiny bit of resentment that was born when he had to chose the baby’s life over that of his wife, his wonderful Mary, blossomed into hate. He could care about Dean. Dean was his innocent, too grown up son. But every time he looked at Sammy he saw her. Fear of flames and heat haunted him. Sightless eyes. He couldn’t look at him, those rosy cheeks and bright green eyes. He would forever see his wife’s eyes sightless and staring when he looked at his youngest.
June 1984
He left Dean at the tiny apartment with Sammy. They had only been apart for pre-school since the fire, Dean took the responsibility of being a big brother seriously now that his mother was no longer around and he didn’t have to fight for her attention. Dean’s world was all about his brother.
John found a psychic named Missouri Moseley; she opened his eyes to the truth of the world. He rushed back home suddenly worried that if things like demons were real, then what did they want with his son. Was Sammy even really his son? What would a demon want with a tiny baby boy? Why kill Mary? And the most important question of all, how the hell was he going to find and kill the bastard?
September 1985
Dean pitched a fit at leaving his brother to go to school after having taken care of him all summer. Just like last year. Dear God he missed Mary.
“First grade is important, gotta learn to read, kiddo,” he said, putting as much affection as he was able to feel into every word. I don’t want you to go, either. I want you to stay home and take care of your brother.
Dean, in school for the next six hours, left Sammy to John to take care of. He laid the back seat of the rental car laid down to give Sammy room to play while John worked on the Impala. Modifications had to be made. He’d met a man, Bobby Singer, a hunter like he was determined to be. Bobby ran a salvage yard, lived in the middle of the junked up cars as if they would offer protection of any kind. There weren’t many cars yet, couple of dozen, but the numbers would grow, he could feel that in his bones. This business. Hunting down creatures that had no right being in the world. This thing that had taken his Mary. This business was dangerous and yeah he could see the yard overflowing with the wreckage of this new life.
February1986
He moved them again. Third time this school year. Dean didn’t even protest this time. He stayed quiet, playing outside in the dirt while John practiced with the crossbow. He rolled the windows of the Impala up so he didn’t have to hear Sam crying -- damn that boy, he was distracting.
October 1986
Dean handles the shotgun like he was born with the thing in his hand. John has to brace his son against his knee, hold him up, hold up his little arms after the second shot. But the aim is all Dean. The determination to do this, to be this person, that is all Dean. John’s never been so proud.
January 1987
Dean decides it’s time to start teaching Sammy how to draw his letters. Sam is smart and takes to it like Dean took to the shotgun. Dean takes pride in how well his brother is doing, his little fingers wrapped around the fat pencil. He sits next to his brother at the coffee table at Pastor Jim’s, quiet while Dean does his homework, copying Dean movement for movement with barely a word spoken between them.
John looks on, his gaze softening as he stares at Dean. It’s rare that he lets them have this peace. The acid in his stomach is building again, nearly time to move but Dean deserves this so much. His eyes brush over the smaller figure hiding in his sons’ shadow. He didn’t have to think about Sam, he left that for Dean to do. He forcibly pushed any stray thoughts of the boy away. He turned away; there had to be a hunt somewhere.
September 1987
He’s modifying the Impala again, getting rid of the space Sammy took up in the trunk where John had him safely tucked away during the day. He doesn’t need the space anymore now that the kid could be watched by teachers. He debated whether or not to fill up the air holes he had drilled in the bottom. He sighed as he scrubbed out the smell of old urine with lemon cleaner. Damn, he might have to rip out the carpet back here.
November 1990
They were hold up in an efficiency motel room in Wisconsin rented by the week, while he hunted a Shtriga. He watched from across the road as Dean left the arcade and made his way safely back across the parking lot. He ghosted behind his boy, wondering how would he handle this. Would he be able to step up and take action? He hated testing his son this way, but he knew the metal of a man could only really be seen in the heat of the moment. It has to be this way, he reminded himself, there is no other option.
Tbc…