Bonded, Sam/Dean, SPN Fanfic
Title: Bonded
Author: fallingemerald
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): (One-Sided)Sam/Dean, John
Warning(s): Mild Drug Use, Angst, Self-harm, One-Sided, Slash
Spoiler(s): Pre-Series
Prompt(s): My Own
Word Count: 1,111
Beta Reader: None
Rants: Okay, felt angsty, what was it, last week? And came up with this. I have a thing for one-sided Sam/Dean, especially when it's Sam being the one hurt. I'm an evil, evil person. Also, the drug use and self-harm are all mild, though I wanted to add more to it, I don't actually have experience with drug abuse or people I can talk to about it, so I thought even if I did the research it would seem to lack emotion.
Summary: Sam thought it would be so simple, bond himself to Dean and have him forever. Oh, he was wrong.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Bonded
Sam knew when he first placed the mark on his chest, an early summer day spent half naked in the wooded part of the park, that he had doubts. He never told Dean, never figured he had to. They were inseparable, and at the age of seventeen it wasn’t exactly a bad idea to bond himself to his brother. Except, when it actually was a bad idea to bond himself.
Sam tried to play it off; the weeks before school were spent together. They would joke, ride in the impala, and gaze out at the stars at night. It was just like how Sam wanted it. The bond didn’t grow though, didn’t develop.
Dean didn’t have a connection; the bond was one-sided, because Dean hadn’t done anything.
The younger brother wanted to think that the bond just had to take a bit longer. It couldn’t be that Dean didn’t feel the same way, like the warnings had indicated. Sam denied it as best he could.
When Dean started ordering him though, and didn’t realize that Sam couldn’t say no, never would be able to say no because of the bond, it made him start to realize. There was something wrong maybe, just a tad.
The lingered looks at waitress were never directed at Sam. Once in a while, when Dean would look like he was actually interested in a girl, and not just a fuck-buddy, Sam felt a stab of jealousy.
The jealousy burned bright and low and the bond just made everything worse. He had thought he could handle this, handle being connected to his brother even without being with him. He was wrong. Sam tried to distance himself from Dean, but he could feel his brother everywhere. At school when he was in the car or when he was in the library (which was almost never unless their father needed information), every minute of the day, it was a pulse in the back of his mind. Sometimes the bond would even make him feel pain if Dean wasn’t around, a weekend hunt with Dad, and he would just lay in bed during those days. The pain made him ache for at least two days after.
Dean and Dad would always give him strange looks when he would limp around when they returned. Dean would joke that Sam had a thing for getting to rough.
Sam ignored them, they didn’t know, not that a ritual like this could backfire so badly. He was half tempted to actually undo it, but that’s why he’d picked this one, because it was hard to undo. He would have to beg Dean to let him go, and wouldn’t that just end smoothly if he explained it all.
The seventeen-year old tried battling the pain with everything he could think of. Sam spent days training just a little more than was normal so all he could feel was soreness and aches and pains. Physical pain was so much easier to deal with then the ache the bond created.
He picked up smoking from his father, in truth; it wasn’t like he didn’t know the consequences. Actually, before that, he had begged God every night for this pain to end. Perhaps an angel would come down and slide a sword smoothly into his stomach, or a misfire during gun-practice, he didn’t care. Sam had picked up a knife once, slid it across his wrist, it was twice as bad as any other cut he’d had. Maybe because most of his injuries came in weapon or sparring practice and adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Before he could do worse though, Dean had found him, wrapped him up and been practically frantic. “Why did you do it Sammy? Fuck, hold on to that cloth and I’ll get the damn first aid kit. Fuck, Sammy.”
For a second Sam had felt happy, the bond would form now, but it hadn’t. No, he’d started smoking a week later. His father did it occasionally; it was a rare thing to see John pull out a pack of smokes, so it was maybe too easy for Sam to take one or two whenever John was around.
The craving started soon after, he could pull of a twenty-one year old act though, he was tall enough and Dean had given him an id for his last birthday. John didn’t know of course, Sam figured his father would have a fit. He just had to hide the smell of smokes and only smoked between the walk from school to home.
Dean would spend his time either on a hunt or at his part time job, and if he asked Sam if he needed a ride, Sam told him otherwise.
Sam was avoiding Dean like the plague, but he had his reasons. The tattoo across his chest ached and he pulled out another cigarette. He doubted Dean even knew that he smoked anyway. He took another from the dwindling pack in his pocket. He could finish one more before he got home and had to spray his clothes with some type of perfume. Sam pretended that the worried glint in Dean’s eyes whenever he did smell like perfume was a slim glint of jealousy; which of course it wasn’t. He could laugh at his own idiotic delusions.
The seventeen-year old turned the corner and saw their rented house at the end of the block. Sam cursed at the sight of the Impala parked in front. He took a deep drag. This shit couldn’t be real.
Sam wondered if he could walk back but there was Dean in front of the house, holding a beer bottle in one hand and watching the street. The younger man was sure that Dean would notice him in just a second anyway.
Dean hadn’t taught Sam just because Dad was never around, he was damn good at what he did. Dean caught Sam’s gaze and waved, but paused mid-wave.
The teen cursed again, he could just see the incoming conversation, and he walked calmly up to the house, anyway because there was no turning back now. Sam tried to raise his shoulders, and ignored the warmth of anger that flooded his senses from the bond. The ache grew stronger and he had to take a breath that wasn’t filled with smoke to steady himself from the energy drain.
“Sammy, what the fuck?” Dean hissed the bottle slipping from his fingers and smashing against the concrete steps.
“What do you mean?” Sam took another drag and dropped the cigarette. He felt the punch crack against the side of his cheek, and it shouldn’t have made the ache a little better.