Bones, 3/?
Title: Bones, 3/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Genre: Drama, Family, Pre-Series
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: My take on the events in Arizona referenced in 'Dark Side of the Moon' (5x16). Spoilers for that episode.
It lasted thirteen days by his count, and the number didn’t escape him. It didn’t feel like real time, but he measured by the sun going up and down. The burning desire to move had left him: irrationally, Sam felt protected, like if he stayed here he was invisible and where he was supposed to be.
In the meantime, he waited.
While waiting, he played house, which had always been more Dean’s thing. For all the ironic comments about Sam being a girl, Dean had always been the one able to settle in and make a temporary home of wherever they happened to be.
Maybe it was because of the dog. Bones had glued himself to Sam’s side, and he guessed he was the only person to feed the dog in a while. There was food for him: the cupboards contained several cans of the kind of meat-derived product Sam had to really be desperately hungry before eating, and would take rice and beans over any day. Anything which listed ‘assorted meats’ as a primary ingredient went to Bones, despite the rational part of his brain saying he should be more careful, save some for when he moved on.
And yet it was hard to think of moving on. Instead he cooked on the small stove, washed up in the tin sink - washed his clothes in there too, then hung them to dry by the small hearth and filled the hut with steam. He had to get wood by himself for the fire, and Bones helped, carrying small and large sticks back carefully in his jaws.
One night - evening maybe, the dark came down fast and his watch, unprecedentedly, had given up on him - Sam had a revelation. He was sitting and stroking the dog’s head, rhythmically, thinking nothing, feeling the knobbled skull under fingertips and the soft, dusty hair. Bones was breathing deep, sleeping. And he remembered - that night, when he’d been sick, how calm his brother had been when he fell asleep on him, connection through the hard warmth of his shoulder against the thin skin at his temple. And he thought: this is content. When something depends on you, trusts you. When you’re the only person who knows how to take care of that thing, and if you can just keep it safe, you’ll be okay. For a moment he was just - shocked, with the depth of that conviction. Then he was angry - he was not a dog, not a pet to be coddled for anyone’s gratification. He was a person. He had - what that book said: self-determination.
He stood up and pushed the dog off him. Then, guilty, he patted its head. Bones thumped his tail twice in the dust, but didn’t open his eyes.
* * *
On the thirteenth day his supplies were all but gone, and packed up the remainder. Sam glanced uneasily around the hut, not quite wanting to leave, oppressed with the feeling of having forgotten something. There was nothing. He opened the door. The dog didn’t move, and Sam whistled and patted his thighs:
“Come on boy!”
The dog looked at him.
“Come on Bonesy! Come on, I’m going…” he stepped outside and waited a moment. Nothing happened. Sam started taking slow steps away, walking backwards, He kept whistling, concern rising until it was almost panic -
“He won’t come,” said the man.
Sam spun around so fast he nearly tripped. His hand went reflexively to his belt, but he touched air.
“Looking for this?” said the man, smiling as he held up Sam’s knife by the point of the blade, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
“That’s mine!” Sam exclaimed.
“Clever boy. You must get it from our side of the family.”
The man was forty-ish, middle height. His cheap suit and patent shoes suggested office worker, but they were rumpled and dusty, sweat stained under the arms as though he’d not changed in a few days. His eyes were bloodshot - but his voice, his voice was calm, eloquent, educated: like something from a badly-dubbed TV show, it seemed to bear no connection to the body from which it emitted.
“But come now,” said the man, still smiling: “What’s one little knife after all I’ve done for you? Fed you, housed you - even provided you with a pet. the dog won’t be coming out, by the way. He comes with the package.” The man snapped his fingers and the hut disappeared.
“Bones!” said Sam. “What did you do?”
“Labradors,” said the man, ignoring the question: “Stupid, yet not without charm. Above all, highly trainable. They rather remind me of your brother.”
“What do you want?” Sam was edging very carefully sideways, away from the treeline - it seemed like the best course to have open space at his side.
“The question, my boy, is what do you want: a little house, a dog, an escape route from your father….those are just generalities. We have plenty of other - enticements.” The man’s eyes flashed, briefly black:
“You’re a demon.” Had he known it?
“You liked that little Mexican girl?”
“Stay away from her!”
Every time it opened its mouth it suggested the worst kind of horror. The sound of its voice made his heart race and his blood thrum hard in his ears. Sam was still backing towards the road. The demon wasn’t following.
“I hardly have to,” he said, reading Sam’s mind: “You’ll just keep coming back to us. You know it. It’s in your bones.”
The last thing he saw was its smiling face as a horn blared and tires screeched. Headlights blinded him momentarily. Then everything went dark.
Part Four
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Genre: Drama, Family, Pre-Series
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: My take on the events in Arizona referenced in 'Dark Side of the Moon' (5x16). Spoilers for that episode.
It lasted thirteen days by his count, and the number didn’t escape him. It didn’t feel like real time, but he measured by the sun going up and down. The burning desire to move had left him: irrationally, Sam felt protected, like if he stayed here he was invisible and where he was supposed to be.
In the meantime, he waited.
While waiting, he played house, which had always been more Dean’s thing. For all the ironic comments about Sam being a girl, Dean had always been the one able to settle in and make a temporary home of wherever they happened to be.
Maybe it was because of the dog. Bones had glued himself to Sam’s side, and he guessed he was the only person to feed the dog in a while. There was food for him: the cupboards contained several cans of the kind of meat-derived product Sam had to really be desperately hungry before eating, and would take rice and beans over any day. Anything which listed ‘assorted meats’ as a primary ingredient went to Bones, despite the rational part of his brain saying he should be more careful, save some for when he moved on.
And yet it was hard to think of moving on. Instead he cooked on the small stove, washed up in the tin sink - washed his clothes in there too, then hung them to dry by the small hearth and filled the hut with steam. He had to get wood by himself for the fire, and Bones helped, carrying small and large sticks back carefully in his jaws.
One night - evening maybe, the dark came down fast and his watch, unprecedentedly, had given up on him - Sam had a revelation. He was sitting and stroking the dog’s head, rhythmically, thinking nothing, feeling the knobbled skull under fingertips and the soft, dusty hair. Bones was breathing deep, sleeping. And he remembered - that night, when he’d been sick, how calm his brother had been when he fell asleep on him, connection through the hard warmth of his shoulder against the thin skin at his temple. And he thought: this is content. When something depends on you, trusts you. When you’re the only person who knows how to take care of that thing, and if you can just keep it safe, you’ll be okay. For a moment he was just - shocked, with the depth of that conviction. Then he was angry - he was not a dog, not a pet to be coddled for anyone’s gratification. He was a person. He had - what that book said: self-determination.
He stood up and pushed the dog off him. Then, guilty, he patted its head. Bones thumped his tail twice in the dust, but didn’t open his eyes.
* * *
On the thirteenth day his supplies were all but gone, and packed up the remainder. Sam glanced uneasily around the hut, not quite wanting to leave, oppressed with the feeling of having forgotten something. There was nothing. He opened the door. The dog didn’t move, and Sam whistled and patted his thighs:
“Come on boy!”
The dog looked at him.
“Come on Bonesy! Come on, I’m going…” he stepped outside and waited a moment. Nothing happened. Sam started taking slow steps away, walking backwards, He kept whistling, concern rising until it was almost panic -
“He won’t come,” said the man.
Sam spun around so fast he nearly tripped. His hand went reflexively to his belt, but he touched air.
“Looking for this?” said the man, smiling as he held up Sam’s knife by the point of the blade, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
“That’s mine!” Sam exclaimed.
“Clever boy. You must get it from our side of the family.”
The man was forty-ish, middle height. His cheap suit and patent shoes suggested office worker, but they were rumpled and dusty, sweat stained under the arms as though he’d not changed in a few days. His eyes were bloodshot - but his voice, his voice was calm, eloquent, educated: like something from a badly-dubbed TV show, it seemed to bear no connection to the body from which it emitted.
“But come now,” said the man, still smiling: “What’s one little knife after all I’ve done for you? Fed you, housed you - even provided you with a pet. the dog won’t be coming out, by the way. He comes with the package.” The man snapped his fingers and the hut disappeared.
“Bones!” said Sam. “What did you do?”
“Labradors,” said the man, ignoring the question: “Stupid, yet not without charm. Above all, highly trainable. They rather remind me of your brother.”
“What do you want?” Sam was edging very carefully sideways, away from the treeline - it seemed like the best course to have open space at his side.
“The question, my boy, is what do you want: a little house, a dog, an escape route from your father….those are just generalities. We have plenty of other - enticements.” The man’s eyes flashed, briefly black:
“You’re a demon.” Had he known it?
“You liked that little Mexican girl?”
“Stay away from her!”
Every time it opened its mouth it suggested the worst kind of horror. The sound of its voice made his heart race and his blood thrum hard in his ears. Sam was still backing towards the road. The demon wasn’t following.
“I hardly have to,” he said, reading Sam’s mind: “You’ll just keep coming back to us. You know it. It’s in your bones.”
The last thing he saw was its smiling face as a horn blared and tires screeched. Headlights blinded him momentarily. Then everything went dark.
Part Four