Communication Breakdown
by Minx
“Give it back!” Sam shouted. He made a grab for his cell phone, long fingers scrabbling, prying at Dean’s hands as Dean shouldered Sam in the chest to keep him out of reach. “Dean, damn it! I need to call –“
“You don’t need to call anybody,” Dean said, grinning, as Sam continued to grapple with him. “Baywatch is on in two minutes. You can call Pastor Jim after it’s over, professor dork-much.”
To prove his point, Dean shoved Sam’s cell phone down the front of his jeans, laughing with a certain dark glee at Sam’s groan of disgust.
“Dude, that’s just wrong!” Sam’s brows furrowed into a deep crease of disapproval. He glared at Dean in frustration. “I need to check on a reference, you jerk,” he muttered as he sat back on the couch, shoulders slumping in defeat.
Dean’s eyes danced with amusement. It was just too easy to get Sammy riled up these days. Hormones and adolescent attitude made for a volatile mix in his fourteen-year-old brother, and Dean knew exactly what buttons to push to send Sam over the edge and into a melt down. Hell, their dad could do it with just a look.
Sam was more than prepared to sling his usual arsenal of snark back in return, consisting of derisive eye rolls, sarcastic backtalk and even downright defiance of orders, which more often than not ended up with Sam facedown over their father’s lap, getting his ass painted red.
Dean was usually willing to cut his little brother some slack when he needed it. He understood where Sam was coming from, even if he didn’t always agree with Sam’s methods, and besides, he wasn’t normally the intended target of Sam’s pissiness; their dad was. But, for some unfathomable reason, Sam had turned his snarkiness onto Dean the minute their dad had disappeared out the door the day before yesterday, acting like a royal, self-righteous pain in the butt ever since. Dean felt some payback was due.
What could have been a fun, relaxing weekend of goofing off with no parental supervision had instead turned into one long, boring study-fest as Sam, for once, took their father’s orders to research the next hunt more seriously than he’d ever done in his life. Dean had finally given up on Sam and gone off with some friends earlier to hang out in the park, drinking stolen beer and smoking a few joints, leaving Sam on the couch, pouting, nose still buried in a pile of books. If the kid wanted to play geek librarian, so be it, Dean thought, shaking his head in irritation. He wasn’t wasting his precious free time that way.
“Gimme my phone back,” Sam stated, the words coming out clipped and angry.
“Come ‘n get it,” Dean said. He pointed down to the waistband of his jeans, giving Sam a tart smile. He knew Sam would just sit at the other end of the couch, arms crossed, bitch face plastered on his mug. Dean shrugged. “Guess it’s not that important a call, after all, eh Sammy?”
“It’s Sam,” Sam said through gritted teeth.
Dean ignored the petulant tone and grinned wider, adjusting the lump in his jeans. “Hey, this thing on vibrate? What’s your number again?”
Sam ground his teeth together, jaw muscles tightening. Dean could be so immature sometimes. He glanced down at the coffee table, saw the TV remote laying atop a book of Babylonian incantations and dove for it before Dean realized what he was doing.
“Hey!” Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Hand it over, if you value your life,” he growled.
Sam didn’t think, he just did. He aimed for the top of the bookcase across the room, and with a grim smile curling up the corners of his lips, he tossed the remote in an underhanded pitch. The remote landed atop the high bookcase, skittered across the bare wood surface and promptly fell off the back to clatter noisily down into the dark depths behind the piece of furniture.
Sam choked back a snort of laughter, impressed by his own aim. Dean, however, was not amused whatsoever. He glowered darkly at Sam, lips thinning.
“Oh, it is so on, geek boy!” Dean said, reaching over to slap Sam upside the head, a look of murder on his face.
“Quit it, Dean!” Sam said. He batted at Dean’s hand, shoving with both arms to no effect. “Stop it or I’m telling Dad you got drunk off your ass today and didn’t help with the research!”
Dean sat back, nonplussed, and studied his brother a moment, wondering why Sam seemed to have it in for him lately. Both boys were breathing heavy from their tussle.
“At least I know how to drink, Sam,” Dean said shortly, trying to disguise his hurt feelings. He chuffed loudly as he rose from the couch to turn the television on manually. He shot Sam a disdainful look over his shoulder. “You have half a beer and you’re all emo-girl. Hell, I’d hate to think what a real drink would do to you. Probably be singing Bananarama or something at the top of your lungs.”
Sam snorted, stretching out on the couch, leaving no room for Dean. “Dude, look who’s talking,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And at least I’m not a fucking pothead, or wasn’t that you getting lit with your asshole buddies this afternoon?” he challenged.
Dean stiffened, hands balling into two tight fists, but instead of turning and decking his little brother like he wanted to, he reached for the volume button on the TV, pressing it until it was at a deafening level. He turned then and offered Sam a nasty smile as he sauntered back to the couch.
“Move your ass, bitch,” Dean ordered, barely keeping his anger in check, then grabbed Sam’s legs and knocked them forcefully off the couch so he could plop back down in his previous seat.
He shoved his right hand down the front of his jeans, and Sam made a choking noise, face scrunching in distaste.
“Jesus, Dean! I’m sitting right here!” Sam mashed himself against the opposite end of the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest, trying to put as much distance between himself and his brother as possible. “Man, I can’t believe you’re gonna play with yourself in front of me! I don’t care if it is Baywatch on TV!”
“Oh relax,” Dean shot back testily, as he yanked his hand back out of his pants. He held up Sam’s cell phone. “Just retrieving your stupid phone.” He held the little silver flip-phone out toward Sam, who shrank away from it in mild horror.
“Eww! It’s been down your pants! Gross!”
With a disinterested shrug, Dean tossed the phone onto the coffee table and sat back propping his feet up on said table, eyes glued to the TV set as the Baywatch babes flounced across the screen in slow motion. “Whatever, you sanctimonious little shit,” he muttered.
Sam’s brows shot up. “Sanctimonious? Wow, Dean, where did you find the time to improve your vocabulary? Been masturbating into the dictionary while you were waiting for me in the library?”
“Better than yanking my crank over geometry homework,” Dean said. He glanced over at Sam, who had turned a slight shade of pink. Dean smiled in satisfaction. Bulls-eye. “Kinda kinky with the slide rule and protractor and all…”
“At least I can multi-task,” Sam stated dryly.
Dean snorted. He turned to look directly at Sam, speculation in his tone. “I didn’t realize spanking the monkey while studying was considered multi-tasking, smart ass.” He returned his attention back to the TV. “Like I’ve said before, Sammy, this is why you’re zero point zero with the ladies.” Dean raised his hands, sliding them behind his head, smiling to himself. “No way you could ever compete with my awesomeness.”
Neither boy heard the familiar rumble of their father’s truck coming down the street as they continued their verbal sparring.
Sam kicked Dean in the shin, not hard enough to bruise, but enough for Dean to be annoyed by it. “At least I have brains to be able to think while I’m jacking off,” Sam observed, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice.
Dean blinked, and then turned an incredulous face on Sam. “Dude!” he exclaimed in bemused wonder, “What’s the freaking point of THINKING while you’re jacking off?” He shook his head. “I mean, just sit back and enjoy the ride, ya know?”
Sam blushed, realizing how idiotic he’d sounded. It hadn’t come out quite the way he’d intended.
“I mean seriously, Sammy,” Dean continued, his tone condescending, “if you’re thinking while you’re beating off? Then, you sure as hell ain’t doing it right.” Dean chuckled to himself, ignoring Sam’s huff of annoyed exasperation. “Jeez…talk about over-analyzing….”
Sam kicked Dean again, a grin of satisfaction appearing on his lips when Dean grunted in pain this time.
Dean glared over at Sam. “Dude, you do that again? And I sit on your head and fart.” He pointed ominously at Sam. “And just to warn you? I had burritos for lunch.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dean!” Sam scowled, hating how crude his brother could be sometimes. Nevertheless, he decided against kicking him again. Just to be safe. Because Dean and burritos? Yeah. Lethal combination.
“Well, at least I don’t drool when I jack off,” Sam challenged with a sneer.
He was rewarded with a strangled choke from his brother. They both shared a room, had all their lives. So, it wasn’t like Sam wasn’t privy to what went on under Dean’s covers when the lights went out at night. Using it against Dean, though, was a low blow, even in Sam’s opinion, but it didn’t stop him from doing it. This was war.
Dean was not to be outdone. He waited for a commercial to come on the TV and then leaned casually over towards Sam’s side of the couch, smiling prettily. “You wanna talk about drooling, Sammy? You really wanna go there?”
A nervous frown replaced Sam’s smile. Dean took it as a sign to continue. “’Cause I believe you’re the one that slobbers all over himself when he’s having one of his little happy dreams at night, isn’t that right? Pretty much soak your pillow through and do that little puppy whine thing?”
Sam stared hard at his kneecaps, refusing to give Dean the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.
Dean chuckled, shooting Sam a leer that made Sam squirm. “It was Brad Pitt, wasn’t it? You can tell me, Sam – I won’t judge,” he said, teasingly.
Sam’s head shot up, mouth dropping open at the insult. “No! It was not Brad Pitt, asshole! I just-“ he stammered, breathing heavily, watching Dean hoot in laughter, while his own anger rose. “Maybe I was thinking about that hot student teacher at our last school,” Sam said, earning a dubious look from Dean. “You know which one I mean, Dean. Remember? The one that taught geometry? You know. The one that shot you down when you tried to put the moves on her?”
Now it was Sam’s turn to chortle in triumph as Dean twitched in sudden discomfort. The older boy attempted to recover his dignity by waving off the last statement. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…I just told you that so you wouldn’t get jealous knowing I nailed her hot ass…in the teacher’s lounge, in fact,” he added smugly with a leer. “More than once…”
“You didn’t nail her in the teacher’s lounge or anywhere else,” Sam retorted dryly, rolling his eyes. “The principal caught you hitting on her, and took a paddle to your horny ass. You skipped school the rest of the week because he made you take your pants down for the paddling, and your hard on was still there.”
Dean’s hand itched to smack Sam, but he let it go. Sam had gotten him fair and square on that one. “Good memory there, sasquatch,” he said grudgingly, his ears burning.
Sam opened his mouth to add insult to injury, but Dean held up a hand, his ears perking, face frowning. “Dude, you hear something?” He sat up, reaching for the remote to turn the sound down, but remembered too late that it was still lodged somewhere behind the bookcase and shot Sam a scowl instead. “I swear to God, it sounded like Dad’s truck,” he said.
“You’re hearing things again,” Sam suggested. “Dad’s not s’posed to be home until tomorrow.” He nodded at the TV. “You’re missing your stupid show, perv boy.”
“Keep it up, asshat, and the prank war starts back up again…tonight.”
“What? You want to be bare-assed, on the receiving end of that freaking paddle again?” Sam sounded incredulous as he stared at Dean in mild shock. He shook his head sadly. “You must be stupider than I thought.”
“Shaddup!” Dean snarled. He gazed at the blonde in the swimsuit on the TV with lusty adoration. “Pamela Anderson, dude…what a rack…” he sighed, eyes glazing at the pornographic images his brain was suddenly conjuring up.
“God, is that all you think about?” Sam said in disgust. “It’s bad enough you jack off like twenty times a day!”
Dean’s eyes never left the glow of the TV screen as he replied, “Hey, at least I’m attracted to the chicks, unlike you, who pants over that Hasselhoff dude, huh, Sam?” He reached over to tap Sam’s knee, giving the younger boy a knowing wink.
Sam let out a snort that was half shock and half anger. “I DO NOT –“
The front door slammed, startling both Dean and Sam.
“Boys!” John Winchester’s voice boomed out over the noise of the television as his stern gaze traveled from his eldest child to his youngest. “Don’t you have better things to do than sit around insulting each other?”
“Dad..uh..” Sam stuttered, surprise clearly evident in his blinking stare. “You’re home…” he finished lamely.
Dean, ever cool, just offered his dad a wide-eyed look of innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything.”
John wasn’t buying that for a minute. He continued to contemplate his boys. “I’m sure I can find something to keep you two busy,” he threatened.
Dean straightened up, setting his feet on the floor, trying to appear contrite. “No sir, I’m good.” He looked over at his brother. “Sammy?”
Sam’s eyes darted nervously between Dean and John. He quickly snatched up his cell phone from the coffee table, grimacing a little at remembering where it had been. “I was just trying to call Pastor Jim on a reference, sir,” Sam said.
John frowned. “I thought I told you to have that done before I got back.”
“You weren’t supposed to be back yet!” Sam countered hotly, then lowered his voice as he glared at Dean. “Besides, how could I get anything done with Dean and his dick getting in the way.”
Dean snickered, then thought better of it when he caught sight of his dad’s warning look. He coughed loudly, staring at Sam in mock offense. “Quit talkin’ about my dick, Sam. Jeez, awkward much?”
Sam’s icy glare spoke volumes. Dean chose to ignore it. Sam pointed at the TV in exasperation. “Like I could have called him when you’ve got the volume so loud anyway.”
Dean scowled. “Shut up, Sam!”
John raised a brow at that and fixed Dean with an accusatory look. “Turn it off, Dean. We have work to do tonight, apparently.”
That got a snicker out of Sam, followed by a sly elbow to Dean’s ribs. Dean’s fist balled up, but John caught the movement and stopped his eldest before he could apply a punch.
“Dean! I’m not kidding.” John moved further into the room, dropping his duffle onto the armchair near the couch and leveling a warning glare at both boys. “If you two knuckleheads can’t get it together, I’ll get it together for you.”
Dean was too incensed by Sam’s continued snickering to pay heed to his father’s tone. He reached over and shoved Sam hard enough to knock the younger boy’s head against the wall behind the couch.
“Daad!” Sam whined, reaching up to cradle the back of his head.
“Saaammy!” Dean imitated his brother in a high falsetto and Sam stuck his tongue out at him.
John had had enough. He didn’t know what the hell was going on between his sons, but it was going to stop. Now. He made it over to the couch in two long strides, his hand snaked out to grab Dean by the wrist and roll the boy to the side, exposing his backside for a single hard swat, which he delivered without warning.
“Hey! OW!” Dean blinked up at his father, jaw dropping open in shock. “Daaad!”
Sam took the opportunity to reach over and surreptitiously kick Dean again. He figured Dean was too busy with their dad to offer up even token revenge. He was wrong. Despite their father standing over them, Dean lunged for Sam, his face darkening with rage.
“That’s it, you little twerp!” Dean roared as he aimed a smack at Sam’s head, not caring where the blow landed as long as it landed. “I told you no more kicking –“
John dove into the fray before it got out of hand, grabbing Dean by the scruff of his neck, restraining him, while he pulled Sam forward, pressing the young teen’s face down towards the couch cushions so that he could get in two good swats to Sam’s rear end. Sam yelped and went still.
“Dad!” he cried in dismay, reaching back to block any further swats.
John let his belligerent offspring go, but shot them a glare, daring them to make another move. Dean sat up, straightening the collar of his rumpled t-shirt, properly subdued. He slowly slid off the couch to turn off the TV as Sam picked up his phone from where it had fallen on the floor. Sam glared at Dean and Dean snarled right back at Sam.
“I can do this all night, boys,” John spoke up, his voice low and dangerous.
“Yeah, right,” Sam muttered under his breath as he dialed Jim Murphy’s number.
John leaned down into Sam’s face, forcing the boy to lean back, eyes widening a little. “That’s yes, sir,” John hissed and Sam nodded, cheeks suffusing with red.
Dean smirked, enjoying watching Sam get put on the spot. “Who ya calling, Sammy? 1-800-IMA LOSER?”
Dean took a step back when his father swung around on him, eyes blazing. “Dean James, this is your last warning! Leave your brother alone!” John barked.
“But…but…” Dean stuttered, paling slightly as his dad towered over him. “Yes sir,” he said quietly and then quickly flicked off the TV. He turned back to the couch, shooting Sam a dirty glare, but Sam was busy on the phone.
“Hi, Jim.”
“While you’re just standing around, son, I want to see that research I asked you to do,” John said, knowing full well that Dean most likely wouldn’t be able to produce even a page of it. He was beginning to get a picture of what had happened while he was gone, and it didn’t bode well for either boy.
“Um, research?” Dean asked. He licked his lips.
“Yeah, Dean,” John said, his voice full of impatience. “Research. On the hunt.”
Sam’s voice interrupted their conversation. “Just wanted to check a reference with you – no…I was gonna call earlier, but well…” Sam gazed over at Dean, his tone more condescending than a fourteen-year-old had a right to be. “You know how Dean is.”
Dean reacted as Sam thought he would. He coughed loudly, managing to blurt out a “kiss ass” in between the coughs that was intended for Sam’s ears only. John sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his patience quickly taking a back seat to the anger beginning to boil in his gut.
Sam ignored Dean and continued, only too happy to explain in detail to Pastor Jim what had happened, thereby ensuring that their dad would hear as well. Sam was a master of tattling by proxy.
“No sir, it wasn’t that. He had my phone down his pants,” Sam explained earnestly to Jim.
John gave Sam an odd look, hoping that little revelation had been for dramatic effect only then let his gaze settle on Dean. Dean offered up a crooked smile and shrugged.
“Nope, I wiped it off before using it,” Sam continued, making a face.
“You sonuvabitch!” Dean howled as he pounced on top of Sam, attempting to wrestle the phone away from his brother. John choked, realizing his child hadn’t been exaggerating. “How ‘bout I tell him what you’ve been doing? Huh? How ‘bout that?” Dean snarled.
“Hey!” Sam yanked the phone back, pulling it in towards his chest, turtling up around it as Dean continued to pry it loose. Sam managed a pleading look up at his father. “ DAAAD!” he complained loudly.
John once again acted as referee and yanked Dean up off his little brother. With a menacing scowl and a rough shake, John directed Dean towards the kitchen. “All right, mister, you’re coming with me.” He nodded at Sam. “Sam, get that reference checked and then park it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam answered dutifully. He turned back to the phone. “Pastor Jim? I’m really sorry ‘bout that. Man, Dean’s on a rip tonight or something…” Sam leaned back against the arm of the couch, making himself comfortable. “Nah, just been his usual charming self, going on about…uh…well, never mind…”
Dean didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as he was dragged unceremoniously out of the living room by the collar of his t-shirt.
“Dad!” Dean tried, but John cut him off. He’d heard enough for one night.
“Stow it! Let’s go.” John released his grip on Dean once they were in the kitchen. He pointed to the floor near the table and Dean trudged over to the spot, waiting while his father rummaged through one of the drawers near the stove.
“Gigantor started it,” Dean stated with a sullen pout, but then wished he’d never opened his mouth when he watched his father turn around to face him, a wooden spoon gripped tightly in one hand. Oh fuck!
John crossed the tiled floor to stand in front of his son. “You have the research or not?” he asked simply.
Dean’s eyes fell guiltily to the tops of his scuffed boots. “No sir. I was gonna, uh, work on it later.” He chanced a look up at his dad, giving the older man a wistful smile. “I got a little distracted…”
John’s jaw tightened. “Damn it, Dean! This stuff is important!”
Dean nodded meekly. “Yessir, I understand.”
“A helluva lot more important than Baywatch,” John said, with just enough sarcasm to bring a blush to Dean’s face.
“Sammy’s better at the book stuff, Dad,” Dean said, looking up hopefully. “I shoulda been with you, watching your back.”
John shook his head. “It was a routine scouting trip, Dean. I didn’t need anybody to watch my back. Your lack of interest in the research part of this job is no excuse for not getting it done, especially after I made it an order.” He pointed the spoon at Dean. “And, I warned you before to keep a lid on the bickering.”
Dean’s temper flared. “You can’t lay all this on me!”
“You’re the oldest, you know better,” John said, voice hard.
“But, Sam’s been a little bitch for the past two days for absolutely no reason,” Dean pleaded.
“And it’s obviously been affecting both of your heads,” John said caustically. “I’m gonna talk to Sam later, but right now, you turn around, drop the jeans and assume the position.”
Dean’s face fell. With a heavy sigh, he slowly turned towards the table, hands going to the fly of his jeans to undo them. “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath as he bent over, planting his elbows onto the table. “I am so gonna kick Sam’s ass for this…”
“Focus on your own ass, son,” John said as he brought the spoon down sharply across Dean’s bared backside.
The crack was loud and it stung. Dean hissed, gritting his teeth, as an uncomfortable warmth bloomed over his rear end. You are so fucking dead, Sammy, Dean thought, and then his mind became fully focused on the pain as his dad brought the wooden spoon down over and over, aiming rapid fire swats all across his seat.
****
Sam grimaced slightly at the loud smacks coming from the other room. He tried to ignore them as he fished his laptop out from the cushions of the couch where Dean had hidden it. Well, sat on top of it was more the case. He tried to pay attention to what Jim Murphy was saying to him on the other end of the phone.
“No sir, he’s uh, talking to Dean,” Sam said in reply to Jim’s question of whether or not Sam’s father was in the room.
“Talking, huh?” Jim asked, unable to keep the amusement from his tone. Even over the phone, he could hear the commotion. “You sure your dad’s just talking to your brother, Samuel?”
Sam sighed, glancing out towards the hall. “Nossir, he’s spanking him,” he said quietly, not wanting to lie to the Pastor. He made a face. “M’ probably next…”
“Oh?” Jim questioned, a little surprised. “And just what did you do to earn yourself such a dubious honor, young man?”
“Jeez, you know how it gets sometimes,” Sam said, wincing when he heard the first of Dean’s loud howls. He wasn’t looking forward to his turn. “I couldn’t help it…” Sam said. He was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the spanking taking place down the hall.
“Sam, why don’t you tell me what happened, son,” Jim coaxed.
****
Dean clamped down on his lower lip almost drawing blood as he swallowed back a grunt of pain. His butt was on fire from the succession of swats his dad had planted all over the tender flesh of his rear and thighs, but he was damned if he was going to give either him or Sam the satisfaction of knowing how much it freaking hurt!
John knew Dean well enough to understand what his son was trying to do, and he increased the tempo of the spanking, meaning to break the boy of his stubbornness. Dean bucked suddenly, unable to take the heat any longer.
“Daaad! OW!” he yelped, half-rising from the table. “I’ll do the research! OW! I swear!”
John placed a hand to Dean’s back, gently pushing the boy back down as he continued to administer the wood spoon to Dean’s bottom. “You’re the oldest, Dean. It means more responsibility. I don’t want to hear of you slacking off like this again.”
“No SIR!” Dean gritted out, then flinched at a particularly scorching swat. “OW!”
John checked his son’s blazing backside, noting the bright red color, and finished the spanking up with ten hard swats to Dean’s sit spots, eliciting a disconsolate wail from his boy. Dean laid across the kitchen table limply.
“We clear on this?” John softly asked him.
“Yessir,” Dean said sullenly.
John nodded, setting the spoon down on the table. “Good. Now cut the attitude.”
“Yessir,” Dean replied.
John laid a calloused hand on Dean’s back, letting the teen know all was forgiven. Dean rose from the table top, grimacing as his sore muscles protested the movement. He reached down and gingerly drew his pants back up, trying not to groan when the fabric scratched across his raw flesh, creating an intense sting.
Dean glared balefully at the spoon, reaching back to rub some of the sting out of his rear end. He frowned at his father. “Dude! Did you steal that thing from Bobby?”
The question was met with a ghost of a smile. “Nope. You think Singer’d ever give up his spanking spoon?” John nodded at the implement on the table. “That one’s new. And, it works pretty good, huh?” Dean scowled. John’s smile grew wider. “Go on now,” he said, “I want to see your brother. Send him in.”
“Gladly,” Dean purred. He grinned, despite the throbbing ache of his butt, and headed back for the living room to get Sam. “Hey, Sam!” he hollered from the hallway. “Dad wants to uh, talk to you!” Dean chuckled. Yeah, more like dad’s spoon was going to be discussing a few things with Sam’s ass.
Sam was still on the phone when Dean came into the living room, his gait a bit stiff and slow. The spanking had taken its toll. Nevertheless, Dean perked up a little as he sauntered over and kneed his brother in the leg to get his attention.
“Hey, tweedle-dumbass, Dad wants to –“
“Fuck off!” Sam hissed in Dean’s direction, one hand over the cell phone. He ignored the sour look Dean shot at him in favor of finishing up his conversation with Pastor Jim. “No, sir, I tried – but, I needed to call you. Yeah, thanks, look, I gotta go,” Sam eyed Dean who was making a hurried motion to wrap up the call. “Dad wants to talk to me.”
“Oh yeah,” Dean said, “He wants to TALK to you all right, little brat.”
Sam stood up and started for the kitchen, still on the call with Jim. “What? Yeah, I know, but he was sitting on my laptop and had my phone down his pants…”
Dean caught Sam’s eye and flipped him off. “You’re such a tattletale, Sam!” he chided as the boys walked into the kitchen side-by-side. “What’re you? Ten still? You big baby!”
“Let’s go, Sammy,” John said. He held out his hand, motioning for the phone.
Sam glanced briefly at his father and then continued talking, earning a spectacular eye roll from Dean.
“No sir, that was what I needed – well, obviously Dad’s home from the hunt…” Sam let a small smile spread over his lips as he listened to whatever Jim was saying.
“Jeez, Sammy, you want the Pastor to talk to Dad for you?” Dean griped, finally unable to stand the stalling tactics any longer. His voice was saccharine sweet. “Too pansy-ass to face the music, Samantha? Hm?”
John corralled his oldest child and swatted the boy’s sore behind, once, giving Dean an ominous glower.
“OW! What the f-I mean what was that for?” Dean said. He palmed his stinging butt, giving his father a pained expression.
John indicated the little silver cell clutched in Sam’s hand. “Once your brother’s off that phone, Dean, you are sanitizing that thing.” He pointed to the far wall. “Until then, you go stand in the corner and keep your trap shut.”
One look at his father’s face was all it took for Dean to make a beeline for the nearest corner.
Sam was still deep in conversation with Pastor Jim, which only served to irritate John further. He was done playing games.
“Sam, give me that phone!” John demanded.
“I-“ Sam faltered, realizing his dad meant business. He quickly handed the phone over.
“Hey Jim,” John said, his voice tired. “Yeah, thanks for…”
“I did *not* have the stupid phone down my pants,” Dean petulantly interrupted from the corner. “Well…not down my shorts anyway…” he added grudgingly.
John shook his head. “What, Jim? Yep,” He eyed Sam who stood watching resolutely. “I’m gonna take care of that right now. All right. Talk to you soon. Bye.” John ended the call and laid the phone down beside the spoon on the table. He turned back to his youngest. “Sam, you care to explain yourself?”
A malicious chuckle broke the silence and John swiveled toward Dean, still in the corner with a smart ass grin plastered on his face
“Dean,” John growled. “I said quiet!”
“Yessir,” came the dutiful reply from the corner, although the smirk on Dean’s face remained behind.
Sam decided to strike while the iron was hot. “I did the research, Dad,” he stated earnestly. “But, Dean stole my laptop when I went to the bathroom. He was sitting on it when I came out, and he put my cell down his pants, for crying out loud.”
John looked at his oldest child incredulously. “Dean, is all that true?”
“I’d a called Jim sooner, but Dean wanted me to watch some – porn show,” Sam added hastily.
Dean made a strangled noise of disgust in the back of his throat. Forgetting where he was, he whirled around, eyes blazing. “Oh, c’mon!” he said, a look of utter disbelief contorting his features. “You gonna believe that load of bullsh- I mean, crap?”
John’s attention switched to Sam, who although exasperated, was still calm and collected, cluing John in as to which of his children was being more truthful.
Dean continued, waving an angry hand in Sam’s direction. “He’s just mad ‘cause Janie Wilshire shot him down at school, and he’s looking for a little payback, and of course, I’m the target.”
Sam’s eyes went dark. He’d told Dean about Janie in the strictest of confidence, and that trust had just been broken. His chest tightened with hurt. The next words were out of Sam’s mouth before he could stop them.
“Well at least I don’t spend my time hanging around losers, smoking weed all –“ Sam stopped abruptly, horror stricken. “Oh, shit,” he whispered, his face going pale.
“Dude!” Dean choked, eyes widening at the awful betrayal.
John’s voice was calm, but angry. “I’m only gonna ask this once, boys, and I want the truth. Were you smoking pot while I was gone?” His steady glare flicked from one boy to the other as they stood in a heavy uncomfortable silence.
Sam had the decency to blush over ratting Dean out, but remained silent. He didn’t need to remind his brother that he’d been at home while Dean was at the park getting high.
Dean met Sam’s resolute stare, reading the accusation there and accepting it. He’d fucked up and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. And as such, Dean didn’t see any reason to drag his little brother down with him. At least not for this offense. While he wasn’t above sharing out the blame when it was rightfully earned, Dean’s sense of chivalry included a certain unspoken protectiveness over Sam, and that meant Dean wouldn’t lie to get his brother into trouble, even if he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards him.
Squaring his shoulders, Dean faced his father. “Yes sir. I was smoking some weed,” he whispered.
The disappointment on John’s face was apparent, and Dean cringed inwardly while staring a hole in the floor between his feet.
Sam licked his lips, nervous, as he watched the silent interplay between his father and brother. While he was still pissed at Dean’s earlier teasing and taunting, the anger wasn’t quite so edgy now. It was tempered with sympathy as Sam realized how badly Dean was in for it.
“Sam? You have anything else you want to say?” John asked, watching as the fourteen-year-old fidgeted, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else right then. “Were you part of this?”
Sam shook his head, not looking up.
“It was just me, Dad,” Dean stated quietly, his hazel eyes full of shame. “Sam didn’t have anything to do with the pot. He’s too good a kid for that shit.”
Sam’s head snapped up at the unexpected compliment, and he blushed, feeling even worse for having tattled on Dean.
“I’m real sorry,” Dean muttered, to both his father and brother.
John grunted, his displeasure written all over his worn face in the set of his jaw and the deep crease between his brows. “So, Dean’s stupidity was the only reason you didn’t get that reference checked, Sam?” he asked softly.
Sam looked up in dismay. “That’s not true! I was there when Caleb offered – “ Once again, Sam stammered to a halt, catching himself. “Um, yessir,” he amended, but it was too late.
John’s eyes narrowed. “Caleb offered?!”
Dean froze. What the hell was Sam doing? He knew bringing up Caleb would only serve to make things worse, not better, for Sam’s backside. What kind of a moron throws himself under his own bus? he thought. He shook his head at Sam, trying to get the boy to shut up. To not incriminate himself any further.
“Dad, this is all my fault!” Dean blurted, hoping to pull the attention off Sam. “Sammy was just doing what you told him to do. I was the one goofing off…I’m the one you should be pissed at, seriously.”
“Believe me, kid, I’m plenty pissed,” John said angrily.
Dean glared at Sam, willing him to be silent. Sam glared right back, but thankfully didn’t open his mouth. Dean sighed heavily and licked his lips. “So, you want me back over the table, sir?” He nodded with his chin, and started towards the spot he’d been in only moments earlier.
John pointed to the spot directly in front of him. “I want you to get your butt over here. Now, Dean.”
Sam began to backpedal towards the kitchen door. Getting his brother in trouble was one thing, watching him actually catch it was totally different, and not something Sam wanted to stick around for. Dean never did when Sam was the one getting his butt paddled, and Sam deemed it only right that he give his brother the same courtesy.
John caught Sam trying to slink from the room and put a stop to it. “ Sam. Bring the spoon over here, please.”
Sam’s hands instantly flew behind his back, his eyes going wide. “Dad!” he croaked out, horrified.
Dean shook his head sadly. “No, Sammy. Do what Dad says,” he said quietly.
Sam backed up two more steps instead, eyes darting wildly toward the hallway and freedom.
“You gonna argue with me?” John questioned his youngest as he watched him with a sense of enraged disbelief.
“It’s okay,” Dean said, hoping to calm Sam down and get him to follow orders before all hell broke loose.
Sam stood, frozen to his spot on the floor, trembling. “Dad, I can’t,” he whined, shaking his head, eyes shot with fear.
“Sam!” Dean pleaded. “Dude, just do what he says, for God’s sake!” Dean gave Sam a pleading look, begging his brother not to dig the hole any deeper for himself.
John reached behind him to grab a chair from the table and scoot it around, so he could sit down. He kept one hand firmly clamped onto Dean, his grim visage fixed on his youngest.
“Two minutes ago, you were trying to get your brother into trouble,” John said severely, looking straight at Sam. “What’s the difference now, Sammy?” he cocked his head, quirking a brow at the teen. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Sam opened his mouth, then shut it, swallowing hard. Dean closed his eyes, groaning in frustration. Sometimes Sam just didn’t get it.
“Well, Samuel?” John asked, waiting.
“Nothing – no!” Sam sputtered, his face turning crimson suddenly at being put on the spot.
“Dad, leave him alone,” Dean said, but John ignored him.
“Answer me,” John demanded again, pinning Sam with a look.
And something inside Sam suddenly snapped, the rage boiling over. “IF YOU’DA FUCKING BEEN HOME, D’YOU THINK DEAN WOULD’VE BEEN SMOKING POT?” he screamed, his face darkening.
Dean’s jaw dropped open and he just stared dumfounded at Sam.
John leaned forward in his chair, eyes flinty and cold. “Watch your mouth, little boy.”
“Oh, Christ…” Dean moaned.
Sam looked like a bull who’d been taunted one too many times with the red cape. His stance was rigid, hands balled into fists at his sides, feet wide apart, eyes blazing. The teen was just itching for a fight with someone, and now that Dean had been brought down, their father was next in line apparently.
“I’m SORRY!” Sam snapped, the sarcasm in his voice negating any sincerity the words might have offered. He glared at his father. “Dean’s stuck here with me because YOU make him! What else do you think he’s gonna do, when-“ Sam’s breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears, “When he’s so miserable!”
Dean blinked, stunned. “Dude,” he said gently, “I don’t think that…Sam!” he called, desperate as Sam pivoted smartly and stomped out of the room.
Dean and John listened to the sound of heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs and the bedroom door slamming above their heads.
“I don’t think that,” Dean whispered once more. He felt his father’s hand give his arm a squeeze.
“I know you don’t, buddy,” John said softly. He let Dean go and stood up. “I’m gonna go up and talk to him, You park yourself in the corner.”
Dean nodded and reluctantly trudged over to the wall, shoulders slumped in resignation. This day was turning out to be a nightmare. He kicked the wall once.
John moved towards the hall, but stopped just inside the kitchen doorway, turning. “Dean?”
“Yessir?”
“Move so much as a muscle from there while I’m gone, and you won’t be sitting for a week. We’re not done discussing your little issue. We clear?”
Dean nodded. “Yessir. Clear,” he said unhappily. Just fuck.
John headed upstairs, rubbing a hand absently through his hair, standing it on end. This was not what he expected to come home to this evening. He rapped once on the closed bedroom door, then opened it, not waiting for a response. Sam lay on the twin bed farthest from the door, face swallowed by his pillow. He didn’t bother to look up when John took a seat on the edge of the bed beside him.
“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” John asked.
“No,” Sam mumbled into his pillow. He sniffled loudly enough for John to deduce he’d been crying.
John sighed. “That what you really think, dude? Dean’s trying to get away from you? Get away from me?”
Sam rolled over to face his father, eyes burning with accusation. “You drink to get away from thinking about hunts,” he stated matter-of-fact like. “The drug class we took at school says it’s just a bigger escape mechanism than alcohol.” He stared down at the bedspread, jaw quivering. “Dean doesn’t have anything to escape from…except me.” He choked on a repressed sob.
“Hush, buddy,” John said. He reached down brushing Sam’s bangs back from his face. “Dean’s got a lot more on his mind than you’d think, okay? It’s not about you.”
Sam sat up, eyes alight. “Yes it is! He’s always frustrated with me, having to stay behind from hunts to babysit me!” Fresh tears spilled from the boy’s eyes and John’s heart clenched. “I can do it, Dad – I can just go to school, n’ wait for you, and I can call Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim if something happens.” Sam’s voice cracked. “I’m not that awful…”
John’s lips thinned and he gave Sam a gentle shake. “You’re not awful, Sam, and it has nothing to do with you! And we’re not leaving you here alone, you hear me?”
“You should!” Sam insisted, jaw jutting out, ready to fight for this if he had to. “I’m just…just a burden to you and Dean.” He threw up his hands. “I’m useless!”
John swiped wearily at his stubbled jaw. Jesus, when had things gotten so fucked up? He took Sam’s chin in his hand and raised the teen’s face up to meet his. “You are just a kid, damn it, and Dean’s not much more than one. You’re both MY responsibility – both of you, and if I want you to do something, I’ll tell you. When I want Dean by my side, then that’s where he’ll be.” He gripped his youngest’s chin a little tighter. “You are NOT a burden, Samuel Michael Winchester. You’re my boy, and I love you and so does your brother.”
Sam began to sob, his chest heaving. John gathered the boy up into his arms, pulling Sam onto his lap. “Dean may not always show it, but you are the most important thing to him, always will be.”
Sam continued to cry, his hot tears soaking into John’s plaid shirt. “I t-tried…I did!” Sam gasped in between sobs.
John rocked his son, holding him tight. “Shh, shh. What did you try?” he softly asked.
“I didn’t mean to disappoint you! Not again!” Sam choked out.
John’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Disappoint me? You didn’t disappoint me, Sammy.”
“Yes, I did!” Sam insisted.
John pulled Sam from him, peering down to catch his son’s eye. “Buddy, from what you said, it sounds like you did exactly what I asked of you. Isn’t that so?”
“No!” Sam shook his head in disagreement. “I hadn’t called Pastor Jim. I could’a used my cell earlier – I should’a, b-but,” he hesitated, biting his bottom lip, face contorted in shame. “I didn’t mean to get Dean in trouble!” he blurted then broke into tears once more.
“Okay, bud, take a breath,” John ordered as he patted Sam’s back. “You know Dean’s the one responsible for you, not the other way around.” Sam gave a reluctant nod, swiping at his nose. John continued. “No way you should've been bickering with him like that,” Sam winced. “but that doesn't mean you're the one to blame if he was ragging on you. I'm gonna talk to him about it and then I'm gonna have a little chat with Caleb, too. But you did your best, and that's all I ask.”
John settled back against the headboard, Sam in his arms. He spoke into Sam’s hair, voice low but firm. “I don’t appreciate the language you were throwing out at me, and the bickering between you and Dean stops now. Got it?”
“Yessir,” Sam said quietly, sniffling.
John offered his child a smile of encouragement, letting Sam know things were okay between them. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, a puzzled look on his face.
“You hear that?” he asked Sam.
Sam quieted and listened too, and then nodded, a small smile on his face. “Uh huh,” he said. He glanced up at his father, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Sounds like someone’s drumming.”
John listened a little bit longer, then slid Sam off his lap and wandered closer to the open doorway, cocking his ear towards the stairway. His eyes went wide. Son of a bitch. It was Zeppelin! Misty Mountain Hop, to be exact, John decided upon hearing the soft crooning accompanying the rhythmic beats his oldest son was banging out against the wall downstairs. His face darkened. That little idiot was so asking for it.
“What is it, Dad?” Sam asked, curious, from his perch on the bed.
“You’re brother’s death knell,” John replied dryly. “Okay, bud, go get your PJs on, and then into bed.”
He turned away from the doorway, giving one last look towards the stairway and the noise coming from downstairs, his palm itching to do some damage to a certain smart-ass eighteen-year-old’s bottom.
Once he’d changed into his pajamas, Sam crawled into bed and let his dad pull the covers up over him.
“You stay put, you hear?” John said. He patted the seat of Sam’s sweats gently and then tucked the boy in tightly.
“’Kay, Dad,” Sam said quietly.
“Good boy,” John said, smiling. “Love you, Sammy.”
Sam nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He flipped over, hugging his pillow tightly, his eyes welliing up with tears.
“I’ll be up later,” John promised. He felt so helpless as to how to ease Sam’s hurt, and it tore at him. “Get some rest, kiddo,” he murmured.
John left Sam to his troubled thoughts and slipped down the stairs, careful to make no sound as he stealthily moved up right behind Dean, watching with exasperation as his oldest boy stood, face to the corner, being anything but penitent.
In fact, Dean seemed to be having quite the time of it, singing slightly off key under his breath while he continued to pound out the beat to a song – currently a Bad Company tune, if John knew his rock music – against the drywall, making the picture frames next to him dance and sway along.
“I have heard the thunder…rollin’ across the sky…hmmm, mmm…I have seen the morning sun, over the mountain high,” Dean sang out, oblivious to his father standing behind him. “Evil wind, pass me by, troubled waters, pay me no –“
John had heard enough. “Dean!” he barked directly into his son’s ear.
Dean jumped, choking on his words. He went still as a statue, face turning a bright red.
“Didn’t I tell you to be still? Not move a muscle?”
Dean twitched slightly, then hung his head. “Um, yeah…I got bored.”
It was John’s turn to choke. “You got…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He was just too stunned. John took a few deep breaths to calm down, and then spun Dean around to face him. “Go into the kitchen and get me the spoon,” he said, the words coming out low and clipped.
Dean made no move to comply, and John bristled at Dean’s defiance.
“You and Sammy okay, then?” Dean asked carefully.
John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Not defiance then, just concern for Sam. He could deal with that. “We’re as good as it gets with us, I guess. Now, get the spoon,” he ordered, ending the conversation.
Dean nodded, returning quickly with the dreaded implement. He silently handed it over to his father as John took a seat on the couch. “Dad…you know I don’t think that, right? About, Sam, I mean?”
“He’s pretty shaken up, Dean,” John shot back in irritation. “What the hell were you were thinking? That is not the way you show you care about your brother!”
Dean studied his boots a moment, letting out a defeated sigh. “I know,” he mumbled. “I just…sometimes he just,” Dean raised his head up, frustration evident in his eyes. “Dad, I do watch out for him,” he said, his voice rising. “It’s just that sometimes he drives me up the wall, you know? He gets so pissy sometimes over the stupidest shit…”
“Dean, when you’re acting irresponsible, how do you think that makes him feel?” Dean squirmed. John went on. “He’s just a kid. He looks up to you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean reluctantly admitted, giving the coffee table leg a kick. He looked up at his father, eyes searching his dad’s face. When he spoke, it was with a sincerity and maturity that made John’s heart swell. “I’m sorry, Dad. And I’ll tell Sam that too.”
John nodded. “All right, buddy. But, you wanna tell me why you pulled something as stupid as getting high in front of your brother when you were supposed to be taking care of him?”
Dean offered up a sheepish shrug, a lopsided grin stealing over his lips. “Jeez, Dad, didn’t you ever do something dumb with your friends?”
John snorted. He wasn’t quite ready to open up that can of worms with his offspring. He opted for a lesson instead. “I did, Dean, and you know what happened?”
“I can guess,” Dean said wryly.
“That’s right,” John’s grin was wolfish as he tugged Dean down over his lap. “I got my butt busted, just like you’re gonna get right now.”
Although Dean wasn’t too thrilled at being upended over his father’s lap for a spanking at his age, much less twice in one evening, he didn’t fight it. Deep down inside, he knew it was deserved. It didn’t stop him from attempting to plea bargain though. “Don’t s’pose I can ask for a little leniency here, on account of being a dumb ass teenager?”” he asked politely.
John’s reply was less than sincere. “This is family tradition, son.” He tugged down Dean’s jeans and boxers, baring the boy’s already scorched bottom. Dean whimpered as his dad placed his rough hand against the tender flesh of Dean’s rear end. “Can’t buck tradition, Dean.”
"Dad, I SWEAR, I won’t ever touch weed again!"
“I know you won't,” John agreed somberly. He raised his palm and brought it smacking down. The sound rang out in the quiet house, quickly followed by a loud yelp from Dean. “Still doesn't change what you did, Dean.”
John began paddling the butt in front of him, pulling Dean in tight when the teenager began to buck and struggle under the punishing swats to his already sore behind. "Settle down," John warned.
Dean squirmed, yelping with each swat. "OW! Holy - Dad! Please! I swear! I'll become best friends with McGruff the crime dog from now on!"
John chuckled in amusement. “Glad to hear it, son.” He reached beside him to grab up the wooden spoon. Dean saw and moaned low.
"Dad! PLEASE!”
John ignored him. He had a message to get across. “You do NOT disobey me, Dean.” The spoon landed with a crack on the reddened flesh of Dean’s upper thighs, and the teen howled in agony. “You do NOT torment your brother.” The spoon cracked down twice more, welting the crest of Dean’s bottom.
Dean nearly jumped out of his skin as his nerve endings sang out in desperation. “OW! Dad! Man, that really hurts!”
John rolled his eyes, he didn't even bother saying it was supposed to hurt. They both knew that perfectly well.
“You do NOT take drugs when you're supposed to be watching your brother and working on a hunt!” The spoon mercilessly blistered Dean’s sit spots.
Dean’s eyes filled with tears at the intense sting. “I WONT!!! NEVER AGAIN! I SWEAR!” he bawled.
John finished the spanking with a flurry of swats, peppering Dean’s crimson bottom thoroughly. The blows were calculated to sting, and Dean would be left with a reminder of this discussion for the next several days.
“Alright, bud. we perfectly clear?” John challenged.
"YESSIR! I ain't touching ANY drugs – not even freaking baby aspirin - unless you say so! OWW!" he howled as John laid down four more final swats across the fleshy part of his son’s rear end.
Dean’s breath hitched from the aching burn all across his butt and thighs.
"M'sorry," he whimpered. "Um, Dad? Can I pleeease get up now?"
John helped Dean up. “ We're done. Up you get.”
Dean grimaced as he carefully pulled his pants back up. "I don't think I have any feeling left below my waist..." he sullenly observed.
John gave him a light smack on the butt, grinning evilly. “You sure?”
"DUDE!” Dean’s eyes shot wide, his hands flying to protect his bruised seat. He stared at his father, incredulous. “That was low, Dad,” he said, pouting slightly.
John just smiled and pulled Dean in, planting a kiss on the boy’s brow. "Wouldn't want you to think you were getting off easy."
"Yeah, wouldn't want that...would we?" Dean stated dryly as he rubbed his throbbing butt. "Can I go to bed now?"
John nodded. “Yep. I'll be up in a sec. And Dean?”
Dean stiffened slightly, wary. "Yes sir?"
“Slates' clean. Don't worry about it anymore, you hear?”
Dean’s stance relaxed a bit. He thought a minute and then nodded slowly, a soft smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. "Got it. Thanks, Dad. Uh, not for the ass beating...for the understanding part."
John shook his head at his son’s ability to still offer up platitudes, despite just having gotten his backside handed to him. “Get up to bed, smart ass. And I better not ever hear about anything like this happening again while I'm gone.“
Dean shook his head. "No sir. Done with the magic carpet ride. I'm good.”
Sam was asleep, his tearstained face pressed into the mattress, the pillow having fallen off of his head where he had it jammed over his ears. Listening to Dean getting spanked again had been more than he could handle.
Dean sidled into the darkened room and walked over to Sam. He bent down, flinching a little at the pull of his sore muscles, to pick up Sam's pillow. He hit Sam in the head with it lightly. "Hey, jolly green jerk off, guess you got off lightly this time huh?" Dean said with a small grin. There were no hard feelings in his voice.
Sam mumbled in his sleep and turned over, not quite awake. Dean frowned, watching, as a lone tear traveled down the youngest Winchester’s face. It was unexpected, and made Dean’s stomach twist uneasily. He’d thought his dad had said that everything was okay.
Dean stood, hesitant, watching his brother silently a minute more, then reached down to gently brush the tear from Sam's face. "I'll always be there for you, Sammy..." he whispered. He suddenly found it hard to swallow. "Always. And I don't think you're a burden, you big dope. You're my brother...I love you."
Sammy shifted again, brows furrowing as he dreamt of who knew what, Dean thought. Another tear spilled down, and Dean grew concerned. He carefully lowered himself down onto the side of Sam's bed, ignoring the incredible throbbing the move caused. Sammy was hurting worse than he was.
Dean reached over to brush the bangs from Sam's eyes and then began to hum, quietly, a simple tune he’d sung to Sam when he was a baby. It usually had a calming effect on the boy, but this time was different. Instead of relaxing him, Sam whimpered lightly and shifted once again, the covers tangling between his coltish legs.
Dean bent down to rub Sam's back, but Sam flinched at his touch and Dean pulled his hand away as if from a hot stove. His hand rose to his face, scrubbing at it in worry. "Sam? Sammy? You okay?" he asked, panic rising in his chest. No answer other than a tiny whimper from his brother.
John knew something was wrong the minute he entered the room and saw Dean leaning over his brother instead of getting ready for bed. “Dean?" There was no accusation in his voice, only concern.
Sammy whimpered again, his tear-streaked face shining in the moonlight coming through the curtained bedroom window.
Dean started and turned but relaxed slightly upon realizing it was his father standing in the shadows of the doorway. "Sam's having a nightmare or something. Just trying to calm him down. I got it, Dad," Dean said, trying to sound assured even though he felt anything but.
John came over, sitting down beside his youngest boy and pulling Sam onto his lap without waking him. He settled back against the headboard, kicking off his shoes."I gotcha, kiddo." He nodded at Dean to get ready for bed.
Dean’s lips pressed together tightly at the casual dismissal, but he got up and headed for the dresser to grab a pair of sweats to sleep in, his guilt overwhelming him. "M'sorry," Dean muttered quietly.
Sam turned into John's chest, his small hand wandering up to clench a fistful of John's shirt. John rocked the boy gently. “Shhh, shh.” he whispered to Sam, his heart breaking. Sam's tense body relaxed in John's arms.
John glanced over to Dean, who had quickly changed into his sweats and was now slowly crawling into his bed, looking about as lost and alone as he could be. John stopped the boy before he was completely settled in, his voice low and soft. "Come over here, Dean."
Dean stopped, one leg up on the bed, the other on the floor, but he didn’t turn around. "No, Sammy doesn't want me, Dad. He wants you.” John heard Dean’s breath hitch. “It's okay. I'm good," Dean lied, reaching down to adjust his pillow.
“Dean,” John said, a little more forcefully this time. Dean turned around, apprehension blanketing his features. “I want you,” John stated simply, catching the boy’s eye.
Dean couldn’t help the tears from spilling down his cheeks as he stared in silence at his father. "But, I let you down," he mumbled, and let out a small sob, then looked away in embarrassment. "I let Sammy down."
John shifted on the bed, making room for Dean. He patted the mattress. "I said don't worry about it anymore. Come over here, son." His tone let Dean know he wasn’t asking.
"It's so hard sometimes, Dad...I mean, I try.. but.." Dean let out another small sob and turned away. He sniffed and angrily wiped the tears from his face. Knowing his dad was waiting, Dean turned back and slowly walked over to his father, stance stiff, unsure.
John reached up a free hand and pulled his son down onto the crowded bed. Dean was forced to turn on his side to avoid hitting the mattress with his sore butt. "You're okay, Dean-o," John said.
Dean sat, carefully, and let his Dad pull him in to his chest, sharing the space with a still asleep Sam. "Jeez, I look like a big wussy crybaby or something," Dean griped, letting out a bitter laugh.
“For once in your life, Dean, just shut it,” John stated, smiling.
He relaxed down into the bed, pulling Dean in tight and close, wrapping his muscled arm around the older boy as added reassurance. Dean’s hand brushed Sam’s where it was still clutching their dad’s shirt, and Dean started to pull away until Sam reached up with his free hand to tightly grip a fistful of Dean’s t-shirt too.
Dean smiled at Sam's small gesture. He reached down to cover his brother's hand with his own. "Love you too, Sammy..." he whispered tightly. He lay back, snuggling into his father. "You too, Dad."
John kissed Dean's head in response. “Close your eyes, bud,” he gently ordered.
"Either of you ever say anything about this and I will deny it completely," Dean joked lightly but he did as he was told, shutting his eyes and relaxing into his Dad's side, letting go of his responsibility for once.
Sam just sighed in his sleep, burrowing deeper into John's chest.
It was a little while before John could drift off to sleep. He lay awake while Dean's breathing evened, finally matching Sam’s deeper, rhythmic one. The two boys covered him like blankets, their bodies warm and sweaty, but comforting to him. At last he let down his guard and fell asleep too, the pair of boys still clutched tightly, protectively to him.
THE END
“You don’t need to call anybody,” Dean said, grinning, as Sam continued to grapple with him. “Baywatch is on in two minutes. You can call Pastor Jim after it’s over, professor dork-much.”
To prove his point, Dean shoved Sam’s cell phone down the front of his jeans, laughing with a certain dark glee at Sam’s groan of disgust.
“Dude, that’s just wrong!” Sam’s brows furrowed into a deep crease of disapproval. He glared at Dean in frustration. “I need to check on a reference, you jerk,” he muttered as he sat back on the couch, shoulders slumping in defeat.
Dean’s eyes danced with amusement. It was just too easy to get Sammy riled up these days. Hormones and adolescent attitude made for a volatile mix in his fourteen-year-old brother, and Dean knew exactly what buttons to push to send Sam over the edge and into a melt down. Hell, their dad could do it with just a look.
Sam was more than prepared to sling his usual arsenal of snark back in return, consisting of derisive eye rolls, sarcastic backtalk and even downright defiance of orders, which more often than not ended up with Sam facedown over their father’s lap, getting his ass painted red.
Dean was usually willing to cut his little brother some slack when he needed it. He understood where Sam was coming from, even if he didn’t always agree with Sam’s methods, and besides, he wasn’t normally the intended target of Sam’s pissiness; their dad was. But, for some unfathomable reason, Sam had turned his snarkiness onto Dean the minute their dad had disappeared out the door the day before yesterday, acting like a royal, self-righteous pain in the butt ever since. Dean felt some payback was due.
What could have been a fun, relaxing weekend of goofing off with no parental supervision had instead turned into one long, boring study-fest as Sam, for once, took their father’s orders to research the next hunt more seriously than he’d ever done in his life. Dean had finally given up on Sam and gone off with some friends earlier to hang out in the park, drinking stolen beer and smoking a few joints, leaving Sam on the couch, pouting, nose still buried in a pile of books. If the kid wanted to play geek librarian, so be it, Dean thought, shaking his head in irritation. He wasn’t wasting his precious free time that way.
“Gimme my phone back,” Sam stated, the words coming out clipped and angry.
“Come ‘n get it,” Dean said. He pointed down to the waistband of his jeans, giving Sam a tart smile. He knew Sam would just sit at the other end of the couch, arms crossed, bitch face plastered on his mug. Dean shrugged. “Guess it’s not that important a call, after all, eh Sammy?”
“It’s Sam,” Sam said through gritted teeth.
Dean ignored the petulant tone and grinned wider, adjusting the lump in his jeans. “Hey, this thing on vibrate? What’s your number again?”
Sam ground his teeth together, jaw muscles tightening. Dean could be so immature sometimes. He glanced down at the coffee table, saw the TV remote laying atop a book of Babylonian incantations and dove for it before Dean realized what he was doing.
“Hey!” Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Hand it over, if you value your life,” he growled.
Sam didn’t think, he just did. He aimed for the top of the bookcase across the room, and with a grim smile curling up the corners of his lips, he tossed the remote in an underhanded pitch. The remote landed atop the high bookcase, skittered across the bare wood surface and promptly fell off the back to clatter noisily down into the dark depths behind the piece of furniture.
Sam choked back a snort of laughter, impressed by his own aim. Dean, however, was not amused whatsoever. He glowered darkly at Sam, lips thinning.
“Oh, it is so on, geek boy!” Dean said, reaching over to slap Sam upside the head, a look of murder on his face.
“Quit it, Dean!” Sam said. He batted at Dean’s hand, shoving with both arms to no effect. “Stop it or I’m telling Dad you got drunk off your ass today and didn’t help with the research!”
Dean sat back, nonplussed, and studied his brother a moment, wondering why Sam seemed to have it in for him lately. Both boys were breathing heavy from their tussle.
“At least I know how to drink, Sam,” Dean said shortly, trying to disguise his hurt feelings. He chuffed loudly as he rose from the couch to turn the television on manually. He shot Sam a disdainful look over his shoulder. “You have half a beer and you’re all emo-girl. Hell, I’d hate to think what a real drink would do to you. Probably be singing Bananarama or something at the top of your lungs.”
Sam snorted, stretching out on the couch, leaving no room for Dean. “Dude, look who’s talking,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And at least I’m not a fucking pothead, or wasn’t that you getting lit with your asshole buddies this afternoon?” he challenged.
Dean stiffened, hands balling into two tight fists, but instead of turning and decking his little brother like he wanted to, he reached for the volume button on the TV, pressing it until it was at a deafening level. He turned then and offered Sam a nasty smile as he sauntered back to the couch.
“Move your ass, bitch,” Dean ordered, barely keeping his anger in check, then grabbed Sam’s legs and knocked them forcefully off the couch so he could plop back down in his previous seat.
He shoved his right hand down the front of his jeans, and Sam made a choking noise, face scrunching in distaste.
“Jesus, Dean! I’m sitting right here!” Sam mashed himself against the opposite end of the couch, pulling his knees up to his chest, trying to put as much distance between himself and his brother as possible. “Man, I can’t believe you’re gonna play with yourself in front of me! I don’t care if it is Baywatch on TV!”
“Oh relax,” Dean shot back testily, as he yanked his hand back out of his pants. He held up Sam’s cell phone. “Just retrieving your stupid phone.” He held the little silver flip-phone out toward Sam, who shrank away from it in mild horror.
“Eww! It’s been down your pants! Gross!”
With a disinterested shrug, Dean tossed the phone onto the coffee table and sat back propping his feet up on said table, eyes glued to the TV set as the Baywatch babes flounced across the screen in slow motion. “Whatever, you sanctimonious little shit,” he muttered.
Sam’s brows shot up. “Sanctimonious? Wow, Dean, where did you find the time to improve your vocabulary? Been masturbating into the dictionary while you were waiting for me in the library?”
“Better than yanking my crank over geometry homework,” Dean said. He glanced over at Sam, who had turned a slight shade of pink. Dean smiled in satisfaction. Bulls-eye. “Kinda kinky with the slide rule and protractor and all…”
“At least I can multi-task,” Sam stated dryly.
Dean snorted. He turned to look directly at Sam, speculation in his tone. “I didn’t realize spanking the monkey while studying was considered multi-tasking, smart ass.” He returned his attention back to the TV. “Like I’ve said before, Sammy, this is why you’re zero point zero with the ladies.” Dean raised his hands, sliding them behind his head, smiling to himself. “No way you could ever compete with my awesomeness.”
Neither boy heard the familiar rumble of their father’s truck coming down the street as they continued their verbal sparring.
Sam kicked Dean in the shin, not hard enough to bruise, but enough for Dean to be annoyed by it. “At least I have brains to be able to think while I’m jacking off,” Sam observed, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice.
Dean blinked, and then turned an incredulous face on Sam. “Dude!” he exclaimed in bemused wonder, “What’s the freaking point of THINKING while you’re jacking off?” He shook his head. “I mean, just sit back and enjoy the ride, ya know?”
Sam blushed, realizing how idiotic he’d sounded. It hadn’t come out quite the way he’d intended.
“I mean seriously, Sammy,” Dean continued, his tone condescending, “if you’re thinking while you’re beating off? Then, you sure as hell ain’t doing it right.” Dean chuckled to himself, ignoring Sam’s huff of annoyed exasperation. “Jeez…talk about over-analyzing….”
Sam kicked Dean again, a grin of satisfaction appearing on his lips when Dean grunted in pain this time.
Dean glared over at Sam. “Dude, you do that again? And I sit on your head and fart.” He pointed ominously at Sam. “And just to warn you? I had burritos for lunch.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Dean!” Sam scowled, hating how crude his brother could be sometimes. Nevertheless, he decided against kicking him again. Just to be safe. Because Dean and burritos? Yeah. Lethal combination.
“Well, at least I don’t drool when I jack off,” Sam challenged with a sneer.
He was rewarded with a strangled choke from his brother. They both shared a room, had all their lives. So, it wasn’t like Sam wasn’t privy to what went on under Dean’s covers when the lights went out at night. Using it against Dean, though, was a low blow, even in Sam’s opinion, but it didn’t stop him from doing it. This was war.
Dean was not to be outdone. He waited for a commercial to come on the TV and then leaned casually over towards Sam’s side of the couch, smiling prettily. “You wanna talk about drooling, Sammy? You really wanna go there?”
A nervous frown replaced Sam’s smile. Dean took it as a sign to continue. “’Cause I believe you’re the one that slobbers all over himself when he’s having one of his little happy dreams at night, isn’t that right? Pretty much soak your pillow through and do that little puppy whine thing?”
Sam stared hard at his kneecaps, refusing to give Dean the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.
Dean chuckled, shooting Sam a leer that made Sam squirm. “It was Brad Pitt, wasn’t it? You can tell me, Sam – I won’t judge,” he said, teasingly.
Sam’s head shot up, mouth dropping open at the insult. “No! It was not Brad Pitt, asshole! I just-“ he stammered, breathing heavily, watching Dean hoot in laughter, while his own anger rose. “Maybe I was thinking about that hot student teacher at our last school,” Sam said, earning a dubious look from Dean. “You know which one I mean, Dean. Remember? The one that taught geometry? You know. The one that shot you down when you tried to put the moves on her?”
Now it was Sam’s turn to chortle in triumph as Dean twitched in sudden discomfort. The older boy attempted to recover his dignity by waving off the last statement. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…I just told you that so you wouldn’t get jealous knowing I nailed her hot ass…in the teacher’s lounge, in fact,” he added smugly with a leer. “More than once…”
“You didn’t nail her in the teacher’s lounge or anywhere else,” Sam retorted dryly, rolling his eyes. “The principal caught you hitting on her, and took a paddle to your horny ass. You skipped school the rest of the week because he made you take your pants down for the paddling, and your hard on was still there.”
Dean’s hand itched to smack Sam, but he let it go. Sam had gotten him fair and square on that one. “Good memory there, sasquatch,” he said grudgingly, his ears burning.
Sam opened his mouth to add insult to injury, but Dean held up a hand, his ears perking, face frowning. “Dude, you hear something?” He sat up, reaching for the remote to turn the sound down, but remembered too late that it was still lodged somewhere behind the bookcase and shot Sam a scowl instead. “I swear to God, it sounded like Dad’s truck,” he said.
“You’re hearing things again,” Sam suggested. “Dad’s not s’posed to be home until tomorrow.” He nodded at the TV. “You’re missing your stupid show, perv boy.”
“Keep it up, asshat, and the prank war starts back up again…tonight.”
“What? You want to be bare-assed, on the receiving end of that freaking paddle again?” Sam sounded incredulous as he stared at Dean in mild shock. He shook his head sadly. “You must be stupider than I thought.”
“Shaddup!” Dean snarled. He gazed at the blonde in the swimsuit on the TV with lusty adoration. “Pamela Anderson, dude…what a rack…” he sighed, eyes glazing at the pornographic images his brain was suddenly conjuring up.
“God, is that all you think about?” Sam said in disgust. “It’s bad enough you jack off like twenty times a day!”
Dean’s eyes never left the glow of the TV screen as he replied, “Hey, at least I’m attracted to the chicks, unlike you, who pants over that Hasselhoff dude, huh, Sam?” He reached over to tap Sam’s knee, giving the younger boy a knowing wink.
Sam let out a snort that was half shock and half anger. “I DO NOT –“
The front door slammed, startling both Dean and Sam.
“Boys!” John Winchester’s voice boomed out over the noise of the television as his stern gaze traveled from his eldest child to his youngest. “Don’t you have better things to do than sit around insulting each other?”
“Dad..uh..” Sam stuttered, surprise clearly evident in his blinking stare. “You’re home…” he finished lamely.
Dean, ever cool, just offered his dad a wide-eyed look of innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything.”
John wasn’t buying that for a minute. He continued to contemplate his boys. “I’m sure I can find something to keep you two busy,” he threatened.
Dean straightened up, setting his feet on the floor, trying to appear contrite. “No sir, I’m good.” He looked over at his brother. “Sammy?”
Sam’s eyes darted nervously between Dean and John. He quickly snatched up his cell phone from the coffee table, grimacing a little at remembering where it had been. “I was just trying to call Pastor Jim on a reference, sir,” Sam said.
John frowned. “I thought I told you to have that done before I got back.”
“You weren’t supposed to be back yet!” Sam countered hotly, then lowered his voice as he glared at Dean. “Besides, how could I get anything done with Dean and his dick getting in the way.”
Dean snickered, then thought better of it when he caught sight of his dad’s warning look. He coughed loudly, staring at Sam in mock offense. “Quit talkin’ about my dick, Sam. Jeez, awkward much?”
Sam’s icy glare spoke volumes. Dean chose to ignore it. Sam pointed at the TV in exasperation. “Like I could have called him when you’ve got the volume so loud anyway.”
Dean scowled. “Shut up, Sam!”
John raised a brow at that and fixed Dean with an accusatory look. “Turn it off, Dean. We have work to do tonight, apparently.”
That got a snicker out of Sam, followed by a sly elbow to Dean’s ribs. Dean’s fist balled up, but John caught the movement and stopped his eldest before he could apply a punch.
“Dean! I’m not kidding.” John moved further into the room, dropping his duffle onto the armchair near the couch and leveling a warning glare at both boys. “If you two knuckleheads can’t get it together, I’ll get it together for you.”
Dean was too incensed by Sam’s continued snickering to pay heed to his father’s tone. He reached over and shoved Sam hard enough to knock the younger boy’s head against the wall behind the couch.
“Daad!” Sam whined, reaching up to cradle the back of his head.
“Saaammy!” Dean imitated his brother in a high falsetto and Sam stuck his tongue out at him.
John had had enough. He didn’t know what the hell was going on between his sons, but it was going to stop. Now. He made it over to the couch in two long strides, his hand snaked out to grab Dean by the wrist and roll the boy to the side, exposing his backside for a single hard swat, which he delivered without warning.
“Hey! OW!” Dean blinked up at his father, jaw dropping open in shock. “Daaad!”
Sam took the opportunity to reach over and surreptitiously kick Dean again. He figured Dean was too busy with their dad to offer up even token revenge. He was wrong. Despite their father standing over them, Dean lunged for Sam, his face darkening with rage.
“That’s it, you little twerp!” Dean roared as he aimed a smack at Sam’s head, not caring where the blow landed as long as it landed. “I told you no more kicking –“
John dove into the fray before it got out of hand, grabbing Dean by the scruff of his neck, restraining him, while he pulled Sam forward, pressing the young teen’s face down towards the couch cushions so that he could get in two good swats to Sam’s rear end. Sam yelped and went still.
“Dad!” he cried in dismay, reaching back to block any further swats.
John let his belligerent offspring go, but shot them a glare, daring them to make another move. Dean sat up, straightening the collar of his rumpled t-shirt, properly subdued. He slowly slid off the couch to turn off the TV as Sam picked up his phone from where it had fallen on the floor. Sam glared at Dean and Dean snarled right back at Sam.
“I can do this all night, boys,” John spoke up, his voice low and dangerous.
“Yeah, right,” Sam muttered under his breath as he dialed Jim Murphy’s number.
John leaned down into Sam’s face, forcing the boy to lean back, eyes widening a little. “That’s yes, sir,” John hissed and Sam nodded, cheeks suffusing with red.
Dean smirked, enjoying watching Sam get put on the spot. “Who ya calling, Sammy? 1-800-IMA LOSER?”
Dean took a step back when his father swung around on him, eyes blazing. “Dean James, this is your last warning! Leave your brother alone!” John barked.
“But…but…” Dean stuttered, paling slightly as his dad towered over him. “Yes sir,” he said quietly and then quickly flicked off the TV. He turned back to the couch, shooting Sam a dirty glare, but Sam was busy on the phone.
“Hi, Jim.”
“While you’re just standing around, son, I want to see that research I asked you to do,” John said, knowing full well that Dean most likely wouldn’t be able to produce even a page of it. He was beginning to get a picture of what had happened while he was gone, and it didn’t bode well for either boy.
“Um, research?” Dean asked. He licked his lips.
“Yeah, Dean,” John said, his voice full of impatience. “Research. On the hunt.”
Sam’s voice interrupted their conversation. “Just wanted to check a reference with you – no…I was gonna call earlier, but well…” Sam gazed over at Dean, his tone more condescending than a fourteen-year-old had a right to be. “You know how Dean is.”
Dean reacted as Sam thought he would. He coughed loudly, managing to blurt out a “kiss ass” in between the coughs that was intended for Sam’s ears only. John sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his patience quickly taking a back seat to the anger beginning to boil in his gut.
Sam ignored Dean and continued, only too happy to explain in detail to Pastor Jim what had happened, thereby ensuring that their dad would hear as well. Sam was a master of tattling by proxy.
“No sir, it wasn’t that. He had my phone down his pants,” Sam explained earnestly to Jim.
John gave Sam an odd look, hoping that little revelation had been for dramatic effect only then let his gaze settle on Dean. Dean offered up a crooked smile and shrugged.
“Nope, I wiped it off before using it,” Sam continued, making a face.
“You sonuvabitch!” Dean howled as he pounced on top of Sam, attempting to wrestle the phone away from his brother. John choked, realizing his child hadn’t been exaggerating. “How ‘bout I tell him what you’ve been doing? Huh? How ‘bout that?” Dean snarled.
“Hey!” Sam yanked the phone back, pulling it in towards his chest, turtling up around it as Dean continued to pry it loose. Sam managed a pleading look up at his father. “ DAAAD!” he complained loudly.
John once again acted as referee and yanked Dean up off his little brother. With a menacing scowl and a rough shake, John directed Dean towards the kitchen. “All right, mister, you’re coming with me.” He nodded at Sam. “Sam, get that reference checked and then park it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam answered dutifully. He turned back to the phone. “Pastor Jim? I’m really sorry ‘bout that. Man, Dean’s on a rip tonight or something…” Sam leaned back against the arm of the couch, making himself comfortable. “Nah, just been his usual charming self, going on about…uh…well, never mind…”
Dean didn’t catch the rest of the conversation as he was dragged unceremoniously out of the living room by the collar of his t-shirt.
“Dad!” Dean tried, but John cut him off. He’d heard enough for one night.
“Stow it! Let’s go.” John released his grip on Dean once they were in the kitchen. He pointed to the floor near the table and Dean trudged over to the spot, waiting while his father rummaged through one of the drawers near the stove.
“Gigantor started it,” Dean stated with a sullen pout, but then wished he’d never opened his mouth when he watched his father turn around to face him, a wooden spoon gripped tightly in one hand. Oh fuck!
John crossed the tiled floor to stand in front of his son. “You have the research or not?” he asked simply.
Dean’s eyes fell guiltily to the tops of his scuffed boots. “No sir. I was gonna, uh, work on it later.” He chanced a look up at his dad, giving the older man a wistful smile. “I got a little distracted…”
John’s jaw tightened. “Damn it, Dean! This stuff is important!”
Dean nodded meekly. “Yessir, I understand.”
“A helluva lot more important than Baywatch,” John said, with just enough sarcasm to bring a blush to Dean’s face.
“Sammy’s better at the book stuff, Dad,” Dean said, looking up hopefully. “I shoulda been with you, watching your back.”
John shook his head. “It was a routine scouting trip, Dean. I didn’t need anybody to watch my back. Your lack of interest in the research part of this job is no excuse for not getting it done, especially after I made it an order.” He pointed the spoon at Dean. “And, I warned you before to keep a lid on the bickering.”
Dean’s temper flared. “You can’t lay all this on me!”
“You’re the oldest, you know better,” John said, voice hard.
“But, Sam’s been a little bitch for the past two days for absolutely no reason,” Dean pleaded.
“And it’s obviously been affecting both of your heads,” John said caustically. “I’m gonna talk to Sam later, but right now, you turn around, drop the jeans and assume the position.”
Dean’s face fell. With a heavy sigh, he slowly turned towards the table, hands going to the fly of his jeans to undo them. “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath as he bent over, planting his elbows onto the table. “I am so gonna kick Sam’s ass for this…”
“Focus on your own ass, son,” John said as he brought the spoon down sharply across Dean’s bared backside.
The crack was loud and it stung. Dean hissed, gritting his teeth, as an uncomfortable warmth bloomed over his rear end. You are so fucking dead, Sammy, Dean thought, and then his mind became fully focused on the pain as his dad brought the wooden spoon down over and over, aiming rapid fire swats all across his seat.
****
Sam grimaced slightly at the loud smacks coming from the other room. He tried to ignore them as he fished his laptop out from the cushions of the couch where Dean had hidden it. Well, sat on top of it was more the case. He tried to pay attention to what Jim Murphy was saying to him on the other end of the phone.
“No sir, he’s uh, talking to Dean,” Sam said in reply to Jim’s question of whether or not Sam’s father was in the room.
“Talking, huh?” Jim asked, unable to keep the amusement from his tone. Even over the phone, he could hear the commotion. “You sure your dad’s just talking to your brother, Samuel?”
Sam sighed, glancing out towards the hall. “Nossir, he’s spanking him,” he said quietly, not wanting to lie to the Pastor. He made a face. “M’ probably next…”
“Oh?” Jim questioned, a little surprised. “And just what did you do to earn yourself such a dubious honor, young man?”
“Jeez, you know how it gets sometimes,” Sam said, wincing when he heard the first of Dean’s loud howls. He wasn’t looking forward to his turn. “I couldn’t help it…” Sam said. He was finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the spanking taking place down the hall.
“Sam, why don’t you tell me what happened, son,” Jim coaxed.
****
Dean clamped down on his lower lip almost drawing blood as he swallowed back a grunt of pain. His butt was on fire from the succession of swats his dad had planted all over the tender flesh of his rear and thighs, but he was damned if he was going to give either him or Sam the satisfaction of knowing how much it freaking hurt!
John knew Dean well enough to understand what his son was trying to do, and he increased the tempo of the spanking, meaning to break the boy of his stubbornness. Dean bucked suddenly, unable to take the heat any longer.
“Daaad! OW!” he yelped, half-rising from the table. “I’ll do the research! OW! I swear!”
John placed a hand to Dean’s back, gently pushing the boy back down as he continued to administer the wood spoon to Dean’s bottom. “You’re the oldest, Dean. It means more responsibility. I don’t want to hear of you slacking off like this again.”
“No SIR!” Dean gritted out, then flinched at a particularly scorching swat. “OW!”
John checked his son’s blazing backside, noting the bright red color, and finished the spanking up with ten hard swats to Dean’s sit spots, eliciting a disconsolate wail from his boy. Dean laid across the kitchen table limply.
“We clear on this?” John softly asked him.
“Yessir,” Dean said sullenly.
John nodded, setting the spoon down on the table. “Good. Now cut the attitude.”
“Yessir,” Dean replied.
John laid a calloused hand on Dean’s back, letting the teen know all was forgiven. Dean rose from the table top, grimacing as his sore muscles protested the movement. He reached down and gingerly drew his pants back up, trying not to groan when the fabric scratched across his raw flesh, creating an intense sting.
Dean glared balefully at the spoon, reaching back to rub some of the sting out of his rear end. He frowned at his father. “Dude! Did you steal that thing from Bobby?”
The question was met with a ghost of a smile. “Nope. You think Singer’d ever give up his spanking spoon?” John nodded at the implement on the table. “That one’s new. And, it works pretty good, huh?” Dean scowled. John’s smile grew wider. “Go on now,” he said, “I want to see your brother. Send him in.”
“Gladly,” Dean purred. He grinned, despite the throbbing ache of his butt, and headed back for the living room to get Sam. “Hey, Sam!” he hollered from the hallway. “Dad wants to uh, talk to you!” Dean chuckled. Yeah, more like dad’s spoon was going to be discussing a few things with Sam’s ass.
Sam was still on the phone when Dean came into the living room, his gait a bit stiff and slow. The spanking had taken its toll. Nevertheless, Dean perked up a little as he sauntered over and kneed his brother in the leg to get his attention.
“Hey, tweedle-dumbass, Dad wants to –“
“Fuck off!” Sam hissed in Dean’s direction, one hand over the cell phone. He ignored the sour look Dean shot at him in favor of finishing up his conversation with Pastor Jim. “No, sir, I tried – but, I needed to call you. Yeah, thanks, look, I gotta go,” Sam eyed Dean who was making a hurried motion to wrap up the call. “Dad wants to talk to me.”
“Oh yeah,” Dean said, “He wants to TALK to you all right, little brat.”
Sam stood up and started for the kitchen, still on the call with Jim. “What? Yeah, I know, but he was sitting on my laptop and had my phone down his pants…”
Dean caught Sam’s eye and flipped him off. “You’re such a tattletale, Sam!” he chided as the boys walked into the kitchen side-by-side. “What’re you? Ten still? You big baby!”
“Let’s go, Sammy,” John said. He held out his hand, motioning for the phone.
Sam glanced briefly at his father and then continued talking, earning a spectacular eye roll from Dean.
“No sir, that was what I needed – well, obviously Dad’s home from the hunt…” Sam let a small smile spread over his lips as he listened to whatever Jim was saying.
“Jeez, Sammy, you want the Pastor to talk to Dad for you?” Dean griped, finally unable to stand the stalling tactics any longer. His voice was saccharine sweet. “Too pansy-ass to face the music, Samantha? Hm?”
John corralled his oldest child and swatted the boy’s sore behind, once, giving Dean an ominous glower.
“OW! What the f-I mean what was that for?” Dean said. He palmed his stinging butt, giving his father a pained expression.
John indicated the little silver cell clutched in Sam’s hand. “Once your brother’s off that phone, Dean, you are sanitizing that thing.” He pointed to the far wall. “Until then, you go stand in the corner and keep your trap shut.”
One look at his father’s face was all it took for Dean to make a beeline for the nearest corner.
Sam was still deep in conversation with Pastor Jim, which only served to irritate John further. He was done playing games.
“Sam, give me that phone!” John demanded.
“I-“ Sam faltered, realizing his dad meant business. He quickly handed the phone over.
“Hey Jim,” John said, his voice tired. “Yeah, thanks for…”
“I did *not* have the stupid phone down my pants,” Dean petulantly interrupted from the corner. “Well…not down my shorts anyway…” he added grudgingly.
John shook his head. “What, Jim? Yep,” He eyed Sam who stood watching resolutely. “I’m gonna take care of that right now. All right. Talk to you soon. Bye.” John ended the call and laid the phone down beside the spoon on the table. He turned back to his youngest. “Sam, you care to explain yourself?”
A malicious chuckle broke the silence and John swiveled toward Dean, still in the corner with a smart ass grin plastered on his face
“Dean,” John growled. “I said quiet!”
“Yessir,” came the dutiful reply from the corner, although the smirk on Dean’s face remained behind.
Sam decided to strike while the iron was hot. “I did the research, Dad,” he stated earnestly. “But, Dean stole my laptop when I went to the bathroom. He was sitting on it when I came out, and he put my cell down his pants, for crying out loud.”
John looked at his oldest child incredulously. “Dean, is all that true?”
“I’d a called Jim sooner, but Dean wanted me to watch some – porn show,” Sam added hastily.
Dean made a strangled noise of disgust in the back of his throat. Forgetting where he was, he whirled around, eyes blazing. “Oh, c’mon!” he said, a look of utter disbelief contorting his features. “You gonna believe that load of bullsh- I mean, crap?”
John’s attention switched to Sam, who although exasperated, was still calm and collected, cluing John in as to which of his children was being more truthful.
Dean continued, waving an angry hand in Sam’s direction. “He’s just mad ‘cause Janie Wilshire shot him down at school, and he’s looking for a little payback, and of course, I’m the target.”
Sam’s eyes went dark. He’d told Dean about Janie in the strictest of confidence, and that trust had just been broken. His chest tightened with hurt. The next words were out of Sam’s mouth before he could stop them.
“Well at least I don’t spend my time hanging around losers, smoking weed all –“ Sam stopped abruptly, horror stricken. “Oh, shit,” he whispered, his face going pale.
“Dude!” Dean choked, eyes widening at the awful betrayal.
John’s voice was calm, but angry. “I’m only gonna ask this once, boys, and I want the truth. Were you smoking pot while I was gone?” His steady glare flicked from one boy to the other as they stood in a heavy uncomfortable silence.
Sam had the decency to blush over ratting Dean out, but remained silent. He didn’t need to remind his brother that he’d been at home while Dean was at the park getting high.
Dean met Sam’s resolute stare, reading the accusation there and accepting it. He’d fucked up and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. And as such, Dean didn’t see any reason to drag his little brother down with him. At least not for this offense. While he wasn’t above sharing out the blame when it was rightfully earned, Dean’s sense of chivalry included a certain unspoken protectiveness over Sam, and that meant Dean wouldn’t lie to get his brother into trouble, even if he wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards him.
Squaring his shoulders, Dean faced his father. “Yes sir. I was smoking some weed,” he whispered.
The disappointment on John’s face was apparent, and Dean cringed inwardly while staring a hole in the floor between his feet.
Sam licked his lips, nervous, as he watched the silent interplay between his father and brother. While he was still pissed at Dean’s earlier teasing and taunting, the anger wasn’t quite so edgy now. It was tempered with sympathy as Sam realized how badly Dean was in for it.
“Sam? You have anything else you want to say?” John asked, watching as the fourteen-year-old fidgeted, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else right then. “Were you part of this?”
Sam shook his head, not looking up.
“It was just me, Dad,” Dean stated quietly, his hazel eyes full of shame. “Sam didn’t have anything to do with the pot. He’s too good a kid for that shit.”
Sam’s head snapped up at the unexpected compliment, and he blushed, feeling even worse for having tattled on Dean.
“I’m real sorry,” Dean muttered, to both his father and brother.
John grunted, his displeasure written all over his worn face in the set of his jaw and the deep crease between his brows. “So, Dean’s stupidity was the only reason you didn’t get that reference checked, Sam?” he asked softly.
Sam looked up in dismay. “That’s not true! I was there when Caleb offered – “ Once again, Sam stammered to a halt, catching himself. “Um, yessir,” he amended, but it was too late.
John’s eyes narrowed. “Caleb offered?!”
Dean froze. What the hell was Sam doing? He knew bringing up Caleb would only serve to make things worse, not better, for Sam’s backside. What kind of a moron throws himself under his own bus? he thought. He shook his head at Sam, trying to get the boy to shut up. To not incriminate himself any further.
“Dad, this is all my fault!” Dean blurted, hoping to pull the attention off Sam. “Sammy was just doing what you told him to do. I was the one goofing off…I’m the one you should be pissed at, seriously.”
“Believe me, kid, I’m plenty pissed,” John said angrily.
Dean glared at Sam, willing him to be silent. Sam glared right back, but thankfully didn’t open his mouth. Dean sighed heavily and licked his lips. “So, you want me back over the table, sir?” He nodded with his chin, and started towards the spot he’d been in only moments earlier.
John pointed to the spot directly in front of him. “I want you to get your butt over here. Now, Dean.”
Sam began to backpedal towards the kitchen door. Getting his brother in trouble was one thing, watching him actually catch it was totally different, and not something Sam wanted to stick around for. Dean never did when Sam was the one getting his butt paddled, and Sam deemed it only right that he give his brother the same courtesy.
John caught Sam trying to slink from the room and put a stop to it. “ Sam. Bring the spoon over here, please.”
Sam’s hands instantly flew behind his back, his eyes going wide. “Dad!” he croaked out, horrified.
Dean shook his head sadly. “No, Sammy. Do what Dad says,” he said quietly.
Sam backed up two more steps instead, eyes darting wildly toward the hallway and freedom.
“You gonna argue with me?” John questioned his youngest as he watched him with a sense of enraged disbelief.
“It’s okay,” Dean said, hoping to calm Sam down and get him to follow orders before all hell broke loose.
Sam stood, frozen to his spot on the floor, trembling. “Dad, I can’t,” he whined, shaking his head, eyes shot with fear.
“Sam!” Dean pleaded. “Dude, just do what he says, for God’s sake!” Dean gave Sam a pleading look, begging his brother not to dig the hole any deeper for himself.
John reached behind him to grab a chair from the table and scoot it around, so he could sit down. He kept one hand firmly clamped onto Dean, his grim visage fixed on his youngest.
“Two minutes ago, you were trying to get your brother into trouble,” John said severely, looking straight at Sam. “What’s the difference now, Sammy?” he cocked his head, quirking a brow at the teen. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Sam opened his mouth, then shut it, swallowing hard. Dean closed his eyes, groaning in frustration. Sometimes Sam just didn’t get it.
“Well, Samuel?” John asked, waiting.
“Nothing – no!” Sam sputtered, his face turning crimson suddenly at being put on the spot.
“Dad, leave him alone,” Dean said, but John ignored him.
“Answer me,” John demanded again, pinning Sam with a look.
And something inside Sam suddenly snapped, the rage boiling over. “IF YOU’DA FUCKING BEEN HOME, D’YOU THINK DEAN WOULD’VE BEEN SMOKING POT?” he screamed, his face darkening.
Dean’s jaw dropped open and he just stared dumfounded at Sam.
John leaned forward in his chair, eyes flinty and cold. “Watch your mouth, little boy.”
“Oh, Christ…” Dean moaned.
Sam looked like a bull who’d been taunted one too many times with the red cape. His stance was rigid, hands balled into fists at his sides, feet wide apart, eyes blazing. The teen was just itching for a fight with someone, and now that Dean had been brought down, their father was next in line apparently.
“I’m SORRY!” Sam snapped, the sarcasm in his voice negating any sincerity the words might have offered. He glared at his father. “Dean’s stuck here with me because YOU make him! What else do you think he’s gonna do, when-“ Sam’s breath hitched, his eyes filling with tears, “When he’s so miserable!”
Dean blinked, stunned. “Dude,” he said gently, “I don’t think that…Sam!” he called, desperate as Sam pivoted smartly and stomped out of the room.
Dean and John listened to the sound of heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs and the bedroom door slamming above their heads.
“I don’t think that,” Dean whispered once more. He felt his father’s hand give his arm a squeeze.
“I know you don’t, buddy,” John said softly. He let Dean go and stood up. “I’m gonna go up and talk to him, You park yourself in the corner.”
Dean nodded and reluctantly trudged over to the wall, shoulders slumped in resignation. This day was turning out to be a nightmare. He kicked the wall once.
John moved towards the hall, but stopped just inside the kitchen doorway, turning. “Dean?”
“Yessir?”
“Move so much as a muscle from there while I’m gone, and you won’t be sitting for a week. We’re not done discussing your little issue. We clear?”
Dean nodded. “Yessir. Clear,” he said unhappily. Just fuck.
John headed upstairs, rubbing a hand absently through his hair, standing it on end. This was not what he expected to come home to this evening. He rapped once on the closed bedroom door, then opened it, not waiting for a response. Sam lay on the twin bed farthest from the door, face swallowed by his pillow. He didn’t bother to look up when John took a seat on the edge of the bed beside him.
“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” John asked.
“No,” Sam mumbled into his pillow. He sniffled loudly enough for John to deduce he’d been crying.
John sighed. “That what you really think, dude? Dean’s trying to get away from you? Get away from me?”
Sam rolled over to face his father, eyes burning with accusation. “You drink to get away from thinking about hunts,” he stated matter-of-fact like. “The drug class we took at school says it’s just a bigger escape mechanism than alcohol.” He stared down at the bedspread, jaw quivering. “Dean doesn’t have anything to escape from…except me.” He choked on a repressed sob.
“Hush, buddy,” John said. He reached down brushing Sam’s bangs back from his face. “Dean’s got a lot more on his mind than you’d think, okay? It’s not about you.”
Sam sat up, eyes alight. “Yes it is! He’s always frustrated with me, having to stay behind from hunts to babysit me!” Fresh tears spilled from the boy’s eyes and John’s heart clenched. “I can do it, Dad – I can just go to school, n’ wait for you, and I can call Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim if something happens.” Sam’s voice cracked. “I’m not that awful…”
John’s lips thinned and he gave Sam a gentle shake. “You’re not awful, Sam, and it has nothing to do with you! And we’re not leaving you here alone, you hear me?”
“You should!” Sam insisted, jaw jutting out, ready to fight for this if he had to. “I’m just…just a burden to you and Dean.” He threw up his hands. “I’m useless!”
John swiped wearily at his stubbled jaw. Jesus, when had things gotten so fucked up? He took Sam’s chin in his hand and raised the teen’s face up to meet his. “You are just a kid, damn it, and Dean’s not much more than one. You’re both MY responsibility – both of you, and if I want you to do something, I’ll tell you. When I want Dean by my side, then that’s where he’ll be.” He gripped his youngest’s chin a little tighter. “You are NOT a burden, Samuel Michael Winchester. You’re my boy, and I love you and so does your brother.”
Sam began to sob, his chest heaving. John gathered the boy up into his arms, pulling Sam onto his lap. “Dean may not always show it, but you are the most important thing to him, always will be.”
Sam continued to cry, his hot tears soaking into John’s plaid shirt. “I t-tried…I did!” Sam gasped in between sobs.
John rocked his son, holding him tight. “Shh, shh. What did you try?” he softly asked.
“I didn’t mean to disappoint you! Not again!” Sam choked out.
John’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Disappoint me? You didn’t disappoint me, Sammy.”
“Yes, I did!” Sam insisted.
John pulled Sam from him, peering down to catch his son’s eye. “Buddy, from what you said, it sounds like you did exactly what I asked of you. Isn’t that so?”
“No!” Sam shook his head in disagreement. “I hadn’t called Pastor Jim. I could’a used my cell earlier – I should’a, b-but,” he hesitated, biting his bottom lip, face contorted in shame. “I didn’t mean to get Dean in trouble!” he blurted then broke into tears once more.
“Okay, bud, take a breath,” John ordered as he patted Sam’s back. “You know Dean’s the one responsible for you, not the other way around.” Sam gave a reluctant nod, swiping at his nose. John continued. “No way you should've been bickering with him like that,” Sam winced. “but that doesn't mean you're the one to blame if he was ragging on you. I'm gonna talk to him about it and then I'm gonna have a little chat with Caleb, too. But you did your best, and that's all I ask.”
John settled back against the headboard, Sam in his arms. He spoke into Sam’s hair, voice low but firm. “I don’t appreciate the language you were throwing out at me, and the bickering between you and Dean stops now. Got it?”
“Yessir,” Sam said quietly, sniffling.
John offered his child a smile of encouragement, letting Sam know things were okay between them. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, a puzzled look on his face.
“You hear that?” he asked Sam.
Sam quieted and listened too, and then nodded, a small smile on his face. “Uh huh,” he said. He glanced up at his father, eyes crinkling in amusement. “Sounds like someone’s drumming.”
John listened a little bit longer, then slid Sam off his lap and wandered closer to the open doorway, cocking his ear towards the stairway. His eyes went wide. Son of a bitch. It was Zeppelin! Misty Mountain Hop, to be exact, John decided upon hearing the soft crooning accompanying the rhythmic beats his oldest son was banging out against the wall downstairs. His face darkened. That little idiot was so asking for it.
“What is it, Dad?” Sam asked, curious, from his perch on the bed.
“You’re brother’s death knell,” John replied dryly. “Okay, bud, go get your PJs on, and then into bed.”
He turned away from the doorway, giving one last look towards the stairway and the noise coming from downstairs, his palm itching to do some damage to a certain smart-ass eighteen-year-old’s bottom.
Once he’d changed into his pajamas, Sam crawled into bed and let his dad pull the covers up over him.
“You stay put, you hear?” John said. He patted the seat of Sam’s sweats gently and then tucked the boy in tightly.
“’Kay, Dad,” Sam said quietly.
“Good boy,” John said, smiling. “Love you, Sammy.”
Sam nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He flipped over, hugging his pillow tightly, his eyes welliing up with tears.
“I’ll be up later,” John promised. He felt so helpless as to how to ease Sam’s hurt, and it tore at him. “Get some rest, kiddo,” he murmured.
John left Sam to his troubled thoughts and slipped down the stairs, careful to make no sound as he stealthily moved up right behind Dean, watching with exasperation as his oldest boy stood, face to the corner, being anything but penitent.
In fact, Dean seemed to be having quite the time of it, singing slightly off key under his breath while he continued to pound out the beat to a song – currently a Bad Company tune, if John knew his rock music – against the drywall, making the picture frames next to him dance and sway along.
“I have heard the thunder…rollin’ across the sky…hmmm, mmm…I have seen the morning sun, over the mountain high,” Dean sang out, oblivious to his father standing behind him. “Evil wind, pass me by, troubled waters, pay me no –“
John had heard enough. “Dean!” he barked directly into his son’s ear.
Dean jumped, choking on his words. He went still as a statue, face turning a bright red.
“Didn’t I tell you to be still? Not move a muscle?”
Dean twitched slightly, then hung his head. “Um, yeah…I got bored.”
It was John’s turn to choke. “You got…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He was just too stunned. John took a few deep breaths to calm down, and then spun Dean around to face him. “Go into the kitchen and get me the spoon,” he said, the words coming out low and clipped.
Dean made no move to comply, and John bristled at Dean’s defiance.
“You and Sammy okay, then?” Dean asked carefully.
John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Not defiance then, just concern for Sam. He could deal with that. “We’re as good as it gets with us, I guess. Now, get the spoon,” he ordered, ending the conversation.
Dean nodded, returning quickly with the dreaded implement. He silently handed it over to his father as John took a seat on the couch. “Dad…you know I don’t think that, right? About, Sam, I mean?”
“He’s pretty shaken up, Dean,” John shot back in irritation. “What the hell were you were thinking? That is not the way you show you care about your brother!”
Dean studied his boots a moment, letting out a defeated sigh. “I know,” he mumbled. “I just…sometimes he just,” Dean raised his head up, frustration evident in his eyes. “Dad, I do watch out for him,” he said, his voice rising. “It’s just that sometimes he drives me up the wall, you know? He gets so pissy sometimes over the stupidest shit…”
“Dean, when you’re acting irresponsible, how do you think that makes him feel?” Dean squirmed. John went on. “He’s just a kid. He looks up to you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Dean reluctantly admitted, giving the coffee table leg a kick. He looked up at his father, eyes searching his dad’s face. When he spoke, it was with a sincerity and maturity that made John’s heart swell. “I’m sorry, Dad. And I’ll tell Sam that too.”
John nodded. “All right, buddy. But, you wanna tell me why you pulled something as stupid as getting high in front of your brother when you were supposed to be taking care of him?”
Dean offered up a sheepish shrug, a lopsided grin stealing over his lips. “Jeez, Dad, didn’t you ever do something dumb with your friends?”
John snorted. He wasn’t quite ready to open up that can of worms with his offspring. He opted for a lesson instead. “I did, Dean, and you know what happened?”
“I can guess,” Dean said wryly.
“That’s right,” John’s grin was wolfish as he tugged Dean down over his lap. “I got my butt busted, just like you’re gonna get right now.”
Although Dean wasn’t too thrilled at being upended over his father’s lap for a spanking at his age, much less twice in one evening, he didn’t fight it. Deep down inside, he knew it was deserved. It didn’t stop him from attempting to plea bargain though. “Don’t s’pose I can ask for a little leniency here, on account of being a dumb ass teenager?”” he asked politely.
John’s reply was less than sincere. “This is family tradition, son.” He tugged down Dean’s jeans and boxers, baring the boy’s already scorched bottom. Dean whimpered as his dad placed his rough hand against the tender flesh of Dean’s rear end. “Can’t buck tradition, Dean.”
"Dad, I SWEAR, I won’t ever touch weed again!"
“I know you won't,” John agreed somberly. He raised his palm and brought it smacking down. The sound rang out in the quiet house, quickly followed by a loud yelp from Dean. “Still doesn't change what you did, Dean.”
John began paddling the butt in front of him, pulling Dean in tight when the teenager began to buck and struggle under the punishing swats to his already sore behind. "Settle down," John warned.
Dean squirmed, yelping with each swat. "OW! Holy - Dad! Please! I swear! I'll become best friends with McGruff the crime dog from now on!"
John chuckled in amusement. “Glad to hear it, son.” He reached beside him to grab up the wooden spoon. Dean saw and moaned low.
"Dad! PLEASE!”
John ignored him. He had a message to get across. “You do NOT disobey me, Dean.” The spoon landed with a crack on the reddened flesh of Dean’s upper thighs, and the teen howled in agony. “You do NOT torment your brother.” The spoon cracked down twice more, welting the crest of Dean’s bottom.
Dean nearly jumped out of his skin as his nerve endings sang out in desperation. “OW! Dad! Man, that really hurts!”
John rolled his eyes, he didn't even bother saying it was supposed to hurt. They both knew that perfectly well.
“You do NOT take drugs when you're supposed to be watching your brother and working on a hunt!” The spoon mercilessly blistered Dean’s sit spots.
Dean’s eyes filled with tears at the intense sting. “I WONT!!! NEVER AGAIN! I SWEAR!” he bawled.
John finished the spanking with a flurry of swats, peppering Dean’s crimson bottom thoroughly. The blows were calculated to sting, and Dean would be left with a reminder of this discussion for the next several days.
“Alright, bud. we perfectly clear?” John challenged.
"YESSIR! I ain't touching ANY drugs – not even freaking baby aspirin - unless you say so! OWW!" he howled as John laid down four more final swats across the fleshy part of his son’s rear end.
Dean’s breath hitched from the aching burn all across his butt and thighs.
"M'sorry," he whimpered. "Um, Dad? Can I pleeease get up now?"
John helped Dean up. “ We're done. Up you get.”
Dean grimaced as he carefully pulled his pants back up. "I don't think I have any feeling left below my waist..." he sullenly observed.
John gave him a light smack on the butt, grinning evilly. “You sure?”
"DUDE!” Dean’s eyes shot wide, his hands flying to protect his bruised seat. He stared at his father, incredulous. “That was low, Dad,” he said, pouting slightly.
John just smiled and pulled Dean in, planting a kiss on the boy’s brow. "Wouldn't want you to think you were getting off easy."
"Yeah, wouldn't want that...would we?" Dean stated dryly as he rubbed his throbbing butt. "Can I go to bed now?"
John nodded. “Yep. I'll be up in a sec. And Dean?”
Dean stiffened slightly, wary. "Yes sir?"
“Slates' clean. Don't worry about it anymore, you hear?”
Dean’s stance relaxed a bit. He thought a minute and then nodded slowly, a soft smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. "Got it. Thanks, Dad. Uh, not for the ass beating...for the understanding part."
John shook his head at his son’s ability to still offer up platitudes, despite just having gotten his backside handed to him. “Get up to bed, smart ass. And I better not ever hear about anything like this happening again while I'm gone.“
Dean shook his head. "No sir. Done with the magic carpet ride. I'm good.”
Sam was asleep, his tearstained face pressed into the mattress, the pillow having fallen off of his head where he had it jammed over his ears. Listening to Dean getting spanked again had been more than he could handle.
Dean sidled into the darkened room and walked over to Sam. He bent down, flinching a little at the pull of his sore muscles, to pick up Sam's pillow. He hit Sam in the head with it lightly. "Hey, jolly green jerk off, guess you got off lightly this time huh?" Dean said with a small grin. There were no hard feelings in his voice.
Sam mumbled in his sleep and turned over, not quite awake. Dean frowned, watching, as a lone tear traveled down the youngest Winchester’s face. It was unexpected, and made Dean’s stomach twist uneasily. He’d thought his dad had said that everything was okay.
Dean stood, hesitant, watching his brother silently a minute more, then reached down to gently brush the tear from Sam's face. "I'll always be there for you, Sammy..." he whispered. He suddenly found it hard to swallow. "Always. And I don't think you're a burden, you big dope. You're my brother...I love you."
Sammy shifted again, brows furrowing as he dreamt of who knew what, Dean thought. Another tear spilled down, and Dean grew concerned. He carefully lowered himself down onto the side of Sam's bed, ignoring the incredible throbbing the move caused. Sammy was hurting worse than he was.
Dean reached over to brush the bangs from Sam's eyes and then began to hum, quietly, a simple tune he’d sung to Sam when he was a baby. It usually had a calming effect on the boy, but this time was different. Instead of relaxing him, Sam whimpered lightly and shifted once again, the covers tangling between his coltish legs.
Dean bent down to rub Sam's back, but Sam flinched at his touch and Dean pulled his hand away as if from a hot stove. His hand rose to his face, scrubbing at it in worry. "Sam? Sammy? You okay?" he asked, panic rising in his chest. No answer other than a tiny whimper from his brother.
John knew something was wrong the minute he entered the room and saw Dean leaning over his brother instead of getting ready for bed. “Dean?" There was no accusation in his voice, only concern.
Sammy whimpered again, his tear-streaked face shining in the moonlight coming through the curtained bedroom window.
Dean started and turned but relaxed slightly upon realizing it was his father standing in the shadows of the doorway. "Sam's having a nightmare or something. Just trying to calm him down. I got it, Dad," Dean said, trying to sound assured even though he felt anything but.
John came over, sitting down beside his youngest boy and pulling Sam onto his lap without waking him. He settled back against the headboard, kicking off his shoes."I gotcha, kiddo." He nodded at Dean to get ready for bed.
Dean’s lips pressed together tightly at the casual dismissal, but he got up and headed for the dresser to grab a pair of sweats to sleep in, his guilt overwhelming him. "M'sorry," Dean muttered quietly.
Sam turned into John's chest, his small hand wandering up to clench a fistful of John's shirt. John rocked the boy gently. “Shhh, shh.” he whispered to Sam, his heart breaking. Sam's tense body relaxed in John's arms.
John glanced over to Dean, who had quickly changed into his sweats and was now slowly crawling into his bed, looking about as lost and alone as he could be. John stopped the boy before he was completely settled in, his voice low and soft. "Come over here, Dean."
Dean stopped, one leg up on the bed, the other on the floor, but he didn’t turn around. "No, Sammy doesn't want me, Dad. He wants you.” John heard Dean’s breath hitch. “It's okay. I'm good," Dean lied, reaching down to adjust his pillow.
“Dean,” John said, a little more forcefully this time. Dean turned around, apprehension blanketing his features. “I want you,” John stated simply, catching the boy’s eye.
Dean couldn’t help the tears from spilling down his cheeks as he stared in silence at his father. "But, I let you down," he mumbled, and let out a small sob, then looked away in embarrassment. "I let Sammy down."
John shifted on the bed, making room for Dean. He patted the mattress. "I said don't worry about it anymore. Come over here, son." His tone let Dean know he wasn’t asking.
"It's so hard sometimes, Dad...I mean, I try.. but.." Dean let out another small sob and turned away. He sniffed and angrily wiped the tears from his face. Knowing his dad was waiting, Dean turned back and slowly walked over to his father, stance stiff, unsure.
John reached up a free hand and pulled his son down onto the crowded bed. Dean was forced to turn on his side to avoid hitting the mattress with his sore butt. "You're okay, Dean-o," John said.
Dean sat, carefully, and let his Dad pull him in to his chest, sharing the space with a still asleep Sam. "Jeez, I look like a big wussy crybaby or something," Dean griped, letting out a bitter laugh.
“For once in your life, Dean, just shut it,” John stated, smiling.
He relaxed down into the bed, pulling Dean in tight and close, wrapping his muscled arm around the older boy as added reassurance. Dean’s hand brushed Sam’s where it was still clutching their dad’s shirt, and Dean started to pull away until Sam reached up with his free hand to tightly grip a fistful of Dean’s t-shirt too.
Dean smiled at Sam's small gesture. He reached down to cover his brother's hand with his own. "Love you too, Sammy..." he whispered tightly. He lay back, snuggling into his father. "You too, Dad."
John kissed Dean's head in response. “Close your eyes, bud,” he gently ordered.
"Either of you ever say anything about this and I will deny it completely," Dean joked lightly but he did as he was told, shutting his eyes and relaxing into his Dad's side, letting go of his responsibility for once.
Sam just sighed in his sleep, burrowing deeper into John's chest.
It was a little while before John could drift off to sleep. He lay awake while Dean's breathing evened, finally matching Sam’s deeper, rhythmic one. The two boys covered him like blankets, their bodies warm and sweaty, but comforting to him. At last he let down his guard and fell asleep too, the pair of boys still clutched tightly, protectively to him.
THE END