Once Upon a Time
by Minx
From the script of the draft pilot for Supernatural:
(Dean and Sam talking about their father…)
SAM:
Hell. Think of what he’d do to us if we left.
A long beat. Dean thinks. Then, he SIGHS--
DEAN:
Do to us? Man, you know I’d blame everything on you.
(Sam smiles)
The Delwood Motor Inn
Forest City, Iowa
2005
Dean felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. It had been, in fact, three days since the last time his head had hit a pillow, so the exaggeration wasn’t overly inaccurate in his opinion. He groaned, burping up the sour taste of coffee, the bitterness coating the back of his tongue and making his nose wrinkle in distaste.
Not even three cups of the strong black liquid, chugged one cup after the other, had managed to wake his senses up enough to avoid having his hip collide painfully with the sharp edge of the dresser as he stumbled out of the bathroom a few moments earlier, bleary-eyed and brain dead. He absently fingered the bruise through his jeans, mentally berating himself for his clumsiness, and yet really too tired to deliver a decent scolding. Screw it; he could barely form a cohesive thought at this point.
He groggily sat down in front of Sam’s laptop, which was set up on the stained Formica table in the motel room’s tiny kitchenette, and continued to stare unfocused at the neat rows of black letters on the computer’s screen until his right eyelid began to twitch, the nerve underneath dancing in an erratic rhythm.
Dean rubbed at it with a forefinger. He knew lack of sleep, mixed with hours of reading useless websites and half-assed articles was causing the tic. He sighed, and turned to gaze longingly at his untouched bed. Sleep. Peaceful, dark, quiet, lazy sleep. Dean craved it like a junkie strung out and waiting desperately for a fix.
Instead of caving in to the temptation of slumber, Dean snatched up his empty mug with a scowl and forced himself to trudge blindly over to the ancient coffee machine sitting on the kitchenette counter. He stared morosely at the last inch and half of lukewarm coffee in the glass container, debating whether to throw the stale dregs out and start a fresh pot or to just suck it up and drink what was there.
He opted for the latter. He was too fucking drained to concentrate on measuring and pouring and all that jazz right now.
The first few bars of Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water suddenly burst through his fuzzy thoughts as Dean stood, frowning, coffee pot frozen halfway to his mug. Great. I’m hearing things now, he thought crabbily.
The refrain repeated itself and Dean’s brain finally caught on that it was his cell phone ringing and not some delusional hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.
He wandered back over to the table, switching the coffee mug in his hand for his phone and flipped it open, not even bothering to check who was calling. He knew who it was.
“Took you long enough, Indy,” Dean grumbled. “Tell me your little tomb raiding expedition paid off.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn that seemed to go on forever.
“Hi back,” Sam answered, dryly. “Good to know your sunny disposition is still holding strong, Dean.”
“Shut up,” Dean retorted. “You try going without sleep for 72 hours straight and see how ‘happy-happy, joy-joy’ you are!”
“Dude, I’m not the one that ate the enchanted apple,” Sam testily countered.
“I was hungry,” Dean said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.
“You’re always hungry,” Sam alleged. “I mean seriously. We’re working a job that’s practically drowning in Snow White lore and yet, you conclude somehow that it’s a good idea to eat an apple some old homeless hag on the street offered you? I don’t know, Dean. Did you have a secret lobotomy done when I wasn’t looking?”
The line was silent, the tension palpable between the brothers, until Dean finally spoke, a layer of exhaustion and annoyance coating his words. “You ate all the goldfish crackers,” he sullenly accused.
“What?” Sam sounded confused.
Dean sighed loudly before explaining. “If you hadn’t eaten the last of the goldfish, Sam, I wouldn’t have been so hungry and –“
“No. Uh uh. No way, man.” Sam interrupted Dean’s tirade before it could take full flight. “You are not pinning this on me!”
“You’re such a little bitch,” Dean muttered.
“Look who’s talking, jerk,” Sam retorted, with a note of affection.
Dean took a seat on the edge of his bed, thought better of it, and moved over to the chair he’d vacated earlier. “So, what’d you find out?”
“Uh, well, it looks like Bobby was right.”
“Big surprise,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, the apple you ate was charmed with some sort of sleeping curse. You eat it, you go to sleep and you never wake up.”
“I thought the chick in the story ended up living happily ever after,” Dean challenged. “A permanent trip on the coma express doesn’t sound like happily ever after to me!”
Sam chuckled softly.
“What?”
“Well, according to the legends, Snow White was awakened when Prince Charming kissed her.”
“I ain’t sharing spit with some dude, Sam,” Dean intoned darkly.
“Which is why you gotta stay awake, until we can break the curse,” Sam said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Listen, the markings on the tomb seemed to indicate some kind of ritual that will break the spell, but I can’t make out the writing, so I took some pictures and emailed them to Bobby.”
“Great,” Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “So, basically, it’s a waiting game now until Bobby can work his mojo and decipher what the ritual is.”
“Pretty much,” Sam said. The two boys were quiet a moment and then Sam nervously cleared his throat. “Um, there’s something else.”
“Dude, if you tell me we have to go round up a bunch of dwarves …” Dean snarled.
“No,” Sam said. “Of course not…It’s just…”
Dean grew impatient. “Sam! What?”
“Dad showed up at Bobby’s this morning.”
“Aw, crap.”
Of all the times for their father to come back early from a hunt, this was possibly the worst, Dean thought. He and Sam were supposed to be in South Dakota, resting up from injuries they’d got from a previous job. Injuries that Dean had argued were minor, in his opinion, but their father hadn’t seen it that way. The eldest Winchester had pretty much ordered both Dean and Sam to park it at Singer’s while he took off on the latest hunt solo.
When the Snow White gig had turned up while their dad was away, both he and Sam had figured it’d be an easy salt and burn, no more than a day or two before they were back in Sioux Falls with their dad none the wiser. Bobby had advised against it on principle but hadn’t put up a fight when the boys packed up the Impala. He’d merely warned them that karma had a funny way of coming back to bite you in the butt. Little did Dean realize how true that would turn out to be.
Sam tried to reassure his brother. “Bobby said he’d try to run interference for us.”
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s worked so well in the past,” Dean scoffed. He let out a groan of despair. “Maybe I should just opt for the coma.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed heavily. “Look, everything’ll work out. Let’s just wait and see what Bobby comes up with, okay? And…we’ll deal with Dad…later.”
Dean wasn’t so confident about the “later” part, nevertheless, he offered up his agreement.
“So, Sammy, on the way back here, can you stop at the store and pick up some NoDoz?” Dean asked, stifling another loud yawn. “The coffee isn’t doing it for me anymore.” He snorted. “In fact, the only thing it’s keeping awake is my bladder.”
“Sure, Dean, no problem,” Sam said, smiling to himself. “Anything else?”
Dean grinned, his eyes brightening a bit. “Yeah, get me some pie. If I’m gonna break the marathon record for number of hours without sleep, I deserve some kinda reward.”
***********
It didn’t take Bobby long after receiving Sam’s images of the tomb to decipher the ancient text needed to break the curse . He called the boys with the good news.
“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said with relief. “You’re like the Harry Potter of archaic languages. We owe you one, man. Again.”
Bobby grunted. “It ain’t my ass you should be kissin’, boy. Your daddy’s ‘bout ready to skin both you idjits alive, so I suggest you save the sweet talk for him. Just get your tails back here pronto. I’ve got all the stuff we need for the ritual here at the house.”
“We’re on our way,” Dean promised and ended the call.
He wasn’t sure whether to be elated about getting the curse broken or worried about what his father would to do him afterwards. He eyed the peach pie Sam had bought, still warm and waiting for him, sitting on the kitchenette counter, and pushed thoughts of curses and his dad’s wrath out of his mind.
“I don’t s’pose you got ice cream to go with it?” Dean inquired of his brother and grinned broadly when Sam shot him one of his classic bitch-faces.
**************************
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Singer Auto Salvage
Dean had insisted on driving, despite Sam’s logical advice to the contrary. Dean understood the dangers of falling asleep at the wheel, more so now when even a few seconds of shuteye could possibly mean never waking back up. But, he argued, with Sam driving like Miss Daisy, it would take forever to get to Bobby’s, plus it meant listening to bland, emo pop music all the way, and that would definitely put him into a coma in a matter of minutes. Dean won the fight, but not without a pissy comment from his little brother about being a bossy asshole. Dean smiled. He could live with that.
They ended up making it to Sioux Falls in under three hours, including a quick stop at a roadside diner outside of Jackson, Minnesota for a bathroom break and to refill their thermos with industrial strength coffee.
Bobby and John met the boys on the porch of Bobby’s rambling two-story house, Dean letting the older hunters practically carry him inside, he was so exhausted. Sam followed close behind. He explained the details of the botched hunt to both men as they set Dean down in a chair in the library and hurriedly prepared the ritual to break the curse.
John remained quiet, his jaw tightening as he listened to his youngest son.
“I told you two to stay here,” he finally snapped, leveling an ominous glare at Sam. “I told you to rest up while you had the time.”
Sam’s temper flared. “You know what? You can yell at us later, Dad. Right now, we need to get this curse broken, so Dean doesn’t end up sleeping the rest of his life away in some hospital bed!”
John’s eyes narrowed. “This would never have happened if you’d just followed orders!” He took a step towards Sam, anger curling off him in dark tendrils, but Bobby quickly intervened.
“Would you two put a cork in it?” he nearly shouted, exasperation lending harshness to his twang.
Bobby turned, fixing John with a stern look. “Sam’s right. We don’t have time to get into the whys or wherefores right now. Your boy’s about ready to drop, John.”
“And you,” Bobby said, twisting around to give Sam an equally serious glower, “This ain’t the debate club, boy. Keep your trap shut and try to follow orders, for once, without arguing about it first.”
Satisfied that both combatants would now behave, Bobby picked up the bronze bowl full of magical herbs and handed it to John while he directed Sam to light the ceremonial candles placed in a circle around Dean. That done, Bobby raised his arms toward the ceiling and began to recite the ritual’s incantation.
**************************
Several hours later…
The ritual had gone well. The curse was broken. Dean was upstairs, tucked into one of the beds in the boys’ room, catching up on much needed sleep, his soft snores providing a counterpoint to Sam’s occasional snorts and grunts as he too, slumbered deeply now that his brother was safe from harm.
John had stood in the doorway for several long moments, just watching his offspring, tousled heads peeking out from the covers, an errant leg or arm restlessly jerking in sleep every now and again. Time rolled back for John as he stood there. Dean and Sam appeared no more than innocent little boys to him instead of the hardened, strong young men they had become.
Back downstairs with Bobby, John let out a small laugh, bittersweet in tone. “It was so much easier when they were younger,” he admitted tiredly. He sat at Bobby’s cluttered kitchen table, nursing a glass of Wild Turkey. “I gave an order and they obeyed. No back talk. No running off and putting themselves in danger. They did as they were told.”
Bobby took a gulp from his own glass and sat back, eyeing his friend. “Seems to me there’s an easy answer for that, Johnny,” he said.
John quirked a brow at the older hunter.
“You’ve been gone awhile from their lives, Sam’s especially,” Bobby explained. “Them two knuckleheads of yours haven’t had to answer to anyone for their foolishness lately, so they’ve gotten a bit reckless.” A feral grin on his whiskered face, Bobby glanced over his shoulder, nodding appreciatively at the wooden spoon hanging on the wall behind him. “Seems to me a little reminder that Daddy’s back home wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”
John stared at the infamous spanking spoon, his lips curling up into a wry smile. “Singer, sometimes that mind of yours scares the hell out of me.” His eyes crinkled in amusement. “I think you might have the right idea here.”
**************************
Dean slowly awoke to a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and realized with a bit of dismay that he hadn’t eaten anything since the pie back in the hotel room in Iowa. Food was one of Dean’s top three loves, his car and sex being the other two. The Impala was safe outside in Bobby’s gravel driveway and there was no chance in hell of him scoring any nookie in this joint, especially not with Bobby and his father pulling guard duty. That left food to be taken care of, and Dean was unsurprised to discover he was famished.
He rolled over in the darkened room, hand reaching out to snag the little clock on the nightstand and drag it over closer to his face. The illuminated dial on it read one o’clock. AM or PM? he wondered.
Dean cast a cursory glance over to the bed opposite his, noticed the covers tossed back and the bed empty, and decided it had to be afternoon. Sam must be downstairs already.
Dean sat up on the edge of his bed and stretched lazily. He groaned in pleasure as the muscles in his back un-kinked. Scratching absently at his chest through his t-shirt, Dean finally arose and padded barefoot to the doorway, plans to raid Bobby’s refrigerator foremost in his mind. He was halfway down the dimly lit second floor hall when he heard a strange but vaguely familiar noise coming from one of the other bedrooms.
Dean stopped, puzzled, just outside the closed door, brows furrowing. What the hell was that? Curiosity got the better of him and he leaned in closer, concentrating on the sounds, recognizing voices and…something else.
“No sir!” came Sam’s muffled cry through the door, along with the sound of flesh striking flesh. “Ow, Dad! I promise!”
Another barrage of smacking sounds swiftly followed his brother’s plea, and Sam began yelping in distress.
Holy shit! No way! Dean thought in alarm. Dad was spanking Sam? Spanking him…on the bare, no less!
“Dude, he’s twenty-two…” Dean mumbled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
His uncertainty quickly turned to mischievous glee. Sammy was getting a spanking! Oh man, his baby brother would never be able to live this one down.
A lopsided grin on his face, Dean leaned his ear directly against the door to listen further.
There was a brief pause in the spanking while Sam and their father discussed something. Well, it was more their dad talking and Sam hastily agreeing to whatever was said, Dean smugly concluded. Yeah, one of the few times Sam won’t argue is when he’s over Dad’s knee getting his ass handed to him.
The swats started up again, this time sounding sharper to Dean’s ear. Sam seemed to have noticed the change as well, because his shouts grew louder and more plaintive.
Dean snorted. Dad must have switched up, whacking Sam with something other than his hand. Goes to figure, Dean reflected dryly. Sam’s ass was probably as thick as his head, and their father’s hand had undoubtedly been worn out.
The spanking went on for a bit more and then Dean heard his dad and Sam talking softly. Probably hugging and sharing their feelings, Dean surmised, his nose wrinkling at the sentiment.
Engrossed in the proceedings on the other side of the door, Dean never heard Bobby come up behind him, catching him off guard. Bobby decided to teach the boy a lesson and raised his right arm high and swung hard, delivering a stinging smack to Dean’s unsuspecting rear end.
“Sonuvabitch!”
Dean’s eyes went wide in surprise as he grabbed his smarting backside and straightened up. He swiveled around, scowling at the older man. “What the hell, Bobby?” he stuttered.
The door flew open wide, startling both Dean and Bobby. John stood there, eyeing both men, a thunderous look on his face.
“What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded.
“Out here?” Dean choked, brows jerking up in wonderment. He pointed past his father, into the room where Sam was busy yanking his jeans back up, face flushed in embarrassment. “Better question is what’s going on in there?”
“You really wanna find out?” John challenged.
Dean took one horrified look at the ‘spanking’ spoon in his dad’s hand, and began backpedaling, stopping only when he bumped into the solid wall of Bobby’s chest.
Dean swallowed and smiled weakly at his father, wishing he’d never gotten out of bed. “I’m actually fine with not knowing. Seriously, I’m good.”
“Yeah?” John offered his son a predatory smile. “Well tough,” he growled. “’Cause you’re due for the same little talk your brother just had, so get your ass in here.”
He stepped aside to make room and Sam took the opportunity, meekly scooting by his father, face downcast and covered by his shaggy bangs as he escaped out into the hallway, refusing to look anywhere other than the floor directly in front of him.
Dean watched with growing anxiety as the younger boy shambled towards the stairs, wincing and palming his butt every few steps. This did not look good.
“Dean.”
His father’s stern voice drew Dean’s attention back to the bedroom and the impending meeting with Bobby’s spoon. John began tapping the spoon against his pant leg in agitation, waiting for Dean to comply with his order.
Dean shot Bobby an affronted scowl. He jerked his head toward the wooden implement in his dad’s hand. “Why do you even still have that thing?” he questioned, a note of irritation mixing with the panic in his voice.
Bobby chuckled, enjoying the boy’s discomfiture. “Hell, I never throw anything out, you know that.” His grin turned sly. “You never know when something might come in handy. Who knew your daddy’d be needing that spoon again after all these years?”
“Real funny.” Dean shot the older hunter a flat glare of resentment.
He found the situation anything but amusing. That lousy spoon hurt like hell! It had been years since he’d had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of a spanking with it, and yet, the memory of its solid sting was not something Dean was likely ever to forget.
Still, Dean held onto the hope that somehow his dad had maybe worn his arm out a bit on Sammy earlier. Who am I kidding? he chided himself. When has an ass beating from Dad ever been less than spectacularly painful?
He sullenly trudged past his father and into the empty bedroom to await his punishment.
“You’re off my Christmas card list, Bobby!” Dean yelled halfheartedly over his shoulder.
Dean watched his dad share an amused look with Bobby before turning and shutting the bedroom door. Dean tried to smile innocently at his father, failed, and settled for a half-grimace and an attempt at Sam’s famous puppy eyes.
John snorted, eyeing his oldest child. “You really think that’s gonna work?”
“No, but I was kinda hoping the cute factor might lessen the ass kicking that’s coming,” Dean replied sheepishly.
John’s dangerous smile made Dean’s stomach flip-flop. “Oh, I’m not gonna kick your ass, Dean. I’m going spank it.” He held up the spoon, twisting it in his fingers. “With this.”
Dean made a face. “I think I’d kinda prefer you kicking it,” he said.
“Yeah? Well, you don’t get a choice,” John retorted as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. “Kind of like how you didn’t have a choice when I told you and Sam to stay here and grab some R&R while I was gone.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Dean argued, huffing in disagreement. “Sam’s stitches were nearly ready to get taken out, and I had a lousy shoulder strain and a couple of minor contusions.”
John cut his son off, eyes flinty. “A concussion is not a minor contusion, Dean.”
Dean shrugged. “Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe,” he said, and his father’s scowl darkened. “It’s not like I haven’t gotten conked on the head before and I’ve been fine.”
“Then let’s talk about you disobeying a direct order,” John countered and watched with satisfaction as the wind went out of his son’s sails. “Regardless of how you felt physically, I ordered you and your brother to stay put,” he growled.
Dean licked his lips, brows creased in thought. “Don’t guess I can blame that on the concussion, huh?” he tried. “Yeah, okay, you got me on that one, but honestly? We thought it was gonna be a simple in and out, Dad; just take a day or two at the most.” Dean sighed. “And I admit I probably shouldn’t have eaten that stupid apple,” he muttered.
“Probably?” John inquired caustically, brow quirked in disbelief.
Dean quickly corrected himself. “Right. Definitely shouldn’t have eaten it. And I totally apologize for blowing off orders like that too,” he added, looking remorseful. “But, seriously, Dad.” He gave his father a questioning look. “I’m twenty-six. Don’t you think I’m a little old for a spanking?”
John smiled coldly. “I’ll tell you what I told your brother when he asked the exact same thing earlier. As long as you’re acting irresponsibly, I have the right to discipline you as I see fit.” John shrugged. “I don’t care how old you are, Dean. You’ll always be my child and I’ll always demand some respect from you, and that includes following orders when I give them or face the consequences.”
“But, a spanking? Really?” Dean asked uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.
John just patted his lap expectantly. “Get the jeans down, son, and get over here. That’s an order, and for your sake, let’s hope you follow this one,” he said.
There was nowhere left to take the argument in Dean’s mind, so with a belligerent eye roll, he sidled up to his dad and hastily unzipped his jeans, yanking them down with a low growl of disdain.
“This is so stupid,” he mumbled as his father guided him over his lap, securing Dean by placing his left arm around the boy’s middle and snugging Dean up close, hand cupping his right hip.
“It may be stupid, but whose fault is it that we’ve even come to this?” his dad asked smartly as he took hold of Dean’s boxer briefs and dragged them down to his knees.
Dean felt a serious flush of heat rush to his face. He stared dully at the colorful patchwork quilt directly in front of his nose, wondering how in the hell he’d gone from badass hunter of all things evil to pathetic misbehaving child bent over his father’s knee in only a matter of days. Humiliating didn’t even begin to cover it, he decided.
A thought occurred to him that perhaps he was asleep still and having a nightmare. Dean brightened a little at that until his father’s hand connected solidly with his bare backside, the smack leaving behind an uncomfortable prickly heat in its wake. Okay, that stung, so definitely not asleep. And sure, it sorta hurt, but not that bad. I can-
His father laid down another firm swat, this one seemingly harder than the last one, followed by several more that trailed down Dean’s quickly pinkening ass and ended at the tender crease between cheek and thigh.
Dean’s random musings halted as he became acutely aware of the fierce warmth settling across his backside. He began to squirm, not really conscious of it; just instinctively trying to avoid the blazing smacks setting his butt on fire. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another swat without breaking down and whimpering in a very unmanly fashion, his dad stopped.
Dean relaxed, smiling cockily to himself.
That it? Well, pfft, that wasn’t too awful, he thought, wincing at the incessant sting. And then he felt his father shift, reaching for something and Dean let out a little bleat of panic. The spoon! He’d forgotten the freaking –
“Holy shit!” Dean hollered, as the wooden spoon singed his already sore bottom, each blazing smack making him jerk and hiss. “Jeez, Dad! You planning on leaving any skin back there?” Dean gasped, throwing his father a worried glance over his shoulder.
“You plan on paying me a little more respect and acting like a responsible adult?” John countered evenly, continuing the spanking. “Plan on taking my orders a little more seriously from now on?”
“Yessir!” Dean replied, all business. “No more disrespecting or disobeying! I swear!”
“Glad we could come to an agreement,” John said, smiling tightly. “Let’s just finish up here, then.”
Dean braced himself, for all the good it would do. He swore under his breath, eyes watering as his father delivered the last few swats with the spoon over his upper thighs and then stopped.
“Okay, Dean. I think we’re done here,” his dad stated, setting the spoon down on the bed.
Dean drew in a cleansing breath through his nose, amazed at how even the air seemed to feel rough against the tingling, sensitized skin of his ass and thighs. Gingerly, he slid off his father’s lap, stooping to grab up his underwear and jeans, carefully easing them back up over his throbbing rear end.
“Yup, just like old times,” he groaned, wincing.
“I mean it, Dean. You want to be treated like an adult then start acting like one,” John said. He stood up, leaning over to grab the spoon up from the bed.
Dean took a wary step away from his father, hands snaking behind him to protect his already sore butt.
John grinned, holding up the spoon. “Still a pretty effective deterrent isn’t it?”
“Yeah, so’s a shotgun,” Dean replied sourly. He rubbed at his stinging backside. “We done here? Can I go eat now and, you know, ice my ass down, or do we need to hug or something?”
“Smart ass,” John admonished. He nodded at the door to the room. “Go on. We’re done.”
Dean started for the door but he was brought up short when his father reached up to place a warm hand on the back of Dean’s neck, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Dean surprised himself by not pulling away. Instead, he leaned into the touch, raised his head to give his father a genuine smile, hazel eyes bright with emotion.
“Good to have you home, Dad,” Dean murmured softly.
“Good to be home, kiddo,” John replied.
John gave his son’s neck one last squeeze and then both men headed out into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something savory cooking on the stove drawing their attention and making both their stomachs rumble in appreciation.
“I think Bobby even has apple pie for dessert,” John commented as they headed down the stairs.
Dean stopped, turning to his father with a look of disgust and disbelief on his face. “Dude, seriously,” he said, raising his hands in front of him. “If I never see another apple anything, it’ll be too soon!”
THE END
(Dean and Sam talking about their father…)
SAM:
Hell. Think of what he’d do to us if we left.
A long beat. Dean thinks. Then, he SIGHS--
DEAN:
Do to us? Man, you know I’d blame everything on you.
(Sam smiles)
The Delwood Motor Inn
Forest City, Iowa
2005
Dean felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. It had been, in fact, three days since the last time his head had hit a pillow, so the exaggeration wasn’t overly inaccurate in his opinion. He groaned, burping up the sour taste of coffee, the bitterness coating the back of his tongue and making his nose wrinkle in distaste.
Not even three cups of the strong black liquid, chugged one cup after the other, had managed to wake his senses up enough to avoid having his hip collide painfully with the sharp edge of the dresser as he stumbled out of the bathroom a few moments earlier, bleary-eyed and brain dead. He absently fingered the bruise through his jeans, mentally berating himself for his clumsiness, and yet really too tired to deliver a decent scolding. Screw it; he could barely form a cohesive thought at this point.
He groggily sat down in front of Sam’s laptop, which was set up on the stained Formica table in the motel room’s tiny kitchenette, and continued to stare unfocused at the neat rows of black letters on the computer’s screen until his right eyelid began to twitch, the nerve underneath dancing in an erratic rhythm.
Dean rubbed at it with a forefinger. He knew lack of sleep, mixed with hours of reading useless websites and half-assed articles was causing the tic. He sighed, and turned to gaze longingly at his untouched bed. Sleep. Peaceful, dark, quiet, lazy sleep. Dean craved it like a junkie strung out and waiting desperately for a fix.
Instead of caving in to the temptation of slumber, Dean snatched up his empty mug with a scowl and forced himself to trudge blindly over to the ancient coffee machine sitting on the kitchenette counter. He stared morosely at the last inch and half of lukewarm coffee in the glass container, debating whether to throw the stale dregs out and start a fresh pot or to just suck it up and drink what was there.
He opted for the latter. He was too fucking drained to concentrate on measuring and pouring and all that jazz right now.
The first few bars of Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water suddenly burst through his fuzzy thoughts as Dean stood, frowning, coffee pot frozen halfway to his mug. Great. I’m hearing things now, he thought crabbily.
The refrain repeated itself and Dean’s brain finally caught on that it was his cell phone ringing and not some delusional hallucination brought on by lack of sleep.
He wandered back over to the table, switching the coffee mug in his hand for his phone and flipped it open, not even bothering to check who was calling. He knew who it was.
“Took you long enough, Indy,” Dean grumbled. “Tell me your little tomb raiding expedition paid off.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn that seemed to go on forever.
“Hi back,” Sam answered, dryly. “Good to know your sunny disposition is still holding strong, Dean.”
“Shut up,” Dean retorted. “You try going without sleep for 72 hours straight and see how ‘happy-happy, joy-joy’ you are!”
“Dude, I’m not the one that ate the enchanted apple,” Sam testily countered.
“I was hungry,” Dean said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.
“You’re always hungry,” Sam alleged. “I mean seriously. We’re working a job that’s practically drowning in Snow White lore and yet, you conclude somehow that it’s a good idea to eat an apple some old homeless hag on the street offered you? I don’t know, Dean. Did you have a secret lobotomy done when I wasn’t looking?”
The line was silent, the tension palpable between the brothers, until Dean finally spoke, a layer of exhaustion and annoyance coating his words. “You ate all the goldfish crackers,” he sullenly accused.
“What?” Sam sounded confused.
Dean sighed loudly before explaining. “If you hadn’t eaten the last of the goldfish, Sam, I wouldn’t have been so hungry and –“
“No. Uh uh. No way, man.” Sam interrupted Dean’s tirade before it could take full flight. “You are not pinning this on me!”
“You’re such a little bitch,” Dean muttered.
“Look who’s talking, jerk,” Sam retorted, with a note of affection.
Dean took a seat on the edge of his bed, thought better of it, and moved over to the chair he’d vacated earlier. “So, what’d you find out?”
“Uh, well, it looks like Bobby was right.”
“Big surprise,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, the apple you ate was charmed with some sort of sleeping curse. You eat it, you go to sleep and you never wake up.”
“I thought the chick in the story ended up living happily ever after,” Dean challenged. “A permanent trip on the coma express doesn’t sound like happily ever after to me!”
Sam chuckled softly.
“What?”
“Well, according to the legends, Snow White was awakened when Prince Charming kissed her.”
“I ain’t sharing spit with some dude, Sam,” Dean intoned darkly.
“Which is why you gotta stay awake, until we can break the curse,” Sam said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Listen, the markings on the tomb seemed to indicate some kind of ritual that will break the spell, but I can’t make out the writing, so I took some pictures and emailed them to Bobby.”
“Great,” Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. “So, basically, it’s a waiting game now until Bobby can work his mojo and decipher what the ritual is.”
“Pretty much,” Sam said. The two boys were quiet a moment and then Sam nervously cleared his throat. “Um, there’s something else.”
“Dude, if you tell me we have to go round up a bunch of dwarves …” Dean snarled.
“No,” Sam said. “Of course not…It’s just…”
Dean grew impatient. “Sam! What?”
“Dad showed up at Bobby’s this morning.”
“Aw, crap.”
Of all the times for their father to come back early from a hunt, this was possibly the worst, Dean thought. He and Sam were supposed to be in South Dakota, resting up from injuries they’d got from a previous job. Injuries that Dean had argued were minor, in his opinion, but their father hadn’t seen it that way. The eldest Winchester had pretty much ordered both Dean and Sam to park it at Singer’s while he took off on the latest hunt solo.
When the Snow White gig had turned up while their dad was away, both he and Sam had figured it’d be an easy salt and burn, no more than a day or two before they were back in Sioux Falls with their dad none the wiser. Bobby had advised against it on principle but hadn’t put up a fight when the boys packed up the Impala. He’d merely warned them that karma had a funny way of coming back to bite you in the butt. Little did Dean realize how true that would turn out to be.
Sam tried to reassure his brother. “Bobby said he’d try to run interference for us.”
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s worked so well in the past,” Dean scoffed. He let out a groan of despair. “Maybe I should just opt for the coma.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed heavily. “Look, everything’ll work out. Let’s just wait and see what Bobby comes up with, okay? And…we’ll deal with Dad…later.”
Dean wasn’t so confident about the “later” part, nevertheless, he offered up his agreement.
“So, Sammy, on the way back here, can you stop at the store and pick up some NoDoz?” Dean asked, stifling another loud yawn. “The coffee isn’t doing it for me anymore.” He snorted. “In fact, the only thing it’s keeping awake is my bladder.”
“Sure, Dean, no problem,” Sam said, smiling to himself. “Anything else?”
Dean grinned, his eyes brightening a bit. “Yeah, get me some pie. If I’m gonna break the marathon record for number of hours without sleep, I deserve some kinda reward.”
***********
It didn’t take Bobby long after receiving Sam’s images of the tomb to decipher the ancient text needed to break the curse . He called the boys with the good news.
“Thanks, Bobby,” Dean said with relief. “You’re like the Harry Potter of archaic languages. We owe you one, man. Again.”
Bobby grunted. “It ain’t my ass you should be kissin’, boy. Your daddy’s ‘bout ready to skin both you idjits alive, so I suggest you save the sweet talk for him. Just get your tails back here pronto. I’ve got all the stuff we need for the ritual here at the house.”
“We’re on our way,” Dean promised and ended the call.
He wasn’t sure whether to be elated about getting the curse broken or worried about what his father would to do him afterwards. He eyed the peach pie Sam had bought, still warm and waiting for him, sitting on the kitchenette counter, and pushed thoughts of curses and his dad’s wrath out of his mind.
“I don’t s’pose you got ice cream to go with it?” Dean inquired of his brother and grinned broadly when Sam shot him one of his classic bitch-faces.
**************************
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Singer Auto Salvage
Dean had insisted on driving, despite Sam’s logical advice to the contrary. Dean understood the dangers of falling asleep at the wheel, more so now when even a few seconds of shuteye could possibly mean never waking back up. But, he argued, with Sam driving like Miss Daisy, it would take forever to get to Bobby’s, plus it meant listening to bland, emo pop music all the way, and that would definitely put him into a coma in a matter of minutes. Dean won the fight, but not without a pissy comment from his little brother about being a bossy asshole. Dean smiled. He could live with that.
They ended up making it to Sioux Falls in under three hours, including a quick stop at a roadside diner outside of Jackson, Minnesota for a bathroom break and to refill their thermos with industrial strength coffee.
Bobby and John met the boys on the porch of Bobby’s rambling two-story house, Dean letting the older hunters practically carry him inside, he was so exhausted. Sam followed close behind. He explained the details of the botched hunt to both men as they set Dean down in a chair in the library and hurriedly prepared the ritual to break the curse.
John remained quiet, his jaw tightening as he listened to his youngest son.
“I told you two to stay here,” he finally snapped, leveling an ominous glare at Sam. “I told you to rest up while you had the time.”
Sam’s temper flared. “You know what? You can yell at us later, Dad. Right now, we need to get this curse broken, so Dean doesn’t end up sleeping the rest of his life away in some hospital bed!”
John’s eyes narrowed. “This would never have happened if you’d just followed orders!” He took a step towards Sam, anger curling off him in dark tendrils, but Bobby quickly intervened.
“Would you two put a cork in it?” he nearly shouted, exasperation lending harshness to his twang.
Bobby turned, fixing John with a stern look. “Sam’s right. We don’t have time to get into the whys or wherefores right now. Your boy’s about ready to drop, John.”
“And you,” Bobby said, twisting around to give Sam an equally serious glower, “This ain’t the debate club, boy. Keep your trap shut and try to follow orders, for once, without arguing about it first.”
Satisfied that both combatants would now behave, Bobby picked up the bronze bowl full of magical herbs and handed it to John while he directed Sam to light the ceremonial candles placed in a circle around Dean. That done, Bobby raised his arms toward the ceiling and began to recite the ritual’s incantation.
**************************
Several hours later…
The ritual had gone well. The curse was broken. Dean was upstairs, tucked into one of the beds in the boys’ room, catching up on much needed sleep, his soft snores providing a counterpoint to Sam’s occasional snorts and grunts as he too, slumbered deeply now that his brother was safe from harm.
John had stood in the doorway for several long moments, just watching his offspring, tousled heads peeking out from the covers, an errant leg or arm restlessly jerking in sleep every now and again. Time rolled back for John as he stood there. Dean and Sam appeared no more than innocent little boys to him instead of the hardened, strong young men they had become.
Back downstairs with Bobby, John let out a small laugh, bittersweet in tone. “It was so much easier when they were younger,” he admitted tiredly. He sat at Bobby’s cluttered kitchen table, nursing a glass of Wild Turkey. “I gave an order and they obeyed. No back talk. No running off and putting themselves in danger. They did as they were told.”
Bobby took a gulp from his own glass and sat back, eyeing his friend. “Seems to me there’s an easy answer for that, Johnny,” he said.
John quirked a brow at the older hunter.
“You’ve been gone awhile from their lives, Sam’s especially,” Bobby explained. “Them two knuckleheads of yours haven’t had to answer to anyone for their foolishness lately, so they’ve gotten a bit reckless.” A feral grin on his whiskered face, Bobby glanced over his shoulder, nodding appreciatively at the wooden spoon hanging on the wall behind him. “Seems to me a little reminder that Daddy’s back home wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”
John stared at the infamous spanking spoon, his lips curling up into a wry smile. “Singer, sometimes that mind of yours scares the hell out of me.” His eyes crinkled in amusement. “I think you might have the right idea here.”
**************************
Dean slowly awoke to a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and realized with a bit of dismay that he hadn’t eaten anything since the pie back in the hotel room in Iowa. Food was one of Dean’s top three loves, his car and sex being the other two. The Impala was safe outside in Bobby’s gravel driveway and there was no chance in hell of him scoring any nookie in this joint, especially not with Bobby and his father pulling guard duty. That left food to be taken care of, and Dean was unsurprised to discover he was famished.
He rolled over in the darkened room, hand reaching out to snag the little clock on the nightstand and drag it over closer to his face. The illuminated dial on it read one o’clock. AM or PM? he wondered.
Dean cast a cursory glance over to the bed opposite his, noticed the covers tossed back and the bed empty, and decided it had to be afternoon. Sam must be downstairs already.
Dean sat up on the edge of his bed and stretched lazily. He groaned in pleasure as the muscles in his back un-kinked. Scratching absently at his chest through his t-shirt, Dean finally arose and padded barefoot to the doorway, plans to raid Bobby’s refrigerator foremost in his mind. He was halfway down the dimly lit second floor hall when he heard a strange but vaguely familiar noise coming from one of the other bedrooms.
Dean stopped, puzzled, just outside the closed door, brows furrowing. What the hell was that? Curiosity got the better of him and he leaned in closer, concentrating on the sounds, recognizing voices and…something else.
“No sir!” came Sam’s muffled cry through the door, along with the sound of flesh striking flesh. “Ow, Dad! I promise!”
Another barrage of smacking sounds swiftly followed his brother’s plea, and Sam began yelping in distress.
Holy shit! No way! Dean thought in alarm. Dad was spanking Sam? Spanking him…on the bare, no less!
“Dude, he’s twenty-two…” Dean mumbled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief.
His uncertainty quickly turned to mischievous glee. Sammy was getting a spanking! Oh man, his baby brother would never be able to live this one down.
A lopsided grin on his face, Dean leaned his ear directly against the door to listen further.
There was a brief pause in the spanking while Sam and their father discussed something. Well, it was more their dad talking and Sam hastily agreeing to whatever was said, Dean smugly concluded. Yeah, one of the few times Sam won’t argue is when he’s over Dad’s knee getting his ass handed to him.
The swats started up again, this time sounding sharper to Dean’s ear. Sam seemed to have noticed the change as well, because his shouts grew louder and more plaintive.
Dean snorted. Dad must have switched up, whacking Sam with something other than his hand. Goes to figure, Dean reflected dryly. Sam’s ass was probably as thick as his head, and their father’s hand had undoubtedly been worn out.
The spanking went on for a bit more and then Dean heard his dad and Sam talking softly. Probably hugging and sharing their feelings, Dean surmised, his nose wrinkling at the sentiment.
Engrossed in the proceedings on the other side of the door, Dean never heard Bobby come up behind him, catching him off guard. Bobby decided to teach the boy a lesson and raised his right arm high and swung hard, delivering a stinging smack to Dean’s unsuspecting rear end.
“Sonuvabitch!”
Dean’s eyes went wide in surprise as he grabbed his smarting backside and straightened up. He swiveled around, scowling at the older man. “What the hell, Bobby?” he stuttered.
The door flew open wide, startling both Dean and Bobby. John stood there, eyeing both men, a thunderous look on his face.
“What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded.
“Out here?” Dean choked, brows jerking up in wonderment. He pointed past his father, into the room where Sam was busy yanking his jeans back up, face flushed in embarrassment. “Better question is what’s going on in there?”
“You really wanna find out?” John challenged.
Dean took one horrified look at the ‘spanking’ spoon in his dad’s hand, and began backpedaling, stopping only when he bumped into the solid wall of Bobby’s chest.
Dean swallowed and smiled weakly at his father, wishing he’d never gotten out of bed. “I’m actually fine with not knowing. Seriously, I’m good.”
“Yeah?” John offered his son a predatory smile. “Well tough,” he growled. “’Cause you’re due for the same little talk your brother just had, so get your ass in here.”
He stepped aside to make room and Sam took the opportunity, meekly scooting by his father, face downcast and covered by his shaggy bangs as he escaped out into the hallway, refusing to look anywhere other than the floor directly in front of him.
Dean watched with growing anxiety as the younger boy shambled towards the stairs, wincing and palming his butt every few steps. This did not look good.
“Dean.”
His father’s stern voice drew Dean’s attention back to the bedroom and the impending meeting with Bobby’s spoon. John began tapping the spoon against his pant leg in agitation, waiting for Dean to comply with his order.
Dean shot Bobby an affronted scowl. He jerked his head toward the wooden implement in his dad’s hand. “Why do you even still have that thing?” he questioned, a note of irritation mixing with the panic in his voice.
Bobby chuckled, enjoying the boy’s discomfiture. “Hell, I never throw anything out, you know that.” His grin turned sly. “You never know when something might come in handy. Who knew your daddy’d be needing that spoon again after all these years?”
“Real funny.” Dean shot the older hunter a flat glare of resentment.
He found the situation anything but amusing. That lousy spoon hurt like hell! It had been years since he’d had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of a spanking with it, and yet, the memory of its solid sting was not something Dean was likely ever to forget.
Still, Dean held onto the hope that somehow his dad had maybe worn his arm out a bit on Sammy earlier. Who am I kidding? he chided himself. When has an ass beating from Dad ever been less than spectacularly painful?
He sullenly trudged past his father and into the empty bedroom to await his punishment.
“You’re off my Christmas card list, Bobby!” Dean yelled halfheartedly over his shoulder.
Dean watched his dad share an amused look with Bobby before turning and shutting the bedroom door. Dean tried to smile innocently at his father, failed, and settled for a half-grimace and an attempt at Sam’s famous puppy eyes.
John snorted, eyeing his oldest child. “You really think that’s gonna work?”
“No, but I was kinda hoping the cute factor might lessen the ass kicking that’s coming,” Dean replied sheepishly.
John’s dangerous smile made Dean’s stomach flip-flop. “Oh, I’m not gonna kick your ass, Dean. I’m going spank it.” He held up the spoon, twisting it in his fingers. “With this.”
Dean made a face. “I think I’d kinda prefer you kicking it,” he said.
“Yeah? Well, you don’t get a choice,” John retorted as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. “Kind of like how you didn’t have a choice when I told you and Sam to stay here and grab some R&R while I was gone.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Dean argued, huffing in disagreement. “Sam’s stitches were nearly ready to get taken out, and I had a lousy shoulder strain and a couple of minor contusions.”
John cut his son off, eyes flinty. “A concussion is not a minor contusion, Dean.”
Dean shrugged. “Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe,” he said, and his father’s scowl darkened. “It’s not like I haven’t gotten conked on the head before and I’ve been fine.”
“Then let’s talk about you disobeying a direct order,” John countered and watched with satisfaction as the wind went out of his son’s sails. “Regardless of how you felt physically, I ordered you and your brother to stay put,” he growled.
Dean licked his lips, brows creased in thought. “Don’t guess I can blame that on the concussion, huh?” he tried. “Yeah, okay, you got me on that one, but honestly? We thought it was gonna be a simple in and out, Dad; just take a day or two at the most.” Dean sighed. “And I admit I probably shouldn’t have eaten that stupid apple,” he muttered.
“Probably?” John inquired caustically, brow quirked in disbelief.
Dean quickly corrected himself. “Right. Definitely shouldn’t have eaten it. And I totally apologize for blowing off orders like that too,” he added, looking remorseful. “But, seriously, Dad.” He gave his father a questioning look. “I’m twenty-six. Don’t you think I’m a little old for a spanking?”
John smiled coldly. “I’ll tell you what I told your brother when he asked the exact same thing earlier. As long as you’re acting irresponsibly, I have the right to discipline you as I see fit.” John shrugged. “I don’t care how old you are, Dean. You’ll always be my child and I’ll always demand some respect from you, and that includes following orders when I give them or face the consequences.”
“But, a spanking? Really?” Dean asked uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.
John just patted his lap expectantly. “Get the jeans down, son, and get over here. That’s an order, and for your sake, let’s hope you follow this one,” he said.
There was nowhere left to take the argument in Dean’s mind, so with a belligerent eye roll, he sidled up to his dad and hastily unzipped his jeans, yanking them down with a low growl of disdain.
“This is so stupid,” he mumbled as his father guided him over his lap, securing Dean by placing his left arm around the boy’s middle and snugging Dean up close, hand cupping his right hip.
“It may be stupid, but whose fault is it that we’ve even come to this?” his dad asked smartly as he took hold of Dean’s boxer briefs and dragged them down to his knees.
Dean felt a serious flush of heat rush to his face. He stared dully at the colorful patchwork quilt directly in front of his nose, wondering how in the hell he’d gone from badass hunter of all things evil to pathetic misbehaving child bent over his father’s knee in only a matter of days. Humiliating didn’t even begin to cover it, he decided.
A thought occurred to him that perhaps he was asleep still and having a nightmare. Dean brightened a little at that until his father’s hand connected solidly with his bare backside, the smack leaving behind an uncomfortable prickly heat in its wake. Okay, that stung, so definitely not asleep. And sure, it sorta hurt, but not that bad. I can-
His father laid down another firm swat, this one seemingly harder than the last one, followed by several more that trailed down Dean’s quickly pinkening ass and ended at the tender crease between cheek and thigh.
Dean’s random musings halted as he became acutely aware of the fierce warmth settling across his backside. He began to squirm, not really conscious of it; just instinctively trying to avoid the blazing smacks setting his butt on fire. Just when he thought he couldn’t take another swat without breaking down and whimpering in a very unmanly fashion, his dad stopped.
Dean relaxed, smiling cockily to himself.
That it? Well, pfft, that wasn’t too awful, he thought, wincing at the incessant sting. And then he felt his father shift, reaching for something and Dean let out a little bleat of panic. The spoon! He’d forgotten the freaking –
“Holy shit!” Dean hollered, as the wooden spoon singed his already sore bottom, each blazing smack making him jerk and hiss. “Jeez, Dad! You planning on leaving any skin back there?” Dean gasped, throwing his father a worried glance over his shoulder.
“You plan on paying me a little more respect and acting like a responsible adult?” John countered evenly, continuing the spanking. “Plan on taking my orders a little more seriously from now on?”
“Yessir!” Dean replied, all business. “No more disrespecting or disobeying! I swear!”
“Glad we could come to an agreement,” John said, smiling tightly. “Let’s just finish up here, then.”
Dean braced himself, for all the good it would do. He swore under his breath, eyes watering as his father delivered the last few swats with the spoon over his upper thighs and then stopped.
“Okay, Dean. I think we’re done here,” his dad stated, setting the spoon down on the bed.
Dean drew in a cleansing breath through his nose, amazed at how even the air seemed to feel rough against the tingling, sensitized skin of his ass and thighs. Gingerly, he slid off his father’s lap, stooping to grab up his underwear and jeans, carefully easing them back up over his throbbing rear end.
“Yup, just like old times,” he groaned, wincing.
“I mean it, Dean. You want to be treated like an adult then start acting like one,” John said. He stood up, leaning over to grab the spoon up from the bed.
Dean took a wary step away from his father, hands snaking behind him to protect his already sore butt.
John grinned, holding up the spoon. “Still a pretty effective deterrent isn’t it?”
“Yeah, so’s a shotgun,” Dean replied sourly. He rubbed at his stinging backside. “We done here? Can I go eat now and, you know, ice my ass down, or do we need to hug or something?”
“Smart ass,” John admonished. He nodded at the door to the room. “Go on. We’re done.”
Dean started for the door but he was brought up short when his father reached up to place a warm hand on the back of Dean’s neck, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Dean surprised himself by not pulling away. Instead, he leaned into the touch, raised his head to give his father a genuine smile, hazel eyes bright with emotion.
“Good to have you home, Dad,” Dean murmured softly.
“Good to be home, kiddo,” John replied.
John gave his son’s neck one last squeeze and then both men headed out into the hallway, the smell of coffee and something savory cooking on the stove drawing their attention and making both their stomachs rumble in appreciation.
“I think Bobby even has apple pie for dessert,” John commented as they headed down the stairs.
Dean stopped, turning to his father with a look of disgust and disbelief on his face. “Dude, seriously,” he said, raising his hands in front of him. “If I never see another apple anything, it’ll be too soon!”
THE END