October 1992 – Wheeler, Texas.
John didn't feel inclined to postpone the spanking Dean had coming to him but with the bandage on his hand a spanking would be pretty ineffectual. He'd left the paddle in the glove box of the Impala and with the torrential downpour currently going on outside he had no intention of retrieving it anytime soon. The lone wooden spoon that came with this rental was presently resting on the side of a pan of simmering chilli, and the prank, well really it wasn't serious enough to warrant the use of his belt. It was serious in as much as Sammy was pretty upset and his screech of alarm had caused John to jump and burn himself on the side of the chilli pan, but not the life-threatening sort of serious. He glanced around the kitchen looking for something he could use and his eyes fell upon the fly swatter laying on the table. John picked it up, swished it experimentally against his leg and deciding it would do the job very nicely, thank you very much he headed into the living area.
Hearing footsteps approaching Dean turned his head away from the corner and almost choked whilst trying to hold back his laughter at seeing his father march across the room brandishing a flimsy, bright pink fly swatter.
"You find something funny Dean?" John asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"Um n n no sir!" Dean tried very hard to get his laughter under control, no point in antagonising the man anymore than he had already, "You're not seriously going to hit me with that thing are you?"
"Well what do you think Dean? I don't see any flies needing swatting so it looks like it's your ass I'll be aiming for."
"I doubt that piece of cr… um plastic would even get Princess Samantha's attention hel.. heck most of the flies survive the impact and they weigh like practically nothing."
"Let's just give it a try shall we or would you like me to use my belt instead?"
"No Sir I'm good."
"Thought you might be, and maybe less of the Princess jokes and the language might be a good idea considering the last few hours and the position you're about to be in, don't you think?"
"Yes Sir, I'm sorry."
"We'll see. Jeans and shorts off and bend over the back of the sofa, hands flat on the cushion."
Dean groaned knowing that this position would force him up on to his toes putting the most vulnerable areas of his backside clearly into the target zone. Then he remembered exactly what his Dad's weapon of choice was today and smiled to himself, after all what possible harm could a sissy ass piece of pink plastic do?
John thought back on the events of the last few hours. Following the initial shriek that had startled him into burning his hand all hell broke loose. Dean raced into the kitchen laughing with Sammy close on his heels yelling at him and much to John's consternation his youngest was using a few words he had no business knowing! He put his arm out to grab Sam to admonish him for his choice of language and promptly stepped backwards in surprise almost burning himself again at the sight of his 9 year old son's hair which could only be described as raspberry pink! It was such a shock John was left speechless and forgot all about punishing Sammy for cussing. He just stared at his youngest child for what seemed like an eternity but was more than likely only a few seconds in real time, at which point the kid burst into floods of tears. Dean was curled up on the floor still laughing seemingly oblivious to his little brother's crying. John turned the gas off under the chilli and ignoring Dean for the moment swept his baby into his arms and headed for the couch to calm him down and hopefully find out what the hell was going on. Eventually it all tumbled out and truthfully John should have known that this was all the result of one of Dean's ridiculous pranks.
Sammy's hair had gotten quite long and was in need of a tidy up anyway so John stuck a base ball cap on the kid's head, grabbed the empty carton from the hair dye, hustled both boys out to the Impala, landing a few well aimed swats on Dean's rear end as they went and headed for the nearest salon.
The carton was perused and Sammy's hair was then thoroughly washed a few times. A little progress was made but not as much as was expected. At this point Dean reluctantly admitted that he had mixed the dye with the lice treatment he was supposed to be helping Sammy with and it was decided that this was probably what was making it so stubborn to remove. After much discussion between the ladies, both those working and their customers, who had it seemed all decided Sammy was just too adorable, a different substance was bought out to wash Sam's hair with. Dean was sent off to a corner where John swore he must be feeling the hostile glares the ladies were aiming at his back; Sammy was pampered, cooed over, given cookies and soda and the salon receptionist insisted on treating John's hand whilst he drank a freshly made cup of coffee.
As the ends of the hair had absorbed more colour than the roots, by the time Sammy's hair had been washed a couple more times and the ends chopped off things were thankfully looking far less pink. After thanking the ladies who refused to even let him pay John returned to their rented house with a much happier, but worn out Sammy, a far less jovial Dean and a large bottle of the special shampoo. At that point he'd sent Sammy to rest in his room and Dean to the living room corner whilst he re-lit the gas under the chilli and decided how he was going to deal with his eldest.
Now here he was staring down at the lily white ass of his son wielding eighteen inches of bright pink flimsy plastic. He could see how Dean might think that was funny but in the course of the next five minutes or so he was in for a very big surprise. There was no need to further lecture Dean, John had made his feelings perfectly clear on the ride home from the salon and Sam had been pretty vocal too, both there and back.
Normally John would use his hand to warm up the butt of whichever of his sons he was taking to task before using anything else such as a spoon, but today that was not an option. He decided to let Dean know right from the first swat that he meant business, flimsy pink fly swat or not, by the time John was through his son would be feeling it for a good long while. John hoped that the burning sting would linger long enough to at least give everybody a break from the kid's pranks too!
He laid the first swat down hard right across Dean's right buttock, Dean swore, loudly, earning himself three more equally hard swats in exactly the same place. Dean got that message fast without John needing to say a word. At first large hand shaped crimson marks peppered with little white spots appeared clearly on Dean's upturned bottom but as John continued to rapidly lay down the swats, the individual prints all began to merge into one large area of ever darkening red skin. By the time John stopped the spanking the bright shade of crimson red Dean's butt had turned was competing well with the lurid pink of the fly swat. Dean had long ago abandoned all attempts at stoicism and given in to the punishment and was now hanging limply over the sofa sobbing quietly. John hauled him up, turned him and pulled him into a hug, whispering words of comfort and gently rubbing his back, calming his eldest and gently letting him know he was forgiven. Eventually Dean pulled away and John picked up and handed him his discarded underwear.
"The next time I send you to the store to get a lice treatment or anything else for that matter you better make damn sure that's all you get. Hey, wait a minute I only gave you enough money for the treatment, damn it Dean you better not have stolen that dye." At the same time as he was speaking John's hand was reaching back towards the fly swat.
"No! No Dad! I didn't steal it Dad honest, I used my money, I've still got the bill, I promise."
"Okay, okay kiddo calm down I believe you, now go on, go get cleaned up for dinner and fetch Sammy for me, please. Oh, by the way you're grounded for a week or for as long as Sammy's hair takes to get back to normal, whichever is the longer."
"What? Come on Dad it said it was temporary, how was I supposed to know it wouldn't wash out?"
"Maybe you should have read the carton properly, maybe you should have followed the instructions or better still, maybe you should have left it on the shelf in the first place Dean! These things don't always do what they're supposed to! You're lucky it's mostly gone and the rest will wash out over the next two or three days or so because I promise you, if I'd had to put up with much more of Sammy's whining I'd be turning your butt a nice bright pink to match his hair every night for a week!"
Dean swallowed involuntarily and uttered a "Yessir" as he swiftly left the room.
Dean glanced over his shoulder at the bathroom mirror to inspect the damage. His Dad, as always had done a bang up job, it was going to be hell to sit down for dinner, maybe Dad would take pity and let him stand, yeah, like that was going to happen, he was just going to have to suck it up and deal. He sighed as he righted his underwear and jeans; one thing he definitely learned today was never ever under estimate a weapon particularly when it's in the hands of John E. Winchester, even if it is pink!
As he wandered in the direction of the bedroom to make his peace with Sammy and fetch him for dinner Dean further contemplated the state of his backside as he wondered exactly what would happen if you added Nair hair removal cream to shampoo.