Author's Note:

This story is completely inspired by Sam's reaction to this quote by Martin Creaser to Sam in Season 8 Episode 9: Citizen Fang:

"Glad your dad wasn't around to hear that. He'd have a mind to take you both out to the woodshed and show you what's what. Half inclined to do it myself."

I feel that for Martin to say this, and for Sam to have the violent reaction to it that he did, there must have been history. This is that story.

"Thank you, boys," John said, taking the two fully loaded duffels off the kitchen table where Sam and Dean were sitting, exhausted. He slung one over his shoulder and held the other. "It's good to know I can count on you."

"Yes, sir," Dean beamed and even Sam looked pleased at the praise. "Are you sure I can't come with you? My shot's right on target nearly every time."

John smiled at his fifteen year old. "I know it is, son, and that's exactly why I need you here, looking out for Sammy. Martin's being nice enough to let you boys stay in his cabin while we hunt, but you're in the middle of a deserted woods. Who's gonna protect him if you're not here?"

Dean looked over at his little brother. As much as he wanted to hunt, he understood that making sure Sam was safe was what he needed to do to let his Dad take care of the monsters. For now, at least, it was the most important job he had. His time in the field would come.

"Car's all loaded," Martin said, coming back in through the front door. The hunter had never asked for much, but he'd called two days ago for help, and their dad hadn't even hesitated to drive himself and the boys halfway across the country.

"Ready, John?"

"Yeah." John gave the second duffle to Martin then turned back to the boys. "We'll only be gone a few days. The fridge and the pantry are fully stocked. You shouldn't need anything else, but you've got the radio to get in touch with Bobby if you do, right? He can get in touch with us if he has to, but only if he absolutely has to. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Dean responded.

Martin pointed a finger at them, eyes narrowing. "You break anything in my cabin, I'll break you."

Dean looked around. The place consisted of only a kitchenette connected to a living room, where the boys had been set up with a pullout couch, a bathroom, a guest room and Martin's bedroom. Aside from animal trophies on the walls, books, and clothing, there was very little to break.

Still, Sam looked to Dean like he was as nervous as if the place was made of glass. "Yes, sir," the kid answered quietly, and Dean's forehead creased. He wasn't sure if it was Dad leaving or Martin threatening them that had his little brother squirming in his seat.

"Be good, boys," was the last order from John, and then the men were gone.

Sam and Dean sat still, staring at the door until they heard the rumble of the Impala's engine as they drove away.

Sam turned to his brother. "Now what?"

In seemingly one motion, Dean glided over to the living room, grabbed a magazine from the coffee table, and flopped down on the folded pull-out couch. "Now, we rest."

"But Dean..." Sam stood up and looked around at the open books scattered everywhere, potion ingredients spilled and still uncorked, and of course, the mess the boys had left behind on the kitchen table, loading the casings with salt and finishing the silver bullets. "Don't you think we should clean all this up? Dad would kill us if he saw us just leave it all out."

"Even God rested, Sammy," Dean said. "Come on. Sit down, we'll find a movie we can watch. Dad will never know we took a few hours off."

Sam sighed but Dean knew that after being up most of the night, the kid was too tired to argue. He found the Star Wars trilogy amongst Martin's movies and put it on. Sam curled into Dean's side, falling asleep halfway through. Dean wasn't surprised. He and Sam had both had moments over the night where their eyes had crossed, their lids had fallen, and they were awoken with a jerk as the other shook them before their father could notice them slacking.

Sam had been frustrated, wanting to research far more than pack the weapons bag, but Martin had insisted that whatever they were hunting was above the paygrade of a ten year old. Dean nearly said that everything about the supernatural was above the paygrade of a ten year old, but he had better sense than that. Their dad had been on them hard lately about responsibility and the family business. While Dean took every word to heart, it all took its toll on Sam, and Dean would do whatever he could to protect Sam from Dad's wrath.

Halfway through the second movie, his stomach rumbled and he slipped out from under his brother, laying him comfortably down on the couch with a rough wool blanket for cover. He didn't know when Sam would wake for lunch but Dean was pretty sure if he didn't make something now he'd fall asleep before he could. Rummaging through the cabinets, he nearly squealed with delight. He was used to motel rooms with his father's typical - mac & cheese, hot dogs, canned peas, and stews. But apparently, Martin knew how to stock a kitchen, and Dean pulled out ingredients and spices for Sam's favorite, chicken parmesan.

The smells must have woken Sam, because he came padding over, rubbing his eyes. "Looks as good as it smells," Sam said with a still sleepy smile.

Dean was a good cook when he wanted, had the ingredients, and the time. Those moments were rare, but the boys would savor them.

"Go clean up the table so we have someplace to sit."

Dean hummed, crushing some herbs to mix into the marinara, when his brother called out in a quiet panic that sent a terrifying sense of dread through him.

"Dean..."

Fifty scenarios of what could be wrong flew through Dean's head in the second it took for him to turn to his brother. But there was no monster ready to strike, no spirit, no man holding Sam at gunpoint. There was just Sam, staring down at the now clean table, frozen in place, like he'd seen a ghost.

Then Dean's eyes widened. Silver bullets. Twelve of them. Six for each revolver. Sitting there, out in the open, waiting to be packed into the duffles they'd readied for their dad and Martin.

It had been so late. They had been so tired. And this morning the bullets had been buried underneath the leather Martin stored his guns in.

Sam started to shake. "Dean, what if-"

Suddenly Dean's whole body felt ten times heavier, but he couldn't let Sam see it. "It's no big deal, Sammy," Dean said, going over to ruffle the kid's hair. Anything to get him to loosen up. "They have plenty of other weapons, they probably won't even need these. There was nothing in the research about them needing silver for sure."

"And if they do? What if they die because of us?"

Dean crouched down and looked Sam straight in the eye, trying to calm him. "They're fine. Don't you worry. Something like this won't kill 'em." It had great potential of killing him and Sam if their dad found out, but he kept that to himself. "Dad and Martin have a million tricks up their sleeves. Now…" He stood up and held one hand at the edge of the table and swept the bullets into his palm. If somehow their dad got home without realizing their mistake, there was no way he was just going to leave out the evidence to be found. "Let's do something with these."

"You're gonna lie?!"

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm gonna pack them safely away until we need them." Ignoring the look on his brother's face, Dean slid the bullets into the hidden pocket he'd created in his duffel and closed it up. He should get in touch with Bobby. He knew he should. But then their dad would know for sure, and this way, he at least had a chance of saving his brother's behind. And if his dad did find out, well, Dean was sure he'd get the worst of it now. "There. Now finish up with that table Sam. I cooked a meal fit for gentlemen, so we are gonna sit down and eat as if we qualify."

"I call."

Sam threw three pennies into the pot. Sure he had a pair, but 8's were risky and he was saving up for a skateboard. Every penny mattered.

"Last deal," Dean said and flipped another card toward him. It had been two days since their dad and Martin had gone, and the small amount of change they'd been gambling with had exchanged hands multiple times. Sam was determined to be the last one with it when the hunters returned.

'Please be an eight, please be an eight,' Sam thought, turning the card over, and when it was, he couldn't help but grin.

One look at him and Dean tossed his cards to the center. "I fold. You really need to work on those tells, Sammy."

Sam knew Dean was right, but he was just happy to take the pot. Dean slid the cards over to him. "Your deal."

Sam started to shuffle, but the cabin door handle jiggled, the lock popped and a very worn out Dad and Martin came through the door, duffels slung over their shoulders.

"Dad!" Sam shouted with excitement, rising out of his chair to run to his dad and give him a hug as he always did after a hunt. But then he noticed that while Dad may have been walking, Martin was limping and his face wore a scowl. The bandage around the hunter's thigh was obvious, even under his clothes.

Sam lowered himself back into his seat and snuck a worried glance toward his brother. His heart picked up speed. Martin was limping and it was probably his and Dean's fault and they were in so much trouble.

Dean either didn't see or, far more likely, was going to try to fake his way out of it. "Hey, what happened?"

"Monsters happened, Dean," Dad said, stepping closer, and it was then that Sam noticed the dark look on his Dad's face. It made Sam's stomach flip. "Monsters that could only be killed with silver."

Sam's eyes went wide and his pulse raced. Dad knew. Dad knew that they hadn't packed right and they were so going to get it. He wasn't sure how Dean was managing to keep his cool.

"You didn't have enough?" his older brother asked with all the innocence he could muster.

Dad grabbed Martin's duffle from him and dropped it, along with his own, on the table, right in front of the boys. "No, Dean. We didn't have enough. We didn't have any because you and your brother couldn't manage to do your jobs right."

Dean was right, Sam's tell was terrible, but he knew his bluff would be even worse. Or maybe he was just smart enough to know that Dad already knew the truth, and lying would just dig their grave deeper. "We're so sorry, Dad," Sam said and Dean turned to him, eyes blazing. "We realized after you'd left that morning that I hadn't packed the silver bullets-"

Dad's eyes narrowed. "You knew?" Sam immediately shut his mouth, but it was too late. Dad's glare turned cold as it shifted to Dean and he asked again, the accusation piercing his words. "You knew?"

It was obvious to everyone in the room the calculations and scenarios running through Dean's head and Sam could see the moment when Dean realized that lying was just going to make it a thousand times worse for both of them. "Yes, sir."

"And you didn't think it would be important to let us know? Try and get in touch with Bobby?" Both boys were frozen in silence. "It's bad enough that neither one of you did your job," he said, flashing a glance at Sam that made him shiver. "But Bobby could have found a way to let us know you'd forgotten to pack the silver. So we didn't go in blind. Did you even try to get in touch with him?"

Lowering his eyes to the table, Dean shook his head. "No, sir."

"Because you were afraid of getting in trouble. Of Sam getting in trouble. You thought, just maybe, if we didn't need it, you could get away with it. Is that right?"

If there was a hole in the floor, Sam was sure his brother would have crawled inside it. "Yes, sir," Dean whispered.

Suddenly their father's furious glare turned to him. "Did you even make the bullets, Samuel?"

"Yes, sir!" he defended himself. "I just-"

John didn't want to hear any excuses. "Where are they now then?"

Sam couldn't help it. He automatically looked toward his brother. Dean's eyes were on the table, his hands gripping it so hard his knuckles were turning white. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to force himself to look at their dad. "In my duffle. Hidden."

"Far from our eyes if we hadn't realized," John concluded astutely.

Tears filled Sam's eyes as he listened for his brother's muted, "Yes, sir." He knew Dean well enough to know that in hiding the evidence, he'd been trying to protect Sam's ass far more than his own.

"Sam," John said, turning back to his youngest, and the boy's heart leaped in his chest. "I want you to go change into your pajamas and wait for me in the corner." Resigned, Sam stood but then his father continued, voice strikingly harsher. "Dean." Sam and Dean both froze at the sound, and the suspicious silent exchange Dad had with Martin before turning back. "Dean, you are to go out to the Impala and grab a knife. Then you'll cut yourself a switch from the hickory, prepare it, and meet me in the woodshed."

Sam would have sworn Dean stopped breathing. Neither of them had ever been switched before, but they both knew it was the worst punishment they could ever get.

"Dad," Sam protested, but one seething look from his father stopped his lips.

"I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you, Sam, you're in enough of your own trouble," Dad warned. "Now, I believe I gave my orders, boys, I suggest you follow them before I add insubordination-"

Both boys were up and out of their seats in a second. Sam nearly ran to their bed to grab his pajamas then went to the bathroom to change. He could barely breathe and he worried he might be sick. He didn't know if he was more worried about his butt or Dean's, but he gripped the counter to try and get control of himself. Even if his dad took off his belt, it would be nothing compared to the switch and this had all been his fault in the first place. If he'd just done his job right, none of this would be happening.

It took all of his strength to stop himself from hiding, but finally he changed his clothes and walked out the door. Making his way to the corner, Sam could hear his father and Martin behind the closed door of the guest room, quiet murmurs growing heated for a second before nearing whispers again. He turned to the wall, the smell of cedar filling his nose as he pressed it into the living room corner of the log cabin. He breathed it in. There was a certain calming aspect to the scent, though the sound of the bedroom door opening wiped any of that away. Heavy footsteps moving toward him echoed in his ear.

"Come here, Sam," his father ordered.

Sam turned slowly in the darkening shadow-filled room to find his father standing tall at the foot of the boys' bed. Someday, Sam hoped to be as tall as his dad, but dragging his feet to stand before him, looking up into eyes more disappointed than angry, Sam felt like he'd shrunk a foot. His insides twisted and he swallowed hard, but he forced himself not to drop his eyes to the ground.

Dad's arms were crossed and his face was hard and any semblance of courage Sam was trying to hold on to melted to the floor.

"I think you owe Martin and me an explanation."

It was only in that moment that Sam noticed Martin out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the wall outside the master bedroom, watching Dad reprimand him. Was he going to watch his punishment too? Sam felt the flush rise in his cheeks.

"I…" He turned back to his dad before he let his embarrassment turn to anger. He hated that he spent his days packing weapons bags instead of reading and he hated that his dad was always leaving him and Dean for a hunt. He hated that he was left behind in a log cabin in the middle of the woods instead of somewhere he could go to school, do theater and debate club, play chess instead of poker. He had lost his mom and all he wanted was a dad like other dads who worked and brought home money so they could eat and stay in one place. "I don't know," he whispered.

"You know better than that, young man. I don't know is never an honest answer, and if you can't even give me that, how am I supposed to trust you?"

"It's because he thinks he's better than us," Martin piped up. "Boy thinks he's too good to do a hunter's job."

Sam's hands fisted, but there was too much truth in Martin's words to refute it. He knew it, his father knew it. A voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like Dean told him to just shut up and let it go, he was going to be put over his father's knee anyway, and he knew that voice was right. He knew arguing back would do nothing but make it all worse. And yet, there was nothing he could do to save his honor but lash out.

"And maybe you think you're too good to check your own equipment before a hunt, instead of relying on two kids to do it for you!" Sam snapped.

"See, John, I told you-"

"Okay, that's enough." John grabbed Sam's arm and forced his attention back to him. "I was going to give you the respect of asking Martin for privacy, but you've just lost that. Trust and respect. Care to lose anything else before I start?"

Sam just shook his head, tears starting to fall. Without hesitation, John sat down on the bed and pulled Sam over his knee and in position in one fluid motion. The spanking began quickly, John peppering each cheek from the top down to his sit spots. It wasn't the worst he'd gotten, it didn't even compare to what Dean would soon get, but the thin fabric of his pajamas offered Sam virtually no protection from his dad's stinging slaps. Against his better judgment, he kicked and bucked but it took nothing for John to slip a leg over his and hold him down. "Stop fighting. You were given a job, Samuel. An important job."

"Dad, please!"

"I thought you were old enough and smart enough and responsible enough to handle it, but you proved me wrong."

"I am!" Sam cried as his Dad's heavy hand took aim at the tops of his thighs. "I'm sorry!"

"If I give you a job to do, I expect it to be done!" John landed another hard smack on each of his sit spots.

"Owww….yes, sir."

"This isn't a game, Samuel. These things are life and death." He gave Sam two more hard smacks.

"I know, I'm sorry!"

"I'm sorry too, son," John said, pausing with a hand on Sam's back. "I'm sorry that we couldn't just be finished with your spanking right now. I'm sorry that you couldn't just accept the punishment you deserved for being irresponsible without lashing out at Martin. But I can't let that go." Dad pulled down Sam's pajama pants and bared his bottom.

"No!" Sam screamed, reaching a hand back to cover himself.

Without missing a beat, John grabbed Sam's hand, held it tight against his back, and punctuated the remainder of his lecture with a spanking that felt like he was setting fire to Sam's skin. "Samuel Winchester. You will not. Disrespect. Another Hunter. Ever. Again. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Sam sobbed.

John quickly pulled his pants back up and rubbed Sam's back until the boy had calmed down. Sam sniffled, and when his breathing slowly regulated, John helped him off his lap and held him as tight as Sam would let him. "There is honor in being a hunter, Sam. It's important work. And I know that you're more than capable of completing the tasks and following the orders I give you. We need you, me and Dean, even if the job seems small or unimportant to you. There's no room for error in what we do."

"I know, Dad." Sam pulled away and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'll do better next time."

John gave a soft smile. "I know you will. Now I want you to get into bed," he said, reaching up to pull back the covers, "while I go deal with Dean."

Sam crawled up the bed and slipped underneath the comforter, careful not to scrape his sore bottom. He looked up at his dad. "Are you really gonna switch him?" His stomach twisted at the thought.

John went around the bed and gave his youngest a kiss on the forehead. "I suggest you worry about apologizing to Martin while I'm gone and let me worry about your brother. Okay?"

Sam nodded, but it wasn't okay at all, he thought as his father walked out the door. Tears started to form just thinking about what Dean was about to go through.

"You oughtta quit your crying," Martin said and Sam looked at him.

"I'm sorry you got hurt," Sam said softly, and he was. Martin had been out there, trusting that Sam had done his job to protect him, so he could protect his Dad, and Sam had failed both of them.

Martin wasn't overly moved by the boy's apology, though. "Not as sorry as you should be, if you ask me. Not as sorry as your brother's gonna be, that's for damn sure. I told your daddy that he oughtta take both you boys out to the woodshed for what you'd done, but he thought you were too young." Martin eyed him, waiting for a response but Sam didn't give him one and the hunter thankfully left his lecture at that. "I'm gonna take a nice, long, hot shower to clean this leg out. I suggest you listen to your daddy and stay right where you are."

Sam said nothing and looked away, playing with the fabric of his pillowcase as he waited for Martin to go into the bathroom. Martin was right. He was the one who'd messed up and he deserved the switch far more than Dean did. He heard the water turn on for the shower, and he got up and looked out the window of the cabin. He didn't see Dean, but in the distance, he could see the shadow of the woodshed. And by the moonlight, he could see his dad walk inside.

Author's Note: I would love to hear what you think before I post chapter 2! Please let me know!