Title: Truth or Consequences
Pairings: None, Gen
Warnings: spanking and language
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Sam is mellow. Sam is never mellow. Dean should have known. No beta gang, all mistakes are my own. In fact, point them out if you see them!
XXX
Dean should have known.
Sammy slouched his way into the front door and mumbled something then headed straight to his room.
Not that Sammy slouching, mumbling or going to his room was different than any other day, but still Dean should have known.
Dean sat at the kitchen table, sharpening a six inch bowie that he was particularly fond of. Sharpening knives was somehow relaxing. The quiet rasp of knife on whet stone, the smell of cleaning oil. Dean could do this blind folded and thinking of twenty other things so when Sam walked in, he noticed, but that was about it.
Dean examined the sharp blade, he held it up to his practiced eye, noticed the edge, felt the weight of the knife, solid, perfect. He glanced at his pile of books on the floor. That was less than perfect. So while blade maintenance was necessary and he had been justified in it, he knew that homework had to be done too. Dad really didn't care too much about homework or school for that matter, but he did expect it to get done with as little rocking of the boat as possible. So squeaking by was fine, as long as no one noticed. Dean growled, there was no way they would not notice a missing English term paper so he just needed to man up and do it.
He carefully wiped the blade and cleaned up his equipment. Sheathed the knife and made sure everything was in place. He liked it that way. Then he wondered if he should start dinner, but berated himself instantly. Dinner did not need to get started at 3pm but the damn term paper did.
Then again, checking on Sam might not be a bad idea. That was his job too.
He grabbed the books off the floor and dropped them loudly on the table. There is no way he would miss them when he came back down. He trotted up the steps. A quick rap on their mutual room's door was sufficient. It was his room too after all.
Sam was on his bed fully clothed, sprawled out, arms outstretched, legs spread. Even so, he didn't take up a whole bunch of room.
"Hey, squirt." Dean stopped at the doorway, hip to door jam. Dean crossed his arms.
There was no motion from the bed. Not even a twitch.
Dean reached over to Sam and slapped his booted foot.
"Hmmm," was the only reply.
"Sammy, you all right?"
"M'fine. Leme alone."
It was then that Dean noticed it, the sweet smell of weed coming off his brother's clothes.
"Sam." Sharp and staccato.
"It's all good, Dean. Go away."
"It's not good at all, Sam. You high?" Dean queried, slapping Sam's boot a little harder.
Dean watched as Sam opened an eye, squinted and then closed it almost as quickly.
"Maybe…a little bit."
"That's like being a little bit pregnant, Sam. You are or you're not."
It looked like it took Sam a moment to process the statement.
"I'm not pregnant, dickhead, just stoned." Sam giggled then snorted loudly.
"Not funny, dude. You're fucked up and Dad's comin' home. What's your problem?"
"No problem, Dean. Told ya. M'good."
Dean sighed. Sat down on the bed next to his brother. The bed protested Dean's weight and Sam's body slid toward his brother's indentation.
"Sammy, I told ya, Dad's comin' home. He said he would be home tomorrow but the hunt's done early. He is an hour out dude and he is gonna kick your ass from here into next week if thinks your high."
"It'll be alright. I'm just gonna take a nap." Sam rolled over, tucked his arm under his head and promptly started snoring.
"SAM!" Dean slapped his brother's ass hard. That got Sam's attention
"Jesus, Dean!" Sam rolled back over and offered Dean a hostile glare. "What the fuck you do that for?
"'Cause you are high, dude and Dad's coming home. Get your ass up and get in the shower. C'mon." Dean grabbed Sam's leg and gave it a pull. Sam promptly fell off the bed with a thump.
Dean shook his head. The kid was gonna be the death of him. He mentally calculated how far away his father was and the condition his brother was in. The odds did not look good.
Sam lay on the ground, took a deep breath and shut his eyes again against the brightness of the room. Dean squatted down next to his brother, untied his boots, and pulled them off. He shuddered at the smell. "Jeeze, Sam. What the hell died in here? "
Next came the socks. Sam didn't move. He reached up, unsnapped his brother's jeans and dragged them down below his hips. Sam sniffed.
"A little help would be nice, Sam." There was no help forthcoming. Sam just grinned.
Luckily Sam was a shrimp so the rest of the jean's removal went pretty quickly. Then the T-shirt. Dean's T-shirt. Why the hell was the little shit wearing his t-shirt? Sam giggled. Whatever the hell he had smoked was working it's magic. Because Sam in his underwear laying on the floor in the bedroom was typically not something that Sam would find especially funny.
Dean grabbed his brother roughly by his arm, hoisted him up and half dragged half carried him to the bathroom. There he was unceremoniously dropped in a cold shower, underwear and all.
"DEAN!" Sam offered a combination yelp and yell.
"Get your brain in gear, Sam. Wake the fuck up and even though I doubt coffee's gonna help I'm gonna put some on. Dad'll want it anyway."
Dean slammed the bathroom door louder than necessary and clomped down the steps to put on coffee.
What the hell was his brother thinking? He was only 14 for crying out loud. Dean remembered vividly when his father had caught him smoking weed at Bobby's place just last year. It was the last time that Dean had felt the lick of his father's belt on his bare ass. In Bobby's kitchen no less. Dad wasn't much of a spanker, not really. He much preferred running your ass off and giving you extra PT. His thought process on discipline was punishment through physical training. Get stronger. Work some of the piss and vinegar out of your system and get punished at the same time. But that wasn't to say that Dean hadn't got his ass handed to him from time to time. But only twice with the belt and one of those times was for smoking weed. Dean definitely did not want Sam to get a licking like that.
So coffee it was. Strong and black and hopefully the caffeine would help offset Sammy's giggles and mellowness. Because if there was ever going to be a give away to Sam being high it was Sam being mellow. There was nothing in Sam's DNA that was not geared to pissiness and bitchiness, especially since he turned 12. So yup, Dad would notice the change for the better and would figure it out. The old man was like a radar when it came to fucking up.
The best they could hope for would be that he would grab a cup of caffeine then hit the hay.
Dean heard the shower abruptly stop and listened to the shuffle as Sam headed back to the bedroom
Dean hollered up the steps. "Get some clean clothes on and get your ass down here. Bring your books too, we can do homework at the kitchen table. "
Ten minutes later Sam stumbled down the steps, clean clothes, damp hair and he did look a little more alert. Dean handed him a cup of coffee.
"Drink. And don't even think about diluting it with milk and sugar."
Sam offered a tentative smile. A little apprehensive, a little contrite but took the coffee and sipped it without complaint
"Sorry, Dean."
"You should be ya little shit. You better sit your ass up in that chair as straight as you can and start your homework, 'cause Dad's due home any minute." Dean stopped looked at Sam sitting as straight as he could on the kitchen chair. "Dude, what the hell were you thinkin'? So not smart, Sam. Don't you remember Dad whoopin' the hell out of me last year for the same thing?"
Sam nodded, bangs flopping wetly against his forehead. "I didn't think about it really. I was just having some fun." Sam turned a little sullen. "I never get to have fun, Dean. I wasn't hurtin' anybody and I figured no one would know."
"Yeah, well if I figured it out Dad probably will." Sam nodded then started on his homework.
Less then five minutes later the Impala's low roar pulled up to the house, followed by the slam of the passenger door. A moment later Dad walked in the house.
Dean had gotten pretty good at judging how the hunt went by John's look within the first few minutes. The fact that he was home early was a good sign. That and there was no visible bandages, Dad walked in confident without a hitch in his stride. All good signs as far as Dean was concerned. Dad dropped the duffle quietly at the door and walked into the kitchen, sniffing at the smell of fresh coffee.
"It doesn't get much better than this." Dad reached for a mug and poured himself a cup, leaned over to ruffle Sam's wet head.
"Hey, boys."
Sam kept his head down studiously. "Hey, Dad."
Dean glanced at his father. "How'd it go?"
"Easy salt n'burn, Dean. Feels good to be home." Dad leaned on the counter, took another big swallow of coffee. Took another and then drained the cup.
"You boys finish up that homework, I'm gonna take a leak and hit the rack."
Mentally, Dean pumped his fist. They were almost free and clear.
"If you get a chance, take a look at the Glock. It felt a little off and that gun is about as solid as it gets."
"Yes, sir." Dean dropped his head to his book and waited for his father to leave.
He tracked his Dad from stair steps to bathroom, heard piss, flush and then the faucet. Heard the steps toward his room but then heard them stop at the boy's room.
"Boys." Dad didn't sound particularly mad. "What did I tell you about leavin' your clothes all over the floor."
Right there, Dean realized his mistake. Sam's clothes were still on the floor and at last sniff they reeked of weed.
"DEAN! – GET YOUR ASS UP HERE!"
Dean was already up and running. You just naturally ran when John Winchester sounded like that. He felt more than heard Sam follow, slower and not quite as sure footed as his brother.
Dean skidded to a stop at his bedroom door. Dad held a pile of clothes including Dean's t-shirt. Dad took a whiff then dropped the pile to the floor. He dropped his hands to his belt before Dean had a chance to say anything. The meaning was clear. Crystal, in fact.
"I thought we had this conversation last year, Dean. I thought you got the message loud and clear." Dad's voice was low and ominous. Dean automatically took a step back.
"I uh…" Dean thought about the bare assed whipping at Bobby's, thought about his little brother getting the same. He deserved it, the little shit, but that didn't mean that Dean really wanted Sammy to get it.
"I'm sorry, Dad." Dean's confession was heartfelt, he was truly sorry and he had a feeling he was going to be a lot sorrier in a few minutes.
Dad pulled the belt out in one quick movement. He crooked a finger in Dean's direction and pointed to the bed.
Dean took a deep breath and started to unsnap his jeans. There was no way the man was gonna let him keep them on, so he figured he would make it easier all the way around.
Shit.
But before he could move Sam was sliding up in front of him physically putting his body in front of Dean's
"They are mine, Dad." Sam's voice quavered, but Dean saw that he lifted his eyes to his father and held them. Dean knew from experienced that was some serious hard shit to do.
"Yours?" Dead sounded baffled. "It's Dean's shirt, Sam."
"But my jeans, Dad. It was me. I was hanging out with some friends today after school and Dillon - he had some shit and well I smoked some weed." It all came out in one quick rush. Like as if Sam didn't spill it right then and there, he would not be able to do it.
John moved his eyes from Sam to Dean and back again. Calculating the odds of who was telling the truth. He reached down to the pile of clothes and pulled the jeans up. Yup, Sam's alright. The shirt was Dean's but there was no way that Dean could fit in Sam's jeans.
"Okay, Dean. You get on downstairs. Get that homework done, your brother and I have some talking to do."
"Dad, Sammy's just a kid…"
John rounded on Dean hard and fast. "You let me deal with your brother, you get your ass downstairs now."
Dean didn't disobey orders especially when it wouldn't solve anything anyway. He turned and walked down the steps to start his homework.
It was a small house, a very small house and being in the kitchen did not stop the sounds from the bedroom reaching Dean's ears. He heard the sharp slap of Dad's big hand hitting Sammy's bare butt. It was as obvious as if he was standing there watching it.
He listened for the corresponding yip which blended simultaneously with the next whack. Sam was a pretty tough kid, but Dad was a pretty tough spanker so it didn't take long for Dean to hear Sam cry.
At least he didn't hear the whistle of leather and the crack of it on Sam's ass. Because a hand spanking from his father hurt like hell but a belt whippin' that was just plain off the charts.
Dad wasn't taking it easy on Sam though, Dean could hear every whack and every sob. Sammy was crying non stop. And damn if it didn't get to Dean. His brother deserved every whack but that didn't make it any easier to hear. Finally there was the muffled sound of Sam's crying, probably on Dad's shoulder, the shudder/sob of a boy who was going to think twice about doing whatever had put him in this predicament in the first place.
A few minutes later his father came down the steps, expression grim.
He walked into the kitchen scowling and then stopped near the table and crossed his arms.
"Dean." Dad said sternly.
"Dad." Dean looked up at his father, wondering a little about the recrimination in his father's voice.
"Can you tell me what the hell just happened here?"
"It sounds like you just spanked the hell out of Sam." Dean tilted his chair back, popped the pencil's eraser in his mouth, a habit that never failed to annoy his father.
John squinted in Dean's direction, brow furrowed menacingly.
"What? I didn't do anything." Dean spoke indignantly.
"You lied to me, Dean. The minute you allowed me to think that it was you that got high. You were gonna take that ass whippin' for your brother and don't deny it."
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean….yes, I guess you could say I wasn't being entirely truthful but I didn't lie Dad. I just didn't defend myself. I didn't rat on Sam. Brothers don't rat on brothers, Dad." Now there was just a bit of recrimination in Dean's voice and it startled him just a bit.
John sighed deep and ran his hands through his hair. "Dean, you are supposed to look out for Sammy. That's true. But when he is wrong he needs to be punished. You can't take one for the team all the time, Sam needs to know there are consequences to his actions. If he doesn't learn it now, he may never learn it."
Dean nodded. He got it. But that didn't mean he had to like it.
"You know, Dean. That is a lie of omission. You didn't speak up, you didn't tell the truth. It might have been on Sam's behalf, but you lied. Plus, I know damn well that you tried to cover for your brother. Another kind of lie, Dean. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"So…what's your punishment? A lie is a lie, Dean."
Dean rocked his chair back onto all fours and stood quietly. "I don't know, Dad. " His father hated the boys to lie to him, it was a one of those Winchester oddities in life. Lie like hell to everyone else, but don't lie to Dad.
John jerked his head toward the front door.
"One mile, make it snappy."
Dean arched an eyebrow in his father's direction. He could fuckin' hop one mile on one leg. What the fuck kind of punishment was that? He just stared at John. Head tilted to one side like that damn mutt on the RCA label.
"You deaf, son? – One mile, let's go. Hustle."
John clapped his hands abruptly and half shoved Dean out of the kitchen toward the front door.
Dean hit the front door at a hard jog and was jumping down the steps three at a time. He landed on the pavement at a dead run and sprinted down the street.
One mile. He shook his head but ran.
If he didn't know his father any better he would swear this wasn't a punishment but a reward.
end