Title: I'm not a horse!
Author: brassband777
Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas (briefly)
Scenario: Set in Season 6 sometime after Sam regains his soul, but before they are aware of Castiel's betrayal.
Summary: Sam accidentally zaps himself and his brother back to 1955 by not following orders. He continues to disobey (with the best of intentions of course) and Dean is definitely not impressed.
Author's Notes: written for the 2012 Spring Challenge over on 'Spanking the Winchesters' community on Live Journal. Prompt words: 'mental problem', 'time travel' and 'organized'. Implement: crop.
"Do you have a mental problem, Sam?" Dean rounded on his brother the second they landed, Castiel having zapped them back into the present.
"Sorry," muttered Sam, refusing to meet the gaze of his furious big brother.
"Sam is not mentally ill, Dean. I can put your mind at rest about that," put in Castiel, "He is perfectly healthy."
"He won't be when I've finished with him," growled Dean ominously.
Sam swallowed nervously. He had disobeyed Dean so many times over the last week that he was pretty sure his ass was grass.
Dean glanced over at the angel in the trench-coat and ran a hand down his face, taking in a deep, calming breath. "Thanks, Cas. If you hadn't come when you did…" Dean left the rest unsaid. If the angel hadn't arrived when he did, his baby brother would have been disembowelled!
"No need to thank me, but your timing was most inconvenient. The battle in Heaven continues to escalate and Raphael must be stopped. His forces are well-organized and things are proving difficult. I must return."
With the sound of fluttering wings, the angel was gone.
"Cas, wait!" Dean's plea went unheeded and he threw up his hands in frustration. "Freakin' great!"
The angel had successfully returned them to the present, but to exactly the same spot they had been in the past – an old abandoned barn out in the middle of nowhere! He had assumed that the angel would transport them back to civilization before leaving.
Dean flipped open his cell phone, relieved to find he had a signal and called Bobby.
Sam only half-listened to his brother's side of the call as Dean explained the situation and arranged with Bobby that someone – a hunter friend of his who was presently on a hunt not too far away - would swing by and pick them up.
He's gonna kill me, mused Sam. Dean hadn't spanked him in years – the last time having been when Dean had found out that he was sneaking around with Ruby behind his back – but he was pretty certain that that dry period was coming to an end.
Finishing his phone call, Dean paced. He couldn't deal with Sam right now – he was too angry. The hunter friend of Bobby's wouldn't be here for another three or four hours, so he had plenty of time to deal with his wayward brother.
Dean hadn't spanked Sam since before he had unintentionally started the Apocalypse by killing Lilith. Afterwards, their relationship had been on shaky ground for a while - Dean had been so hurt and felt such a deep sense of betrayal that his brother had chosen a demon over him. Sam on the other hand had gone out of his way to follow Dean's lead, desperate to regain his big brother's trust, so no spankings had been necessary.
When Sam had returned from Hell, spanking soulless Sam would have been a pointless exercise. Part of what made spankings such an effective discipline technique where his younger brother was concerned, was the fact that he wore his heart on his sleeve and had an overactive conscience. The fact that Dean felt the need to spank him in the first place, had a greater impact than the physical pain itself – he hated feeling that he'd let his big brother down. Also, the forgiveness offered freely after a spanking always served to ease his guilty conscience. Soulless Sam had no conscience whatsoever and didn't care in the slightest about avoiding pain.
Dean thought back over the events that had led them to this point.
First of all, Sam had touched the darn artefact in the first place – hadn't the kid learned anything as a result of the cursed rabbit's foot a couple of years ago? Apparently not. He knew better! He'd been brought up to respect supernatural objects. Dean had even seen him reaching for it and told him not to. Had his baby brother listened? No of course not! Afterwards, the kid's excuse had been that he was intrigued by the strange carvings on the lump of metallic rock. Luckily, Dean had caught him disobeying his order and grabbed his arm, trying to yank him away. If Dean hadn't had hold of him when the tips of Sam's fingers skimmed the stone's surface then his brother would have been whisked back to 1955 on his own and Dean would have remained in the present. And damn he hated time travel! It made him feel nauseous. To make matters worse, not only had they moved through time, they'd also managed to move a couple of hundred miles west from where they'd started.
They'd called for Cas of course, but the angel must have been too pre-occupied with the war in Heaven as he didn't answer. So they'd set about researching, trying to find a way back to their own time. The first couple of days had passed without incident, but then a coven of witches in the area had come to their attention. Seeing as they were stuck in 1955, they figured they might as well make themselves useful. These particular witches had conjured themselves up a rather nasty creature called an Eechitt. The most distinguishing features of Eechitts being their eight inch claws, the strength of ten men, not to mention the fact that they were totally impervious to bullets, arrows, flame-throwers or any other weapon that you could use from a nice, safe distance away. The only way to get rid of them was to lop off their head.
It had been Sam's job to provide Dean with cover, so that he could destroy the altar, not to push in front of his big brother and destroy it himself! Both Sam and Dean had known that whoever was destroying the altar, the hub of their power, would be the target that the witches would focus on and therefore the one at greater risk. Sam's mumbled apologies afterwards (once Dean was through yelling at him) stated that he'd merely seen an opportunity and taken it. Dean knew better. He could read his baby brother like a book. The kid had some misguided notion that he needed to make up for what he'd done while he was walking around without a soul. No matter how many times Dean tried to explain that it wasn't him, that he wasn't responsible, Sam wouldn't accept it.
Unfortunately, destroying the altar from which it had been conjured hadn't extinguished the Eechitt as they had hoped. So they had been forced to track it down. Eechitts had a penchant for gutting their victims and chowing down on their intestines. Eventually, they had successfully tracked it to an abandoned barn. The plan had been for Sam to distract it (from a safe distance away!) while Dean sneaked up close enough to behead it. Did Sam follow the plan? Hell no! As soon as they entered the barn, Sam had launched himself straight at the beast, determined to not give it the chance to get close enough to Dean to get its wicked, curved claws into him. The beast had easily knocked Sam to the ground and Dean had watched in absolute horror as it aimed a powerful swipe straight at his little brother's abdomen.
The next second had been a blur. Cas had appeared out of nowhere and lopped off the Eechitt's head with a single swing of his angel sword. He had then greeted the Winchesters as if there was nothing unusual at all about their present predicament and calmly placed two fingers on their foreheads in order to zap them back to their own time.
His baby brother could have gotten himself killed three times! That was not acceptable in Dean's book. Today his hand wouldn't suffice. Today the kid was going to feel the lick of leather.
Figuring he was now calm enough not to actually kill his brother, Dean moved towards Sam, who was standing, fidgeting nervously.
"Time to get your hide tanned, Sammy," he growled.
Dean dropped his hands to his waistband. Damn, he'd forgotten, he wasn't wearing his belt in these jeans.
"Come on, Dean. You don't have to spank me." Sam was slowly backing away, his hands held up in front of him placatingly.
Dean didn't answer. He was busy looking around the barn. Maybe there would be an old bridle rein or something lying around? They were made of leather weren't they? He didn't find any pieces of a bridle, but he did spot an old riding crop nestled in the sawdust covering the floor. He walked over to it and picked it up.
Sam's eyes went impossibly wide when he saw what his brother was holding.
"Nuh-uh, Dean. You can't be serious! You're not gonna hit me with that!"
"Why not?" Dean frowned as he held the crop in both hands and proceeded to bend it to see how much give it had. Yeah, it was nice and flexible. "Lotsa kids get whacked with a cane or switch and I figure this is just the same as them, only for horses."
"I'm not a horse," Sam tried. Sure, he knew some kids did get disciplined with canes or switches, but they never had! John had usually used just his hand, unless their infraction was really serious, in which case the paddle or his belt came out to play.
Dean strode purposefully towards his little brother, the innocuous riding crop dangling menacingly from one hand.
Sam looked around frantically, seeking an escape route. Dean could read his baby brother like a book.
"I wouldn't recommend it, Sammy, unless you want extra. This is gonna happen, so it might as well happen now."
Sam reluctantly held his ground, realising that running would just delay the inevitable and knowing that his brother would make good on his threat of extra swats if he did.
"Good choice, Sammy." Dean took hold of his upper arm and started towing him towards the hay bales in the corner of the barn.
Sam eyed the dangling crop warily, half-forgotten science lessons coming to mind. He remembered some equation or other they'd worked out relating to pressure and surface-area. The outcome had been that a really heavy man wearing a tennis shoe and standing on your foot would hurt a whole lot less than a really lightweight lady wearing a stiletto heel and doing the same thing. It was all to do with the surface area – the smaller the surface-area, the greater the pressure….and in this instance, Sam figured, the greater the pain! That riding crop was awfully narrow! The belt hurt bad enough and both John and Dean wore broad, thick ones!
Dean gently pushed Sam over the nearest hay bale, adjusting his posture slightly so that his jean-clad ass was in the perfect position.
"Just get it over with, Dean," Sam grit out, burying his face in the crook of his arm. It was embarrassing, but he knew he'd be crying by the end, Dean would make sure of it.
Dean was happy to oblige. He raised his arm and brought the crop down sharply, impressed with the whistling sound it made as it cut through the air. It cracked smartly dead-centre across his brother's buttocks.
Sam's unexpected reaction was instantaneous. He leapt upright with a loud yelp, both hands clutching his backside. Hell, that crop hurt! It was like someone had lit a line of fire cross his rear.
Dean took a step backwards in surprise. Yeah, sure, kid Sam had struggled to stay in position whenever he was spanked growing up, but adult Sam had too much pride to wriggle around.
It couldn't have hurt that much, surely? The kid was just over-reacting. Maybe because he hadn't been spanked in such a long while? Maybe he was trying to make Dean go easy on him? Well it wouldn't work! The kid had earned himself a first-class butt-warming.
"Settle down, Sam." Dean pushed his brother back into position over the bale. This time, he pressed his free hand to the small of Sam's back, holding him down.
"But it hurts," whined Sam, his hands still clutched over his butt-cheeks, protecting them.
"It's supposed to hurt. And you know you've earned this, so stop being a big baby."
Sam hesitated. He knew Dean was right, he did deserve this. His choices from the second he'd decided to touch that darn rock could have led to him and his brother getting killed! He took a deep breath and removed his hands, clutching hold of handfuls of straw from the bale instead. He'd survived Lucifer's cage, right? So he could definitely survive an ass whipping with the stupid crop.
Dean raised the crop again and brought it down. This time, Sam was prepared for the sharp, intense pain and managed to keep himself in position, but he couldn't bite back the yelp that was wrenched from his lips.
"Stop being a drama queen, Sammy. It doesn't hurt that much," muttered Dean, continuing bringing the crop down with painful regularity.
Growing up, Sam had always been very vocal during a spanking until he'd hit his late teens. At that point, Sam's manly pride had made him clamp down on it, until he was as silent and as stoic as his big brother ever was when punished. Now however, he was yelping or 'owwing' at every swat.
Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's dramatics. It wasn't going to make him take pity on him! He was lucky to have a brother left to spank at all after the last stunt he'd pulled! A vision of Sam ripped open with his intestines hanging out assaulted him and Dean gave an involuntary shudder.
After only stroke number twelve, a sob escaped. Sam was unable to hold back his tears any longer. His rear literally felt like it had been set ablaze! He knew without a doubt that he must have welts criss-crossing his buttocks. Dean wasn't taking much care with his aim – as long as it whacked his little brother's behind, he was good – so many of the swats had overlapped.
Dean paused and looked down at his crying baby brother, then at the crop in his hand. How had it brought Sam to tears so quickly? It usually took almost double that with the belt to get him to cry. Just how bad could getting hit with the crop be?
Dean raised the crop and brought it down with the same force and speed that he had been using on his brother and whacked it across his own thigh.
"FRIGGIN' HELL!"
Sam managed a watery, sniffling laugh at the sight of Dean hopping around on one leg cursing.
Dean looked down at the offending object in his hand and, with a scowl, threw it as far as he could away from him across the barn. He then looked down at Sam sprawled over the hay bale. Yeah, the kid was crying, his tears clearly visible as he had his head turned to the side, resting one cheek on the hay, but spankings never ceased the moment the miscreant was brought to tears - it was necessary to drive the lesson home, so that the offence would not be repeated.
"Sorry, 'bout the crop, Sammy."
Sam mumbled something inaudible and started to push away from the hay bale, intending to stand.
"Nuh-uh, Sammy, not finished yet." Dean pushed him gently back down.
Sam groaned and sniffled. "Please, Dean?"
"We need to talk about your behaviour, kiddo."
"I'm sorry, okay? I won't try save your sorry backside again."
"Sorry to burst your bubble, junior, you didn't give me a chance to need saving. You just charged in guns blazing. At no point was my life ever in immediate danger, yours on the other hand…."
Sam dropped his head in defeat. He knew Dean was right. Dean's plan each time had been sound, but as always, Dean had taken on the role that carried the most risk (big brother prerogative he called it). After finding out from Cas some of the things that his soulless self had gotten up to, Sam was desperate to make amends and redeem himself somehow – but how could you ever make up for condoning your own brother being turned into a vampire? So he had rushed in blindly each time, heedless of the danger to himself, just determined to negate any risk to Dean.
Seeing Sam's acceptance, Dean raised his hand and brought his palm down smartly across the seat of his brother's jeans. Usually for a hand spanking, the jeans would come down, but after experiencing the bite of the crop, Dean was pretty sure Sam would feel it sufficiently through the denim. Dean was right.
Dean spanked silently for a minute before Sam stopped trying to fight his tears and just went limp, letting himself sob. Seeing the change in his brother, Dean paused.
"You don't deliberately put yourself at risk ever, you got that?"
Sam nodded miserably. He'd forgotten just how much spankings hurt!
Dean continued, "And you follow the plan on a hunt unless you're forced by unforeseen circumstances to change it. You clear?"
Again Sam nodded, his breath hitching too much to talk.
"Okay, we're just about finished."
Dean wrapped up the spanking by applying a dozen swats straight to Sam's sensitive sit-spots. Then he sat down on the edge of the hay bale next to his prone brother and let him cry himself out, rubbing gentle, soothing circles on his back as he did so. Once Sam's sobs had ebbed to sniffles, Dean stood up and pulled his brother up with him, wrapping his arms around him. Sam melted into his big brother's embrace and buried his head in his shoulder, breathing in the scent that was pure Dean – old leather and gun oil – and feeling safe.
Dean was happy to hold Sam in his arms for as long as the kid needed it. Living a half-life while his brother was in the cage, followed by the time with the empty shell, who may have worn his brother's face, but definitely wasn't Sammy, he had despaired of ever holding his brother ever again. The thought that he had his Sammy safe and whole in his arms choked him up for a moment and Dean automatically tightened his embrace.
A short while later, Sam pulled back, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes in order to remove the last trace of tears.
"My ass is gonna look like a zebra," he huffed.
"You say you're not a horse, but you're happy to be a zebra? Anyway dude, zebras are black and white, not red and white."
Sam mock-glared at him, "Bite me, Dean." He reached back and gave his abused backside a tentative rub. "Oww!" Sam immediately yelped and yanked his hand away.
"So what have you learned from this, Sammy-Boy?"
"My big brother's a jerk!"
"O come now, princess, you deserved it and you know it…..well maybe not the riding crop part, but still… I promise I'll stick to the belt next time. How's that?"
"How about you promise not to use anything at all, even your hand?" groused Sam. Sitting down ever again wasn't an option he was sure.
Dean smirked "I'll tell you what, Sammy, I promise to never tan your lily white hide with anything at all, ever again, unless you do something stupid ….like nearly get yourself killed. Sound fair?"
Dean had to duck the handful of hay that Sam threw at him.
THE END