Title: Do As I Say, Not As I Do
Characters: John Dean and Sam
Summary: John had always been a do as I say not as I do kind of guy. Contains parental spanking. Don't read if that offends.
John had always been a do as I say not as I do kind of guy. He made no excuses for it either. He was the adult in the family and if he drank, well he drank. His boys had better not. If he smoked, well he smoked. His boys had better not. He never much cared for Dr. Spock and his permissive parenting techniques. There were no time outs for Winchester boys, no reasoning, no gentle reminders and no nursing of bruised egos. His boys did as he said or else.
Since his boys were eleven and fifteen, he had more than enough muscle to make sure they towed the line.
Sam was a snit and had been for the past year. It made John long for the days when his little boy looked up to him. But being a snit wasn't really a spank worthy offense. For the most part. As long as Sam kept a civil tongue in his head, he was pretty safe.
Dean on the other hand was a troublemaker. The boy played it fast and easy. Oh he worked hard at the job, he followed directions and he was fucking organic when it came to hunting. But outside of the job? The boy danced with trouble in almost every aspect of his life.
He coasted by at school.
He mouthed off to anyone in authority, other than John.
He was randier than a teaser stallion.
He also didn't give a shit.
John let a lot of it slide because for the most part, he agreed with Dean. As long as his disrespect didn't cause too many waves, he was okay with a little rebellion. As long as it wasn't directed to him. He didn't care if the boy got Cs or As and thinking about sex when you were a teenage boy was as normal as waking up with a hard on.
But the drinking and smoking thing? Not so much. Once in a while, he'd offer Dean a beer if John was feeling particularly chummy and if they were celebrating a good hunt. But it was under John's watchful eye. He was pretty sure both Dean and maybe even Sam tried a swallow or two now and then, but he never was able to prove anything. Not that he really needed proof but it was always nice if John was planning on kicking some ass.
Smoking on the other hand? John wouldn't allow it. Never. Ever. Maybe it was because he smoked and he understood the dangers of smoking. But that being said, he didn't seem to be able to quit. He'd cut it down, he'd lay off for a while, but he found himself reaching for a smoke periodically despite his best intentions. He never wanted to see either of his boys get addicted to something as dangerous as smoking.
So both Sam and Dean knew he smoked. They saw him smoke occasionally. He didn't make any excuses and he didn't apologize. They also knew that no matter what John did, there was no way, shape or form that he was going to allow Sam or Dean to pick up a cigarette.
Sam never would. He would grimace at the smell and once, when he was about eight, he'd even hid John's cigarettes in an attempt to get him to quit.
That little crime didn't cause him to get his narrow little butt spanked but it was a close call. Apparently taking away your addiction under the pretense of not liking the smell of smoke was not a good way for Sam to protest John's bad habit.
Dean though? Well, he copied John everywhere and all the time. For the most part John approved. But John had made it clear that catching Dean smoking was going to result in a Winchester What For of monumental proportions.
Which is why he was shocked when he found a pack of cigarettes in his leather jacket. Not that finding cigarettes in his own jacket was terribly upsetting. They were even his brand. But that being said, they weren't his.
And Dean had been wearing his jacket like there was no tomorrow.
John grabbed the smokes thoughtfully then pulled one out and pocketed the rest of the pack in his shirt. He hadn't plan on smoking but why not now and why not on Dean's bill? That is if the kid bought them. Ten to one he'd stolen them somewhere.
He stepped out on the narrow front porch, pulled out his Zippo and lit up. The rush of nicotine and the twenty thousand carcinogens that were said to be in cigarettes immediately calmed him down. He needed calm right now because Dean was smoking. He was going to be smoking in an entirely different way after John set his ass on fire.
He finished the cigarette; ground it out on the cracked pavement. It was then that he noticed a few more butts. Again, his brand and probably from the pack he now carried in his pocket.
He added another punishment for Dean. Policing the grounds around the house.
John was on his second smoke when Dean showed up, Sam trailing behind.
The kids stopped at the porch steps, "Hey, Dad." The boys acknowledged in tandem.
"Sam. Dean." John said simply.
"Smoke?" He offered in the next beat and casually shook a cigarette out of the pack offering it to Dean.
John almost chuckled when Dean's face blanched white, freckles dark against his skin, "Dad, I don't…"
John shook his head, "Are we going to play that game, Dean? Are you going to play it?"
Sam's eyes widened at John's offer as he took in both the cigarettes and his brother's obvious discomfort.
"Go on in, Sammy. Me and your brother need to talk." John spoke quietly but firmly and whatever possible rejoinder Sam may have had was squashed. Sam offered a quick, sympathetic look at his brother and then shuffled past both John and Dean and took off for the security of his bedroom.
"Dad, I…" Dean began.
"What? You a man now? Smokin', maybe drinkin', who knows? Well, it's good to know that you feel you are tough enough to disobey my orders. To make your own decisions." John let those thoughts settle a moment, "So here we are just a couple of guys having a cigarette. Go on, take one." John growled the last sentence and Dean took it for the warning it was.
Dean pulled the proffered cigarette out of the pack, hands shaking. John casually lit Dean's cigarette with his lighter, allowing his half smoked one to dangle languidly out of his mouth.
"Don't forget to inhale, Dean. What good is a smoke if you can't totally enjoy it? You are enjoying this right?"
Dean nodded once and then swallowed reflexively.
"Good. " John soothed, in a not so soothing manner.
They sat there for the five minutes it took for Dean to smoke his cigarette. Dean carefully put it out, even picking up the butt and placing it on porch to be removed later. "Dad, I'm sorry." He sputtered.
"Here, have another, Dean. You might as well. " John shook out another and offered it to Dean.
"No, sir. I'm good." The boy said carefully.
"You're good? Nah, I don't think so. I think you need relax and have another."
Dean tried for a shaky grin, "Not so relaxed, Dad. Really."
"Well, my thought is if you are gonna smoke, you might as well do it all the way right? Besides, I wasn't really asking you if you wanted to have another, I was telling you to have another. You know, as in an order. Granted, you don't seem to want to follow my orders but seeing as how I'm right here, it would be in your best interest to do so."
"Yes, sir." Dean took another cigarette and John lit this one as well. He wasn't smoking one now, it was just Dean.
"You know, when I was a kid smoking wasn't really considered all that bad for you." John remarked, "I think the warning on the pack was, 'Caution: Cigarette smoking may be hazardous to your health.' Or something like that, kind of vague and wishy washy if you ask me. They gave us cigarettes in 'Nam. Did I ever tell you that? I think that was where I really started smoking big time. Kept the bugs away. "
John turned toward Dean. "Is that why you smoke? Keep the chiggers off you?"
"Huh? No. I don't know."
"Don't know. That's odd. You would think you would know why you are doing something dangerous like smoking. Especially since your own father forbid you to smoke. I mean, it's dangerous to your health, right? And really, if I was you, I'd think how dangerous it could be in more than one way. Let's face it, I'm not the most understanding parent when it comes to my boys disobeying me."
Dean's pale face got a shade or two whiter. If that was possible. John noted with satisfaction that the small tremor in his son's hands appeared to be a little more pronounced. Dean put out the second cigarette and John automatically gave him another.
"No, Dad. I don't want anymore."
"Hmmm." John hummed and gave Dean another anyway, lighting it before the boy had a chance to protest anymore.
Eleven cigarettes later and Dean's pale white face had turned an unnatural shade of green. The boy groaned and pivoted his body away from John throwing up over the side of the porch.
"Was that lunch? Pizza perhaps?" John noted as another wave of nausea caused Dean to vomit some more.
"Dad, please." Dean gagged and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Another?" John shook another cigarette out. "Not sure how your stomach will take it though. Besides it looks like this pack is almost empty. Might have to get mine."
Dean shook his head violently. Apparently not trusting himself to speak.
He then looked blearily at John, "Dad, please. Just bust my ass okay? Just… " Dean waved a hand randomly around the porch, "Please anything but keeping me here on but this front porch with those." Dean glared at the remaining cigarettes in the pack.
"Oh, we are gonna do that, but first you are gonna pick up every butt you see out here. I thought about making a nice tea with the butts. I bet it would be terribly aromatic. Kind of like somebody who uses a beer bottle to pop their cigarettes in when they are done. The beer gets all brown and gooey and it stinks to high heaven."
Dean moaned now.
"But I think you are satisfactorily repelled at the thought and smell of cigarettes right now. So I'm gonna go inside, check on your brother and you are gonna clean up the porch. You've got five minutes and then you get your ass up to my room."
Dean nodded.
"Can't hear your head rattle, son."
"Yes, sir."
John left Dean, stopped off at the kitchen and then checked on Sammy.
Sam was working on homework and wisely said nothing.
Smart boy.
Five minutes later Dean showed up at John's bedroom door with a tentative knock on the woodwork outside the door.
John nodded and then motioned for Dean to shut the door, "It will keep the yelling to a dull roar and your brother is doing his homework."
"Yes, sir." Dean agreed.
John crooked a finger and Dean and Dean reluctantly moved to his side, but not before his eyes fixated on an object in John's right hand.
"Is that a spoon?"
"Yup, came with the house. I've always liked wooden spoons. They don't conduct heat you know and it makes it so much easier when you are warming something up."
"A spoon?"
"Well, I don't plan on spanking your hard teenage ass with my hand. It's this or my belt. What do you think?"
"ME?"
"Well, all grown up and all. Smoking like a man. Maybe you should choose how I'm gonna bust your ass?"
"The uh, spoon is fine." Dean gulped, "I guess."
"Good. Drop your jeans and your shorts and lean over that dresser."
"Underwear too?"
"That's what I said. I want to make an impression. I think that's important. I made an impression out front didn't I?"
"Yes, sir." Dean reluctantly agreed as he dropped his pants and boxers and assumed the position over the worn dresser.
John looked at Dean's lily-white ass. It had been a little while since he'd seen it up close and personal. Kid had grown a bit here and there but it was basically the same one he'd spanked when Dean was thirteen and had cut school for a week. That was the last time John recalled giving the boy an honest to God spanking. Oh, he'd boxed his ears once or twice and swatted the kid over his denim rump occasionally but a real licking? It had been a few years.
He snapped the spoon against his own hard thigh once, satisfied with the sting it gave him as well as Dean's unconscious jump.
He leaned over and spoke low to Dean, "This is gonna hurt a bit kid. I don't think I'm gonna say hurt me more than you though. I always thought that was pretty stupid."
John then proceeded to "spoon" his eldest. Hard, fast and without remorse. Dean, for his part, yelled a bit. That was to be expected. If the kid hadn't John would have been worried. It wasn't a matter of being tough, or of soldiering through it. If John Winchester decided a boy was going to be spanked, he was going to be spanked well and that just naturally included vocalizations.
Finally, when Dean's butt was covered in oval red spoon marks, John determined that he'd had enough. He stopped, dropped the spoon on the nearby bed and then touched his hand to Dean's sweaty neck.
"Okay, kiddo. All done."
Dean nodded and pulled his underwear up, not bothering with his jeans. John got that. The jeans were relatively new and would probably feel like sandpaper on Dean's recently spooned ass.
He turned Dean toward him and pulled him into a hug. The boy stank of cigarettes sweat, and the stale noxious smell of vomit but John didn't mind. He doubted he would smell that particular combo anytime soon.
"Lay off the smokes, Dean. Got it."
"Yes, sir." Dean agreed.
Dean leaned on John then and John wrapped his arms around narrow shoulders and felt his son's low sobs against his chest. He was just a boy. Sometime John forgot that. Oddly enough, when something like this happened he was reminded of it threefold. Despite being a pretty damn good hunter and truthfully a pretty damn good son, Dean was only fifteen. A teenager. A kid. The boy was lean and wiry, barely shaving but he held the promise of the man he would be. The man that John would help him be.
He kissed the top of Dean's head and allowed the kid to pull away.
"Go on, let your brother know you are alive."
Dean nodded and grabbed his jeans as he headed out the bedroom door.
John patted the remaining cigarettes in his pocket. He took them out and dropped them in the trashcan.
Being a role model might not be all that bad an idea after all.
end