WBY Laying Down the Law

by wildblueyonder6

An excerpt from John's journal. Dean's been on the skids, John decides to take him in hand. Contains parental discipline. Don't read if you don't like.

Title: Laying Down the Law

Word count: 6,255

Summary: An excerpt from John's journal. Dean's been on the skids, John decides to take him in hand. Contains parental discipline. Don't read if you don't like.

XXX

It worries a man. This raising of boys.

I suppose it would be worse raising girls. I've got no real reason to say that except my Mary was hell on wheels. I loved every moment, every irreverent giggle, every swish of her hips and pout on her lips. But I was her boyfriend not her daddy.

Samuel Campbell hated my guts but if I had been Mary's daddy, I would have hated me too.

I can't really blame Mary for the boys' behavior though. Oh, they are her, sure enough, but unfortunately they got quite a bit of Winchester hardwired in them too.

I have to take the blame for that one.

Apparently, Mary had more common sense than me, Sam and Dean put together. I say that because she survived being a teenager and having me as her boyfriend. Pretty amazing if you think about who her daddy was. Him dying before we got married? I'm not saying it was a good thing and it sure enough crushed that girl but it made things a sight easier for me. Of course, Samuel Campbell might have come around once he got to know me better. I don't know about that but I do know I would have liked to have had his blessing. If not Mary and I woulda gotten married anyway. I hate to say that, especially because I like to think I am an honorable person, or at least I was back then.

Me making Mary disobey her daddy probably wasn't right. I'm not even sure I made her do anything. Mary wasn't the kind of girl who could be pushed into something she didn't want. But that old saying about all is fair in love and war? Well, I think there's some validity in it. I see both sides of that when I think of Mary and the boys. But like I said, Mary made it through adolescence and being a teenager with me as her boyfriend.

Sam and Dean? Well, I'm not so sure they will make it to adulthood.

The kicker is – nothing supernatural is gonna take them out.

I am.

I know. Radical huh? But those boys? They are wilder than march hares sometimes.

I admit I'm tough. I learned at the knees of my dad. My old man was tough and liked to knock me for a loop on a routine basis. I can't say I didn't deserve it. Every time he decided to wallop my ass I earned it honest.

The Corps was tough. Can't say I got my ass beat there but I got it handed to me enough times to teach me to mind my Ps and Qs. I had a Gunny who had a helluva right hook. Jim Murphy even rang my bell a time or two.

Vietnam was tough and that was a war where you could fucking see your enemy. The war my boys and me are fighting now? Makes 'Nam look like a walk in the park.

So if I'm a stickler for some things, well it's only because those boys have to be able to take a helluva lot more than I ever did. If all I had to worry about was them stepping on some VC trip wire things would be a lot easier. Maybe I wouldn't be quite the sonofabitch I've been known to be.

Those boys need to be better trackers, more accurate marksmen, and think far faster than I ever needed to do. They need to be able to run a con and sweet talk their way out of a routine traffic stop. They need to be able to use their fists and their wits in ways I never thought of. They need to be able to go up against shit that defies the natural order of things. Don't let anyone fool you. That kind of commitment takes discipline with a side order of mean.

I guess that's where I come in.

I can't tell you the times those boys have found themselves ass over tea kettle getting one butt or another roasted for some dumb thing. Dean more than Sammy. I think mostly because Dean takes the heat for Sammy if he can. The boy thinks I don't know that shit but guess what? I'm the one who gave him that particular order so I know damn well he's following it.

Sammy on the other hand? Well, he's stubborn. Boy's got a mulish streak a mile long. That stubbornness is the main reason he finds my hand connecting with his ass. I can't really smack the stubborn out of him but I can sure as hell make him think a time or two before he decides to draw a line in the sand. And that boy's been drawing lines in the sand since before he could talk.

I have to admit it was a lot easier when all he didn't want to do was take a bath.

The thing is - I'm not so sure that I'm a hundred percent right. I'm also not sure I'm a hundred percent wrong. Maybe that's part of parenting too Dunno. I think all parents think shit like this. Am I too hard, too soft, do I need to push this issue or let that one go? Doesn't seem to matter if you are fighting supernatural stuff or not, parents have been fighting a lot of these battles since the dawn of time. I gotta admit, my fights are generally a bit rougher than the average son and dad dance. But since the end game can mean life or death for my boys, I have to admit I'm tougher than most. Still, regardless of what everyone seems to think, I do let a lot of shit go.

Take Dean quitting school? Didn't want that. At. All. But the kid made a sound case for it and he got his GED. Besides. I couldn't beat that kid every night for a month just to get him to go to school. That's just entirely too much energy to expend on my part and too much hollering for Dean. Besides, he was right about not needing a high school diploma to be a damn good hunter. The boy is fucking organic when it comes to hunting. It's just - I don't know. A piece of me thinks that graduating high school should have happened. I'm not sure if it's Mary yapping in my head or something else. But the boy was smart enough to do whatever he wanted to do academic wise. He never showed it much, acting like a lady-killer and scoffing at any possibility that he might get good grades. But he wasn't fooling me with that bullshit. I blame myself for his lack of academic focus. If I had made school a priority, he would have tried harder. It's just that there was so much more I needed to worry about. So much more I needed him to worry about. I'm not gonna hate myself for making sure his job was keeping him and Sammy safe.

But like I said, fact that he didn't graduate does eat at me once in a while. Then again, it was what Dean wanted. So am I justifying letting him quit because it was what Dean wanted? I'm not sure. Let's be truthful, I've never asked Dean what he wanted to do, Sam either if you think about it. Feel bad about that too sometimes, then I think about what's at stake and the abomination that wants to see my family dead and I just tell myself to man the fuck up.

Sam going to college? Clusterfuck of monumental proportions. That was another time I didn't reach for my belt and probably for the same reason I didn't wallop Dean about quitting school. And isn't that the damnedest thing. Not beating Dean for quitting and not beating Sam for not quitting. But there are some things that kids have to decide for themselves on. I don't agree with Sammy going to school. I'm not changing my mind on that. There's too many things that can go wrong, there's too much that could happen. The boy is smart and aware and I'm sure despite all of his talk of normal, he's salting windows and there are sigils carved in the woodwork at his apartment. Well, to be truthful, I know there is because I snuck in while he was in class and checked.

If there hadn't been I might have hung around to beat his ass on that one. That would have definitely been ass beating territory. So yeah, I didn't think I should spank the boy because he wanted to go to school but I got no problem delivering a Winchester beat down on that kid if he isn't playing it safe while he is there.

The problem is now? Well, Dean is here and Sammy isn't. Sam doesn't have Dean's back and Dean isn't watching out for his brother. That scares me more than anything.

See those two think that I raised them the way I raised them just because I'm an asshole. I agree I am an asshole, but it's more than that. Those two boys need to be together. They need each other like a gun needs ammo. One without the other? Not complete. I wouldn't say useless, because you can club somebody with a gun and you can open up a bullet and make it dangerous but for optimum killing power you need the gun and bullets.

I don't want to think of my boys as killing machines. They are far from it. But together they are stronger, tougher and more of a threat to anyone, hell including me, than they are alone. That ain't nothing new. They've been tag teaming me for years.

But Sammy's gone and Dean's kinda doing his own thing. And I think he's a little pissed at Sammy because I don't even see him making and taking those covert phone calls anymore. He knows I know he's been talking to his brother. Hell, I'm glad he has been but right now? Something is off and I can't quite put my finger on it. Except to say they don't seem to be talking much and that worries me too.

I got no idea what went down between those two, Dean won't tell me, he just comes home a little drunker than normal, stinking of cheap whiskey and cheaper perfume. I guess he figures I don't notice, but that would be an error on his part and maybe if he'd sober up enough, he'd figure that one out.

Which brings us to tonight. Boy has been out all night. It's true the kid is 23 and old enough to drink legal and sleep with whoever he wants but it's the third day in a row and we are working on a case.

In his defense, it's not a big case, just a poltergeist with a penchant for young girls. Doesn't do anything but scare them, which is a good thing, but it's a paid case. I don't work harder if we are getting money, but I sure as hell want to do it right. Believe it or not it's the town cop who's hired us. Deputy Banner is his name. Maybe only a year or two older than Dean. I don't even think his boss, the sheriff knows about it. That deputy's got some pretty big balls bucking his senior like that, especially when it comes to this kind of shit. Doesn't matter though, that kid's been covering for us and that makes our job a little easier.

Well it would have been easier if Dean had stop catting around long enough to help me do the research. I hate those damn computers. Sammy knows his way around them, Dean does too I guess but I'm a bit of an old dog. But old dog or no, I still have been able to learn a few tricks so I didn't push the research with Dean this time. Maybe I should have, you know? Tightened the reins a bit but whatever he's going through? Well, like I said earlier, sometimes I think a boy has to figure it out for himself. So I hit the library. Talked with the locals. Normal recon. But tonight? Tonight was the salt and burn. I reminded him it was tonight, did all but tattoo it on his forehead. Told him he better have his sober ass at the graveyard at 2300. What happens? The boy doesn't show up and I spend four hours hauling dirt instead of two. Luckily this wasn't my first solo rodeo and hunting alone, while not my preference, is doable.

So I salted and burned the damn ghost with no trouble at all. Except my shoulders hurt from this damn hard Texas ground and I have a pounding headache that has more to do with worrying about the kid than anything else. I 've got to admit it would have been a helluva lot easier if Dean had showed up.

Believe me, when that boy does show up he better have a real good reason for ditching this hunt tonight. I doubt it though, if the last three nights are any indication of where his headset is.

So I hear him stumble up the walk, damn kid is singing Black Dog, off key I might add. There is the obligatory attempt of him to try and get his key in the door. I don't move from my seat in the corner of the living room. I don't give a damn if it takes him twenty minutes to get in.

It takes him five. But I think it is just luck because the door swings open and he literally falls into the living room.

"Sonofabitch." It's one of his favorite curses. One of his less colorful ones I might add.

But once he is on his knees in the living room I guess it all of a sudden it becomes funny because he starts laughing. That snorting half giggle that drunks have been doing since the dawn of time.

"SSSShhhhhhh," He says to himself, touches a finger to his lips and then laughs again, "Sssshhhhhh, Dad might hear."

I shake my head. Damn kid is so fucking drunk doesn't even see me five feet away from him.

"Too late," I rumble low.

That seems to snap the kid up a bit. He's on his knees but slowly pivots his head toward the sound of my voice. He's weaving and I'm glad he's on his knees because he won't have far to fall when he goes.

He looks at me a little dazed, "UhhiDa." He's made an effort not to slur his words but it's really not very effective.

I sigh and if he hears it he doesn't give any indication but truth be told he's so hammered he probably wouldn't hear a Mac truck drive past him.

I want to yell, it feels like I should yell. The kid is wasted and I've been sitting in the dark for three hours. I'm sore and tired and pissed. The kind of pissed that never bodes well for my boys. But yelling won't help, not my headache or Dean's drunken state. The boy won't remember my verbal smack down, hell he couldn't remember to show up to hunt when I told him about it while he was stone cold sober.

I know I don't have a lot of patience but damn it, he knows it too. It ain't rocket science. I glare at Dean and he eyeballs me back.

Apparently the alcohol has pickled any normal sense of self preservation the kid would ordinarily have.

That's when I decide to smack his ass. He wants to act like a kid; I can damn well treat him like one. I stand up, haul his ass up off the ground and then tip him over the couch. Maybe it's the position but he seems to perk up a little more. Could be all the blood rushing to his sloshed brain, I'm not sure. He struggles a bit though, like he's suddenly realized that things have gone from bad to worse. I have no intention of a full-blown ass kicking, I've decided I'll save that for tomorrow, but I want him waking up in the morning feeling the effects of my belt tonight.

I pull it through my belt hoops one handed and still pinning him over the couch I lay into him.

He jumps, that's expected but just two licks in he's crying. That's not expected. Neither one of my boys seem to be able to get through a spanking without a tear or two. That just proves I'm doing my job right. But two licks in? Dean is far more stoic than that. It's a matter of pride I guess, so it shocks me that the kid is bawling like a baby. It shocks me enough that I just give him a couple more licks. They're hard though, because if I've decided to spank his ass I'm gonna make sure he understands that I mean it. Still, it's a truncated 'what for' at best. Maybe it's the fact that my oldest boy is crying his heart out but honestly I don't have the heart to spank him again. Plus the way he's crying? I don't think it's because he just got a taste of my belt.

"Dean." I speak low and soft and he responds just as softly.

"M'sorry, dad." I pull him back off the couch and he leans into me another deep sob coming from his chest.

I hold him tight, taking more of his weight than I have in a while. "What for?" I ask. Because it sure as hell isn't because he ditched me tonight.

He stubbornly shakes his head. It's a slow motion waggle but the intent is obvious. The kid ain't talking tonight. He won't remember it anyway and I don't want to have to decipher drunken Dean.

"Okay kiddo, we'll talk in the morning."

He nods and starts to head up the stairs but is confused about how to get up the first step. I shake my head, damn kid and put my arms around him, tip him in my direction and we stagger step our way up the stairs and into his room. The kid is getting big, he's strong and weighs more than the last time I had to half carry him somewhere. I push and pull him into his room. It reeks of unwashed boy and God knows what else.

The boy definitely needs some direction when it comes to keeping his room and his rack straight.

Then again, maybe it's just him.

It makes me yearn for the days when he smelled of baby shampoo.

I push him none to gently on the bed. He face plants with a thump, doesn't even have the reflexes to hold his fucking hands out. A moment later he's snoring, a snuffling chuff that I've always associated with Dean. I drag his jeans down over his lean hips. Too lean I think, looks like the boy has lost a few pounds. His hipbones jut out, his belly's concave. He's fit enough but could use a good ten pounds. My luck the kid will suffocate while laying on his pillow so I turn him over on his side, if he pukes at least he won't choke on it.

I step back after I manage to adjust him in what looks like a more comfortable position. He looks so young, face slack with booze and a smattering of freckles over his pale skin. God, he looks like my Mary.

I love him more than anything. I love both boys more than anything and Sam's absence just makes that harder to bear.

I close the door with a soft snick and head over to my room.

XXX

The next day I jauntily slip into his room at about 0830, flip up the shades and smack his ass.

Hard.

I gotta say his reaction is mighty satisfying. The boy almost springs off the bed in one jump.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

I'd laugh my ass off except that I'm still pissed. "Nope, just me." I say wryly.

Dean spins toward me, takes a staggered step backwards and almost trips over the trashcan I put there last night. The boy's not even tracking me but I can understand because he suddenly turns an odd shade of green and stumbles over his feet to make it to the head.

I step to the door jam in the bathroom and watch as he hurls everything he ate yesterday, maybe the day before, considering the velocity and volume of the puking. I keep watching till it's just saliva and bile then finally huge retching dry heaves.

The kid has his cheek on the toilet and I imagine it was none to clean before he started barfing. Dean reeks only way a drunken vomiting boy can smell. Puke on it's own never smells all that great but add to it old Tequila and you get a smell that's pretty damn distinctive.

Then add dash of old socks, unwashed boy and day old sex and it becomes an odor to be reckoned with.

And I've smelled some seriously bad shit.

"Clean yourself up." I know I don't sound very sympathetic but I'm not feeling the love right about now.

The damn kid got himself in this position. He deserves to feel like shit.

Dean turns his head toward me, eyes bloodshot and probably still a little drunk.

"Yes, sir." Which is exactly what he needs to be saying. At least the boy has a few brain cells left.

I leave him to clean up his mess, both himself and the bathroom. He's damn lucky I don't give him his toothbrush to clean it with.

I head downstairs, wondering how I'm gonna handle this. It's true I gave him a licking last night. It wasn't much of one but his yell when I slapped his ass this morning let's me know he's still feeling it.

What I oughta do is leather his bare ass but good. He fucking disobeyed me. He put me in an awkward position and well - even an easy hunt can go bad. There's a reason why he and I are a team.

So he decided to hit a whorehouse or maybe just an easy girl. Probably the later, because Lord knows that boy is too damn pretty to have to pay for it. And he let himself get so drunk he barely made it home. Thank God he wasn't driving the Impala. Who dropped him off, I don't know…maybe he walked home. But that puts a whole nother set of issues out there. Christ knows Dean drunk can probably out fight most folks stone cold sober. Doesn't mean he couldn't wind up on the bad side of a knife fight. Or piss off some local who decides to make an example of him. Doesn't mean he might not run into one of our usual playmates.

He interrupts my thoughts by oh so carefully coming down the steps. He's got on sweats, one of my old Henleys and he's blushing like a teenage girl on prom night.

"How come my ass hurts so damn bad?" He waggles a brow in my direction, "I know damn well I didn't get into that kind of frisky last night." He's trying for lighthearted but he isn't really pulling it off.

I nod. "I walloped you a bit last night. It's kind of pathetic you don't remember but it just goes to prove it was a good call to hold off until today for the rest of your punishment."

"Awe, Dad. C'mon, I feel like shit. Mega shit. Please don't go all agro on my ass."

"And why not? Don't you think you deserve it?"

"I dunno. Maybe? But you know, I just got a little drunk, fooled around some. You can't say you never did that."

"True, but it's been happening more and more frequently. I've been letting it go and maybe that's my fault. But last night was different. You ditched me and a hunt. Although if you'da showed up three sheets to the wind, it probably was better you didn't show at all."

For the first time Dean looks really contrite, "Oh fuck…Dad, I forgot. I'm sorry, man. I just…" He rubs the back of his neck, "I just forgot 'sall."

"You forgot? A hunt? The reason we are in this backwater Texas town? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I went over it yesterday. Several times. You are damn lucky that Jeff Banner was around to make sure I could work undisturbed. That kid may be a deputy but he's got moxy, I'll tell you that."

Dean narrows his eyes at me. Now, there's a look there I haven't seen in quite a while, "So you had Jeff Banner watching your back. Didn't need me anyway." He growls the last part. The little pissant.

"No Jeff Banner kept his dickhead Sheriff off my ass so I could work. Work which took twice as long because my son was busy fucking around and getting drunk."

Dean shrugs. That pisses me off almost more than anything else.

Once again, my hand itches to pull my belt off; instead I take a deep breath. "You wanna tell me what the fuck your problem is?"

The kid settles himself on the couch, I note with some satisfaction that he doesn't plop his ass down, "I'm hung-over."

That boy is pushing every last button I got and trust me when I say most of my buttons are pushed half way down on any given day. I turn away from him then, mostly just to give myself a minute to calm down. Both of my boys have seen me angry. Anger can be beneficial when it's directed at something that needs killing. But really angry with my boys? Not often. Oh, I've been plenty pissed and I got no problem expressing my displeasure both verbally and physically but me smacking them around when I'm really angry? It's never happened before and it's not gonna start now.

So I leave him in the living room and walk into the kitchen. There's only a few feet that separates us but I need to breathe and think this through without looking at his smart alec hung-over attitude staring me in the face.

The kid must think I'm dumb as shit because there's more than he's telling me. Probably a lot more. The thing with Dean is how to get him to talk. We've never been a touchy feely family, although I got no problem hugging my boys and they got no problem taking those hugs. I've got to admit, when they hug each other, it's often a prelude to a wrestling match but it's usually all in good fun. Or at least it used to be. Whatever has happened between Sammy and Dean? Well, it's got Dean out of sorts. Sam probably is too but Sam being Sam won't pick up the phone and call his brother. Dean will sometimes take the high road but he can be just as stubborn as his little brother when he wants to.

And this right here? The drinking and fucking around, well that's typical of angry pissed off Dean. He wants to bury himself in pussy and booze and he will given half the chance.

It's stopping now. Today. The kid isn't going to self-destruct on my watch.

I run a hand through my hair, quite sure there's more gray there today than yesterday and step back into the living room.

I've only been gone two or three minutes, but the kid is already half asleep on the couch, legs on the coffee table. I lean over and swat them off. They land with a thump and I'm quite sure he banged his knee on something too, cause he swears at the rough treatment.

"Watch your mouth." I'm not yelling because that wouldn't work but I deepen my voice a notch or two and that usually does catch his attention.

"Didn't hardly cuss at all, Dad." He grumbles.

"You've done nothing but cuss since you woke up."

"Well, I'm not really awake so it doesn't count."

Breathe Winchester; it's your kid for Chrissakes.

"Okay, Dean. Spill."

He refuses to look at me, studies the ground like he's nine and forgot to check the safety on his gun. Which, he only did once, by the way.

"Jus tired, Dad. Tired and hung-over. Please, man – just give me some time to chill okay?"

"That's the second time in the past ten minutes you've called me 'man.' I'm not some punk ass friend you can talk to like that, I'm your father. You either refer to me with some respect or you and I will have a little chat about how to address this particular man. Got it?"

Dean nods.

"Dean." It's sharp and Dean snaps his head up and his eyes meet mine.

"Yes, sir."

I sit down next to him then, trying to be more understanding and less intimidating. Believe it or not, intimidating I do easy. Understanding I need to work on sometimes.

So I sit next to him and he sits next to me. He reaches for the remote control and I bat his hand away. He looks a little wounded but recovers quickly enough.

"Are we just gonna sit here all day?"

Once again there is that edge of petulance in his voice. I block it out, "Yeah, we are. Besides, there's nothing else to do. Seeing as how I finished the job."

He lets his head loll back on the couch. It hits with a thunk and it's not surprising considering this couch's cushions were probably new in '73. "Owe."

"Could be worse," I remark.

"Doubt it."

"Trust me, Dean. Could be a lot worse."

"Guess so." He looks at me then, maybe for the first time with any hint of the deference I'm used to.

"So what am I looking at here, Dad? I mean you're pissed, I got it. You have every right to be. I fucked up. Let the hammer fall. Whatever. Get it over with so I can go back upstairs, crawl into bed and lick my wounds."

"Lick your wounds? What am I a rabid wolf?"

His green eyes meet mine with just a hint of amusement. "Nah, not rabid. Alpha maybe. You know – like those PBS shows Sammy used to make us watch. You are that stiff legged grizzled old wolf who's gonna bitch slap the young stupid cub. The one who fucked up the hunt by bolting out of the underbrush, or in this case by not showing up at all."

I allow a small smile to hint at the corners of my mouth, "Well, the deer didn't get away, son."

"Yeah, but it could have. It would have been my fault if it did." He jigs his knees, nervous and worried at the same time.

Then he looks at me. He doesn't say the words but they are there. Dean's always been the responsible kid, watching out for his brother, following my orders. Doesn't mean he doesn't screw up sometimes and really? Screwing up is par for the course when you are a kid.

"Dean, I can't say I'm not angry about this. Any ideas why?"

"'Cause I let you down."

I arch a brow at him. "You did, but that's only part of it. This?" I twist the ring on my hand. It's habit I guess, when I'm worried or thinking of Mary. There's not much that worries me more than my boys. I take a breath, "This bullshit is going to stop. Right now." Then I add, "I've never been one to throw my weight around for the hell of it."

Now Dean arches his brow at me.

"Well, you might not think so, but it's true. We've got rules and a chain of command because I want you safe." I amend that, "I need you safe. I need to know that you are gonna come home in one piece. I need to know that you are gonna make the right decisions and truthfully that hasn't been happening for a while."

Dean shakes his head, "Dad, I'm twenty three. I'm not really a kid anymore." He sits a little straighter then and once again those green eyes meet mine.

"Oh, you're a kid alright. A smart kid, maybe, but stuff like last night? Drinking and whoring around. Missing a fucking hunt because you are so drunk you can barely stumble your way in the house. Do you really think that's adult behavior?"

"Yeah. Adults get drunk all the time." He gives me that look again. It's pissy and arrogant. And well…right.

I drop my head a moment then, "It's true. But not on a hunt." I allow my eyes to meet his then. "And I'm the Dad. I don't drink and drive, I don't let it interfere with my job. I've got to admit, me drinking has happened more than once but I…I have my reasons for it and you know them. Doesn't make it right, Dean. If my old man was around to keep me in line, he might just do it. Or your mom. She always called me on my shit. 'Cause she loved me. Which is exactly why I call you on yours."

"So the next time you get hammered, I can call you on it? You know, 'cause I love you."

I grin, "Yeah but I'd wait until the day after. I don't take direction well when I'm drunk. Which is why we are talking today. You don't take much direction shitfaced either."

"Well, apparently, you directed me enough last night that my ass still hurts."

"Yeah, but you don't really remember it. So I think we need a refresher course."

Dean slumps his shoulders, "Dad, when are you gonna stop spanking my ass? Don't you think I've had enough ass kickings in my life time?"

"Apparently not. And if my ass kicking saves you from an ass kicking that might just kill you, well that's okay with me."

"But not with me!" He's says it forcefully, but not really yelling. I guess his head hurts too much for that.

I shrug and then roll my shoulders. Damn if they don't hurt from digging that grave last night.

"M' tired, Dean. Over the couch, the table, hell the counter if you want. I want to get to bed and you probably want to get back to bed. "

Dean sighs the sigh of a kid who is resigned to his fate. He chooses the couch, leans over the threadbare back of it and just waits.

I wait too. Offer an "Ahem" and he obviously knows what I mean cause he lifts his hips and slides down his sweats. Takes off his boxers too.

Good boy.

Then I make an executive decision. No belt, just my hand. He hates that. Hates it worse then leather on his ass. Because it's personal and he knows that's how I'm taking it and I know that's how he takes it too. It's a helluva lot easier to get your ass leathered at twenty-three than hand spanked. But I feel like he needs to know how I feel and my hand, while not as harsh as my belt gets the message across just fine.

This time though, he doesn't really cry. Not like last night. He does sniffles a bit.

I add a bit more swing and that increases the tears but I don't really push it. I'm sure he's sore from the belt and this spanking isn't about making him bawl like a baby. It's actually about being a man and owning up to your responsibilities. The kid gets that.

Besides, like I said, my shoulders hurt.

Dean quickly pulls up his clothes over his red ass. He's pretty fast and efficient. I'm not sure if it's because of me and beating his ass or if he's just used to getting his clothes back on in the nick of time.

I shake my head at that thought.

"You're grounded. Not sure for how long so don't ask."

He nods once then sees my furrowed brow, "Yes, sir."

He stands in the living room just long enough for me to grab a glass of water and two aspirin, "Here. Drink it all, it will help."

He takes the medication and downs the water without a word and then goes back upstairs.

It's less than five minutes later when I hear him on the phone, the house is small and I have to admit, I've been listening for him.

"So Sammy." He sounds a little tentative at first but then finds his rhythm, "I fucked up big time last night and the old man whipped my ass. " He sounds both self-depreciating and embarrassed in equal measure, "Apparently, I'm grounded too." He chuckles a bit then, "Be thankful you are 2,000 miles away 'cause age don't seem to matter when your last name is Winchester." His voice fades a bit then and I go back to the kitchen and grab a cup of coffee.

I think it's just Sam's voice mail but it's a start.

End