This story was the idea of my lovely friend wise_old_crone over on LJ. She wanted to do a birthday fic for another friend, then, in her own words, "I started and then I got stuck." That's when she asked me if I'd like to join her and I was thrilled to pitch in. I've never co-written with anyone before and I found out I LOVED it! Of course it helps that we are alike and different in just the right ways. I can appreciate that chemistry isn't found with everyone. We added in the mega-beta-reading of another LJ friend, remisfriend26, to round out the trio. I then asked wise_old_crone if I could post this on my page here when we were done and she agreed. I didn't want you all to miss out on a story I came to love writing and boy did we write! This ain't gonna be a short one, my fellow community members. It was a 7-parter. Then we added an epilogue. Hopefully you will enjoy.
Game Boys were awesome. As in really, really awesome. Or so Dean Winchester thought. Of course, his Dad would never buy him one; not in a million years. Not when there was physical exercise that could keep a growing boy entertained and out of trouble.
" 'Entertained' my ass," Dean thought as he eyed his prized possession. Okay, so technically it wasn't his possession; the Game Boy belonged to his classmate Noah. Noah's family didn't own just ONE Game Boy, no - there were four boys, and every boy had his own. Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his head when he heard that. Noah was a spindly little thing, but he and Dean got partnered up for a biology project and Dean really liked the guy. He was quiet, but when he did decide to talk, boy did he ever nail an issue precisely on the head.
Noah said it was because he was the runt of the family. With three bigger brothers demanding all the attention at the dinner table, nobody paid much attention to him. So he'd learnt early on to think first and talk later.
"My turn," Sammy piped up. He crawled onto the sofa next to Dean and held his hands out expectantly. He smelt minty-fresh like toothpaste, was in his Elmo pajamas and smiled up at Dean with those big puppy eyes Dean could never resist.
"Okay, squirt, but this is your last game. I've already let you stay up past your bedtime, so don't give me a hard time or I'm not gonna share tomorrow, okay?"
"But Deaaaan!" the nine-year-old began to wail, "that's not fair!"
Dean had just been about to hand the electronic gadget over to his brother, but now held it up and out of the little guy's reach. "Is that what you'd say if Dad was here?"
Sammy's lip protruded in a pout. John was away on a trip, and had been gone for the past two nights. The boys were expecting him home the next day, so if Dean told him Sam had acted up, he'd be cross for sure. He bit down on his lower lip, thinking. He really didn't want to go to bed, but he didn't want to get into trouble, either. He eyed his brother suspiciously. "No, but Dad's not here, so-"
"Rules still apply, short stuff." Dean didn't negotiate with Sammy over things like bedtime very often, but he had to admit the Game Boy was an exception. Usually, the only reason they had for staying up late was because they were full of energy and not tired after having been cooped up inside all day or because they were in the middle of a game. Dad had roasted Dean's butt one time too often for letting Sammy stay up late and watch TV that wasn't age-appropriate. So they basically just watched cartoons until Sammy had to go to bed. It was just safer that way.
The look on Sammy's face when Dean declared it was bedtime was as sad as if Dean had just cancelled Christmas. It really was more fun playing Super Mario World with his brother. The small fry was a natural.
"Okay, you can stay up a half hour longer, but..." Dean held the device closer to Sammy but refused to let go until his little brother was looking up at him with his big brown eyes, "...don't tell Dad I let you stay up past your bedtime."
Sammy shook his head no and sent his hair flying. "I won't, Dean, I promise."
"Not even if you are mad at me, right? I don't need another lecture from Dad, you hear me?"
Sammy's small hands stayed clutched around the Game Boy, but his cheeks blushed a soft pink. Last time Dad had been away on a "business" trip - which they were to say if anyone got close enough to ask - Dean had waited till the very last minute to do his chores, although he'd told their Dad on the phone they were done a lot sooner. Sammy had gotten upset after Dean told Dad Sam's whole class had gotten detention, and Sam had retaliated by ratting Dean out. John had not been impressed. The lecture he'd given Dean had left the boy's ears ringing for an hour afterwards and Dean had been really pissed off with Sam.
"I said I'm sorry, Dean. You don't have to bring it up all the time."
"So we're clear?" Dean needed Sammy to verbally seal their deal. He could see Sammy was getting upset, so he flashed him a winning smile.
In a flash, Sammy's face lit up and he nodded his head vigorously. "Not a word to Dad!" He gave a delighted giggle as Dean released his hold on the device and ruffled his hair.
"That's m'boy," Dean said as he leant closer to have a better view of the small screen and Mario was on his merry way.
OoO oOo OoO oOo
By 11:45 p.m., Dean felt completely knackered. Of course he'd sent Sammy off to bed way past the agreed half hour, but they'd really made some great progress together. They'd collected a huge amount of coins and the game was really starting to get challenging. Dean eyed his wristwatch wearily. He could go to bed; he'd still catch enough hours of shut-eye to be fit for school tomorrow if he went now.
Or…
Well… Or, he could have a Coke, ride the sugar rush and see if he couldn't beat this fugly. He was a little annoyed that Sam was pretty much kicking his butt in this game and if he didn't want to embarrass himself the next day, he'd really have to get better. Luigi was not supposed to be better than Mario, right? Right.
Basically, Dean owed it to Mario to stay up and practice. So he did.
OoO oOo OoO oOo
"Hey! You there!"
John Winchester suppressed a sigh. He'd just pulled up inside the Impala in front of his rented home after being away on a long hunt. He longed for a shower, a beer and to be with his boys. But before he'd even managed to get his other leg all the way out of the car, he heard his neighbour's call. It was way too loud to ignore, considering that it basically ricocheted all the way down the street, so John really had no choice but to sigh deep, turn and face her.
"How'd you do, Mrs. Donnelly?" John asked pleasantly as he approached the fence.
"Oh, this isn't about me," the old lady replied brusquely from over her side of the fence. "We do need to talk about that son of yours!" She punctuated her point with a bony finger in John's direction, forcing John to reconsider coming closer.
Great. What have those two miscreants gotten themselves into this time? John wondered as he straightened up at the accusation and moved closer to place his forearms on the conjoined fence in an effort to disarm the combative old woman. "Which one?" he asked, trying to remain casual. The boys had been whining at him about their next door neighbour pretty much since the moment they settled down in this little crap-hole of a town. The only time John had heard more complaining was whenever the old lady complained about his boys. They were loud; they were sneaky; they'd been peeping into her windows (which he highly doubted); they were noisy when they took out the trash; she heard bad language; was the little one a boy or a girl – with all that hair, she sure couldn't tell; was the taller one a juvenile delinquent – the leather jacket sure implied it. The list didn't have an end, only an addendum.
In John's estimation, Mrs. Donnelly must have been an army wife; otherwise he could not explain her uncanny repertoire of tactical attack manoeuvres. No matter what the Winchesters did, especially the younger ones, she knew about it one second later and did not hesitate to make sure John Winchester knew about it the second after that. The boys suspected her one-eyed cat communicated with her in one form or other. John had even given it a serious passing thought, then decided that was nonsense. That said, she sure was good. And sometimes she came in handy.
This time, Mrs Donnelly, the withered old coot, had caught sight of Dean hanging outside on their front steps – during school hours. She had seen it as her duty to pounce on John and tattle before the man had half a chance to get out of the Impala.
"I could have called a truant officer, you know."
"Yes, ma'am. I thank you for not doing that and telling me instead."
"I used to work at that school. Twenty-five years I gave those ungrateful brats. Always thinking they could pull one over on us adults, as if we couldn't possibly have a clue what they're up to. There's nothing new under the sun, you know."
"Yes, ma'am. That's true," John replied, looking for an opening to stop her tirade.
"You'd think they'd invented playing hooky! But I keep telling them idle hands are the devil's playthings."
"Uh huh." John wasn't sure how much more he could take himself. It was a wonder the kids hadn't tarred and feathered her long ago.
"And your boy is probably one of the worst of the lot!" she bellowed.
"Well, now, Mrs. Donnelly, I seriously doubt…"
"Don't tell me!" she interjected. "I saw him out there listening to his infernal music, drinking something that I could swear was not legal for his age. What are you teaching those boys, Mr. Winchester? We lead by example!"
And now John was getting more than aggravated, not so much at the nosey old bitty next door, but at Dean for seemingly blatantly defying his orders to toe the line, whether John was present or not, because they did not need unwanted attention - -like this unwanted attention. Was he trying to bring child protective services banging on their door?
"And you," she continued. John shook himself out of his thoughts as her latest charge commanded his attention.
"Me, ma'am?"
"Yes you! I went over there to tell you about that wild child of yours, but every time I did, you couldn't even be bothered to come to the door. I kept getting excuse after excuse from that long-haired boygirl who can't be bothered to speak up!"
"Mrs. Donnelly, I work some pretty long hours…"
"Excuses, excuses. It's no wonder this generation is going to pot." It was then Mrs. Donnelly decided her best congregation was herself, so she continued to preach about the evils of the younger generation and their lax parents as she waved off John Winchester and turned to shuffle back into her well-worn home, clearly in as much need for care as her well-worn lawn.
"Yes, right, well ok then, Mrs. Donnelly," John called to the oblivious woman as she continued her rant inside her own back door, closing it firmly behind her. John closed his eyes and pulled a hand down his tired face as he tried to decide what was more pressing - rest or dealing with Dean for what was probably a slightly trumped up offense. Or, for his sake, it had better not be the whole story. If it was, Dean would regret putting him in this position. That was for sure.
OoO oOo OoO oOo
"Dean! Front and center!"
Dean and Sam looked up from the Game Boy they were still borrowing and exchanged panicked glances. Shit, that tone never bode well for their butts. "Hide it," Dean whispered to Sammy before he scrambled to hustle down the stairs and stand at attention before his Dad - wherever the hell he'd just come from.
"Sir?" Dean said as he skidded to a halt in front of John in their kitchen. "I didn't know you were home already. How did it go?" John wouldn't be deterred by the innocent look on his son's face.
"We'll get to that later," he replied. John reached out and put a hand on the kid's forehead. He didn't seem hot or feverish, and he didn't look it, either. Hmm. "How was school today, kiddo?" John asked, curious to hear Dean's reply.
Dean blinked his eyes twice. A tell-tale sign that he was about to tell his father a big fat lie. Dean hesitated for a moment and licked his lips nervously. Shit, how the hell had he found out so soon?
John raised his eyebrows warningly and Dean knew he was busted. Lying would just make things so much worse. He swallowed. "I didn't go, sir." Seeing John's frown he quickly licked his lips again, mouth dry as parchment. "Well, that's not quite true," he quickly amended. "I did drop Sammy off at his school, sir. But, uhm… I didn't get much sleep and, uhm, I woke up with a headache from hell and, uhm…" he trailed off, looking up at his father questioningly. He'd presented John with all the facts, well, the important ones anyway, so basically now he had to wait for John to make the next move.
"Were you going to tell me about this, Dean, or were you planning on forging my signat-"
"Hell no!" Dean exclaimed loudly, panic crossing his mind. He instinctively took a step back and glowered up at John. "You don't always have to assume the worst of me, you know?" He couldn't help it, but suddenly hot, angry tears began welling up in his eyes. Dad could be such a jerk at times.
"Alright, son, just calm down," John said placatingly, putting both hands on Dean's shoulders. "Why didn't you call me?"
"Because I knew you'd be home by tonight," Dean shot back defensively.
"Okay. Settle down. You don't seem sick. Any reason why you couldn't sleep?"
Dean blushed and scuffed the floor with the toe of his boot. "Um…"
At this moment Sam made an entrance by rushing over and wrapping his arms around John's waist. "You're home!" Sam said with delight.
Glad for the diversion, Dean set his mind to work. He had to come up with a good excuse, and fast. He wasn't sure what he'd been thinking by hanging out in the open where old women with nothing better to do could see him. At first he'd just gone home and crashed, but after he'd woken up a couple of hours later, he couldn't get back to sleep. Well, of course he could always play Super Mario, but truth be told, he felt immensely guilty. Clearly, his sleep-deprived mind and the knot in his stomach hadn't helped to surmise that boys who ditch school had best stay in the house until school was over for the day.
"Hey, kiddo!" John smiled down at his baby boy and ran his hand through his hair. "You need a haircut."
"You need to shave," Sammy quipped back, looking at his dad's scruff.
John ruefully scratched his cheek. "Guess we've both got a point, eh buddy?"
Seeing Sammy and his Dad interact so playfully almost broke Dean's heart. He was really glad his old man was home again and he really didn't want him to be mad. But he didn't want to lie to him, either. With a sigh he decided to come clean. Set a good example for Sammy, or whatever.
"Um, I didn't get enough sleep 'cause I was up all night playing with a Game Boy, sir."
"Excuse me?" John looked up at his older son, but continued hugging his younger.
"Um," Dean knew his Dad hated hedging, but just spilling out the truth wasn't that easy, either. Nervously, he scratched the back of his head before he continued. "Noah, from school, he lent me his Game Boy and, um, I…" Dean trailed off, not sure how far down he'd dug his own grave already.
John gave a sigh of his own. He looked down at Sammy. "But you did get enough sleep, right?" He felt Sammy's head nod, but the kid buried his face in his father's shirt. Like that was ever a good sign.
"Guess I should have been here to send you to bed, hm?" John asked quietly, thinking.
Dean shrugged, not sure how to answer that one. He didn't want to admit he needed his Dad around for stuff like that - after all, he should be old enough to know when to go to bed himself. Plus, bedtimes weren't negotiable in the Winchester household. Dad gave the orders and the boys had better heed them… or else.
"See - that's exactly why I didn't want one of those damned things in the house in the first place." John scowled hard at Dean and placed his hand on Sammy's head, tilting it up, so he could see him, too. "Did you two get in any fights over it?"
"No, sir," the two boys replied in unison.
"Not even a small scuffle?" John eyed his boys suspiciously.
"Dean always shares; he's the best!" Sammy smiled up at John happily.
"Sammy, why don't you go on to your room for a little while. I'm sure there's some homework you could be doing?"
"No, sir," was Sam's quick reply before he noticed John's stern expression directed at Dean. "Um, well, I do have a math test on Monday. I can go study." Sam knew at this point John was only half listening. He glanced over at Dean, who would only look at the floor, and back up at John who was still distractedly smoothing Sam's hair as he watched the guilt pouring off his older son. "So, yeah," Sam finished. "I'll go study."
"Good boy," John replied, releasing Sam but never taking his eyes off Dean. Sam nodded, knowing no one was particularly focused on him now. But he stuffed his hands in his pockets and made his way past Dean with a brush of his arm against his older brother's in a show of silent solidarity that Dean recognized but could not acknowledge lest John catch on to their code.
"What were you thinking," John asked once Sam had returned up the stairs and loudly closed his door. "You know I count on you to watch out for things here when I am away. I can't have the neighbors paying so much attention to us, Dean."
"Mrs. Donnelly is just a nosey old woman, Dad. It's like she's the neighborhood cop. I wasn't bothering nobody. It's not fair!" Dean's voice rose like he wanted to argue for the rights of teenage boys everywhere who had Big Brother living next door. But John's silent look in reply caused Dean to think better of himself. He lowered his voice. "But I'm sorry, Dad, I don't know what I was thinking. I was just so tired...I wasn't using my head."
"You're damn right, Dean," John agreed. He sighed and leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms as he considered the disobedient boy before him. He knew he put a lot on Dean. He knew that ultimately it was his job to make sure both his boys got the rest and education they needed. He knew boys loved video games and that their lives just didn't allow them to do things any differently than they were already doing it. Mrs. Donnelly was a royal pain in the ass - good intentions or not - and so this time, he would grant clemency.
"Okay, Dean, listen up. Because you decided to be honest with me, I'll cut you some slack."
Dean looked up at him hopefully. After John had dismissed Sammy so quickly, Dean's heart had pretty much slid down to his socks.
"Here's the deal. Instead of serving time over my knee or in your room..." John glared pointedly at Dean. "...you can do some 'community service'."
"And you're the 'community', right?" Dean ran a hand through his hair. Sometimes Dad's punishment chores were worse than being in lockdown, so he eyed him suspiciously. John seemed deep in thought.
"Did you slack off on any other chores while I was away?" John had been gone since Monday morning; it was Thursday now, so plenty of time for the boys to be idle.
"No sir," Dean was quick to reply. "I only got the Game Boy yesterday and I've done all my chores - laundry's done, beds are changed, I emptied the fridge, and yes - before you ask - I did get those leaves out of the rain gutter on the roof just like you told me to, and-" Dean saw the look dawning on his Dad's face and stopped abruptly. His shoulders slumped and face fell. "You forgot, didn't you?"
John didn't need to answer as the look on his face spoke volumes. He'd made a deal with Dean - if he managed not to slack off on any of his chores for three weeks, he'd teach him to shoot a crossbow. So far, they'd only covered handguns and Dean had taken to those like a duck to water. He was a natural; he loved the adrenaline kick of it and John also knew he liked spending time with his old man. Something he'd never known himself, seeing as the bastard had up and left, so John did try to spend as much quality time with his kids as he could. That hadn't been much lately, not with the lifestyle they led with the hunting and moving and all that.
"We'll do it next weekend, kiddo. I really need to head back out to-" John started to say, but he could hardly believe what happened next.
"Screw you!" Dean yelled at him. From the hurt in his eyes, it was clear to John that he'd disappointed his champ, and he was sorry; really, he was, but that did not mean that behaviour like that was acceptable.
"Dean." That one warning bark was usually enough to get the boy to toe the line. But clearly, not today.
Dean squared his shoulders and looked up at him with defiance. "You always pull this kind of crap!" he spat angrily. He didn't care that a moment ago he was in trouble for skipping school. So what?
John moved closer, but Dean stepped back. Like two duellists they sized each other up in the rather small kitchen. "I know you're upset, Dean, but I think you're forgetting who you're talking to here, kiddo."
"I'm talking to the jackass who had me working my butt off for the last three weeks and never intended to give me squat in return."
John inhaled, taken aback by the viciousness in his son. It was extreme, even for a disappointed Dean. But now he was crossing a line he wouldn't be able to come back from. "Are you out of your mind, boy?" John growled menacingly. He grabbed Dean's upper arm and pulled the brat close, making sure he had all his attention. "How dare you speak to me like that!"
Dean lost his balance momentarily as he was pulled up on his tiptoes. "Let GO!" he spat angrily, trying to pull free.
"Dean! Knock it off! That's an order!" John tried hard not to smack his kids when he was angry, but right now his palm was just itching to connect with Dean's butt. Instead, he let one arm hang casually by his side and pulled the brat effortlessly closer with the other.
"Let… Lemme…" Dean was losing ground fast here, but he was just too pissed off to care.
"Stand down!" John ordered in his no-nonsense tone. "I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but I'm pretty sure a sound thrashing will help you to remember your manners."
"But YOU'RE the one, who-"
"Played hooky?" John shot back, trying hard to keep his calm. "Disobeyed my direct orders?"
"You wouldn't even know about that if it wasn't for the old bitch next door!" Dean cussed back, still trying with all his might to break his father's iron grip on him. To no avail.
John straightened, his voice suddenly eerily calm. "One." John caught Dean's free arm and easily held his wrist up high. Dean scowled up at him fiercely, too angry to heed the warning in his father's tone.
"Two." By this time John felt quite worked up himself. This was not the kind of welcome he'd been looking forward to.
"Fine. Whatever!" Dean spat at him petulantly, but he did stop trying to pull free.
John didn't even consider letting him go now, though. He scrutinized him carefully - the dark rings under his eyes, the flash of anger staring back at him, and the penny dropped. "That is precisely why I told you to be in bed on time. You're too old to be having a damned temper tantrum because I wasn't here to make sure you take a nap."
Dean looked up at him indignantly. "I'm not… five..."
"Then stop acting like it."
Dean bristled at the reprimand, but just couldn't convince himself to back down. He hated feeling trapped; hated it with a vengeance and his father knew this, so why wasn't he letting go? Dean tried again to tug his hand free, but he was only pulled up higher. He kicked out in frustration and managed to land a good one against John's shin.
"And that's three, buddy boy," John spat, now also at the end of his tether. He moved them both forward a step or two so he could open a kitchen drawer. He reached inside and retrieved a sturdy wooden spatula.
Dean's green eyes widened in horror as realization hit him. "Seriously? No! Friggin… NO!" He tried to bat John off with his free hand, locked his knees straight like a horse and tried to pull away like that, or at least make it harder for his father to manhandle him.
John raised an eyebrow at him. "You really think you're not in enough trouble, boy?"
Dean just stared back at him, clearly backed up against a wall, but the spunk hadn't left him yet. John wasted no time propping his leg up on a rung of one of the kitchen chairs and hauling the squirming kid over his muscular thigh. He grabbed him by the back of his pants, so the fabric was snugly stretched over his well-presented butt, and secured his kid's back with his strong elbow. The spatula was broad enough to cover a decent part of Dean's butt - pretty much like the palm of John's hand, but this way he wouldn't be feeling the sting himself. The brat's reaction to the spanking, which John began without further ado, was instant.
"Yeow!" Dean hollered, as the first resounding smack crashed against his behind. He honestly couldn't remember being in this position before, and he really didn't like it. It was terrible - his feet had no ground to stand on, and he just hung there, like a sheet in the wind, with no chance whatsoever of protecting himself from the fiery onslaught. His jeans offered very little protection, or so it seemed, and the wooden spatula hurt. A lot.
"Ow! Ow! Not so hard!" the teen yipped and squealed in discomfort and he felt utterly ashamed at how fast the tears were flowing. Of course, it really wasn't helping that his Dad had decided to rapidly pepper his sit-spots right from the start, to set the proper "tone."
"Settle down, kid. You know what happens when I reach three," John said matter-of-factly, as if they were discussing something everyday - like laying down the salt lines and locking the doors.
"Put me down, Dad, please - put me down," Dean was begging in no time. This position was ridiculous! Dean was pretty lanky for his age, but he really didn't know how his Dad still managed to handle him like a rag doll. It also didn't make the teen feel any less frustrated right now, to be quite honest, but he did want that wicked burn to stop.
"Quiet," John said uncompassionately as he continued to apply wood to butt.
Dean reached back and clutched John's sleeve. "Please, Dad… just not like this…" he tried to say more, but hollered loudly instead as the spatula smacked down on the back of his thighs. He heard his voice hitch as the pain rose above his endurance level and the first sob escaped his lips.
John noticed this with satisfaction. The kid's legs were kicking hard now, but it did little to shift his position. Still, the boy ought to know better. "Keep your legs still."
"I can't, Dad," Dean sniffed miserably, "It's too hard."
"It's exactly as hard as you deserve, you hear me?" John watched as Dean hiccuped and tried to get his breathing back under control. His hand was still holding on tight to John's shirt-cuff, and he could see his white knuckles standing out. Dean gulped down air but nodded contritely.
"What happens when I reach three, Dean?" his father asked strictly.
"But it already hurts so much!" Dean wailed in dismay.
"Tough," John commented drily. "Now answer the question."
"I lose the pants,." Dean coughed, but quickly added, "But I've learnt my lesson, sir. Please..."
John snorted. "Oh, it's way too early for that, m'boy. You really should know that by now." He tipped Dean forward a little more so the kid had to cross his legs at the ankles to maintain his balance. With renewed vigour he smacked the spatula down on Dean's sit spots. Clearly, this was making an impression because John couldn't remember the last time the kid had been so vocal during a spanking.
"Are you done calling me names?" John asked as he momentarily paused to hear Dean's response. The kid had wrapped his arms round John's legs and his tears were dripping freely onto the linoleum floor.
Unable to speak, Dean nodded his head vigorously and stammered out, "Uh-huh."
"Excuse me?" John demanded.
"I mean, yes sir. I'm done, sir."
"And are you done with the cussing?" John tapped Dean's butt lightly with the wooden implement.
Dean nodded again and tried to wipe the tears away with his sleeve.
"I can't hear you, son."
Dean's stubbornness was fighting with his will to survive. "I'm done, sir. I'm sorry."
"Will I be getting any more of your attitude, or is it safe for me to put you down?"
Dean's mind raced. Of course he didn't like where he was now, but if Dad was only going to put him down in order to take down his pants… well, then he'd probably be safer up here. But Dean knew that was foolish, so he opted for his only choice. "I'll be good," he whispered softly, dreading what would happen next.
"Uh-huh," John grunted as he moved his leg down from the chair. His damned thigh was about ready to kill him - Dean definitely wasn't a small kid anymore. He released his hold on the boy, who straightened up and instantly reached back with two hands and tried to rub some of the sting from his butt.
John pulled the chair further out from under the table, turned it to face the other way, and sat down. He placed the spatula on the table and unbuttoned his shirt cuff. He started to roll up his right sleeve and studied Dean's face while the kid meticulously tried to avoid meeting his eyes. John cleared his throat expectantly.
For a brief moment, Dean had hoped Dad had taken pity on him and would let him off without part two of this neverending spanking. But John Winchester was not known for letting up until the point was made. Dean bit his lip nervously, moving his hands to his front as he started to undo his jeans. His hands were shaking, which was unusual for him, but he really didn't want to drop trou.
"Quit stalling." John's voice was a deep growl.
Dean was a whirl of emotions. He was embarrassed to be punished like a little kid and so soon after Dad had gotten home. At the back of his mind he imagined Sammy must have heard the whole thing from before and now there was more coming, so that added to the shame he was feeling. Of course he was also feeling the sting of the spatula, though he was trying not to. On top of all that, the sadness he felt from his father's disappointment magnified the pain. But there was also his own disappointment at yet another broken promise, which was starting to rise to the surface again, bringing with it an onslaught of fresh tears. He had only wanted to spend time with his dad. It was one of the few times he felt like he had all of John's attention and he reveled in the pride his dad would lavish on him whenever he performed as expected, usually better than expected. Why did it all have to go to shit so fast?
"I don't have all day, Dean."
Dean nodded but sped up only a little. "Yes, sir," was his quiet reply.
John wasn't sure how they had gotten here, but he knew they needed to get through it quickly. "Let's get this finished, son."
Dean stepped to his father's side and finally released his loosened jeans. Licking his lips, he breathed deep, trying to contain the coming tears as he prepared for what was hopefully the last of this particular punishment. John wasted no time grabbing his wrist and pulling the boy over his waiting knees, adjusting him on his lap before he pulled down the boy's underwear. On the bare was what you earned when John got to three. No exceptions. No age limits.
Dean closed his eyes and lowered his head as much as he could, as if it could somehow hide him from the pain to come. He heard a clatter on the floor, his eyes flying open in question, but he didn't have to wait long to learn his dad had dropped the spatula and opted for the personal touch now. Dean yelled in expected surprise when John's hand connected with his already very sore backside. Dean thought he had gotten his emotions under control for this, but that first swat quickly re-opened the floodgates and Dean was helpless to control it.
John laid into him with smack after punishing smack, Dean's yelps punctuating each blow, his kicks forceful enough to dislodge the jeans around his ankles. "I have to be able to trust you while I am away, Dean," John said as he took a second to relieve Dean and his hand. Dean could only gulp for air as he tried to respond with his expected, "yes, sir." The moment of reprieve gave him just enough time to bite his lip again as his dad's hand came down on one cheek, then the next, and back again, all in quick succession. Dean stifled a further outcry, pinching his lips together as tightly as he could and shutting his eyes in a futile attempt to block the pain.. He only hoped his dad would stop asking him questions so he could continue to try to contain his wails.
"This ends here, do you understand?" John slapped Dean's ass with as much force as he knew the boy could handle. Not really expecting a reply, he continued with the lesson. "I am the head of this family, whether I am standing in front of you or not, and you WILL obey me."
Dean whimpered and nodded his head, but did his best not to free the cries building up in his burning throat. "And you..." John landed another smack. "...are not giving…" Another smack. "...Mrs. Donnelly…" And another. "...any more reasons to pay me any more visits." Hard smack. That was it. Dean yelled out, unable to hold back the dam any longer. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes! Yes, Dad! Please!" Dean wailed. "I can't take anymore! I'm sorry, I swear I am!" Dean could only cry now like the little boy he felt like and he was too spent to even care. He laid on his father's lap and let the torrent of pain and sorrow and disappointment flow from him. It really was amazing how therapeutic crying could be too, though that was far from Dean's mind at this particular time. Later, he'd appreciated the weight of his lies and disobedience being lifted. For now, he was just hoping his dad would be done already.
And as if John could read his thoughts, Dean jumped as he felt his dad pull up his underwear and lay a careful hand on his back. But this time, the touch was gentle as John stroked his son's back, hoping to calm the boy before he lifted him up again. Once Dean recognized the touch for the consoling act it was, he felt free to relax and let loose the last of the pained cries that needed to escape. "I'm so sorry, Dad."
"Shhh," John soothed. He couldn't help but smile a little as he thought back to how easy it had been to console Dean when he was a toddler. The boy had always easily found comfort in his father's arms, no matter what was wrong. Of course this was back when life was satisfying and full of promise. Mary had been the main disciplinarian then, since she was a stay-at-home mom and frequently the target of Dean's youthful tantrums. Plus she never did take bad behavior from anyone, Dean or John. If Dean had found himself lashed by Mary's scolding tongue or worse, stung by a couple of quick taps on his backside, Dean would run to John who did his best to be the peacekeeper, giving both parties time to regain composure before taking Dean to apologize for whatever infraction he'd committed and promise to be good. It was easier then, when there were two of them to steer the ship. On his own, John could only do his best not to push his children away from him with his strict methods as he fought to simply keep them both alive while he sought his wife's killer. He'd have to make good on his promise. He knew that. But for now, Dean would need to comply.
Before long, Dean quieted and felt John begin to pull him back to standing. He couldn't look his dad in the eye just yet, as he worked to regain strength in his legs, sniffling with the occasional hitches in his breath making it hard to stand still.
"Hey, champ," Dean heard, his eyes caught by the white napkin waving in front of his nose. He took it for the call to truce that it was, biting his lip even further to squash the tears he could feel building again as he momentarily felt sorry for himself. He blew his nose and gave his dad a quiet "thanks" but still no eye contact.
"I believe you have something I need to confiscate?"
Dean sniffled again, blowing his nose more as he nodded. "Ye..yes, sir."
Not thinking and not wanting to face John any longer than he had to, Dean turned to hustle up the stairs to his and Sammy's room, wincing at the pain in his backside as he moved. John just shook his head, choosing not to remind Dean that he might want his pants back. Instead, he simply picked them up and followed his cowed son. Dean would probably want to change into something a little less abrasive anyway.