Title: Mac Attack
Characters: Dean and Jamie Winchester
Genre: Gen, PG 13 for potty mouth
Summary: Jamie's got barn duty. Prompt was brush. How much trouble can a kid get cleaning a barn? Not making any money. Parental spanking, don't read if this offends you,
XX
Brush…where hell did he put the damn brush? Jamie glanced around the stall, looking for the body brush he needed to finish his job at grooming his father's horse. He spotted it balancing on the top of the Dutch door and snatched if off with a grumble.
Jamie loved the horses, all of them, but they were hard work and sometimes he just wanted to get up on a Saturday and hang around and watch TV. Or sleep in late. Or do nothing. But he lived on a farm and he had chores. Stalls to muck, horses to feed and groom. The barn had always been his responsibility on the weekends.
It was irritating.
Jamie's friends had chores too and most of them were farm boys who spent their time out of school riding tractors, putting up fences and helping their families with their farms and ranches. In this section of Texas it was as natural as breathing. But Jamie had more than regular chores. He had training and research and a physical regimen that most Marines would take issue with. Plus Uncle Sam rode his ass about grades and Gramps rode his ass about everything else.
Luckily his father was pretty relaxed about most stuff but still. Dad was pretty tough about the barn and the horses. It was Jamie who wanted the horses and begged to get them. Granted, he was pretty little at the time and his family enjoyed them too. And truthfully, except for Thursdays, Dad and Uncle Sam did the mornings and usually evening feeds, unless they were busy hunting but the weekends where Jamie's.
Jamie brushed quickly but thoroughly, flicking off dust and hair with his wrist. He wasn't paying attention though; his thoughts were on a baseball game that was going on even as he worked in the barn. He was supposed to be pitching. Grant you, it was just sandlot baseball but damn Jamie wanted to be there.
Jamie brushed big sweeping motions down the horse's hindquarters. If it had been Girl, his mare he was working on, it wouldn't have mattered. She was sweet and kind and loved Jamie almost as much as he loved her, but Mac, his dad's horse had a temper, and was ticklish and the combination caused Mac to pin his ears back in irritation.
Jamie ignored the warning, bumping into Mac a little hard and brushing more roughly than he should. "Deal with it, Mac." Mac, turned his head, pinned his ears again and offered a squeal followed by a kick.
A solid thump to Jamie's thigh and he was hitting his hip up against the stall door and then his ass on the sawdust covered stall floor.
"FUCK, MAC!"
Mac turned to look at Jamie balefully, as if to say, warned you, stupid boy, then he turned his head forward again and grabbed a mouthful of hay.
"Hey, kiddo…what's with the language?" Jamie heard his father but didn't see him. Considering he was sitting in a pile of sawdust shavings, facing the butt of his father's horse he figured not seeing his dad was par for the course.
"Your horse just kicked me!"
Jamie looked up to see his dad leaning over the stall and down at Jamie.
"At least the stall was clean. You could be sitting in a pile of shit right now."
"Dad, that is not the kind of sympathy I'm looking for. "
Jamie stood, brushed the sawdust off his ass and took a limping step toward Mac.
"Foul tempered, son of a…"
"Easy there, Tiger. No one needs to hear your smart mouth, not even Mac."
"But Dad, he fucking kicked me," Jamie whined.
"Jamie, I mean it. Stop it with the f-bombs."
"Oh, so your horse can kick the shit outa me and I can't even complain about it?"
"So, what of it? Ten to one you were brushing that tickle spot on his butt too hard. It ain't rocket science, Jamie. You've known Mac since he was a two year old and you know he hates that. That has nothing to do with keeping a civil tongue in your mouth. "
"I can not believe you are taking up for a horse. A horse that almost MAIMED me. "
His father quirked an eyebrow at him, slightly bemused expression on his face. "He didn't almost maim you. Besides, maybe you'll pay a little more attention now that he's gotten your attention. Much like you better start paying attention to me and stop the cussing. See, Mac's kick? I figure it's a lot like my hand to your ass. You piss me off enough and I'm gonna figure you need a physical reminder to keep your four lettered mouth shut."
Jamie fumed, "How come you can cuss and I can't? What's up with that?"
His father leaned up against the outside of the stall. "'Cause I'm the dad. It means I can do a lotta things you can't, including driving a car, voting and yeah, cussing."
"Dad, that's not fair." Jamie argued stepping out of Mac's stall and shutting the door firmly behind him, making sure the latch was secure.
"It's not. It sucks to be you huh?" Dad had moved toward the tack room, glancing in at the bridles and saddles that were normally hanging neatly on individual racks.
"What happened in here? World War III?" Jamie's father nodded toward the mess.
Jamie did try to look a little ashamed. "Me and JR went riding yesterday. It was hot when we came back and we were tired so we just kinda dumped the tack in there without putting it away. It's fine, Dad. I'll figure it out."
"Yeah, you will. And make sure you clean it too, as hot as it was yesterday, I'm sure that leather got pretty sweaty." Dad reached in for a bridle, rubbed a fingernail lightly down the reins, gathering the dried sweat at the tip of his nail. "Pretty gross, huh?"
"Sure, I'll get it later. I have a baseball game now."
"Hate to tell ya, buddy, but there's no game until this tack room is clean and the tack you used yesterday in clean too."
"What? That's gonna take at least another hour. C'mon, Dad. Don't be such a hard ass; I'll do it tomorrow. I have all day."
His father sighed. "No can do, Jamie. We need to keep our tools in working order, you know that. Tools for the Impala, guns for hunting and yeah tack for the horses. It's important. It that tack gets dry rotted or moldy, it's hard as hell to clean and it can be dangerous."
"C'mon, Dad…you sound like Gramps! It's not gonna decompose over night. It'll be fine till tomorrow."
His father turned, glared hard at Jamie. "It's not negotiable, Jamie. Finish up the barn and make sure that tack room is clean and the tack saddle soaped. Do it well because I will check it. When you are done, you are free to go to the game, but not until then, got it?"
Jamie kicked hard at an empty bucket, it hit the side of Mac's stall and Mac snorted and gave a jump.
"It's like living with fucking Mussolini," he mumbled heading toward the tack room.
His father grabbed him as he walked passed, a quick clean and jerk that pulled Jamie off of his feet.
"Mussolini, huh?"
Jamie gulped as his father dragged him over to a bale of hay conveniently sitting up against the nearest stall.
"I wonder how many butt whuppings Mussolini handed out?" His father spoke almost conversationally but Jamie wasn't fooled.
His father sat down and dumped Jamie unceremoniously over his lap and started in with hard, fast spanks.
Jamie didn't even have time to protest. At least at first.
"Jesus, Dad…stop it with the hand!"
It worked. The sharp smack of hand to ass took a quick break. But even Jamie knew that kind of shit never worked in real life. When he was getting his ass handed to him by a Winchester man, saying stop never did anything really.
But his father had stopped for a moment. Jamie felt his dad swivel his body and knew he was glancing around quickly, "I can use a pair of reins if you want. They are filthy with sweaty horse but I'm sure you won't mind. I have it on good authority they won't decompose so what do you think?"
Jamie sputtered, "I think your hand is….", his father threw another blazing scorch over his denim clad butt. "fine." He ground out.
"Good. Glad to hear you agree." And with that his father proceeded to light Jamie's ass on fire.
Swat after swat landed strategically on his butt. Damn, but his father had a hard hand. Not only that but he seemed to take extraordinary pride in making sure that every spot on Jamie's rear end was blazing.
Jamie yelped, wiggled and finally slumped over his dad's lap.
"I'm sorry, Dad!" It was kind of choked and teary but there was not much he could do about that.
"What are you sorry for, Jamie?"
"For cussin'. For comparing you to a dictator. For not cleaning the tack and for irritating Mac on his tickle spot."
Jamie heard his father laugh then. It was just a small snicker, but Jamie knew he was in the clear. Once his dad decided to laugh about anything, he pretty much knew that whatever bad mood he had been in was gone.
His father offered another sharp spank. Hard. Really hard. It stung like blazes.
"That's for comparing me to Mussolini."
He dropped his hand to the back of Jamie's neck, already sweaty from the morning's chores. It was warm, hot really, from the friction of hand to ass but it felt solid and safe.
His father ruffled his dark auburn hair once and then he rolled him off his lap onto the floor of the barn. Jamie yelped at the indignity of it, just barely missing a small pile of horse manure and landing ass down in the dirt.
"Dude, that was harsh. I almost rolled in that!" Jamie sputtered.
"Well, if youda cleaned the aisle way better, it wouldna been a problem huh?"
Jamie looked up at his father, saw the twinkle in his eye and decided to go with the flow. His ass hurt, his thigh hurt and even his hip hurt from where Mac had pitched him into the stall.
"Yes, sir."
His father reached down, offered him a hand and hauled him up to face him.
"So?"
"Finish the barn, clean the tack, watch my mouth. Got it."
His father reached over, pulled him in for a quick hug and then turned to leave.
"Hurry up willya? I wanted to see you pitch today!"
Well fuck a duck, Jamie thought, ruefully rubbing his wounded ass.
He glanced over at Mac who was now watching him over the stall door with an amused expression on his face. Jamie did not know that a horse could laugh but if he could, Mac would be.
"Smart ass." He mumbled. Jamie quickly looked around to make sure that his father had indeed left the barn.
Thank God for little favors.
end