Title: WBY Of Clowns and Cold Cream
Word Count: 2734
Characters: Sam, Dean and John. Wee!chesters
Summary: Dean pulls a prank that gets out of hand. They always escalate right?
XXX
It was all in fun, Dean thinks. And it was. Sammy didn't think so though. Neither did Dad and that's why the damn prank is gonna bite him in the ass.
Or whack him on the ass. Whatever.
If Sammy wasn't such a freakin' girl, this wouldn't be happening. But apparently his seven-year old brother is really a seven-year old sister.
Go figure.
It hadn't even been that bad, although stealing the makeup from the drugstore was a bit dicey.
Painting the clown face on Sammy had been a piece of cake though. The kid slept like a baby. Dean was also impressed with his mad art skills, something he truthfully had been unaware of until today. He didn't count the somewhat anatomically correct graffiti he tended to sharpie on desks during detention as "art".
Sammy had rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom to take a whizz.
AND WHAM!
The scream was loud enough to wake Dad and the people in the next room.
He really hadn't counted on that.
It was awesome! Well, it should've been awesome except Dad was tired and Sammy kept crying. Waking Dad at anytime could be problematic, waking the man from a deep sleep by a blood curdling Sammy Scream was down right dangerous. How was Dean to know the kid was that scared of clowns?
Then the make up wouldn't come off. Who would have thought you needed freakin' cold cream? Dad had to run to the drug store to get it. Dean wanted to snicker when he thought of Dad looking through girly cosmetic stuff for cold cream. Then he thought of his own predicament and wisely shut his mouth.
Dean had tried to apologize while Dad was gone but Sammy would have nothing to do with it. He just kept crying and sniffling and occasionally would throw him one of those big animal eye looks. The ones where the kitten or whatever had a really huge head and really big eyes with white highlights in them. The animals always look like they have just been kicked. Sammy looked like that too.
"You, corner." Dad had said when he got back. He'd pointed to a corner as if he didn't trust himself to say anything else and Dean jumped to. When Dad spoke like that a kid just naturally listened.
The whole time Sammy had cried, snotty girly tears and hiccupping like the baby he was.
So now Dean's waiting in the corner for Dad to get finished taking the makeup off of Samantha.
He can hear Sam blubbering from the bathroom. Big fat baby tears. Dad is soothing him, voice low and quiet without a hint of agitation.
"Hang in there, Champ…almost done."
Jesus, you would think the damn kid was getting stitches or something.
Dean kicks the corner of the floorboard, scuffs his sneakered toes against the already scuffed board. Standing in the corner is boring. Which is why it works, Dean guesses. He really hates standing in the corner. It makes him feel like a baby but the worse part is that usually it means he's going to get his butt spanked. Dean is under no illusions, this prank is definitely going down that road. He tries to think of anything that will save his ass but despite all of the time he has to contemplate a way out, he can't think of anything.
Which is of course, because there is no excuse for painting your girly brother with clown make up.
Dean drops his head into the v at the corner. It thunks softly against the plasterboard. If he bangs his head hard enough will he get a concussion? If he gets a concussion will Dad let him off the hook? Dean scowls to himself. Hardly, then he will be getting his ass beat while his head hurts. And Dad would probably spank him harder for being stupid enough to give himself a concussion while standing in the corner.
He sighs.
Dean can hear Sam's crying turn into muffled wet sobs. A quick glance backs reveals what he already knows. Sam is in his dad's arms, face buried in Dad's shoulder. Dean thinks he can remember crying like that before. Maybe when he was really little and he got scared.
Before…
Still, he knows what it is like. Dad is warmth and soft flannel over hard muscle. He smells faintly of whiskey sometimes but more often, it is an oddly comforting smell of damp dirt, sweat and a deeper scent Dean figures is just Dad. He wonders why sweat and dirt actually almost smell good. Dean guesses it's because when he is in his dad's arms, everything feels a little better. He's safe for the moment.
He sighs. Sammy maybe a baby but Dean is a dweeb. Getting all emotional over Dad hugging Sammy.
Sam lifts his face from his father's flannel and Dean can see the tear streaked eyes with just a tinge of blue. Blue was a much better color than black Dean had reasoned. But looking now at Sam, Dean starts to rethink the whole situation. Suddenly, Dean realizes how little his brother is and how mean the joke was.
Because Sammy was really scared. Still is, Dean figures. He's curled on Daddy like he will never let him go. It was just a dumb joke. Dumb being the key word. Dumb for Dean.
Dean quickly turns back to the corner. He shifts his weight from one foot to another and drops his head to the corner v again. His head thunks one more time but instead of a purposeful movement, it is more a byproduct of the way he feels. He is such a bad brother.
Finally Sam's cries are just quiet snuffles. Dean hears his father walk into the small room that Sam and he share. He can hear the door shut, its poorly oiled hinges creaking in the sudden quiet.
He feels more than hears his father come up behind him.
"Dean." His father's voice is low and controlled but Dean can hear the steel in it.
"Sir?" Dean keeps himself planted in the corner. He can feel the heat flush up his face.
"Talking to you, kid."
Dean turns and faces his father. It's hard to meet his eyes. Dean does though because Dad insists.
"Feeling pretty bad huh?"
Dean nods mutely. There is a lump in his throat. Hard and unyielding. Much like Dad's big hand.
Dad nods too. "Why? 'Cause you know I'm gonna tan your hide?"
Dean shakes his head now.
"Okay then – why?"
"'Cause I scared Sammy and it should've been funny. It was funny but now it's not. He's only seaven. He's just a little kid and…" Dean's voice wavers in the end. Unlike his brother, he is not a little kid. He takes a deep breath and settles himself, "And it was the wrong thing to do."
Dad nods grimly. "It was." He takes a breath too, "Well, kiddo, let's get this over with."
"Yes, sir."
Dean would like to protest, mostly because he hates getting a spanking but the truth of the matter is, he deserves it. Spankings from his father always hurt, Dad is the king of slapped asses – but sometimes they hurt more. Sometimes Dean is angry about getting smacked and it kind of cancels out the pain of the ass whipping. Well, not exactly cancels out, Dean amends, but somehow those spankings seem to hurt less. Other times, Dean thinks the disappointment he hears in his father's voice is worse than the feel of his Dad's strong open-handed palm against Dean's butt. Right now that's how Dean thinks Dad feels – disappointed.
Dad pulls out a chair from the small desk in the corner of the room. He sits and pats his lap purposefully.
"Daad," Dean can't help the slight whine in his voice. God, how he hates getting his ass beat. Even if he does deserve it.
Dad arches a brow in his direction. He doesn't have to speak - that look says it all. Dean has been the recipient of that look more once in his life. If Dean had to categorize "the look" it would be slightly amused, more than a little exasperated with a hefty measure of frustration, topped with angry. The problem is, any of those feelings can flip and even amused can go to really pissed off in a heartbeat. Pissed off Dad is never good.
Dean walks to his father, waves vaguely in front of his jeans to which his father nods briefly. Dean sighs, drops his jeans and lays himself across his father's lap.
Dean doesn't have long to wait. Dad offers a quick volley of spanks, first to one side then the other. He pauses a moment and Dean finds himself catching his breath.
"Dean Winchester, I'm tired of going over this time and time again." Each time he says the word "time" it is punctuated by a sharp slap. That catches Dean off guard. For some reason his father has decided to spank and talk. It is something that he rarely does. Dean just figures he's usually trying to save his breath for the ass beating.
"You know how I feel about all of the damn pranks." He peppers Dean's butt with stinging smacks.
"It was just supposed to be fun!" Dean kind of wails.
"Fun for who?" Dad stops spanking for a minute. "Fun for your brother?"
"Maybe?" Dean answers.
"Let's see how much fun it is now." Dad really puts some effort into the spanking for the next few minutes. Dean is sure his butt is on fire. It has to be. It suddenly occurs to Dean that maybe his father is asking a question. Maybe he is just making a statement. It's hard for Dean to think while he's getting his ass handed to him but if he is asking a question, then it would be best to answer it.
"Not much!" Dean punctuates his last word with a yelp. It's not even a manly yelp.
"Not much what?"
"Not much FUN!" Dad shifts Dean's body a little, head tilted down lower and ass higher. Dean thinks his father is the meanest man around because now he's gonna smack that tender area right between thighs and ass. It is an area that is never supposed to be slapped. It's just for sitting down. As in something he won't be able to do for at least the rest of the night – truth be told, tomorrow either.
"M'sorry!"
Dad stops again.
"Sorry for doing it or sorry for getting caught?"
"Both! Both, I swear!"
"Seriously?" Dad questions and then spanks with renewed vigor.
" I DUNNO WHATEVER YOU WANT ME TO BE SORRY FOR!"
Dean would swear his father chuckles low but he doesn't stop the deluge of smacks raining down on his butt.
Dean slumps then resigned to his fate. He won't be sitting well tomorrow for sure.
Dean's resignation apparently is nothing as far as his father is concerned. He continues to swat both butt cheeks and that tender under curve of ass right where his butt meets his thigh. He manages to swat his thighs too because hey, let's make sure Dean is as miserable as humanly possible.
Dean is crying. Not the big fat baby tears that Sammy cries but big kid tears. He tries to hold them back but the old man is nothing if not thorough. Dean tries to remember a time he didn't cry when his father really decides to give him what for. He can't remember one single time. He admits to himself though that thinking of that or thinking of anything other than his father's unnaturally big right hand is difficult at best.
Finally, Dad stops. There are no gentle "There, theres," No soft spoken, "Hush nows." Dean kind of remembers mom doing that once. It's the only time he remembers his mother giving him an honest to God spanking. Oddly enough it is a somewhat pleasant memory and that doesn't make any sense at all. He'd been little, real little and he'd ran out into the street after his ball. He heard the squeal of brakes and then his mom was screaming and crying and hugging him. Blonde hair sweet smelling, like flowers. A moment later she was pulling his shorts and underwear down. Scooby Scooby Doooo, he remembers – not the dumb ones with Scrappy Do but big boy underwear with Scooby and Shaggy. And then mom had walloped his bare ass on the front steps. Their house in Lawrence he thinks, the one with the big tree out front. But after…after she had held him tight and rocked him, stroking his hair and crying. He didn't understand why she was crying? She hadn't just got spanked! But it hadn't mattered…mommy still loved him.
Dad loves him too, Dean knows this but there is considerably less stroking and cuddling after Dad whales on your ass.
He does kiss him sometimes and he almost always offers a hug but no "Take it easy, Champ, you'll be fine," or some other Brady type endearment.
Which truthfully, Dean is good with. Because of course he is gonna be fine. He got his ass beat not stabbed or shot or hell, even beat up like that kid he knew back in Martinsville. The kid who always looked scared and pale and whose Daddy hit him.
Really hit him. Just because. And when CPS came and took that kid away, Dean was pretty sure that was one happy kid.
Nah. A spanking hurts but not like that.
Dad does take a moment though to whisper soft and ruffle Dean's hair, "Dean, what am I gonna do with you, boy?" He doesn't sound very angry but considering he's just spanked the heck out of his ass, Dean wonders if he should answer. It might be a rhetorical question, but it might not be. Dean figures he'll error on the side of caution. Twice in the past ten minutes he hasn't been able to understand if his father is actually asking him a question. Once again, Dean blames his inability to understand dadspeak on his burning ass.
"I dunno, Dad, just keep spanking, I guess. Mr. Miller our science teacher says that even rats figure out that if they go one way in a maze they get zapped and if they go the other, they get cheese. I figure if I get zapped enough, I might just prove I'm as smart as a dumb ol' rat."
Dad laughs then. It startles Dean a bit because Dad doesn't laugh often. Not any more. Besides, it wasn't meant to be funny! Dean furrows his brows. First spanked and then laughed at!
"Well, I guess if that is the case and a spanking is like a rat getting zapped, I suppose I have to offer you some kind of incentive for behaving. Rats get cheese...Dean maybe you should get pie, as positive reinforcement, you know, since a spanking is the negative reinforcement."
Dean grins bright then, he'll take the ass whipping and the laughter if he might get pie! "I like that idea! Pie every day if I'm good and a spanking if I'm not." Then he thinks about his days and the things he gets into that could be considered bad, even if they really aren't spank worthy offenses. He has a feeling the bad stuff will tip the spanking situation to levels unheard of before. He gets spanked enough without having to be worried about everything bad he does. "Nah, nevermind, I'll just have to prove I'm smarter than a rat in some other way."
Dad laughs again.
"I'm pretty sure you are smarter than a rat."
Dean peers carefully at his father, he's not sure if this conversation is a good thing or not but the fact of the matter is, he is no longer ass over tea kettle getting his butt roasted so things are at least looking up. He glances over at the bedroom. He doesn't hear anything but that's okay. Sam probably isn't asleep, how could anyone sleep over the racket Dean has been making over the last 10 minutes. He may just be a little kid but he has ears.
"Is it okay if I talk to Sammy? I know he's mad at me and that you want him to sleep but…" Dean drops his head and rubs then rubs the flat of his hand against his nose. It's gross.
"Talk to your brother."
It's not an order.
As Dean turns toward their room his father's voice comes from behind him, soft and low.
"See? You are smarter than a rat."
end