Title: The Morning After
Author: Capricorn1986
Characters: John Dean (17) Sam (13)
Summary: Dean comes home drunk. The next morning John gives him quite the rude awakening.
Warning: Contains spanking of a minor (hand, hairbrush)
The Morning After (Red Butt At Morning)
The Impala skidded sharply to the right, and Dean turned the steering wheel, wondering when the road had gotten so slippery.
Oh, right. It was raining. Coming down pretty hard too.
He finally pulled up in front of the rental apartment, and slowly turned off the engine. He wondered what time it was. Late, probably. He`d been gone pretty long. Dean hoped his father John Winchester had not noticed his absence. He wouldn`t be pleased to learn that his eldest son had snuck out in the middle of the night, something he strictly speaking wasn`t supposed to, taken the car without permission, which strictly speaking wasn`t even his, gone to a party he strictly speaking wasn`t allowed to go to, consumed more than his fair share of alcohol and finally driven home drunk, both of which were illegal. Strictly speaking.
Dean got out of the car. The rain was pouring, but he didn`t mind that too much. It was in the middle of summer, and some cold rain felt refreshing.
The teenager leaned his back against the side of the Impala. He placed one arm on the roof of it, his fingertips rubbing at the wet, glossy surface.
"Black beauty," he mumbled drunkenly to himself, "One day you`ll be mine. Dad has got to give you up sometime. Such a fine ride can`t belong to just one man, it`s downright unfair."
He hiccupped and turned his glazed gaze to the sky. The stars were shining brightly. The beer in Dean`s blood made everything look beautiful.
The rain was soaking through the teenager`s clothes, making him wet to the skin. He decided it was time to go inside. With any luck, his dad was still asleep.
"Sonofabitch! When`d that doorstep get there?"
John Winchester had been sleeping on the sofa, awaiting the return of his disobedient eldest son. The sound of said son literally stumbling inside the apartment woke him up instantly. He jumped up and noticed his eldest lying on the floor, having tripped over the doorstep when walking in.
John walked over to the boy and helped him to his feet, tough his hands were hardly careful.
"Dad!" Dean exclaimed loudly.
"Shut up!" John snarled. "You`ll wake your brother."
Dean took a few wobbly steps before his father grabbed him and spun him around to face him.
"Woah there," Dean mumbled. "I`m going dizzy."
John could clearly smell the alcohol on his son`s breath, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You`re drunk."
"Indeed," Dean replied. "Very much so." He chuckled.
John grabbed Dean`s arms and shook him. "You snuck out to go to that party, even after I told you not to! You disobeyed me, stole my car and broke the law by drinking, and to top it all off, you drove DRUNK!"
"Shhh!" Dean said. "You`ll wake Sammy."
"I`m already awake," a small, tired voice came from the other end of the apartment, where Sam was standing outside one of the bedrooms.
Dean turned to flash a grin at his little brother before turning back to face his father.
"Anyway, that pretty much sums it all up," he said. "And yeah, I drove drunk. How`d you think I got back?"
"Is Dean OK?" Sam asked.
"I`m awesome," Dean replied. "Dad is hurting my arms a bit, though."
"Tough!" John spat. "I can`t even begin to tell you how angry and disappointed I am in you right now, young man."
John dragged Dean over to the sofa and dropped him down on it like he was a sack of potatoes.
"You`re soaked," the hunter remarked.
"I`ll get a towel," Sam offered.
"No, I will get it," John said. "You go back to bed, Sammy."
"But Dean-"
"-Will be fine," John insisted. He saw the concern in the eyes of his youngest and moved over to him. "Dean just needs some rest, and so do you." John kissed Sam`s forehead and gently guided him towards the bedroom door.
"Hey, Sammy! Come give me a hug, little brother! I love you, man!" cried Dean drunkenly from his place on the sofa.
John sighed heavily and turned back to the boy in front of him. "To bed, Sam." He wasn`t asking now. Sam lowered his confused gaze and stepped into the other room. He dared ask his father a final question. "Will Dean be sleeping in here tonight?"
John shook his head. "No, I`ll put him in my bed. I`ll sleep on the couch."
Sam couldn`t mask his relief. "OK," he said with a weak smile. "Goodnight, Dad."
"Goodnight, Sammy. Sleep well."
"Watch out for fleas!" Dean called out helpfully to his brother, but this time Sam ignored him and closed the bedroom door tightly.
When John returned from the bathroom with a towel, he was pleased to see that Dean hadn`t moved. The teenager seemed to be getting tired, and he was leaning his head against the headrest of the sofa.
John sat down next to him and dried his hair before carefully wiping the rain water off the young boy`s handsome face.
"We need to get you out of these clothes," John mumbled.
Dean giggled. "That`s what I told-" John couldn`t pick up the rest of the sentence as Dean trailed off, his words turning into a soft murmur.
Having no desire to enquire further about what Dean was talking about, John simply started undressing his son, something he hadn`t done since Dean was very small. He swallowed and pushed the thought away. Thinking of Dean`s early childhood meant thinking of Mary, and tonight John`s attention had to be focused on the teenaged Dean, not the life they lived so long ago.
When John had managed to get Dean out of his wet shirt, pants, shoes and socks, he went silently into the boys bedroom to get one of Dean`s dry, clean shirts. He helped Dean put it on and raised him off the sofa.
"Come on," John said. "Bedtime."
Dean leaned heavily against John as the two made their way to the hunter`s bedroom. John carefully laid Dean down on the bed. The teenager didn`t object, but seemed content.
"We will talk about this in the morning," John informed his son. "Don`t think you`re getting off easy."
As if he had heard nothing of what his father had said, or like he didn`t care, Dean simply replied: "OK, Dad. Love you. Night."
John couldn`t help chuckling at that. He gently brushed Dean`s face with the back of his fingers, wiping away a few rain drops that had dripped down from the boys hair into his face.
"Love you too, Dean. Sweet dreams."
John would have liked to say "You`ll feel better in the morning", but he didn`t want to lie. Dean was in for a rude awakening.
The next morning, Dean was awakened by John entering the bedroom and turning the switch. The sharp light stabbed Dean`s eyes and he felt his head explode with pain. Groaning, he pulled the covers over his head in an attempt to hide from the light and somehow soothe his headache. He just wanted to sleep, but John was having none of it. The hunter moved over to the bed and ripped the covers off his son.
"Up!" he barked. But for once, Dean didn`t do as he was told.
"Leave me alone," he groaned groggily. "Shut off the lights and close the door on your way out."
Pressing his lips tightly together in anger, John did in fact move over to the bedroom door and exited the room. Moments later he returned, holding a large wooden hairbrush in his hand. And it certainly wasn`t his son`s spiky, tousled hair he intended applying it to. When the hunter reentered the bedroom, he threw the door shut with a loud slam. The noise made the teenager sit up straight in bed and bring his hands up to his ears.
"For fuck`s sake!" he exploded. "Is a little consideration too much to ask for? I have a hell of a head ache here!"
John couldn`t believe the audacity of his eldest son. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his flesh. He took several deep breaths, attempting to calm down.
"Time for our talk," he said, his voice coming out as a low growl. "If you need to vomit, do it now. I don`t want smelly stains on my jeans."
To the hunter`s great surprise, his words produced a small giggle from the hung over teenager.
"Gee, Dad," Dean said, "When`d ya get so vain?" He turned to look at his father, his eyes glazed. The boy noticed for the first time the item the man was holding. His mind clouded by pain, he didn`t truly realize what John intended to do with it. "What`s with the brush? You and Sammy been playing hair dresser?" Dean`s upper body shook as he laughed at his own joke.
John clutched the handle of the brush so hard it nearly broke.
"Such a funny boy," he snarled. "But sneaking out, going to a party and getting wasted, plus driving drunk is no laughing matter." John wiggled the hair brush in front of Dean`s face. "And I`ll make sure you remember that after today. With a little help from this," he added, nodding at the brush.
Dean finally understood what his father was getting at, and before he could move, he felt John`s strong hands grab him and pull him over his knees as he seated himself on the bed. Dean caught sight of the hairbrush in the corner of his eye before his head came close to the carpet. It was lying on the bed next to John, but Dean knew it would be used soon enough. The boy gulped, feeling something bitter rise in this throat.
He had no time to further contemplate wether or not he needed to puke. He felt his boxers being pulled down and became too preoccupied gritting his teeth against the pain as he felt an onslaught of sharp slaps rain down on his naked rear.
John`s arm was rising and falling in a steady but quick tempo. He shook his head softly at his son`s recklessness and stupidity, but didn`t say anything. His hand and brush would speak volumes.
The only sound in the room came from the hunter`s hand meeting Dean`s ass, but the teenager stubbornly refused to voice his obvious discomfort. He wiggled slightly, but made no noise as his father`s hand continued to hurt him and make his skin slowly blush.
Angrily, John decided to intensify the spanking, and begun concentrating on one cheek rather than alternating between them. He let his hand come down on the same spot, faster and harder than before. He heard Dean hiss in pain, and as the colour of his right butt cheek went from pale pink to deep red, he began feebly kicking his legs and squirming. John repeated the process with the left cheek, until the pain and sting was so intense that Dean could stay silent no longer. He groaned deeply and begun wriggling and kicking more forcefully. John knew he was starting to get through, but they were far from finished.
He finished off the hand spanking by delivering a round of extra hard smacks to the tops of Dean`s thighs, making the teenager buck and vocalize properly for the first time.
Then John stopped, his palm stinging. Dean knew the punishment was far from over. He had the worst to come yet.
John didn`t allow his son to relax for long. He promptly picked up the hairbrush and begun bringing it down upon the already red and sore butt presented on his lap.
Dean gasped as he felt the first hard stroke of the brush. The flat wooden surface connected painfully with his exposed skin, producing a sharp burning sting that soon spread to his entire butt as John kept the brush connecting at a steady pace.
Dean had put up a pretty good fight until now, managing to keep fairly quiet.
But the brush soon broke the boy.
The teenager was stubborn and willful, but the sharp bite of the hair brush soon made hot tears appear in his eyes, and as John started laying a second layer of oval prints upon the first, Dean started to cry.
The hunter was pleased that he had finally managed to break down the defenses his eldest guarded so carefully. The young boy was tough, hard as a rock. When life threw him a punch in the face, he wiped the blood from his mouth and got back on his feet.
Dean made John proud, but also caused him a lot of worry. The man knew full well the weight he had placed on his eldest shoulders was threatening to break him. The way Dean dealt with it was keeping everything inside. Stone-faced. Just like John had taught him, though unintentionally.
Only in moments like these, when he was lying face down across his father`s knees, Dean let it all go. When he cried, it wasn`t just a reaction to the pain brought on by his father`s hand (or whichever implement he happened to be wielding) but also a way to let go of all the stress and fear he struggled with on a daily basis.
Although Dean`s face was now flushed and tear-streaked and he was yelping with each stroke from the brush, John knew he could take more still. And John had to teach his eldest a serious lesson. Dean had broken many rules and endangered his life. It was only a lucky break that the drunken teenager had made it home in once piece, though as Dean felt his father relentlessly paddle his ass with the wretched hairbrush he hardly felt lucky.
The sound of wood connecting with skin halted at last. The brush had left Dean`s skin crimson and the boy a blubbering mess of snot and tears. By the time John finished the spanking, his son had forgotten everything about being strong and acting as if he didn`t feel the pain of his punishment. He sobbed and whimpered, his entire upper body shaking violently.
John sighed as he lay the hair brush down on the bed beside him. He was defiantly not looking forward to the next time he would have to use it. He hoped it would be a while, but with his two unruly sons… Fat chance.
The hunter let his hands rest by his sides, allowing Dean to cry and let it all out properly before beginning to comfort and soothe.
When John touched his hand to Dean`s back, he felt the boy stiffen as he feared further punishment. It made John`s heart ache. His anger had disappeared now and he felt drained after the hard lesson he had to teach.
He begun rubbing his hand up and down the back of Dean`s shirt, feeling the boy slowly relax under his comforting touch.
When Dean had calmed down, John helped him off his lap. He turned away discreetly as his son slowly and carefully pulled his boxers back up. Dean sucked in his breath as the fabric touched his buttocks, but he had no intention of walking around with his dick hanging out, so he would just have to bear it. He felt uncertain about putting pants on, though.
John stood up from the bed and placed a hand on Dean`s shoulder.
"I never want to see you act so stupid again," he said seriously. "Being a teenager is no excuse. You know better."
Dean nodded, new tears forming in his eyes as he thought of how shocked and disappointed his father must have been the previous night when he had stumbled in the door. And Sammy…
"Where is Sam?" Dean asked, wondering horrified if his little brother had heard the ordeal he had just gone through.
"I sent him out before waking you up," John explained reassuringly. He knew both his sons well. "He`ll probably be back soon." John gently touched a hand to the side of Dean`s face, feeling both proud and guilty at the concern Dean had for his little brother.
Dean looked into his father`s eyes, silently pleading for forgiveness, not knowing that he has already received it.
John pulled his son into a close embrace, and Dean rested his chin on John`s broad shoulder, a last few tears trickling down his face as he felt his father pat his back and stroke his hair.
A little while later, Sam returned. He shot his big brother a sympathetic glance as he noticed him sitting by the kitchen table, squirming uneasily on his chair. Sam went over to the counter and put down his shopping bag.
"I bought eggs like you asked, Dad," he informed his father as John entered the kitchen.
The hunter smiled at his youngest. "Thank you, Sammy. You hungry?"
Sam nodded, and John turned to the teenager sitting by the table. "How about you, Dean? Do you feel up to eating?"
Dean hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess I should eat something."
"It will make you feel better," John said. "I can make you scrambled eggs. Great hangover food. It`ll soak up the alcohol."
Dean groaned as the rubbed his stomach.
"How do you know that, Dad?" Sam asked, half curious, half cheeky, then added: "Are you sure your cooking will make Dean feel better, and not worse?"
John`s hand quickly shot out and landed a sharp swat to Sammy`s butt. A warning not to be rude. But all three Winchesters laughed at Sam`s remark, and John chose not to respond to the question. Sam wisely chose not to press the matter further.
Soon both boys were seated by the table and were served scrambled eggs and toast by their father.
"Dean, I know about some great hangover food too," Sam said with a grin.
John raised an eyebrow, wondering how his youngest would know anything about such things. Then again, the hunter reminded himself, Sammy`s brain sucks up information like a dry sponge sucks water. He must have picked it up from some older kids at school or something, John decided.
"I`d love to hear it," Dean replied as he stuffed a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
"A greasy pork sandwich served up in a dirty ashtray!" Sam declared, and laughed triumphantly as he watched his brother make a mad dash for the bathroom.
THE END