– "So, basically, that's what's been happening lately."
Dean finished his beer in a long draught and set it on the table with a click. He looked up at Cas, suddenly uneasy. Something had changed during the final parts of his recounting of their last case. There was a tension in the air, that hadn't been there moments before. Dean glanced at Sam, seeing the same uneasiness in his brother's stance. No longer slouched against the counter, Sam had straightened up and settled his weight, responding with the unconsciousness of a veteran fighter to an intangible threat.
Cas moved in between the brothers and looked from one to the other.
"So", he said, in a low, too calm, voice, "to sum up: Sam, you gave a spell from The Black Grimoire to the strongest witch in the world, to help her become an even bigger threat, and Dean, you decided to punch your brother, knocking him out, when he tried to stop you from giving that same trice-cursed book to a whole new set of witches? Is that what you've been telling me?"
Sam took a half step away from the counter, as Dean scrambled to his feet.
"Woah, hey, wait a minute…"
"Uhm, no, Cas, ah, you see…"
Cas stopped the stammering with a curt gesture: "No, I think that sums it up quite nicely. Go to the library, I'll be right along."
Dean started to move towards the door, but stopped when Sam didn't move, facing Cas instead.
"No, listen, Cas, Dean was trapped in a spell, that doesn't count, he couldn't help it. I mean, I knew exactly what I was doing, but don't, you know, not him, he doesn't deserve that. He was spelled!"
Pushing Sam slightly, Dean interrupted the disjointed excuses:
"No Sam, Cas is right. We all decided on the rules: No punching family, no matter what."
He turned to Cas.
"I understand, and you are right about me, but Sam was trying to help Rowena. He had good reasons for letting her have that spell, and yeah, the long-term results may be bad, but he had good intentions. You can't punish him for being kind, come on."
Cas answered through gritted teeth: "Stop talking, the both of you. Into the library. Right now!"
A looked passed between the brothers – then they turned as one and went out the kitchen door. Sam with his head hanging, broad shoulders slumping, Dean straight as a soldier on parade, shoulders back, head held high.
Cas sighed, took a deep breath, and shrugged out of his duffel coat, hanging it over a chair. The suit coat followed, then he folded up his shirtsleeves, slowly, carefully, until he became conscious of the fact that he was procrastinating, which really wasn't fair to those waiting for him in the other room.
When Cas came into the library, Sam and Dean was standing side by side, backed up against the heavy wooden table. A scattering of chairs had been moved haphazardly out of the way. Good, at least he would be spared any further argument about this.
As he closed in, Dean caught his eyes, and simply said "Really?"
Cas nodded.
Dean looked to Sam, yet another wordless conversation taking place between the two brothers in the space of a glance.
They turned together to face the table, there was the clink and jingle of belt buckles opening, Sam and Dean pushing their jeans down to their knees, Cas pulling his belt through the loops of his pants, the sound hissing through the air with the promise of pain to come.
The first searing crack of leather over thin boxers brought Sam up on his toes for a brief second. Cas' belt was not the broad leather kind that pounded muscles and bruised skin. No, the slim, subtle, leather belt Jimmy Novak had favored had the intense sting of a whip, leaving thin, red, burning welts behind.
After the first few lines of fire, Sam found himself wishing fervently that he was 12 years old again and could grab Deans hand for comfort. He breathed heavily through the pain, fought to stand still, pressing his face into the crook of his left elbow.
He heard another whistle and crack, but this time it wasn't followed by the sting of a thousand bees. He realized that Cas had moved over to Dean. Knowing he would be back in the line of fire, so to speak, soon enough, Sam took the opportunity to do some deep breathing, wiping his face free of sweat. And if there was maybe a tear or two mixed into the sweat, well, no one would need to know that.
As Deans ass was patterned with neatly placed, burning lines, he rocked with the strokes, pulling one arm over the back of his head, struggling to stop himself from reaching out to Sam. If only the kid had been 12 or so again, then Dean could have held his hand, finding comfort under the guise of giving it. But his little brother was a grown ass – well, overgrown, really - man, so that road had closed years ago.
Even though he had expected it, the first stroke across his thighs took Sam by surprise, so he couldn't stop himself from yelping and jerking, stamping a leg. Sliding over a bit, under cover of the involuntary movement, he pushed his shoulder against Dean's, hoping desperately that his older brother would allow him the anchoring contact. There was a deep sense of relief when Dean immediately returned the pressure, warmth building between them, as a counterpoint to that whole other kind of warmth, which was being pounded into his ass.
Dean felt something which had been coiled tight loosen inside - when Cas returned to his side, renewing the fire in his ass and spreading it down his thighs, he pressed harder into Sam, the warmth rolling through his body, relieving tension, flowing into muscles held tight in pain. Time stretched out, a twanging rubber band suspended between stars in an ever-expanding universe. His body relaxed against the tabletop, as the pain-induced endorphins grabbed hold of his mind, floating it away, out between the stars, buoyed by the waves of pain, flying to a place where the punishing strokes of the belt turned into a dull distant thudding, absently knowing that it hurt but no longer really caring, just floating, flying, free of the burden of the world.
Cas let the belt fall to the floor. Sam, hearing that easily recognizable sound, stood up, and after a glance at Cas, quickly, carefully, pulled up his jeans, fastening the belt, gingerly putting a hand to his throbbing ass.
The slap came out of nowhere, whipping his head to the side, staggering him.
"What the Hell, Cas?"
"And that was for making me do that!"
Sam blinked, giving a wry grin.
"Ok, fair 'nough. But as much as you claim to hate it, you sure do a thorough job."
He rubbed his ass a bit, feeling the heat even through his jeans.
"Well, if I have to do it, might as well, do it properly." A pause. "You are a good man, Sam, don't stop being compassionate. But, please, talk to us before doing something that could carry that kind of consequences, ok?"
"Yea, I get you."
As Sam leaned into Cas' hug, he felt more at ease than he had done since he ripped that spell-page out of that damn book.
Dean still hadn't stirred when they released each other. Sam frowned, and Cas set a hand on Dean's back.
"Dean?"
"Dean?"
Moving the hand to Dean's shoulder, shaking it.
"Dean!"
There was a cold spot on his back. A hand, which had rested there, had been moved. It was now grabbing his shoulder in a bruising grip. He didn't want to come down yet, why couldn't Cas just keep whipping his ass, letting him float here for a while longe…
"Dean!"
The worry in his friend's voice finally broke through, crashing him back into his body with a bone jarring thump. He got up slowly, a bit unsteady still.
"Yea, yea, what?" he grumbled, trying to hide how groggy and spaced-out he felt.
Floundering a bit under the concerned stares of the other two men, Dean got his jeans back in place and moved his shoulders uneasily, like a man shrugging out of a too tight shirt.
Cas had picked the belt back up. He was carefully rolling it up in his hand, leaving about 7 inches dangling free. Seeing what he was doing, Dean felt the blood slowly seep out of his face. He sank deliberately to his knees.
Cas took a startled step backwards.
"Wha'? Why? No, Dean, get up," he spluttered.
Looking at the belt with dread Dean wriggled his shoulders again.
"Might as well spare my knees, since I'm gonna end up down here anyway, once you start strapping my hands."
He said it in a matter-of-fact tone, that had Sam blinking rapidly.
Cas clenched his jaw.
"As you please, then. For punching your brother, four. You want them all on one side, or split out?"
Dean gulped twice before whispering:
"Two on each, please."
He looked up at his brother
"And I am sorry Sam."
Sam puffed out a breath,
"Forgiven and forgotten, Dean."
Dean lifted his right hand determinedly. Cas spared him from waiting by bringing the end of the belt down immediately.
The sharp crack filled the room, and Dean's world went white for an instant, a roaring sound filling his head with thunder.
He found Cas' eyes, and lifted his left hand.
The white pain filled his body once more. He swayed.
Right hand. Thunder, pain.
"Please, Cas, I can't."
"Yes, you can, last one, come on."
With a feeling of utter helplessness Dean lifted his left hand for the final time.
The belt wrapped a bit around on that stroke, sparing his palm, at the expense of the back of his hand. He pulled both hands into his armpits and rocked a little, absorbing the pain.
Cas gave him time to collect himself by concentrating on putting the belt back on.
When Dean lowered his hands, preparing to get up, he happened to look up just in time to see the slap coming, but he did nothing to avoid it or block it. Cas' palm connected with his face high on the cheek, twisting his head to the side, making him shift his weight, ears ringing.
He dimly realized that Cas was speaking, but he wasn't listening. He kept his head down, waiting for the next flash of pain. He knew he deserved it, deserved whatever Cas decided to deal out. He would take it, not try to dodge or stop it, but it was a lot easier if he didn't have to see it coming.
Deep inside he felt himself silently beg. Please, please, take the lead, keep me and my temper in check for me, hold the leash, choke me with it if you must, pound me into obedience, whatever you want, do what you will, but please, just take the weight from me for a while.
Suddenly Cas' hand shot out, grabbing Dean by the hair at the back of his head, forcing his head up and back, startling him into making eye contact, snapping him out of the daze he had thrown himself into with such abandon.
"Dean! Listen to me! I said: You are a good man. You made a mistake, and there will be other mistakes, but that doesn't change the fact that you are a good man, in every way that really counts!"
Dean looked up at Cas, squinted out of the corner of his eye at his brother - without moving his head, not wanting to lose a fistful of hair.
There was a drawn-out crystal moment where the world could either shatter forever or fall into a precarious balance, then he felt something settle inside, the jagged edges of temper and the never-ending feelings of failure, inadequacy, rasping against each other, until a resting place was found on the island of Family.
He had people he loved, who inexplicably loved him back, family, someone who could and would take the burden when he needed a reprieve, who would have his back - and would hold him accountable when that was needed.
Even if all actions have consequences, sometimes those consequences didn't have to be of cosmic magnitude, but could just be -well, at times literally - a pain in the ass.
Seeing the dawning understanding and acceptance, Cas released his grip on Dean's hair and stood back, giving him room to get up.
He put his hand on Deans shoulder, gently this time.
"Dean, do you know why I whipped you?"
"Because I deserved a beat down, and you thought this would work better than your fists?"
"No, well, yes, it's better than fists, not the least because the "No punching family" rule applies to me too, but my point is – I don't think you deserved it." He shot a glance at Sam, "neither of you did. I did it, because you thought you did."
Sam and Dean exchanged a confused look.
Cas sighed: "Listen, do you still feel guilty about what happened?"
"Not so much, not really"
"No, I've paid for it, now, for that punch."
"Exactly! I stepped in because if I hadn't, you would have punished yourself much more severely than I did. You, Dean, were under a spell, and Sam, what you did, you did out of compassion. Neither of you deserved to be punished for that, but you were already hammering at yourselves over it.
I did this to lance the boil, to let you move on.
There is a war coming, and I Will Not have the two of you fighting wounded, even if the wounds are in your heads and hearts, not your bodies.
You were both spinning off the rails over something you had already forgiven each other for, even if you hadn't forgiven yourselves."
Tears were glimmering in Sam's eyes, while Dean looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, then he swallowed, reaching out with one hand to draw Cas into a hug, with the other to grab his brother and bring him in close too. Arms around each other, they stood in silence, feeling the weight of all that had come before and was coming in the future settle back onto their shoulders, the burden lightened by the sharing of it.