Title: Visiting the Grandparents
Author: brassband777
Characters: Mary, Samuel Campbell, Deanna Campbell, Dean (11), Sam (7)
Scenario: wee!chester, Warning: contains parental spanking.
Summary: When visiting his grandparents, Samuel shows Dean a firearm with nearly disastrous results.
Author's Notes: this fic was suggested by the awesome Capricorn 1986, who challenged me to write an AU where Mary was still alive. In this AU, Mary was brought up as a hunter, but her family never had any dealings with the Yellow-Eyed-Demon. She has kept the truth of the existence of the supernatural from both her husband and her children. Prompt: 'Would you consider doing a fic where Mary takes Sam and Dean for a visit to her parents? Could include both Samuel and Deanna, or just one of them'.
Beta'd by: the wonderful Capricorn86 – thanks for your input and support!
Deanna Campbell and Mary Winchester sat at the table sipping tea and watching the two young boys through the window as they kicked a soccer ball around the garden. Their childish, high-pitched laughter warmed both women's hearts.
Deanna sighed. "We always wanted to give you a brother or sister, you know? I was worried that you'd be lonely, especially with all of the hunting. We tried for years, but it just wasn't meant to be I suppose."
Mary glanced at her mother in surprise. "I had no idea." Having been an only child, she had on occasion been very lonely growing up, especially as the time she could spend with her peers had been limited due to the heavy training schedule imposed by her father. John too had been an only child and they had both wholeheartedly agreed that they didn't want that for a child of their own.
To Mary, motherhood and her family meant everything. Sure, they'd had some rough patches over the years, but what couple didn't? The worst one had been when Sammy was just a few months old – money had been really tight, which had meant that stress-levels were running extremely high. It was a real struggle to make ends meet. John had been exhausted with having to put in so many extra hours at the garage and then had come home every night to be woken up by a screaming baby, as Sam, unlike Dean, hadn't slept through the night until he was nearly nine months old. However, they had finally come through the other side with their relationship intact and their love for each other stronger than ever.
"Deeeeeeean!" the petulant whine drew Mary from her musings and back to her sons in the garden.
Eleven-year-old Dean was mercilessly teasing his younger brother. As soon as Sam tried to tackle him, he'd kick the soccer ball hard away from them towards the other end of the garden. Then he'd sprint after it, leaving the seven-year-old in his wake. As soon as Sam reached his side, he'd repeat the process. The younger boy was getting frustrated.
"What, Squirt?" queried Dean with an innocent grin.
"You're not being fair, Dean!" Sam stamped his foot in temper. "Play properly!"
Deanna laughed. "He's a feisty little 'un isn't he."
Mary shook her head with a fond smile. "He sure is. He won't sit back and just let his brother push him around."
Mary and John had worked hard to ensure that the brothers had an extremely close bond – Dean might be teasing his little brother now, but should anyone else threaten or upset Sammy in any way then woe betide them!
Dean however, didn't quit his teasing and Mary could see her youngest getting angrier and angrier. She fully expected Sam to follow the usual pattern and stomp inside any minute, refusing to play with Dean any longer and then for Dean to apologise and successfully coax his little brother into playing with him again. That's not what happened.
When Dean again kicked the ball away from them, Sam didn't chase fruitlessly after it this time, instead, he swung his little sneakered foot as hard as he could and kicked his big brother in the shin. "You're a jerk, Dean!"
Dean yelped and clutched his leg. That had really really hurt!
Mary was off her chair and out of the back door in less than half a minute. "Samuel Winchester! We do not kick people!"
At the use of his full name, Sam knew he was in trouble. "But he was teasing me," he whined, turning on his 'puppy dog' look that Dean could never resist.
Mary however was unmoved and took a firm hold of Sam's upper arm in order to turn him sideways. She then wasted no time administering three hard, stinging swats to the little shorts-clad bottom.
"OW! OW! OW!"
Sam's hazel eyes were swimming with tears when Mary released him, but they didn't fall.
"Now you're having a time-out, so that you can think about what you did and why it's naughty." Mary turned to her eldest. "Are you alright, Dean?"
Dean nodded mutely and followed, limping slightly, when his mother took hold of Sam's hand and led the subdued little boy towards the house.
Mary led Sam over to a corner of the kitchen. "Now you're to stand here for seven minutes and think about your actions and choices," she said sternly.
Sam nodded and sniffled, feeling very sorry for himself. Dean had been the one being mean and yet he'd been the one to get spanked. It just wasn't fair!
Mary then turned to her eldest and indicated for him to sit down. Dean was wearing shorts too and as she approached, the question about where Sam had kicked him died on her lips – a nasty bruise was already forming over a raised lump.
Deanna, without a word, passed her daughter a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel – first aid was second nature after having dealt with so many hunting injuries over the years.
Dean hissed involuntarily when Mary pressed the home-made cold compress against his skin, even though she was as gentle as possible. He glanced across to the corner where his baby brother stood, rubbing his stinging buttocks with both hands and quickly dropped his eyes to his lap. It was his fault that Sammy was hurting.
"You should have spanked me, Mom, not Sammy. I was teasing him." Dean kept his eyes fixed downwards.
Mary placed gentle fingers under his chin and tilted his head up, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You didn't make him kick you, Dean. Your brother could have just walked away, so Sammy earned his own sore bottom. He has to learn that he can't just lash out when things don't go the way he wants them to. However…." Mary injected a note of sternness into her voice, "….you're the eldest, Dean, and although I know some brotherly teasing is inevitable, you need to think of it from Sammy's point of view and not take it too far. You have to take some responsibility and you need to think of the wider consequences of your choices. For instance, your teasing today earned you a bruised shin. Now I want you to apologise to your brother when he's finished his time out."
Dean nodded. "I will, Mom. I'm really sorry. I know he's only little. I should've known better.
"I'm not little!" huffed Sam from the corner indignantly.
"Of course, you're not, Sammy," soothed Mary, "Dean just meant that you're smaller than him is all. Now I want you to be quiet and think. You've still got three minutes left of your time out."
As Deanna watched the interaction between her daughter and her grandchildren, her heart swelled. She was proud of the woman that Mary had grown into.
Mary carefully removed the impromptu ice-pack from Dean's knee in order to check the bruise. "You'll be okay now, sweetie."
She leaned in and kissed Dean's forehead gently before seating herself on one of the hard-backed kitchen chairs and addressing her youngest. "Time's up, Sammy. Come here, please."
Sam sheepishly walked towards his mother. As soon as the small boy reached her side, Mary picked him up and seated him on her lap. The child automatically snuggled against her chest, wrapping his arms around her neck and burying his face in her long blond hair. "I'm sorry, Momma," he murmured.
"What are you sorry for, Sammy?" Mary wanted to make sure that her youngest understood why he had been disciplined.
"I was naughty and kicked Dean….but he was teasing me!" came the petulant response.
"Yes he was, and I've spoken to him about that, but that still doesn't mean it's acceptable to kick him. You really hurt your brother, Sammy. I want you to look at his leg and see what you did."
Mary turned in her chair, keeping Sam secure on her lap, so that he could see Dean. She wanted him to fully understand the consequences of his actions.
Sam looked down at his brother's leg. Seeing the glaring purple bruise that had formed there, Sam's irritation with his big brother immediately disappeared to be replaced with remorse.
"I'm sorry, Dee. I didn't mean to hurt you." Sam's expressive hazel eyes filled with tears.
"Hey, it's okay, Sammy. It doesn't hurt at all. I'm sorry for teasing you." Dean hated seeing his little brother cry.
Sam squirmed to get off his mother's knee so that he could go to Dean, but Mary didn't release him. "I want you to remember, Sammy, that it's never okay to hit or kick when you're angry. The only time it's okay is if you are in danger and it is in self-defence. Understand?"
The little boy nodded solemnly. "Yes, Momma."
Mary placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before releasing him. Sam immediately scampered over to Dean, where he was enveloped in a forgiving hug from his big brother.
"You wanna play again, Sammy?"
Three minutes later, the two boys were once more kicking the ball around the garden. This time, Dean was going out of his way to pass the ball to his little brother and childish laughter filled the air.
Deana shook her head. "How did you do it Mary?"
"Do what, Mom?" asked Mary puzzled, tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear.
"Make them so close. I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved my younger brother, but if he'd done that to me, I definitely wouldn't have felt sorry for him, I'd have been glad that he'd gotten spanked and more than that, I'd have been planning my revenge on him for kicking me in the first place."
Mary had no memory of her uncle, as he had died tragically in a car accident when she had been only two years old. She paused for a moment, considering her mother's words.
"Me and John were so scared that Dean'd be jealous of the new baby that we went out of our way to convince him that being a big brother was a really big deal and that it would be his job to look after Sammy just as much as it was ours. I suppose it worked."
Both women glanced towards the doorway as they heard the key turning in the lock on the front door. A moment later, Samuel Campbell entered the kitchen and dumped his duffle down on the table.
"Hi, Dad, did everything go okay?" Mary smiled up at her father.
"Welcome home," Deanna greeted her husband with a kiss.
Samuel slid his arms around his wife and answered his daughter's question. "Yeah, Honey, it was just a routine salt and burn, but we found the grave quicker than expected."
Deanna immediately set about making him a cup of coffee. "Supper should be ready shortly."
Samuel nodded and turned to watch his grandsons through the kitchen window for a moment. "When are you gonna start training Dean?"
"Sorry?" questioned Mary, unsure what her father meant, "Training him for what? He trains at school for baseball and soccer."
Samuel shook his head. "No Mary, I mean beginning training him to hunt. He's grown into a strapping lad."
Mary's expression immediately became guarded. "We talked about this, Dad, you know I don't want to tell them about the supernatural….."
Samuel interrupted his daughter, "You said you wanted them to have a normal childhood and I respected that. Now it's time to start preparing Dean at least for what's out there. Sam can wait a couple of years."
Mary looked at her father in disbelief. "You're saying Dean's finished his childhood? You do know he's only eleven don't you? He's still a baby."
Samuel grunted in disagreement. "I started training you when you were six. I taught you to shoot when you were nine and I gave you your first firearm when you were ten, which is a whole year younger than Dean is now. It's time, Mary."
Mary shook her head. "No, Dad, you misunderstood me…I'm never going to tell them about the supernatural or train them to hunt. I want them to have a normal life. I want them to grow up and go to college if that's what they want, get married, have kids and never be any the wiser about things that go bump in the night!"
Samuel studied his daughter for a moment, fully convinced that she couldn't be serious. Mary stared steadfastly back, the determination in her piercing green eyes indicating there was no mistaking that she was telling the truth.
"How can you be so irresponsible, Mary?" growled Samuel, "Who will protect them? Ignorance will get them killed! What if a demon were to enter your house, huh?"
Mary smiled grimly. "I will protect them! And trust me, our house is safe from demons, poltergeists and vengeful spirits…I made sure of that!"
"Oh, really?" Samuel's tone was laced with sarcasm. "I suppose you lay salt lines every night then? I'm sure John wouldn't find that strange at all."
Mary loved her father, she really did. And she knew that he loved her. But her father had never really accepted her decision to marry John. There had been many eligible young male hunters around at the time and as far as he was concerned, she should have wed one of them. When Samuel had eventually realised that his teenaged daughter's romance with John Winchester wasn't just a passing infatuation and they had gotten engaged just after her twentieth birthday, he had then decided that the natural course of action would be to initiate John into the world of hunting. Samuel had been totally unprepared for his daughter's reaction to that suggestion! When Mary had told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted a normal life and that she had no intention of ever sharing her hunting past with her fiancé, he had exploded. She had tried to make her dad understand her point of view by explaining how much she wanted to be a mother and how she wanted any future children to have a happy, normal childhood, to no avail. Samuel just couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that Mary was willing to turn her back entirely on her family heritage. In the ensuing argument both of them had said a lot of hurtful things that they didn't mean. In the end, Mary had given her father an ultimatum, one which inwardly had broken her heart, but she loved John with every fibre of her being and she was determined to protect both him and her hoped-for offspring, no matter what the personal cost – she had told her father that if he would not respect her wishes, then she would have to cut him out of her life. Samuel loved his only daughter with all of his heart and was not prepared to lose her, so begrudgingly, he had agreed to her terms, secretly believing that at some point in the future she would see the folly of her decision. Having been given the opportunity to watch his two precious grandsons growing up, Samuel had never regretted his capitulation to Mary's wishes, although he was still determined that in the future they would both be trained as hunters and carry on the Campbell lineage.
"There are other ways to protect besides salt lines. You know that. Trust me…I've taken no chances with my family's safety." Mary met her father's condemning glare squarely, her head held high.
When they had bought the house just after they had gotten married, Mary, much to John's dismay, had insisted on redecorating the whole place. As far as John was concerned, the décor had been just fine and it was an unneeded added expense, but figured it was a chick thing and wanting to please his new bride, had begrudgingly agreed to it. In reality, Mary too believed there was nothing wrong with the present décor, but she was determined to protect the love of her life from the supernatural. With that in mind, she had enlisted the help of a hunter friend of her father's, Bobby Singer. Bobby himself had not been born into hunting as the whole of her family had been, but had been dragged into it after the death of his possessed wife and Mary had always found him genuinely sympathetic towards her desire for a normal life. The end result had been paint that had been mixed with finely ground iron filings coating the walls, wards and sigils carved into doorframes (John hadn't been at all sure about these new-fangled decorations at first, but he had quickly gotten used to them and now didn't even notice them anymore), devil's traps painted in clear nail varnish by every door and window, including any air vents leading to outside and then covered over with the new carpet or in the case of the bathroom and kitchen, new tiles and four hex bags had been planted in all four walls of the building and covered over with fresh plaster. Mary knew that no nasties were getting in on her watch!
The impasse between father and daughter was interrupted as two rambunctious boys tumbled laughing into the kitchen.
"Hey, Gramps," greeted Dean with a wide grin.
"Grandpa, you're back!" squealed Sam in excitement on seeing the man. He ran over and clambered onto his lap.
Samuel broke the visual battle he was having with his daughter to smile down at the exuberant seven-year-old.
"I sure am, Sammy. We sold the equipment quicker than we thought we would so I could come home early."
Samuel still felt privileged that Mary had named her youngest after him. After having named her eldest after Deanna, he had naturally assumed that the new baby would be named after someone from John's side of the family.
Dean sidled up to his grandfather's side, a hopeful expression on his young, freckled face. "Errrr, Gramps…..seein' as how you're back early, are you going anywhere tomorrow?"
"I was thinking of having a relaxing day at home. Why do you ask, Dean?"
"'Cause Mom 'n Grandma promised to take Sammy to the library and then to the museum…." Dean was unaware of the expression of utter distaste that flittered across his face at the thought of visiting a museum "…..and well, I was hoping I could maybe stay here with you instead?"
Samuel glanced up at Mary. The previous tension had melted from her face as she watched both of her sons with a fond expression. "Would you be okay with that, Mare?"
Mary nodded, "I don't see why not."
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural
The phone rang only a total of twice before Mary snatched it up and held it to her ear. From the time, she knew that it was John, as he had been ringing at 7 o clock sharp every night. How she missed him! They had planned to spend the first two weeks of the boys' summer vacation at her parents' months ago, but John's partner at the garage that they both owned had come down with a severe bout of flu and he'd had to stay behind to hold down the fort.
"Hey, Babe, How are you and the boys?"
John's deep, rumbling voice sent a tingle down Mary's spine. "Great, John. How're things your end? Any news on when Mike will be back on his feet?"
"Actually, it's looking good. He's a lot better, so I should be able to join you in a couple of days."
"Good, I'm missing you and so are the boys." Mary looked up as said boys entered the sitting room.
"Is that, Daddy?" asked Sam excitedly.
"It sure is," Mary smiled, "Do you two wanna talk to him?" She passed the phone to Dean who was closest to her.
Dean wanted nothing more than to talk to his dad – he wasn't used to him not being around and he didn't like it – but he took one look at his impatient baby brother shifting his weight from foot to foot and handed the phone to the little boy instead.
"You can talk to him first, midget."
Sam flashed his big brother a smile, showing both his dimples, as he took the phone.
"Daddy? When are you coming?"
"Soon, Tiger, soon. Are you having fun and behaving yourself?"
Sam nodded, completely oblivious to the fact that his father couldn't see him. "Yeah, Daddy, we went swimming this morning. Dee said if I keep practisin', I'll be able to do it without armbands soon. We had lunch out and then we played soccer when we got back….." The child deliberately neglected to tell John that he had kicked his big brother.
John smiled as he listened to his youngest prattle on – Sam could talk the hind leg off a donkey.
After ten minutes, Mary put a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. "Let Dean talk to Daddy now, Honey."
Sam glanced at his patiently waiting big brother. "Okay," he agreed, before speaking once more into the phone, "Bye, Daddy, I love you."
"I love you too, Sammy."
John leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He'd only been separated from his precious little family for a week, but it felt like an eternity. The house was so quiet and empty without them. He couldn't wait to be reunited with them, they were the centre of his universe.
"Hey, Dad. You gonna be stuck at home much longer?"
"Hey, Dean. Thankfully no, I'll be with you in a few days. Are you looking after your brother and behaving for your Mom, Ace?"
"Yeah, Dad," Dean grinned suddenly, "and Gramps finished his job early so I've got outta havin' to go to the museum tomorrow."
"Not your idea of fun, huh, Sport?" chuckled John. He knew his eldest well.
Mary allowed Dean the same amount of time on the phone that she had Sam. She glanced up at the clock.
"Okay, Dean, can I have the phone back now, sweetie? And can you help your brother get ready for bed?"
Sam pouted. "I don't wanna go to bed. I'm not tired."
"Maybe not," agreed Mary calmly, "but you're still going, because it's your bedtime." She turned to address her eldest. "Please make sure he brushes his teeth."
Dean nodded his consent before speaking once more into the phone. "I gotta go, Dad. Getting Sammy ready for bed. Love you loads!"
"Love you too, Deano. Be good."
Dean handed the receiver to his Mom before grabbing his brother's hand and literally towing the sulking little boy from the room. "Come on, Sammy. Mom'll be up to tuck you in in a minute."
"Don't wanna." Sam tried to dig his heels in and resist, but he was no match for his big brother's strength.
"Well, you must want to get swatted before bed then," replied Dean matter-of-factly.
"No I don't!" Mary heard Sam's indignant response as he was dragged up the stairs and chuckled.
"Could have fooled me, 'cause that's what's gonna happen, Squirt, if Mom finds out you're not doing what you're told…"
"Mare? What's going on?" John's voice pulled Mary's attention back to the phone and away from her boys on the stairs.
"Oh, the usual," she smiled, "Sammy fighting bedtime and Dean stepping in before I have to become Mad Mom and lay down the law."
John chuckled. "You'd have thought the kid would have learned by now that bedtimes in the Winchester household aren't flexible. He definitely gets that stubborn streak from you, Mare," he teased.
"Gee, thanks, Johnny," her reply was mock-sarcastic, "Though I'm sure the tantrumming comes from you."
"Oh, yeah, Babe, I'll definitely be having a tantrum or two if I don't get to see you soon. I can't wait to show you just how much I've missed you, in the bedroom especially."
John grinned mischievously at hearing Mary's sharp intake of breath, imagining the endearing blush that would now be creeping up his wife's face.
"John Winchester, you behave yourself!" she found herself whispering, "My parents are home."
"So? They can't hear me," he chortled, "Let me tell you what I'm going to do. First, I'm going to plunder your mouth with mine. Then, when I've kissed you senseless, I'm going to slide your top off over your head before I put my hands….."
Mary glanced up as her mother entered the room, quickly ducking her head and letting her long hair fall forward in an attempt to hide her face, which she knew must be crimson.
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural
Samuel watched Dean fondly as the boy lay sprawled on his stomach munching potato chips, his eyes glued to the western on the TV.
On the one hand he had to admit that seeing his grandchildren having a 'normal' childhood was rewarding. He had never before considered just how stressful and pressurised a 'hunting' upbringing was, as it was all he himself had ever known, until he considered Mary's upbringing alongside Dean and Sam's. He could now see the merit of keeping them ignorant in their early years, but that didn't change the fact that he sincerely believed that their destiny in life was to become hunters.
Samuel looked at Dean appraisingly. The boy's love of sports ensured that he was fit and had good muscle tone for his age. He had also always been naturally agile, with excellent co-ordination. Samuel was certain that he would make an outstanding hunter one day.
"Whoa. It'd be so cool to shoot like that," enthused Dean, as the closing credits rolled, making his hand into a gun shape and firing at an imaginary target, "POW! POW! Take that!"
As, Samuel watched his grandson shooting with his pretend gun, an idea began to take root. Mary resisted him, but she would do anything to make her children happy. She constantly encouraged them to try new things and take on new hobbies, but she wasn't a pushy parent either and if they tried something and didn't like it, she never tried to force them to continue it, even if they showed aptitude at it. All that his daughter wanted was for her boys to be healthy and happy….and Samuel was convinced that could work in his favour! He couldn't actively train the boy, as he knew Mary would not allow it, but what if the boy just happened to take up a new hobby that also happened to be a required skill in a hunter?
"Your mother could teach you," said Samuel casually.
"What?" asked Dean, sitting up to look at his grandfather, confused as to what the man was referring to.
"To shoot. She could teach you archery too."
"Yeah, right," snorted Dean, convinced his grandfather was having him on.
"I'm serious, Dean. It was….errr…a hobby of hers when she was growing up."
"Very funny, Gramps." There was no way his Mom could shoot either bullets or arrows!
"I'll prove it to you. Follow me."
Curious, Dean got up and followed his grandfather.
Samuel paused outside of his study. "Remember you are not to touch anything in here."
Dean nodded solemnly. He didn't need telling twice! Both he and Sammy knew the study was off-limits. The previous summer they had both found out the extremely painful consequences of breaking that particular rule.
The study was where Samuel kept most of his hunting equipment. The majority of his arsenal was kept in the large metal chest that took up one corner of the room. This was sealed with a combination lock. However, presently a number of weapons were also stored in the large filing cabinet next to the extensive bookshelf, as well as in the desk drawers. These weapons usually resided at various points throughout the house, so that one would always be to hand if trouble ever arose, but Mary was adamant that they were removed whenever the boys came to visit.
One particular weapon however, which resided at the back of the middle desk drawer, Samuel kept purely for its sentimental value – it was the first firearm that Mary had ever owned.
Samuel reached down into the drawer and carefully lifted out a small rectangular box. He lifted the lid and held it out for Dean to see. Inside, nestled amidst silky blue fabric was a silver pistol with an intricately carved ivory handle.
"Can I hold it?" asked Dean, his mesmerised gaze fixed on the contents in the plain, unadorned wooden box.
"No, it's not a toy, Dean." Samuel's tone was sharp. "You should only ever handle a weapon when you're trained to do so."
Dean rolled his eyes. He wasn't a baby, he wasn't stupid.
Samuel carefully lifted the gun out of the box and held it closer to his grandson. "Can you read the inscription?"
Dean leaned forward, itching to reach out and touch the pistol. What would it feel like in his hand? Was it heavy? How did you aim?
Engraved in the ivory on the handle were the words: For Our Beloved Daughter Mary Joanne Campbell On Her Tenth Birthday. All Our Love, Mom And Dad.
Dean gasped in surprise and searched his grandfather's face. "So Mom could really shoot, huh?"
Samuel nodded.
"Awesome!" enthused Dean. "Was she any good?"
Samuel grinned with pride. "Oh, yeah, your Mom's an excellent shot."
"Then why hasn't she told us about it?" puzzled Dean.
"Oh, your Mom lost interest in it."
"Probably because she's a girl," mused the eleven-year-old.
Samuel smiled at the child's stereotypical sexist view. "Maybe. Do you think shooting is something you'd like to learn, Dean?"
"Heck, yeah!" The boy's green eyes were shining with excitement.
"Maybe you should ask your Mom?" suggested Samuel casually, "But you'd probably better not tell her I showed you this, as you really shouldn't come into contact with weapons until you're trained how to handle them safely. Our little secret, hey?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, Gramps."
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural
Dean approached his mother in the kitchen after supper as she put the clean dishes away in the cupboard. The boy didn't for one second consider the fact that his request would be refused – she had learned to shoot, so there could be no problem with him learning too, right?
"Hi, Mom. You know you asked me if there was anything I wanted to do when Sammy decided he wanted to learn to play the piano? Well I've found a hobby."
Mary turned to her eldest with a warm smile. "What's that, Honey?"
"I wanna learn how to handle guns and shoot."
Mary stiffened. Where had this come from? Sure, Dean was a typical little boy who loved playing with toy guns, but he had never shown any interest in real weapons. She closed her eyes for a moment as unbidden images of her best friend, Kate, covered in blood arose in her mind. Yeah, she was very proficient at handling a wide range of firearms, but she hated them all!
"Mom?" questioned Dean, tugging on Mary's elbow to get her attention. "Did you hear what I said?"
Mary mentally shook herself. "Yes, I heard you, Baby. I'm truly sorry, but that's not an option. Guns are dangerous."
"But…."
"No, Dean. It's final. I really am sorry, but I will not allow you to take up any sport involving weapons of any kind."
"That's not fair!" argued the eleven-year-old, "You let Sammy do what he wants, you let him have those stupid piano lessons!"
"And I'll let you do things you want too, just not anything involving violence or weapons." Mary was trying to be patient. She understood that her eldest really wanted this and that she was disappointing him by denying it to him.
"But this is what I wanna do," replied Dean, the petulance in his tone reminding Mary of Sammy, "Gramps took you shooting, so how can it be dangerous?"
Mary froze, her green eyes narrowing, everything clicking into place. "Your Grandpa talked to you about shooting? What did he say?"
"That you learned how when you were a kid and not just that, you learned archery too. So if you did, why can't I?" Dean's tone was pleading.
"Because I said so!" As the words passed her lips, Mary cursed herself inwardly – she had sworn growing up when her parents had said that exact same thing to her that she would never say it to her own children, but that she would always give them reasons. But what was she supposed to say: because I was being trained to slay the supernatural?
"You're a hypocrite!" accused Dean, the disappointment and injustice he felt revealing itself as anger.
As much as she felt for her child, Mary was not prepared to have him speak to her like that. Her response was immediate as she pulled the eleven-year-old to her side and delivered four crisp swats to the seat of his jeans.
"Now I know you're disappointed, Dean, but you never speak to me like that. Are we clear?" she asked sternly, placing her hands on his shoulders, "You're too young to understand fully how dangerous weapons can be. And just because I learned how to use them doesn't mean it's right for children to do so. I won't change my mind, so there's no point asking me again."
"Sorry," mumbled Dean staring at his feet, resisting the urge to reach back and rub at the sting. He was angry – his Mom was treating him like he was a little kid like Sammy….of course he knew weapons could be dangerous, which was why he wanted to be taught how to use them! Dean knew better than to press though, he knew his mother had made up her mind. It just wasn't fair!
Mary sighed and pushed her hair back behind her ear as she watched Dean dejectedly leave the kitchen, before turning on her heel and heading straight towards her father's study.
"I've just had to disappoint my little boy, because he asked for something that would never ever have entered his head if you hadn't put the idea there!"
Samuel looked up from the ancient text he was studying as his daughter stormed into the room.
"I'm taking it you told him 'no' then?" he sighed.
Mary shook her head in disbelief. "I cannot believe you, Dad. You bet I told him no!" She paused, her blazing green eyes spitting fire. "I swear if you interfere with their upbringing again, you will not see them ever again!"
Without waiting for a response, Mary turned and left the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural ~ Supernatural
Dean peeked into the living room. Gramps had left for work very early that morning and Mom and Grandma were both sitting on the sofa reading, while Sam was sprawled on the floor. His kid brother had found re-runs of the Thundercats on some obscure channel and was totally addicted to it. The little boy was now waiting impatiently for the program to start. Usually, Dean would watch the cartoon too, but this morning he was going to forgo that pleasure for an even greater one. He knew that he could count on being undisturbed for the next half an hour at least.
He tiptoed down the hall to his grandfather's study and quietly let himself into the room. Dean did feel the uncomfortable curl of guilt in the pit of his stomach at breaking the long-standing rule of never being allowed in the study without permission, but pushed it aside. No one would ever know.
He pulled open the middle drawer in the desk and hesitated for only a moment before carefully lifting out the wooden box. The boy tucked it under his arm and quickly, but quietly made his way back to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Dean set the box down on his bed and cautiously lifted the lid. He only wanted to look at it and hold it, that was all.
He tentatively reached out a finger and ran it along the cold metal, before carefully lifting the pistol out of the box. For a moment Dean just held it in both hands, staring at it in awe. It was much heavier than he had expected. Then he took hold of the handle, originally intending to hold it in just one hand, but the weight caused it to tip forward, so he grasped it in both hands instead. The boy stared down the long, silver barrel. There was a little notch at the end, which Dean assumed was there to help you aim.
Downstairs, Sam let out a disgusted huff. Thundercats had just cut off and now a message was flashing onscreen saying that due to technical difficulties, the channel would not be broadcasting for the rest of the day. The small boy picked himself up of the floor. He'd go and play with Dean instead…..
When the bedroom door was flung open unexpectedly and Sam bounced into the room, Dean jumped, startled. The pistol slipped from his grasp and it was simple reflexes that made Dean grab for it. Unfortunately, he accidentally caught the trigger.
A number of things happened in the next second: The gun went off, the report so loud that it hurt both boys' ears, added to this commotion was their twin shocked screams, Sam stumbled backwards in fright and tripped over his own feet, going down hard and downstairs both Mary and Deanna leapt to their feet.
Dean saw his little brother lying on the floor and burst into tears. He'd shot his Sammy!
Without thought, Dean just let the gun drop from his hands onto the floor, as he stumbled over to the little boy sprawled on the floor and pulled him into his arms.
"Sammy?" Dean was frantic.
Sam clung to his big brother, tears pouring down his chubby cheeks. He was crying not only from fright, but also because he'd hurt his knees and elbows when he fell. "W-what was that, D-dee?"
Pale-faced, Mary reached the door to her sons' room, her heart racing, her hunting instincts on high alert, ready to take on anything that was threatening her beloved children. She was certain that what they had heard had been a gunshot. For a moment she couldn't make sense of the scene before her – her sons were on the floor hugging each other and crying, but she couldn't see the gun-wielding human or supernatural fiend that had caused that response.
Mary dropped to her knees beside the distraught boys. "Are you hurt?" she asked urgently, visually checking them both over, her relief was overwhelming at finding no signs of any blood.
Dean turned a tear-streaked face towards her. "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. I nearly…" He choked on his sobs, unable to continue, instead, he buried his face in his little brother's floppy chestnut hair.
"Mary." Deanna's soft voice caught her attention. Mary glanced up at her mother, who had entered the bedroom a couple of seconds after her daughter.
Deanna nodded towards the silver pistol lying on the floor and then towards the bed where the open box lay. Mary followed her mother's gaze, realising immediately what had happened and blanched even more. The reality that one of her babies could so easily have been shot finally came crashing down and trembling, she wrapped her arms around her children, crushing them both to her chest, fighting her own tears.
Without a word, Deanna picked up the pistol and removed the remaining bullets, before replacing it in its box and carrying it out of the room. If Dean had been watching, he would have wondered how his grandma knew how to unload a firearm. As it was, the eleven-year-old was clinging to both his mother and baby brother for dear life, unable to catch his breath due to the intensity of his tears.
Mary knew that she needed to address what had happened, but right now, it was necessary to calm Dean down as he was close to hyperventilating. She clamped down on her own raging emotions, focussing solely on the needs of her child.
"Dean, baby, listen to me. You need to calm down. You're okay."
"I n-n-nearly k-k-killed, S-sammy."
"Sammy's fine, Honey." She ran a soothing hand up and down Dean's spine and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Sam frowned. How had Dean nearly killed him? There'd only been a scary, loud noise and he'd fallen over. He tried to sit up, but his big brother wouldn't let go of him. Dean's arm was locked tight around him, his other arm wrapped around their mom.
"Dee?" Now that Sam had calmed down from his fright, it registered for the first time that his big brother was sobbing. Sam was really really worried – Dean rarely cried.
Sam looked up at his mother. "Is Dee okay, Momma?" the little boy's expression was fearful and troubled.
"Dean's gonna be just fine, Sammy. Don't worry. He's just had a bit of a shock, that's all,'" she reassured gently, reaching out her hand and running it through his long, silky bangs.
Sam tilted his face upwards and kissed Dean's damp cheek. "Please don't be sad, Dee. You didn't kill me, I just tripped up. Please don't cry."
"I n-n-nearly sh-shot y-y-you," Dean sobbed brokenly, hugging his little brother even tighter.
Dean had nearly shot him? Where had Dean gotten a gun from? Sam chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, he supposed that would explain the horrifically loud bang.
It took a long time, but eventually Mary managed to calm her eldest down. Dean finally slackened his hold on both his Mom and brother and sat up sniffing.
"Mom, I…."
Mary cut him off gently, "We'll deal with this later, Dean." She took both her children by the hand and led them downstairs and into the kitchen. Wanting to counteract the shock, she gave them both a glass of orange juice to which she had added two spoonfuls of sugar.
Once she had relocated them to the living room and settled them in front of the TV, she retreated to the sanctuary of her bedroom. Only then did she allow herself to break down. Mary put her head in her hands and sobbed, her shoulders shaking with the force of her emotions.
Deanna quietly entered the room and sat down on the bed, pulling her daughter into her arms.
"What if I'd lost them, Mom?" Mary sobbed, "I couldn't bear that!"
"But, you didn't," soothed Deanna, gently stroking her daughter's hair.
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The incident had taken place at just after 10:30 that morning and it was now 3pm. Mary glanced across at her eldest, who was helping Sammy to complete his Tom and Jerry jigsaw. Thankfully, the boy was completely calm, but she could tell he was extremely tired, which wasn't surprising after the emotional rollercoaster that he had been on that morning. Mary had considered leaving disciplining him until the following day, but felt that it was better to get it over with. She also recognised that after being spanked, the child would undoubtedly sleep, which was what he needed.
"There, Sammy," said Dean, handing his little brother the last jigsaw piece.
Sam smiled his two-dimpled smile and slotted it into place. "Thanks, Dee, you're the best!"
Mary caught her mother's eye and then called to her youngest. "Sammy, I want you to go into the kitchen with Grandma while I talk to Dean."
Sam hesitated and glanced at his big brother. He wasn't stupid, he knew Dean was in trouble for what he'd done earlier. He may only be seven, but he'd already figured out that the word 'talk' was sometimes a euphemism for punishment.
"Come on, Sammy," Deanna took the small boy's hand. "How does some milk and cookies sound?"
"But…."
"It's okay, Sammy," murmured Dean quietly, "You go with Grandma. Make sure you leave me some cookies!"
Once her mother and youngest had entered the kitchen, Mary patted the cushion next to her on the sofa. Dean obediently sat down next to her, but kept his gaze firmly fixed on his hands which he was twisting in his lap.
Mary studied him for a moment, considering how best to approach this. She was certain that Dean already knew what he had done wrong and that he now fully understood the possible devastating repercussions of his actions, even if he hadn't beforehand.
"Dean, baby, look at me."
Dean slowly raised his gaze to meet his mother's.
"I'm gonna tell you a story. I realize that you thought I was being unfair not letting you learn to shoot when I learned when I was your age…"
Dean broke in, shaking his head, "No, you were right! You said they were dangerous and I didn't believe you. I thought they'd only be dangerous if you were careless or stupid with them."
Mary nodded, "I imagine that's what most people think, but the problem is that accidents happen, Dean. Can you tell me what happened today?" Mary didn't believe for one second that her eldest would have been irresponsible enough to deliberately pull the trigger on a firearm.
Dean nodded. "I was just looking at it, but then Sammy came in…he was supposed to be watching Thundercats, so I wasn't expecting him and when he flung open the door I dropped the gun, so I tried to catch it, but when I did, it went off."
"And where did you get the gun, Dean?" Mary already knew what the answer to that question must be, but she wanted it confirming.
"Gramps' study," he mumbled, glancing down guiltily.
"How did you know that gun existed?"
Dean glanced back up, his gaze troubled. "I…well…." His granddad had asked him to keep it a secret! What was he supposed to do?
So far, Mary's tone had been gentle, now she injected it with sternness. "I want to know, Dean!"
"Gramps showed it to me, but he told me I wasn't allowed to touch it because I hadn't been trained. He told me not to tell."
Mary closed her eyes momentarily. Having her suspicions confirmed didn't make her feel any better. She knew that if either of her children had been injured, she would never have forgiven her father.
"Okay, thank you for being honest. Now I'm going to explain why I hate guns so much….When I was fifteen, I had a best friend called, Kate. We were inseparable and both of us went shooting for a hobby…" Mary deliberately left out the fact that Kate was also the daughter of a hunter "….but one day, her gun just misfired and she died." Mary also didn't explain that it had happened in front of her and that she had been covered in her friend's blood after the explosion. Unbeknownst to Mary, a few tears escaped as she inadvertently relived the horrific memories, but Dean noticed.
"Oh Mom, I'm sorry. How awful." Dean wrapped his arms around his mother to try and comfort her. "So that's why you gave it up, not because you were a girl."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mary felt her lips quirking up into a smile at Dean's innocent assumption.
She hugged him back tightly for a moment, before pulling away. "Now we need to deal with your behaviour, young man."
Dean nodded and bit his lip, waiting.
"I want you to go to your room and change into your pyjamas, because you will be spending the rest of the day in bed. I will be up in a minute."
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Mary entered the kitchen and walked over to the table where her youngest was busy slurping his milk.
"Is Dee okay?" Sam asked anxiously. He hadn't heard any smacking sounds. Maybe his brother wasn't going to get a spanking after all?
"Dean's just fine, Sammy. Don't worry,'" she reassured gently, patting his head, "I've sent him to bed for the rest of the day though, so you won't be able to play with him." Mary hid a smile at the milk moustache coating the child's upper lip.
"I know he was naughty, but can I take him some cookies and milk?"
"In a little while, Baby. When I come back down again." Mary caressed his cheek gently as she dropped a kiss on the top of his head before turning to her mother. "Mom, can I please borrow your hairbrush? I only brought my small travel one with me."
Deanna nodded. She knew that her daughter's request didn't bode well for Dean, as Mary certainly wasn't looking to brush her long, luscious golden locks!
Mary entered her parents' bedroom and opened the top drawer of the dressing table as instructed. There, nestled in the corner, was not just any hairbrush, but the large, oval, wooden-backed one that she remembered well from her childhood. Mary hesitantly lifted it out. It was heavy in her hand. She couldn't believe that it had lasted all these years.
Dean looked up as Mary entered the room. He was dressed in his Batman pyjamas and sitting on the edge of his bed. "I'm really sorry, Momma. I really am."
The 'momma' tugged at Mary's heartstrings. Dean was growing up and had stopped calling her that when he was ten. "I know you are, Dean. But I still have to punish you. You knew you weren't allowed to touch that weapon, but you did anyway. I made it perfectly clear to you how I feel about guns, not to mention you're not allowed in the study. So I think you know that you're going to get a spanking."
Dean bit his lip and nodded. He hated getting spanked! Mary sat down on the bed next to him. Only then did Dean notice the hairbrush in her hand. "Mom?" he questioned.
"I'm sorry, Honey, but what you did could have had very serious repercussions….you could have accidentally shot yourself or your brother. And I couldn't bear it if anything happened to either one of you! To make sure you learn from this and understand the seriousness of what you did, I'm going to finish your spanking with the hairbrush."
Dean swallowed nervously. He had never been spanked with anything other than his mom or dad's hand before. It couldn't be that bad, could it?
Seeing her son's trepidation, Mary reached out and ran a gentle hand through his short, dirty blond hair. "You'll be okay, Dean," she reassured.
Dean very much doubted that – he was never okay after any over-the-knee spanking as it was (much to his chagrin he still bawled like a baby whenever his butt was blistered), never mind one that would involve the large, wicked-looking hairbrush in his mother's hand!
Not wanting to draw this out any longer, Mary seated herself on the edge of the bed and set the brush down beside her, before pulling Dean over her lap and quickly sliding his pyjama bottoms down to his knees. John always spanked the boys on the bare for serious misdemeanours, but Mary wasn't comfortable with that and always spanked over their briefs. It might take slightly longer to reduce the miscreant to tears with the added layer of protection, but she could live with that.
She began swatting Dean's buttocks hard and fast. Mary heard the boy's sharp intake of breath and felt him tense over her knees. The eleven-year-old unconsciously clutched hold of the duvet as the burning sting quickly built up.
Mary alternated her swats: left butt-cheek, right butt-cheek, dead centre - ensuring that every inch of the fleshiest part of her son's backside was thoroughly spanked.
Apart from a few barely audible murmured 'owws' and the boy's increasingly irregular breathing, Dean was otherwise silent. Her eldest had always been quiet when spanked, unlike his younger brother who always wailed and howled as if he was being murdered. It was a standing joke between Mary and John that Sam could be heard in the next state whenever he was disciplined.
Dean clutched the duvet tighter and squeezed his eyes shut against the threatening tears. It hurt so much! He wanted nothing more than for it to be over - he wanted comfort and reassurance that he was forgiven and despite his mistake, still loved.
Mary gently pushed Dean further over her knee so that she had unrestricted access to his sensitive undercurve and the tops of his thighs. Dean could bear it no longer and the floodgates opened, tears sliding silently down his freckled cheeks. Mary knew that her eldest had started to cry, but she continued to spank, resolutely bringing her palm down sharply, determined to make this a memorable lesson, one that would have Dean thinking twice if he ever considered handling a firearm in the future.
After what seemed an eternity to Dean, the stinging swats finally stopped falling. Mary rested her hand for a moment on his scalded buttocks, aware of the heat now radiating through the thin material of his briefs. With the cessation of the smacking sounds, Dean's quiet sniffles and hitched breathing were now clearly audible. Mary knew that she would never stop feeling pain in her own heart whenever she was the one responsible for causing tears in either of her boys, even though she knew she would be failing as a mother if she didn't discipline them.
"Okay, Dean," she soothed rubbing a gentle hand up the crying boy's back, "nearly finished. Just a few smacks with the brush and then it's all done."
Dean shook his head frantically, the tears spilling freely down his cheeks – he couldn't bear the thought of any more swats to his already flaming backside. He had no idea how much the brush would actually hurt, but he had no desire whatsoever to find out! "N-no, please, Momma. I'm s-sorry."
Mary ignored his plea, but hesitated as she raised the brush, remembering the wicked sting that it produced. Part of her could not believe that she was actually going to inflict it onto her eldest, having hated it with a passion herself when she was growing up. Remembering the fear that she had felt when she thought that one of her babies had been shot, Mary hardened her heart and with a sharp flick of her wrist, snapped the brush down.
As soon as the brush connected with Dean's left butt-cheek, a strangled cry was forced from his lips as he bucked and both legs kicked involuntarily. The movement shifted his pyjama bottoms from his knees down to his ankles. The child was convinced that nothing in his entire life had hurt as much as that stupid brush – not even when he had fallen out of a tree the previous year and broken his arm! He didn't have any time to recover as the brush connected with his right butt-cheek. The pain blossomed sharp and unrelenting, magnifying the sting that was already there tenfold. Dean was unable to bite back another loud, tear-filled yelp.
Mary's heart constricted, the uncharacteristic vocal response an undeniable indication of how much she was hurting her little boy. She hardened her heart once more, telling herself that this was for Dean's own good and snapped the brush down dead centre across the crest of his buttocks. Dean was sobbing properly now. Mary could feel his upper body shaking over her knees. Quickly she applied the last two swats direct to his sit-spots and Dean let out a wail that was worthy of his little brother any day.
Mary set the brush down beside her on the duvet and pulled the sobbing boy up into her arms. "Sshh now, Baby. It's all done."
Dean whimpered as his thoroughly chastised rear settled on his mother's lap, before wrapping his arms tightly around his mother's neck and sobbing into her shoulder. He didn't think the pain would ever go away.
Dean's tears took a lot longer to subside than usual, though Mary had expected that, with the added pain that he would be feeling from the swats of the brush. She kept her arms wrapped tightly round him, continuing to murmur soothing sweet nothings into his hair
Mary continued to soothe, rocking the boy gently, as his tears slowly subsided to sniffles and then to occasional hiccoughs, prepared to hold him for as long as he needed it. Eventually, Dean raised his tear-stained face from where it was buried and sniffed, looking up at Mary, seeking reassurance.
"I'm really really really sorry. I know I was stupid and let you down…"
"Hush, Baby," Mary cut him off gently, "It's in the past, it's forgiven and I love you." She pressed a gentle kiss onto his forehead. "Just don't ever do it again!"
Dean shook his head emphatically. "I hate guns! Sammy could've gotten hurt. I don't want anythin' to do with them ever!"
"That's my, boy," smiled Mary, reaching over to the nightstand for the tissue box and proceeding to wipe away Dean's tears just as she had when he was a toddler. When she held a fresh tissue in front of his nose however, Dean rolled his eyes and groaned.
"Mommmm…"
"Humour me, come on blow."
With an exaggerated sigh, Dean did as requested, before resting his cheek back against his mother's shoulder.
He realised that he was sitting in his mother's lap in his underwear with his pyjama bottoms still around his ankles, but the embarrassment he felt, wasn't nearly enough to tempt him to leave the love and security of his mother's arms wrapped tightly around him.
Dean spotted the offending brush lying on top of the duvet. He hated it! Casually, trying to look like he was scratching his leg, he moved his hand and knocked it off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He felt a grim satisfaction at the dull thunk as it hit the carpet.
Mary chuckled, knowing full well that Dean had done that on purpose, however hard he'd tried to make it look like an accident. "You have no idea how much I wanted to do that to it when I was growing up."
"Huh?" Dean pulled back slightly to look up at his mom.
Mary looked down at the boy's face which was still flushed from his tears, reading the question in his bright green eyes. "Yes, Dean, I was spanked with that exact same hairbrush when I was a girl. I thought it was evil!" she gave a mock shudder.
"You were? What did you get spanked with it for?" Dean was more than intrigued and he most definitely agreed with his mother's opinion that the brush was evil.
Mary nodded. "Hmm, let me think of an example." She paused, thinking. A moment later Mary felt a blush begin to stain her cheeks as she remembered one particular incident, but there was no way she was explaining to Dean about the time she had had sex with John for the first time, although she could relay at least part of the story, if not all of it. "Well, one time when I was in High School, I skipped class to spend some time with your dad. Unfortunately for me, school rang home. Now don't you go getting any ideas about cutting class, young man!"
Dean giggled. The sound warmed Mary's heart after the tears and sobs of earlier. "I won't, I promise. Who spanked you? Grandma or Gramps?"
"On that particular occasion, it was your Grandma. You okay now, Dean?"
Dean nodded.
Mary patted Dean's thigh gently. "Now into bed with you."
Dean slid off his mother's lap grimacing at the extra discomfort the movement caused to his scalded rear end. He immediately bent down, pulling up his pyjama bottoms only to pause when they were just above his knees, wondering how to do it without causing any more pain as his backside was so sore already.
Mary hid a smile, guessing immediately the eleven-year-old's dilemma. Her smile widened as Dean stretched the elasticated waistband as far from him as it would go, keeping it away from his buttocks, only gently releasing it when it was level with his waist.
She pulled back the bedcovers. "In you get."
Dean climbed into bed and lay down on his stomach. Mary gently covered him back up and kissed his cheek.
"Is it okay if Sammy pops up for a few minutes? He says he wants to bring you milk and cookies, but really he wants to check if his big brother's all right. I can keep him downstairs though if you'd rather."
"Yeah, he can come up." On the one hand, Dean would rather Sammy not see him when it was obvious he'd been bawling like a big baby, but he knew that his little brother would worry if he was kept downstairs.
As soon as Mary appeared in the kitchen her youngest jumped up. "Can I go now?"
Mary smiled. "Yes, Sammy. Dean's waiting for his cookies and milk. I'll call you when I want you to come back down."
She placed a glass of milk and three chocolate chip cookies onto a tray and handed it to the seven-year-old.
Sam left the room slowly, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on keeping the tray level.
Deanna rested a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Everything okay, sweetheart?"
Mary paused before answering.
Her family was safe! "Yeah, Mom, everything's fine."