"Get in the car."

Sam didn't argue. Dean's green eyes were blazing, adding warmth to Sam's already flushed face, burning him from the inside out. He'd only seen that look from Dean two times before, and the memory of what followed it sent flashes of heat through Sam's body. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Dean's harsh gaze followed him until he slid into the front seat of the Impala, closing the door as quietly as he could and sinking deep into the familiar leather.

The ride back to their room was silent. Dean even left the stereo off, which to Sam was unsettling. As annoying as it was, Sam would give anything if Dean was drumming on the steering wheel and banging his head to some stupid hair band. As it was, Dean was quiet. Sam was convinced it was psychological warfare, a tactic that his brother used to increase the amount of dread that already lay heavily on Sam's chest. Dean was a master at torture. Sam could handle it much better if Dean yelled at him. In fact, he wished Dean would lose control, scream, smash a window, kick a wall—anything but what he was doing right now.

Because right now, Dean was calming himself down. He was internally coaching his self, willing his body to overcome the anger, to remain in control—which meant only one thing for Sam; there was an oncoming storm. Dean killed the engine without a word, without even a glance in Sam's direction. How were they already home?

Dean didn't say anything, just got out and walked up to the room, unlocked the door and stepped inside. He didn't bother waiting or looking for Sam, because Sam knew that Dean expected him to fall in line behind him. He watched as Dean dropped the keys on the table and slid his jacket off.

Five hours Earlier

"Yeah, it's just a study group at the library. It'll be over at eight."

"Let me get this straight—you want to spend a chunk of your Friday night at the library, studying?"

"My new friends are gonna be there. And you have a date tonight anyway, so I'd just be sitting here alone."

"Exactly, I have a date tonight, which means I can't pick you up."

"I can take the bus home."

"No, Sam. Absolutely not."

"It won't even be dark by then. I promise, Dean I'll come straight home. Please? Maggie's gonna be there and—"

"Who's Maggie?"

"No one—she's just a friend. She really needs help on her, uh, calculus. She'd be really disappointed if I wasn't there."

Dean grinned, but to Sam's surprise didn't tease him. He didn't answer right away either, just sucked the right half of his bottom lip into his mouth, considering it. Sam took it as a good sign that he hadn't immediately said no. Dean grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down a number, folded it, and stuffed it into Sam's hand.

"That's the cell phone number for the girl I'm gonna be with. Call it if you need anything. And don't think I won't call this hotel and 9:00 sharp to see make sure you're safe. If you're not here, you're in for it."

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, something he didn't do as often as he'd like to anymore. He didn't want Dean to keep thinking of him as a baby, so lately he'd been giving his brother awkward side hugs and manly shoves. Sometimes he thought Dean missed it, the hugs, but he never said so if he did. Pressure increased around Sam's torso as Dean squeezed him back.

"I want the number to the library and a list of names and addresses of the people you'll be with tonight."

"What? Are you crazy? I don't know all that."

"Fine, I want their names and their parent's names then."

Sam grumbled, but kept it to himself. He was lucky Dean was letting him go at all. He wrote the information down and handed it to his brother. They were the right names, but Sam didn't expect that Dean would do anything with it. Dean always treated him like a baby, even though he could take care of himself. He'd been trained in hand to hand combat and was good at it for his age and size. He was still the smallest Winchester, only 5'3". Dean had at least seven inches on him, and he really liked to let Sam know it.

"Sam."

It was quiet but severe, and Sam knew it wasn't a request. He hesitated. "Dean, I..."

"On the bed, now."

Dean pointed and Sam followed in the direction of his finger. He sat down, feeling the springs give under his weight. Right now, this moment, brought him back to when he was five years old and Dad would lecture him about something and he would start crying—which thank God he wasn't doing, but still. It was a crappy feeling. He knew it right now—he was dead.

"Please, Dean, let's talk about this." Bargaining.

"Oh we're definitely gonna talk about it. But I need some time. I'm gonna take a shower and I don't want you to move from that spot. Do you understand?"

"Yes...but—"

Dean cocked his eyebrow at Sam and crossed his arms, giving Sam that no nonsense look he rarely got, effectively ending the conversation. Sam listened as the water came on. His stomach churned from alcohol and anxiety, and for a minute he really thought he was going to lose it. He put a shaking hand over his mouth just in case, but nothing came out.

Two Hours Earlier

"I'm so glad you came, Sam," Maggie said coolly, putting her forehead against his. Sam could smell her perfume.

"Yeah, me too."

"The party's already started."

"Party? I thought it was just gonna be us and Mike and Hannah."

"Well, I did say a small get together. A few more people wanted in on it."

Sam had been there less than twenty minutes and had already been offered a beer, a joint, and cocaine. Dean would flip his shit if he knew Sam was here. Not that Dean cared if Sam had a drink every now and then, because he didn't—but he did care if Sam had one with total strangers. Sam had said no to all of it at first, but when Maggie offered him one, he couldn't refuse without looking like a loser to her. And he definitely didn't want Maggie thinking he was lame.

So Sam drank one, slowly, carefully keeping an eye on the time. By eight thirty he'd had three beers and zero alone time with Maggie. Speaking of which, he didn't even know where she was. He looked around the house, being shooed away from bedrooms by couples trying to 'get some privacy.' After ten minutes he decided he didn't have time to look anymore, or he'd be late getting home.

"Stop it! Don't touch me you assholes!"

Maggie. Sam followed her voice to the side of the house, where three jerks from school had her pinned against the bricks. "Let her go."

They turned around, the biggest one laughing when he saw Sam. "I mean it, man. Let her go or you'll be sorry."

Sam didn't know where the confidence was coming from all the sudden. He wasn't a wimp, but he definitely didn't go looking for fights—that was Dean's thing. He didn't want everyone to know he was a freak whose dad spent hours and hours forcing him to learn self-defense. But they ignored him and went back to harassing Maggie. Sam's muscles tensed, his entire body swelling with anger. Without clearly thinking it through, Sam picked up the biggest rock within eyesight and hurled it and the tall one's head.

The water lightly pelted the tile on the shower floor but otherwise it was quiet; Sam yearned to hear Dean singing some stupid rock song, indicating that everything was good, that he was happy. But everything was not good, and Dean was not happy. Every fiber in Sam's body was urging him toward the front door, screaming at him to run while he still had the chance to escape. But Sam knew better and he stayed where he was, fists curled in his lap, fingers twitching nervously.

Dean came out of the bathroom in a pair of sweatpants and a faded AC/DC t-shirt. He looked directly at Sam, but Sam avoided his eyes, not ready to face what he might see there. He wanted to try his argument again. He wanted to explain to Dean why he'd done it, why he'd been right, why it shouldn't have happened the way it did. But every case he came up with further incriminated him, so he kept his mouth shut for now. He'd wait for Dean to start this conversation.

Dean sat down on the bed directly across from him. "Come here, Sam."

Before he could stop it his body obeyed, crossing the small space between them and standing in front of Dean. He might've argued with Dad, but with Dean he responded immediately, and he was secretly embarrassed because of it. He tried to swallow but his mouth was a desert. He hated this—hated how quiet Dean's voice was, hated wet his eyes were, hated how loud his heart was.

One Hour Earlier

There was nowhere to hide. The gravel scratched and crunched beneath his sneakers, his feet pounding the ground as he looked for cover. His heart was beating so hard he just knew you could see it through his shirt. The echo of three more sets of feet rang in his ears—they were getting closer, Sam was losing his slim lead, but a quick survey indicated there was no place else to run. He'd backed himself into a corner.

He might be able to climb the fence if he was quick about it. In reality, he knew he was screwed, but he had to try. He made a running leap and caught the cool metal between his fingers. He sucked in a breath as he started to climb, refusing to look back as he desperately tried to scramble to freedom.

It was too late; a beefy hand clamped around his shoulder and yanked him down, hard. Sam held his breath, telling his self to keep it together. He'd never wished harder that Dean was there, even though he knew he'd never hear the end of it. Sam's back hit the brick wall hard enough to make him gasp for air. He was nose to nose with ass hat.

"You think that stunt you pulled back there was funny, you little cocksucker?"

The guy's nose was bleeding and the side of his face was turning purple, undoubtedly from the rock Sam had chucked at his head. Reflexively he grinned. He instantly wished he could take it back, but it was too late—dickhead's lips had already curled into a snarl in response.

"Oh I'm gonna savor this. And when I'm done, my friends here are gonna take a turn teaching you some respect."

Sam knew he wouldn't live to see tomorrow anyway, so he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He was a Winchester for fuck's sake. He leaned back as far as he could, given his position on the wall, and propelled his head forward with as much force as possible, cracking the guy in the head. It was enough to shock the bastard into dropping him. He made one last ditch effort to get away, punching one guy in the nuts and trying to dodge the other. No such luck.

This time two pairs of hands clamped down on his shoulders and hurled him into the wall again. "You're not going anywhere. Boy you don't know how bad you just fucked up."

Sam closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. He was in so much trouble right now. Dean had no idea where he was—he was on his own, and it was all his stupid fault. The wind grazed his cheek as one of them drew their fists back.

A familiar rumble made Sam open his eyes, praying to God that he wasn't hallucinating. "Dean!" Sam had never been happier to see the Impala in his life. The sound of Dean's feet on the pavement sent a steady stream of relief through Sam's body, and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Let him go, now."

"You gonna make us, pretty boy?"

"If you're lucky. Because right now I'm not the mood to fight you. I'm in the mood to kill you."

They burst out laughing, still holding Sam against the wall. Dean reached behind him and pulled something out of the back of his jeans, the light from the Impala catching the metal. Dean kept the gun at his side, but his facial expression was clear; fuck off.

Sam had seen Dean with a gun plenty of times—practicing, hunting animals, cleaning them—but he'd never seen Dean with a gun like this. And even though he was grateful, he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Dean didn't move as the three men walked briskly past him, and now that they were gone, Sam came to a horrible realization; now he had to face Dean alone.

Dean ran up to Sam, slipping the gun back in his jeans as he did. "Oh my God, Sammy," he said, gripping Sam's shoulders tightly and kneeling down so that he was at eye level with Sam. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"

"No, Dean. I'm fine—just shaken up a bit."

Part of Sam wished he wasn't fine, then maybe Dean would feel sorry for him. Dean pulled him into a hug. Dean was breathing heavy, like he'd been under water for a long time and had just popped back up to the surface in the nick of time. Sam already felt a little guilty.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"I didn't completely lie, Dean. I did hang out with Maggie, I just—"

"Did you even go to the library?"

Sam was quiet.

"Don't lie to me, Sam."

"No. I went to a party at Maggie's house. Only I didn't know it was going to be a party, I swear. I thought it was just gonna be like a double date or something."

"Why didn't you just ask to go to her house? Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

"I didn't want you to give me a hard time. I was gonna come home when I said I would, I just...got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked? No, Sam. That's not quite the word for it. I don't want to hear another word from you. I know exactly what happened; when you didn't show up I went to this Maggie girl's house because I figured that's where you'd be. She told me what happened and pointed me in the right direction to get to you. You're fucking lucky I even made it in time."

"I know, Dean...but I had to help her."

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place. I'm sorry about what happened to Maggie, and I'm proud of you for standing up for her, but this wouldn't have happened if you would've told me the truth. And I know that you've been drinking. Did you do anything else?"

"No."

"Get in the car."

"Take 'em down."

"Come on Dean, please. I'm sorry, I really am." More bargaining.

"That's not the point right now."

"You can't do this, Dean! I'm fourteen...it's so not cool." Denial.

"Not cool? Not cool? What's not cool, is you putting yourself at risk like you did. What's not cool is that you lied to me."

"I know...I just—please don't."

"Take them down," Dean repeated, ignoring Sam's pleas.

But when Sam didn't respond Dean didn't say anything, just wrapped a strong hand around Sam's wrist and pulled him forward. "Now."

Don't make me have to do it, Sam finished for him in his head. Dean's tone was a warning now. Sam's fingers fumbled with the button, and he hoped Dean couldn't see that he was shaking; the anticipation of what would follow sending tremors through his body. But Dean waited patiently for Sam to get them undone. They fell to the floor, wrinkled around his ankles.

Dean didn't waste time after that. He tugged Sam across his lap, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist to secure him. "Do you understand why you're in trouble?"

It wasn't really a question yet. Sam knew the words would be followed up with a full blown lecture, so he just nodded, waiting for Dean to continue. "For one thing, you deliberately went behind my back and broke the rules. You lied to me. Sammy, you know I hate it when you lie to me. You broke curfew. You didn't call to check in. You almost got the shit kicked out of you." Sam flinched.

"Dean, I promise, I won't do anything like this again...look, I swear. Just ground me, please."

"You know better. And you know how serious all this was. I was worried sick."

"Just hear me out—"

"No, we're done talking for now. Let's get just get this over with."

"But—"

Dean effectively cut him off with a hard swat. God damn it stung. Dean usually started out forcefully, but this was harder than normal. Sam could hear the crack each time Dean's hand rained down on him, a horrifying rhythm already being set. Sam was so embarrassed right now, because to him, there was nothing in this world was worse than getting spanked by his older brother.

Sam squirmed under the onslaught, trying desperately to escape the pain, but failing miserably. There was nowhere to go. Dean held him there, firmly, not wavering from the steady tempo he'd begun. Sam was on fire already, the heat pulsating through him, causing him to cry out. But Dean ignored it. He just clamped down tighter to hold Sam still and kept going, one right after another.

He was pissed, but he knew if he yelled at Dean that it would only make things worse, so he bit his lip and buried his face into the mattress. How the hell was this fair? Dean had snuck out when he was Sam's age. Besides that, Dean shouldn't be allowed to tell him what to do. He desperately wanted to say all of those things to Dean and more, but instead he came out with a forced apology.

"God...Dean...please...I'm sooooo sorry."

"So am I. I hate having to do this, Sam."

Dean picked up the pace, the blows coming down faster now, and even though Dean hadn't increased his strength it was enough to make Sam yelp in pain. He couldn't hold back the kicking; it was just too much at this point. Dean wrapped his leg around Sam's, successfully holding them down.

"Do you have any idea how worried I was? I thought something had happened to you, Sam."

Sam knew it was true; Dean's voice was slightly broken, like he was holding back a cry, which made Sam feel like such a little brat. Dean paused for a minute, and Sam thought he might've gotten lucky, that the spanking might actually be over, that Dean might go easy on him for cooperating. But then he felt Dean's fingers tugging at his waistband, and his face flushed redder than it already was.

"No. Dean. God, no...come on...please. You can't do this..."

"Don't struggle, Sammy, you'll just make it worse on yourself."

He sucked in a breath, the cool air brushing against his sore, hot flesh. Dean had only spanked him one other time without his underwear, and it was the single worst experience he'd ever had. Dad's spankings hurt, sure, and they hurt bad; but Dean's, Dean's were in a whole other league. Dean could sense Sam's breaking point and would almost certainly push him as close to the edge as he deemed necessary for the offense. And there was something about disappointing his brother that sent waves of guilt rolling through him. He was used to disappointing Dad, but not Dean.

"I just kept thinking, oh my God, what if Sammy's hurt?"

As soon as Sam's shorts were on the ground Dean pulled back and cracked his hand down again, and it sent a new surge of fresh pain through Sam's body, his thin layer of protection gone. Dean's so upset right now. I'm such an ass. Sam's breath hitched in his throat. He couldn't hold out much longer, it hurt too damn much, physically and emotionally.

"I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

That hurt. The truth from it stung as much as Dean's hand, and Dean's hands were big, working every inch of his already-tender skin. Sam thought of the other ways the situation could have gone. He really could've gotten hurt; logistically there were just too many of them, and even with his training he hadn't stood a chance. He was incredibly lucky Dean had gotten there when he did. Sam couldn't help it; he started to cry.

"I'm...really...s-so sorry. I didn't...m-mean to make you..."

"I know, Sammy. Almost done." Dean paused.

Almost? Sam knew what that meant. The brief period of relief was outweighed by the intensity of what was sure to follow, and Sam buried his face in his the crook of his arm at the realization. He could argue with Dean, beg him, grovel, even, but there was no way Dean was going to let him out of this. What he'd done was too serious.

The belt buckle clinked as Dean reached over and grabbed it off the nightstand. Sam didn't look, but he knew Dean was folding it in half, getting ready to bring it down on Sam like a bolt of lightning. Sam gripped the sheets, his breath coming out faster and faster as he tried to brace himself for the shock of it.

His body writhed in pain as soon as the leather licked his skin, and Dean didn't give him time to compose himself in between strikes. He fired them out, one by one, and Sam wasn't counting, but he knew he was going to get fifteen of them. That was Dean's standard number when it came to the belt, unless he said so otherwise. God he knew he deserved it, but still—this was the worst spanking he'd gotten in a long time, and his body couldn't take it any longer.

Sam knew the end was near when Dean increased the force behind his next swat—only four more to go, Sam tried to reason with his self. The last five were always the hardest. This time he counted in his head, four, three, two, one. Sam was sobbing now, a blubbering heap of flesh just laying there, collapsed across Dean's lap. Dean pulled his shorts up quickly, but left his jeans off. Sam willed his self to get up, but he couldn't—he just stayed there, Dean rubbing his lower back gently.

Finally Dean pulled him to his feet and Sam kicked his jeans the rest of the way off. He was still crying when he stood, but he was at least more in control than he had been a couple of minutes ago. Sam avoided looking at Dean like he was Medusa, fully accepting that he deserved the punishment, but still ashamed he'd gotten it. Dean didn't say anything—Sam knew that Dean understood he wasn't in a place for conversation right now. Sam walked as normally as he could manage to the bathroom.

When he got out Dean was lying down, the cover drawn back on one side, indicating that it was open to Sam if he wanted it. Sam did. He laid down beside Dean, his face still wet from crying. Dean pulled him in close, wrapping his strong arms around Sam and Sam relaxed into the touch. He pressed his face against Dean's t-shirt, inhaling the scent of cheap laundry detergent and Dean's deodorant.

Dean rubbed his hand up and down Sam's spine, comforting him. "Look, Sammy—you know I really, really hate having to punish you like that."

Sam's eyes burned again, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him. "I know. And I know I should've called you...but I was afraid you'd tell me to come home, so I didn't. I'm sorry, Dean."

He kissed Sam lightly on the top of the head. "Don't ever lie to me again, okay? You know I hate it worse than anything else."

"Yeah, I know. I won't do it again."

"Why did you do this anyway, Sam?" There wasn't a hint of accusation in Dean's voice, just sheer curiosity.

"Because, Dean. I knew we'd be here for a while, and I wanted to fit in. I wanted the other kids to like me and I figured this is how I'd do it."

"Oh Sammy," Dean paused, thoughtful. "Who gives a rat's ass what people think of you?"

"I do, Dean. I want friends. I know I can't be normal but at least sometimes I can pretend for a while."

He didn't know what Dean would say to that; he might make fun of him, but Sam doubted it—not right after he'd spanked him, anyway. Right now he had Dean's sympathy. Dean didn't talk though, just held Sam close, his warm breath in Sam's hair.

"But next time I'll find a better way to do it."

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea." Dean paused. "Oh, and Sammy—"

"What?"

"You're grounded for three weeks."

"Are you gonna tell Dad?"

"No."

Sam let out a breath. "Thanks."